Rating:

Explicit

Category:

M/M

Fandom:

One Direction

Relationship:

Liam/Harry

Tags:

anal fingering, blowjobs, fake dating, frottage, shower sex, side ziall

Stats:

Posted on:

2017-08-18

Words:

82,373

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three

Chapter One

Liam is chewing on his nails. “Stop that,” his mum tells him, even though they both know that it’s not his usual habit and that his mum doesn’t really mean it.

They’re watching the TV in the studio, which is hanging in a corner of the ceiling, making its way through the commercials. Liam’s agent, Brenda, is chewing on her own nails—he thinks he might’ve picked up the habit from her, they’re both so nervous all the time. Well, Liam isn’t typically nervous but he is today, and Brenda gnawing on her pinky isn’t helping.

No—it’s not her fault, either. Liam is with his mum and Ruth and his dad and his band and his producer and, hell, even the manager of the recording studio. On any other day Liam would be singing bars and trying out a new song—nothing special, since he’s just had an album released, so it’s really only to get something off the ground for the next album. Hopefully. If today goes well. If the damn commercials stop playing and MTV talks about his album for at least five minutes.

Beside him, even his sister is jiggling her leg nervously. “Tell Roo to stop shaking her leg,” Liam says to his mum.

Ruth gives him a scowl. “Don’t need to behave like a child when we’re all stressed,” she says.

“You’re stressed? It’s my album,” Liam points out. Immediately he feels bad, even though that just makes Ruth scowl more. “Sorry,” he says to her. “I mean, it is my album—”

“You’re right, it is,” Ruth relents. “I just want you to do good too, Li, promise.”

Liam has no doubt of that. Especially when the commercials switch back and Bluey Robinson is back on screen, giving the rundown of the past week’s music news.

“We’re making it onto the new albums of the month, can you believe it?” Robinson’s saying. “Flo Rida, Frank Ocean, Liam Payne—”

Liam’s mum lets out a small little shout that she nearly drowns out Robinson, continuing on to say, “—some really good new stuff within the past thirty days. But it’s not like we don’t have our own share of gossip to make our way around—”

“Go on, no-one wants to hear that!” Ruth shouts at the TV.

Liam sympathises completely, but he’s more focused on hearing his name, hearing the inevitable news of his album just being, existing, that he doesn’t have the mental faculties to do anything else now. Next to him, his mum is muttering, “C’mon, c’mon,” under her breath as they wait.

Robinson covers Flo Rida’s new album (which Liam likes very much; “Whistle” is already played on the radio a lot but he’s quite fond of Sweet Spot even if it makes his mum wince when he plays it), and then Frank Ocean’s. They’re all holding their breath as a picture of Liam comes onto the screen—everyone in the room lets out a small shout of excitement, even the production manager.

“Onto our next—” Robinson starts, before something off camera distracts him. “Oh. Are you—? That’s—wow.” He chuckles, and then turns back to the camera. “Hold on, we’ve got something going on—”

“TALK ABOUT MY BOY ALREADY,” Liam’s mum yells, so loudly that everyone except for Liam and his family winces.

Bluey Robinson, of course, pays her no mind, because he’s on the television and he’s saying, “So, big news. Apparently Kristen Stewart has been caught having an affair with the director of her recent film, Snow White and the Huntsman, which makes it even more of a heartbreak since she’s half of the sweet Twilight couple—”

“Are you kidding?” Liam’s dad says. Liam feels frozen to the spot.

Robinson continues. “And the director, Rupert Sanders, is married—this is the pic we’ve received today—”

Around him, the room has erupted into this angry buzzing. Liam’s bandmates look pissed, coming over to him and saying, “Sorry, mate,” while Brenda is furious and dialing something on her phone. The producer already has his own agent on the phone, while Ruth and their dad are complaining loudly about the bullshit television news. “This isn’t even music related!” Ruth says indignantly, gesturing at the TV. “Who the fuck cares!”

“Language,” says their mum, but she looks like she might start dropping swear words at any moment, too.

Liam doesn’t know how to feel. Beside him, Ruth is going, “Twilight wasn’t even good, this shitty channel with no taste—not just the movies, but the books too, no-one cares about Twilight, aren’t they going to cover Liam—”

“They might,” Liam says, with a small burst of hope as the scandal on TV seems to draw to a close.

But then the channel’s moved on to some stupid reality show, with no mention of Liam’s name other than that first time, at the tail end of two artists he’s always admired. MTV—and the world—have moved on without mention of Liam’s album once, not its title, Same Mistakes, or even a mention of the track that they’ve been hoping would be a single. None of his songs play, there’s no modification or apology or addendum a half-hour later when everyone else in the room has filtered out, leaving Liam alone in the lounge of the recording studio.

After pulling out of secondary school to focus on a music career, to the X Factor the first time, to the X Factor the second time, both rounds getting to the judge’s houses and Simon Cowell telling him that he could be great anyway, so continuing with his solo career and getting home schooled. To hearing one of his songs on the radio for the first time (by a call-in request from his sister), to being discussed briefly on Radio 1 as “an artist to look out for,” to finally coming up with an album, to releasing it. To being the seventeen-year old that Simon Cowell believed in; that Radio 1 thought could come up with great things. To being a nineteen year old left by himself in a recording studio. This is where life has led him.

He’s alone, the sounds of the TV white noise in his ears, and suddenly, absolutely furious.

*

Liam doesn’t remember the walk out of the recording studio. One moment he’s stood up, the next he’s on the street, needing to clear his head and take a breath. It’s likely that his family is in the lobby and the rest of his team are in another recording studio to give him some privacy; he’d taken the back door to avoid all the fuss. They’d be all, “How are you feeling?” and, “Is everything okay, Liam?” and not that Liam wouldn’t appreciate it, but they were all there when it happened and—he shakes his head. No, he’d come out here to stop thinking about it so much. Best not to think about it at all then.

The city streets feel oppressive. He doesn’t want to be recognised, but there’s that fear of everyone knowing that he’s the boy who can’t even get a proper album advert because it’s far more interesting discussing that movie Ruth hates, because he’s not big enough like Eminem or Flo Rida. Liam ducks into the first café he sees, because cafés are always busy enough for no-one to pay any attention to him, swarming with uni students that he’ll fit in. He’s got some money in his pockets anyway, he finds as he stuffs his hands in them.

He queues up, glancing around hurriedly, hoping that someone, somewhere has at least noticed MTV completely ignoring him over thirty minutes ago. They’re all uni students, as it looks—Liam remembers being vaguely aware that the recording studio is only a few blocks away from a university campus—so they ought to watch MTV, right? Whatever, it’s no big deal if they do—

“D’you see the news earlier today?” a boy’s saying, once Liam’s at the front of the queue. “Kristen Stewart and her director—what a scandal—”

Fucking scandals! It’s all people care about—no-one cares about Liam’s music, any music, for more than half a second, they’d much rather gossip about celebrities’ lives, and Liam’s pulse throbs in his head. He should give them something to talk about—

“Can I take your order?” says the cashier behind the counter, and that’s when Liam drags his body over to plant a kiss on his mouth.

Almost immediately, Liam hears the sound of a phone camera shutter going off. It doesn’t stop at that—when Liam pulls back in full awareness of what he’d just done, he sees several customers gaping at him, many others with their phones out, some still clicking, some with the sense to turn their shutter sound off.

Liam goes, “Ah. Um.”

To make matters worse, Brenda’s just burst through the door, going, “There you are! We’ve been looking for you all over—why’s everyone staring at you?”

“Um,” Liam says. “Brenda, I’ve just—”

“Oh, never mind, we’re just terribly worried,” Brenda says, wrapping an arm around him and starting to drag him away. “You know how distressing it would be for us to see ‘Liam Payne Does Incredibly Stupid Thing’ two days later if you’d properly disappeared? We wouldn’t want that—”

“You’re a celebrity?” says the cashier suddenly.

Both Liam and Brenda turn to look at him. The cashier has a mop of thick curly brown hair, and his nametag says Harry, which Liam hadn’t had the sense to read before he’d kissed him. Oh god, he’d kissed him in a public venue and he hadn’t even known his name. Liam had kissed some poor random barista named Harry.

“I’m not,” Liam says quickly. “Really—”

“You’ve got a Wikipedia page,” says the girl behind Liam. “I think that makes you celebrity status.” The rest of the café has erupted into some sort of chaos, chattering and looking things up on their phones and trying to get a better look at Liam.

Liam does his best to hide behind Brenda, which is not so successful in that Brenda is near a half foot shorter than him. “Liam,” Brenda says slowly.

Harry the barista says, “So did you want a drink with that, or do you give your kisses for free?”

“Liam,” Brenda says, again.

“I didn’t—it was—”

“It was quite good,” Harry says pleasantly, putting his hands behind his back like he’s some sort of charmer. “As far as kisses between blokes go. I reckon we could go with a little tongue next time, don’t you—”

“We,” says Brenda, hauling Liam into a vice grip that Liam would complain about if he wasn’t sure that he absolutely deserved it, “are going.”

*

Brenda says nothing on the trip back to the studio, which means that once they’re back inside, in the lobby with Liam’s family, Brenda bursts, “Did it really take you an hour to do something stupid enough without warning me?”

“It wasn’t that stupid,” Liam says, knowing he’s not believing a word he’s saying. “People go around snogging in public all the time—”

“You did what?” his mum screeches.

Ruth, at least, looks more interested than judgmental. “Who’d you snog?”

“People don’t go around snogging perfect strangers,” Brenda says to him. And as Liam opens his mouth, “And even if he wasn’t a perfect stranger—which I know he was, darling, don’t lie to me—we would’ve discussed this and handled it in a PR fashion.”

“It was a spur of a moment thing!” Liam says indignantly. “Honestly, and it’s not like anyone knows who I am. It won’t even be news.”

Ruth punches him on the arm. “Don’t be hard on yourself. This’ll be big and then you’ll be known as the freak who goes around kissing random strangers in public.”

“I really appreciate your support,” Liam tells her, as Brenda’s expression goes disapproving.

“Okay,” Brenda begins, but Liam cuts her off.

“It won’t be a big deal,” he says. “I was being stupid, and I wasn’t thinking. I really am sorry about it,” he tells his agent, “but I don’t think anyone will pay attention.” They hadn’t paid attention to his album after all; why would they pay attention to one afternoon when Liam Payne had decided to kiss a stranger in a uni coffee shop out of anger?

Brenda exhales through her nose. “Okay,” she says. “I forgive you. Perhaps it won’t be news.”

*

Liam wakes up to the sound of his phone buzzing furiously. Fumbling in the dark, he sniffs loudly as he finds his phone on the nightstand. He turns on his light before tapping his phone awake, to see that he’s getting a call from Brenda.

“D’you know what time it is?” he asks groggily.

Brenda sounds harried when she says, “No time for whinging, Liam, you need to let me in. It’s important.”

“It’s,” Liam checks the time on his phone, “three in the morning, Brenda, can’t we just do this in the—”

“Now, Liam Payne,” Brenda says. “I’ve been fielding the paps since the first call came in, but there’s just more and more and one of them managed to get out—”

“One of what?” Liam asks, climbing out of bed and rummaging through his piles of dirty laundry for a pair of clean pyjama pants. He shuffles them on, hopping on one foot and then another, nearly dropping his phone in the process.

Brenda is still rambling, “Liam, do you not remember earlier today when you kissed a university student in the middle of a public café and everyone went on to realize that you were not one of them?”

“Thanks to you,” Liam points out. “You’re the one who shouted my name—”

“Someone would’ve recognized you eventually.”

“Doubt it,” Liam mutters, making his way through the flat. His dad’s still awake, since he likes to keep odd hours—he frowns at Liam, and Liam tells him, “Brenda’s on the—” then his dad nods, and Liam rings her up.

“So, what?” he says into the phone. “It’s just me, some small news, probably some irrelevant site picked it up and it’ll blow over by the time the day actually starts—”

“It’s not small news, haven’t you gone online?” Brenda shouts indignantly.

“Well, I’ve just gotten up, as you might have noticed,” Liam says. He nods at his dad, who seems to have gotten the message and clicks around on his computer. Liam goes over to hover behind his shoulder as his dad Google searches his name.

Immediately two large headlines come up. One of them reads, UP AND COMING POPSTAR COMES OUT? The other reads: LIAM PAYNE: WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT HIM with a massive blurry picture of him kissing Harry the barista square on the mouth.

Liam’s dad is gaping. Liam says, “Holy shit.”

“Yeah,” Brenda says. The one that says UP AND COMING POPSTAR is on BBC News and it’s not even news, really, considering Liam’s only had one successful single and was completely ignored by MTV barely twelve hours ago. The other site, Liam can see as his dad clicks on the WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW headline, is MTV, of course.

Brenda’s at his door—she has a key but can’t enter the building without any one of Liam or his family letting her in (or conveniently following another tenant, which has lead to some mornings where Liam wakes up to Brenda bursting into his room) and says, “I know it’s late, but we need to strategize. There’s no time to wait for this to blow over.”

“I mean, I agree,” Liam says, rubbing his forehead, still staring at the search results on his dad’s computer. “This is—I don’t know why they care—”

“Because there aren’t a lot of LGBT artists,” Brenda points out. “And people love a scandal—”

“As we know,” Liam says dryly.

Brenda presses on, “And while it’s not scandalous, it’s news enough for people to drop their dinners and see what’s going on in public figures’ lives.” She’s brought her folders, reading glasses, and her pen—the dangerous one that she really only signs with, goes over Liam’s contracts with, and, sometimes, uses when she’s working on her novel. Brenda is not necessarily a severe woman, but Liam knows when it’s time to shut up and listen—not earlier today when she’d found out that he’d kissed a stranger, but now that they’re in the aftermath—so he’s quiet as she sits at his dinner table, across from his dad, and starts rifling through a folder.

“Here,” she says, coming up with a printed copy of the LIAM PAYNE: WHAT YOU NEED TO KNOW ABOUT HIM article. “I’ve got hard copies so we can look at this and figure what we need to do.”

“It shouldn’t be that hard,” Liam says, taking it and skimming it through. “Lie low, right?”

“Won’t be that easy,” Brenda says grimly. “Look on page three.”

Hesitantly, Liam shuffles through to the third page, greeted with a picture of him standing in the café, in front of Harry the barista, hands rubbing at the side of his trousers. There’s a shocked expression on his face; below the picture, the article reads:

… so he’s certainly on a path to being a teenage heartthrob, but is our boy single?

Recently he’s been spotted locking lips with a student at the University of London, but as far as we can tell, there are no matching rings or tattoos yet! (And we know how he likes his tattoos.) Furthermore, this is a young boy he’d been spotted kissing today, so girls, prepare to get your hearts broken. Is it a possibility that Liam Payne is off the market? Or is he just one of those one-day-stand types, where he kisses you in a café and never calls back?

He’s been single as long as he was on the X Factor…

Liam sets the article down. After a minute, he says, “Alright.”

Brenda seems to take that as an indicator for her to take initiative. “Okay,” she says. “So here’s what we’ll do. We’ll do interviews, of course—Radio 1’s called me this evening already—and that coffee boy, you’ll need to—”

“Wait,” Liam says. “Why do we need to do interviews? What about Harry? This is—they barely know anything, Brenda, this is good—”

“Harry, you know his name, that’s good. And no, it’s not good,” Brenda says, frowning at him like she thinks Liam’s an idiot. Well, she probably does think he’s an idiot. “It’s not good that they don’t know anything—you’re a teenage boy, Liam. You know that most of your fanbase is—should be teen girls—”

“And boys.”

“And boys. Everyone wants to know things about the youngest stars—you’re the ones who’re supposed to have the most drama, date the most,” Brenda points out.

“It’s true,” his dad pitches in. “Your sisters were no celebrities and even they had all the drama.”

“But that’s because—”

“No, Liam, you need to think about this,” Brenda says, cutting him off. “It’s not good that they don’t know anything. Then they don’t have anything to talk about. If they’ve got nothing to talk about, then they won’t talk about you. This,” she points at the picture, where Liam is wringing his hands post barista-kissing. Harry the barista, strangely enough, looks only mildly bewildered, unaffected by the very visible parts of the picture where the other café patrons were pointing their camera phones at Liam.

“This,” Brenda says, “is what they’re talking about right now. And they’ll continue talking about you if you give them answers. And more questions. Your album’s just come out, right?”

Liam can see where this is going. “Right,” he grumbles.

Brenda eyes him. “And you want it to do well,” she says, at least sparing him the faux interrogation process. “This isn’t about your album, but it’s about you, and then people will do research on you and download your album, and maybe even buy it. And then you might have fans.”

“Or,” Liam says, pointing to the part in the article that is kind of offensively questioning Liam’s sexuality, “I’ll get ignorant comments like these.”

“We’ll put up with it.” Brenda pats his elbow. “Everyone does. And you won’t be alone, once we find that Harry lad—”

Liam starts. “Why are we finding him?”

“Because you kissed him, Liam,” Brenda says patiently. “We’ll have to—”

“—make sure he won’t say anything to the paps,” Liam says quickly. When Brenda stares at him hard, he adds, “Right?”

“Liam,” Brenda says. “We’ll have to see if he’s willing to be your boyfriend for a few weeks.”

*

Liam doesn’t go to sleep for the rest of the night. He’s dead tired by the time it’s eight in the morning, but his mum had woken up an hour after Brenda had arrived, and both she and his dad have explained everything to her, and then to Ruth, and Liam is antsy. Not just because his name’s now in the papers—not just because that his Wikipedia page has one more sentence than it had yesterday (“Payne was spotted kissing a boy on 7 July 2012, suggesting that he is either bisexual or gay”)—but because Brenda has been at their flat all morning, calling and emailing god-knows-who to find Harry the barista.

It could be as easy as Liam going into the café again and—well, not kissing him this time, but talking to him proper—but when Liam had suggested this, Brenda had said, “Darling, you think the paps aren’t waiting for you to do that to see him again?” before going on to send her email to the dean of the University of London. It’s daytime now so people are awake, and Liam did not—wouldn’t have planned, really, on seeing Harry the barista again. Ever.

He heads to the gym only a couple of blocks away, because working out helps clear his head, and all the members there are men usually much older than him, lifting weights and doing pull-ups and whatnot. Usually Liam’s eyes stray while he’s there, but today he’s so focused on getting his head cleared that he doesn’t realize he’s done over two hundred situps until he counts two hundred and fifty and realizes how high that is. He ought to be careful with weights, because one slip-up and he’ll, like, die or something.

There could be a worse fate.

He’s doing bench presses while Nate (one of the instructors who Liam had a crush on for a while) spots him, and as he shifts up to take a break and get a drink of water, he sees a familiar side profile of thick curly hair and a modest short-sleeved button-up.

“No way,” Liam says, before running out of the gym, nearly crashing into the door and barreling his way down the street.

“Hey!” Liam calls, then realizes he might be attracting some attention to himself, which Brenda would not appreciate if this became news too. “Hey!” he says, trying to project as discreetly as possible. Then, remembering, “Harry!”

Harry the barista who-is-now-in-a-colourful-button-up-instead-of-an-apron turns around. He brightens at the sight of Liam, which is odd since they don’t really even know each other.

“Hello,” Harry says. “Is this what you dress like usually, then?”

He’s eyeing Liam up and down, from the white tank top that Liam has been sweating through to his basketball shorts.

Liam tries not to blush. “Oi, no, I was working out,” he says, gesturing at the gym down the block. “I was—my agent has been trying to get a hold of you—”

“Oh, I know,” Harry says earnestly. “Was on my way, actually. Didn’t think they’d send you out to get me.”

“I wasn’t—” Liam shakes his head, and then says, “I’ll just—I should grab my things from the gym then, I s’pose.”

“I’ll come with,” Harry says. He brightens up again, like he’s curious about where Liam works out, which is so ridiculous that Liam thinks that there just might be something wrong with Harry. Or himself, for actually noticing these things.

They head back to Liam’s gym, and Liam says goodbye to Nate and some of the other regulars as he towels himself off and packs his gym bag. He would shower, usually, but Harry’s right there and that would be weird. Not that showering’s weird, but Liam wouldn’t want to make Harry wait, yeah. Harry’s got a messenger bag and sunglasses perched on his head; it’s a sunny July day, and he looks like a normal uni student who’s taken off for the summer. Liam realizes how utterly weird he must look in comparison.

“Let’s go then,” he says, heaving his bag over his shoulder.

As they make their way down the street, Harry says, grinning, “So, fancy meeting you again.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Funny,” he says. “I do want to apologise, though, for this whole situation—for the—” He coughs. “Yesterday.”

“Oh, it’s no worry, been a while since I kissed a bloke anyway,” Harry says easily. He frowns to himself. “Or anyone. I live a very boring life.”

Liam turns away to stare at the sidewalk—he’s surely going to change that for Harry, unfortunately. His stomach twists in guilty knots.

“But,” Harry adds, sliding his sunglasses down, “I did get a comment earlier today. ‘You look like the bloke Liam Payne snogged yesterday.’ That’s you, isn’t it? Liam Payne.”

“Yes,” Liam says, lifting his head back up. They’re standing close enough that their voices don’t carry; Liam can see Harry’s eyes watching him from the side of his sunglasses.

“Cool. Can’t believe I’m in the news.” Harry grins. “Can’t believe my picture’s in the news. Gemma’s going to be jealous—she’s my sister.”

“I have a sister too,” Liam says absently, as they make their way into the highrise. “Two, actually.”

“Are they famous too?” Harry asks with interest.

Liam stops when they’re in the elevator, and after pressing the button for his floor, looks at Harry. His own mind is a mess of things, since working out clearly didn’t make things better; and he doesn’t quite feel like he’s here, with Harry, whom he’d only met yesterday, who’s here because Brenda had tracked him down and Liam had seen him on his way and then they’d walked back to Liam’s flat together. Harry’s still waiting for an answer from him, patiently, and Liam just wishes painfully that the last twenty-four hours didn’t happen. That he hadn’t released an album for all of this to happen. That he was just a normal bloke who went to university and slept in during the summer.

“I’m really not all that famous,” he says to Harry honestly, because he doesn’t know how to articulate all this, not to mention not even knowing Harry well enough to come out with it either.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I think the girl who made my tea this morning would beg to differ,” he says. “They’re called sommeliers, by the way, did you know that? I only found out this morning, too, along when when I found out who you are.”

“I met you yesterday,” Liam says.

“Pardon me for not retaining all of yesterday’s events after being kissed by you,” Harry says, but he doesn’t sound all that serious. “But it is nice to meet you, Liam Payne. I’m Harry Styles.”

He sticks out his hand. Liam stares at it, but takes it anyway, shaking Harry’s hand while Harry beams.

“You’re forgiven,” Liam says to him, unable to help the teasing tone that creeps into his voice, “for your apparently spotty memory.”

“It isn’t that spotty,” Harry says, delighted, as the elevator stops.

They make their way down the hall into the flat—Brenda knows that the neighbouring blocks around Liam’s apartment and his gym are relatively low-profile, so it had been no issue for him to go out in the first place—and Brenda says, “Oh, you two ran into each other on the way! Good—”

“It’s more like Liam accosted me on the street,” Harry says, stepping inside. “Again.”

Brenda’s worry face goes off. “Liam—”

“Joking,” Liam says, setting his bag down. “He’s joking,” he adds, when Brenda doesn’t look too convinced.

“I am joking, I promise,” Harry says. “Liam was a perfect gentleman to me our whole way here.”

“Well—” Brenda flounders, like she doesn’t know what to do with Harry. “Why don’t you—”

“Oh, is that the Harry we’re waiting for?” Liam’s mum pokes her head out from the kitchen, while his dad cooks. “Hi, sweetie—Brenda, don’t host in my own home—Harry, we’ll get you some tea, shall we? You’ve got to leave soon, but—”

“I’ll be showering!” Liam says, escaping as they all descend on Harry.

He feels a bit guilty, since Harry really only knows him and Liam should really be a good host of his own and introduce Harry to his family, but—but he doesn’t even know Harry that well, and Harry should’ve known what he was getting into by coming over, shouldn’t he have? Liam’s not even sure what Harry’s doing in his apartment, anyway, since they easily could meet at 2TE to take care of what legal issues they need to cover. Liam had done that the first time he’d gotten signed.

His shower is quick, and he pulls on fresh clothes that aren’t piled all over the ground before heading out into the living room, stomach ridden with guilt again. It quickly dissipates, though, because as soon as he walks into the room, he sees Harry laughing with his mother, who is actually pink-cheeked, while Ruth herself looks annoyed that she’s charmed too. Brenda thankfully is unaffected; Liam’s dad is still cooking in the kitchen.

“Oh, Liam,” Brenda says. “You’re done.”

“Yeah, um,” Liam says, glancing around the room. “We’re not discussing the,” he drops his voice low, in case it might ward Harry off, “boyfriend thing in my flat, are we?”

“Of course not,” Brenda says, patting his arm. “We’re going to 2TE, obviously, I’ve just had him come here to get to know your family and so that if the paps do spot you—”

“They’ll spot us together,” Liam finishes. That makes sense. “Right.”

“Right, well.” Brenda claps her hands, and looks between Harry, Ruth, and Liam’s mum. Liam is thankful that this makes both his sister and his mum tear their gaze away from Harry for once. “Me and the boys will be leaving now, unless you ladies want to come?”

“Oh—we couldn’t,” Liam’s mum says, sounding like she very much would like to instead.

“We can’t,” Ruth says a little more firmly.

“So you won’t,” Liam says to the both of them, watching them carefully. “Right?”

His mum stands up and pats his face. “Oh, don’t worry lovely, he’s all yours,” she teases, and he knows she’s teasing because that’s her joking voice but Harry is right there and Liam’s cheeks are suddenly very hot and he wishes irrationally that Brenda hadn’t mentioned that part of her plan to his mum. “Have a good lunch. Bye Harry.”

“Bye Harry,” Ruth echoes, winking at him, before going down the hall to her room.

Liam groans and throws his head back, closes his eyes. “I,” he says, opening them again to look at Harry, “am so sorry, about my family—”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. “Really!” he adds, rather insistently when Liam fixes him with a look. “It’s not a—it happens.” He smiles between Liam and Brenda. “Should we go then?”

“As we must,” Brenda says, ushering them out.

They take a town car to 2TE, the company Liam’s signed to, courtesy of Brenda. Harry’s eyes widen when they get downstairs, and he says to Liam, “And you told me you weren’t famous.”

“I’m not, really,” Liam says. “If I was, you would’ve known who I was without needing to look me up, wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah, but there’s like,” Harry says, climbing into the car first when Liam won’t, “levels to celebrity status. You’re like, at the bottom. A bottom feeder.”

“Yeah, thank you,” Liam says sarcastically, sliding in next to him.

“I’m serious!” Harry says. Liam gets the door shut. “Just because you’re a bottom level celebrity doesn’t mean you’re not a celebrity. I mean, look at me, Harry Styles from Cheshire, barista by day, music theory major by night. Well,” he says thoughtfully, “mid-evening, at the latest. I like to be nothing at night.”

“Barista by day, nothing by night,” Liam says. “Real superhero tagline you’ve got there.”

Harry grins at him.

Brenda turns from the backseat. “This is wonderful banter you’ve got, and I would encourage it usually,” she says. “But Liam, you ought to tell Harry—I’m getting some forms sorted out at 2TE, but it’s really best if he knows—”

“Right,” Liam says. Brenda nods.

Liam places his hands in his lap.

Harry watches him carefully. “Right…?” he begins.

“So,” Liam says. “Due to my, um, actions, yesterday, and the, you know,” he gestures, because really what he’s getting to is so you might need to be my fake boyfriend for a while and it’s all he can think about when he needs to do a proper lead up. “You know,” he says. “The press from that. We’ve gotten a lot of attention—frankly, the most attention I’ve ever gotten, and I’m not even a real public figure—”

“Haven’t we just established your status as a celebrity bottom feeder?”

Harry’s grinning. It’s kind of encouraging, so Liam presses on.

“Anyway, they think that I’ve—well, it’s stirred up a lot of questions, so Brenda was thinking—”

“Liam,” Brenda says.

“What?” Liam says, annoyed. “It was your idea—well, anyway, point is,” he says to Harry. “It’s going to cause questions that there aren’t any really, um, appropriate answers to, so we’ve thought that it might be easiest for us to, you know.” He gestures between the two of them, on either side of the backseats of the passenger car. The middle seat between them suddenly feels very big.

“Be together,” Liam finishes. “For a period of time.”

Harry looks pensive. He raises a hand. “Am I allowed to ask a question?”

“Go ahead,” says Liam.

Harry asks, “Why did you kiss me yesterday?”

“Oh,” says Liam. Brenda turns back around to where she’s sitting in the front passenger seat, either like she’s punishing Liam or wants to stay out of it, he can’t tell. “I, um—yesterday on MTV there was supposed to be a feature about me—not even a feature, just promoting my new album—but there was a scandal, with the Twilight, and—” he takes a deep breath. “They covered that instead? So I didn’t get the—I was angry, I guess.”

Harry looks thoughtful. Liam realizes belatedly that he’s actually worried about Harry’s response to this, what Harry might actually think about him for this. In all fairness, Liam had behaved like quite an idiot anyway.

“The Kristen Stewart scandal?” he says. “I watched her movies—the vampire ones. With Robert Pattinson. They were quite good.”

Liam lets out a laugh that sounds a bit like relief. “Really? My sister would have your head; she says they’re atrocious.”

“They’re not bad,” Harry insists. “We should watch them sometime.”

Liam squints at him. “What d’you mean by that?” he asks, and then remembers why he’s—why they’re here on the first place. “Aren’t you going to say something about the, um. Dating thing?”

“Is that what we’re calling it?” Harry sounds genuinely surprised.

“I don’t—what did you think I was talking about?”

“I mean, I did think you were talking about that, I just didn’t know that that’s what we’re calling it,” Harry says. “Dating. Alright.”

He is so weirdly accepting of this that Liam immediately gets suspicious. “Don’t tell me you’ve been loads of other people’s fake boyfriends before.”

“I haven’t,” says Harry. “I’m just alright with it. That’s what you want me here for, right?” He looks over at Brenda, who is now on the phone, presumably with legal at 2TE. “To say that I’m alright with it?”

“You realize that this will also mean that you’ll have to go along with it?” Liam reminds him. “I’ve got—it’s news—”

Harry shrugs. “Sounds fun. My summer’s arse-boring as it is. All I’ve got is my job.” He thinks for a moment. “And my friends, I guess.”

Liam’s sure that someone like Harry—charming, easygoing, likely weirdly brilliant—has got a load of friends, maybe even more than Liam has fans. Which doesn’t say much, when really Liam’s sure that only his family are his fans, plus anyone who still bothers to remember him from the X Factor. He’s still not that sure that this will be as a big deal as it already is—surely people will move on with their lives, once they realize that they never cared about Liam’s music in the first place. And if he’s honest, he’d rather his career ride on the genuine success of his music—not this celebrity scandal culture bullshit.

They arrive at 2TE and Brenda leads them through the lobby and to the legal floor, chatting about the technicalities of what exactly is going to be happening with the two of them the whole way.

“We’ll have you sign non-disclosures, Harry,” she’s saying as they make the walk down to the elevator, “as you’re a civilian and we can’t have you saying anything behind Liam’s back.”

Harry says, “I wouldn’t—”

“Oh, of course you wouldn’t, but we’ve got you to sign the contracts just to keep that safe,” Brenda says. “And of course we’ll have to discuss the strategy of you being in a public relationship—this is no Brangelina, but you’ll still be news since you’re, well.” She gestures between the two of them.

“Blokes?” Harry says.

Liam elbows him pointedly. “It’s not easy,” he says. “Everything we do will be associated with the word gay—which, by the way, are you—”

“I’m not picky,” Harry says easily. “If that’s what you’re asking.”

Liam lets out a breath. “Right,” he says. “Think we should’ve asked that earlier—”

“Well, I wasn’t too upset about yesterday,” says Harry. “You’ve just put two and two in your head together and hadn’t even realized it. Are you?” he adds. “Just wondering.”

“Um,” says Liam, and looks at Brenda.

Brenda says, “Do you want to wait until he signs the non-disclosure agreement?”

“No, it’s not that,” Liam says. “It’s—”

Well, he’s really only barely come out to his parents, and that was only because that he was rooming with one of the other contestants during X Factor—meaning, they were sharing a living space with one bedroom, that they hadn’t been assigned to, and one time when his family had come to visit his roommate had been half-naked and coming out of the bathroom while brushing his teeth while Liam was showing his family around. He had forgotten that Louis was there in the first place, and afterward they stayed mates even though they weren’t as into each other anymore.

But Liam never really had that sort of talk with his family, much less with Brenda, who’s not bat an eyelash since Liam stared at her. “Oh honestly, Liam,” she says, when she realizes what Liam’s trying to get across. “You think I care about that? I want you to be happy, love—who with doesn’t matter to me.”

“Thanks,” Liam says. Maybe his voice is a bit thick. Who knows.

Then to Harry, he says, “Yeah I’m—’m gay.”

Harry looks interested, like he wants to ask questions about Liam’s life, or whatever, but Brenda says, “We’re in legal now; best to keep the conversations waiting until lunch.”

They follow her as she gets contracts drawn up for Harry—he’s apparently living by himself for the summer, in the city and away from his family, so they don’t have to worry about coverage for that part. Harry says that his family would actually be delighted at the news that he’s really dating a popstar, or so he’ll tell them, which makes Liam not very sure that he wants to do this again—Harry’s the one who’s charmed half of Liam’s family in ten minutes, and yet he’s supposed to be the normal person in this situation. Liam feels far from normal, even though he knows that his world and Harry’s aren’t that different.

“A holiday, do you think?” Brenda calls down the table as she gets the contracts drawn. They’re in a large conference room with glass walls and a large wooden table, and Harry is spinning while Liam pretends to understand what Brenda and the lawyers are rattling on about. “For the publicity?”

“Ooh, I get to go on a celebrity holiday?” Harry asks eagerly.

“We can do somewhere in the Americas, make it international—get the paps to notice you in different countries—you could be a gay icon in America,” Brenda says absently.

“Gay icon?” Liam squeaks nervously.

Harry pats his back. “Don’t worry, you’re fit,” he says, as if that’s Liam’s main concern. “You could look the part. Unless you don’t. Then,” Harry pauses. “You don’t look the part. That’s what I mean. You’d make an awful gay icon.”

Liam laughs, despite himself.

He and Harry are more sequestered down the table—Brenda won’t sign or let Liam sign anything until she’s read it, too, so she’s like his lawyer and his agent. Harry peeks down curiously and says, “Do I need a lawyer in all of this?”

“D’you want one, I think, is the question,” Liam says. Fuck it, he’s spinning in his own chair too. “If I were you, I would’ve just said nope to all of this and left already. It’s too much stress, this… press, legals, whatnot.”

“It’s not that bad,” Harry counters. “Look, I get to date America’s next gay icon and I get a free holiday. It’s free, right?” he says to Brenda, projecting his voice a bit. “The holiday?”

“If we make it a part of Liam’s public image, then yes, the company will pay for it,” Brenda says, rifling through her papers.

Harry leans back in his chair. “Free holiday then. Who needs a lawyer?” He grins at Liam.

Liam’s stomach lurches, and he sighs. Talking about anything with Harry doesn’t seem to go in any direction at all.

*

They go to a small casual restaurant nearby for lunch—”Since Liam doesn’t have a proper public relations team,” Brenda’s explaining to Harry as they make their way out. They’re walking, had been discreet enough leaving the building, and now are free to be open (as Brenda had told them), to even encourage the paps to take pictures of them. They’ve seen one of those large cameras flash already, but Brenda had told them to ignore it.

Harry whistles lowly. “That isn’t very famous,,” he admits.

“Well, once we start making more money, we can afford a PR team,” Brenda says. “Which would mean that his album would need to start charting—we’ll have to check that when we get into the studio today,” she adds, this time directly to Liam. “Either way, I’ll be handling it now. Unofficially.” She does a graceful little bow with a teasing smile on her face.

“Very officially,” Liam tells her. “You’ve been great, Brenda, really.” To Harry, he says, “There was PR for X Factor, but it was only X Factor—that’s how I got here in the first place,” he adds. “To this status.”

“I’ll have to check it out,” Harry says as they make their way into the restaurant. “I thought about auditioning for X Factor once—didn’t, though. I had work.”

“That café?” Liam asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Bakery. When I was in secondary school—just didn’t work out.”

“That happens,” Liam says, as they get sat down.

Their waitress is an old woman who recognizes neither Liam nor Harry, so that’s good. The restaurant is busy and loud enough that one would have to be sitting with them to hear their conversation, so it’s not much of a worry for Brenda to pull out her files and get to business right away.

“So Liam,” she says. “Radio 1 and MTV have contacted me already for interviews—we could reach out to Sugarscape if you’d like, since they were so workable during X Factor—”

Liam shakes his head. “It’s fine. I don’t really want to do too much—”

“There isn’t much that would be too much at this point,” Brenda says wisely. “At the moment, I’m just hoping that you won’t be asked to interview together, since Harry’s not a public figure, but I’m already planning for the worst in case you do.

“He shouldn’t,” Liam says, frowning. “He’s just a—person—”

“I know, but just in case,” Brenda says.

Harry grabs at Liam’s hand on the table. “Well, I’m prepared for it. I might even look forward to it.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Brenda says, closing her folder suddenly. Liam feels all twitchy with Harry’s hand around his—his own hand in Harry’s—it’s just weird.

“You are a couple now,” Brenda says, as if Liam needed the reminder. “And since we already are getting the attention of the paps—not to mention if we get more—you’ll need to be one proper. You know what that means, right?”

“Of course,” Harry says, before Liam can respond. “We’ll have to hold hands and snog sometime. Nothing we can’t do.” He flashes a grin at Liam, who has no idea what to say.

Brenda turns to him. “Liam?”

“Erm,” says Liam. When Harry puts it that way, it doesn’t sound like a big deal. But Liam knows better—neither snogging nor dating were in the equation for him and Louis. It was a one-ish time thing. This is a one-ish time thing, too, except Harry has curled his hand more purposefully around Liam’s how, lacing their fingers together, holding hands with him proper. Something like a lead block sets in Liam’s stomach—not just because he doesn’t think he’s good at lying, but because these feelings aren’t real and he’ll have to pretend that they are. He’s not very good at that.

“Alright,” he hears himself say. “It’s what we need to do, innit? So.” He looks at Harry. “We’ll snog and cuddle and such.”

“Don’t overdo it—everything you’ll do is to be a part of your public image,” Brenda reminds him. “So we want to ask ourselves: what kind of relationship do we see the two of you having?”

“It’s simple,” Harry says, as the appetizer he’d ordered comes. “I’m an old mate of Liam’s from school. Or—no, wait, he met me on my uni campus and we became friends. And then something more.” He waggles his eyebrows and snags a chip from the centre dish.

“I do like that.” Brenda taps her chin thoughtfully with her serious pen. “As our record studio is so close to your café, apparently—Liam had kissed you in a heat of passion, and then ran out, embarrassed.”

“I was embarrassed,” Liam points out. “You’re the one who pulled me out.”

“Because I had to,” Brenda says, patting his shoulder. “Luckily, since you’re not famous enough we don’t have to worry too much about when you would’ve been together beforehand—”

“Well, I’ve been practicing my guitar alone for the past several weeks. I could say that some of those times I was with Liam,” Harry suggests.

“Excellent.” Brenda scribbles something down in her legal pad. “And in addition to this story, you’ll need to practice your intimacy—in your alone time, of course,” she adds, when Harry opens his mouth as if he was going to ask if she wanted them to snog right here in the middle of this public restaurant. Harry doesn’t seem the type to mind such a thing, Liam thinks. “But today and for the next week, we should be really trying to get the media’s attention—let them see you together, believe you’re a real couple.”

“We should schedule some things,” Liam says. “Like, dates? For them to take photos at?”

Brenda nods. “Good idea,” she says, writing something else down. “And when you break up—”

Harry goes, “What?”

Liam’s thinking it too, but his brain is kind of too frozen to say something again. Like when MTV had forgotten about his album and moved on with their program.

“Well, as this is obviously a charade, the relationship will need to end,” Brenda points out. “You’re a student, Harry, so we’ll do it before your school year starts so you can focus on classes.”

“I don’t need to focus on classes,” Harry says unconvincingly.

“And it wouldn’t need to be news for too long, anyway,” Brenda says, brushing him aside. “Six to eight weeks—that’s how long one topic lasts in the news if nothing changes about it. It’s perfect for when schools start up again.”

“That is reasonable,” Liam says, coming back into his body. And as much as it makes his career even less about the music, “The breakup can be public, too, stay in the news for a bit. You’ll be a celebrity on your own uni campus, Harry,” he says to Harry. They’re still holding hands.

Harry frowns. “Yeah, but—that puts a damper on things, doesn’t it?” he says. “Doing this and knowing it’ll end?”

Liam shrugs. “We can still be mates if you want, after,” he says. “I mean, obviously we’re mates now.”

Their food comes then, and Harry says, picking up his sandwich, “I’m not opposed to the—I mean, why do relationships have to break up in the first place? Or end? Why can’t they just—” he takes a bite of his sandwich, and then swallows, adam’s apple bobbing, “—recede?”

“Well, we can’t quite recede,” Liam points out. “Well I s’pose we can, but I think—I mean, I know that I want my music to put me in the news, but this is still something.”

“It’s product,” says Brenda. “But your relationship doesn’t have a contract on it, so if it does end up going somewhere, a breakup isn’t necessary. I’m only suggesting it for otherwise.”

“Relationships are kind of like contracts anyway,” says Harry.

Liam says, “You’re thinking of weddings.”

“And speaking of contracts,” Brenda says, opening her file again. “So, Harry, we’ll start with your non-disclosure agreements…”

*

The contracts from legal cover Harry’s word on his relationship with Liam as well as all of Liam’s information. They’ve also sorted the week long holiday, signed and paid for by the record company, and then Brenda goes over the interviews Liam’s giving, which will be at the very least within a week, to let the dust settle, Brenda says. Liam’s kind of looking forward to the Radio 1 one, but isn’t sure if he can last his way through an MTV interview without saying something ill-advised, since this had been their fault in the first place. He’ll just need to remember the look that would end up on Brenda’s face if he did—the same expression she’d had on her face at three in the morning today.

He’s getting drowsy as lunch comes to an end, but tries not to show it—the whole event has gone back to being something of a surreal experience for him. As Brenda discusses their upcoming week with the public events, Liam tells himself he’ll close his eyes for just a second.

The next thing he knows is Harry’s voice very close to his face, saying, “I think he’s sleeping.”

“‘m not,” Liam tries to get out, but it comes out more as a grunt and he prises his eyes open. Harry is leaning very close to him, head tilted, and Liam backs away instinctively.

“And he’s awake again,” Harry says brightly.

“He’s had a rough night. I’ve too, but I’ve also had twelve cups of tea today,” Brenda says, and sips at the tea that had come with her lunch. “And counting.”

“We ought to take him home so he doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of public restaurants and make headlines again, shouldn’t we?” says Harry. “Unless we want that to happen too. ‘Popstar Falls Asleep During Date With His New Boyfriend.'”

“That’ll make you sound terribly boring,” Liam says, as Brenda calls over for the check. “So we’re newly dating then?”

“It’s more of a scandal if it’s a secret that’s just come out,” Brenda says, paying for lunch. “But for the sake of the timing of the whole situation, yes, you’ll just be a new and upcoming hot topic.”

“Excellent. I wouldn’t mind playing someone’s dirty little secret, though,” Harry says to Brenda. “If it ever comes up.”

Something like jealousy—not really jealousy, since it can’t be when they barely know each other—flares up in Liam, but it tamps down at Brenda snorting, “Don’t think we’ll need that any time soon, love,” and Liam’s general exhaustion, which hits him again when he stands up. He wobbles a bit, and Harry says, “Whoa, hey, I was joking about you making headlines for sleeping.”

Liam chuckles in his haze of exhaustion. “Sleeping’s not really much of a scandal,” he says, as he gets lugged out of the restaurant.

The walk to the town car and ride back to his apartment are fuzzy, interspersed with lots of Harry asking him absent questions about how tired he’s feeling, and random information about his life that Liam answers on autopilot more than anything. He leans on Harry’s shoulder on the car ride too—a part of him worries if he’s being too touchy, too dependent already or whatever—but then he reminds himself that they’re fake dating and Harry can take it as an initiative for Liam to start getting used to Harry, or whatever. Really, Liam’s just tired and Harry’s there and honestly quite soft when Harry takes the middle backseat and Liam rests his head on his shoulder. Harry says, “Aw, someone’s a sleepy baby,” and Liam hits him in the crotch with his eyes closed. He feels Harry wince under his cheek, and grins to himself.

Brenda says goodbye and talks about fielding topics for Liam’s upcoming interviews as she leaves, which Liam only barely registers outside of his flat. When he’s inside he says, “I’m going to sleep,” and Harry says, “As you should,” so Liam expects him to leave as well, once he passes out on his bed.

But a few hours later, when the sun is dim and bright under the London clouds and Liam wakes up with his mouth feeling thick, he goes out to get a drink of water and sees Harry sitting in his living room, reading a magazine.

“Oh, you’re awake,” Harry says, perking up at the sight of him.

“I’m—” Liam flounders. “Why’re you still here?”

“I was thinking we could do the practice, you know,” says Harry, and makes a vague gesture. “Since tomorrow we’re going to start going out, so when else would we—”

“Ah,” Liam says, nodding. He still feels half-asleep on his feet, and says, “Hold on, I’m going to get water,” and escapes to the kitchen, where his dad has started on dinner.

His mum is bustling about, too; Ruth is presumably holed up in her room. “You know that Harry’s still here, right?” Liam says to his parents, filling a glass with water.

“Of course,” his dad says. “He helped me clean out the storage closet earlier, I think he was looking for some tissues.”

“Why was he—never mind.” Liam shakes his head and drinks. “Um. It’s not odd—?”

“Please, Liam, if he’s going to be your boyfriend for a while, he ought to make himself comfortable in our home,” says his mum.

Liam despairs. “Pretend boyfriend,” he says, setting his glass down, even though he’s really just pretty sure his parents are waiting for the right moment to embarrass him with baby pictures or old home videos or anything of the sort.

“Real boyfriend, pretend boyfriend, he’s still your boyfriend,” his dad says cheerfully. “And I’ll say, at least this time you’ve introduced him to us—”

“Louis wasn’t really my boyfriend!” Liam calls over his shoulder as he escapes this conversation from escalating any further.

Harry is looking over at him interestedly as Liam returns to the living room. “Who’s Louis?” he asks.

“A mate, we weren’t really—” Liam shakes his head. “Met on the X Factor. Experimented, really.”

Harry says, “Ooh, I know the feeling. My mate Zayn and I, we’ve, y’know.” He makes an obscene motion with his hand. “Wanked in the same room before.”

“So we’re both experienced,” Liam says awkwardly, sitting down next to him. “In the, um. Gay teenage boy experimenting department.”

“Yep,” Harry says cheerfully.

Liam waits for him to go on, but Harry seems to be waiting for him expectantly. For what, Liam doesn’t know; but not for the first time he’s mildly regretting this already. Liam clears his throat, cheeks hot all of a sudden, and says, “So how many have you… dated, then?”

“Oh.” Harry turns thoughtful. “Actually, I’m not sure if I’ve dated a boy—couple girls, school, you know. ‘ve had more flings than anything.” He frowns. “That makes me sound like a slut, doesn’t it?”

“Nothing wrong with being a slut,” Liam says, because that’s still much more action than he’s ever had generally. “Kissed other boys before, then?”

“Yeah,” Harry says. “What about you?”

Liam shrugs. He tries not to feel too embarrassed, because this is important for Harry to know. It’s just—not much. “I’ve dated one girl, kissed her, when I thought I was—you know, not,” he says, too self-conscious to say the word gay. “Then there was Louis—my roomie at X Factor—and you, and. That’s it.”

“Oh, wow,” Harry says. “Guess we really do need to practice, then.”Immediately after, he adds, “God, that was awful of me to say, I didn’t—I just meant that it’s good for us to practice, but—I am a shite boyfriend.”

Liam can’t help himself. He laughs, and Harry watches him for a second before laughing in relief too. This whole situation is ridiculous, and Harry is ridiculous, and—Liam can’t help it, but his career, his album, he is ridiculous too. It’s appropriate and soap opera and Liam doesn’t quite know when his life took such a drastic nosedive turn, and the only other person who seems to realize how stupid of a situation this all is is Harry himself.

This is when Harry takes the opportunity to put his hand on Liam’s thigh and leans in, pressing his mouth against Liam’s. Liam’s eyes are still open, and he watches Harry’s close in, watches as Harry presses his lips more insistently against Liam’s, pushing in with his shoulders. Liam’s still had a (disappointingly small) fair share of kisses, but when he’s not kissing back it’s kind of funny to watch.

Harry pulls back, looking discouraged. “Why weren’t you kissing back?”

“Why’d you expect me to?” Liam says. “Warn a bloke, won’t you?”

Harry scowls at him, even more when Liam covers his mouth to prevent a giggle from escaping. “If we’re practicing, we’ve got to practice, don’t you agree?” he says petulantly.

“Yes, okay,” Liam agrees. “But we’ve got to talk about it; you can’t go around kissing me without saying anything.”

“You started it,” Harry points out, because he did.

But then Harry leans into him again, cupping the back of Liam’s neck with his hand. It’s really smooth—the action, and Harry’s palm. “You’re kind of a romantic, aren’t you,” Liam suspects, as Harry seems to be trying to find the best way to ask Liam for them to practice kissing again.

“It’s how I pull,” Harry says, and Liam rolls his eyes. “And we’ve got to practice touching, you know. Not just kissing.”

“Alright,” says Liam, and curls his hand around Harry’s waist.

They stay like that, staring into each other’s eyes for maybe ten seconds before the both of them burst into giggles, letting each other go. “This is ridiculous,” Harry says. “You know, while you were sleeping, I was thinking, like, who does this? Who does this happen to? This is the kind of shit we’d only watch in romance movies.”

“I’m not sure what movies you’ve seen, but I know,” Liam says, recovering. “You’re my fake boyfriend—”

“You’re my fake boyfriend,” Harry says. “A famous person.”

“I told you already that I’m not that famous.” Liam pulls Harry back up so that he’s sitting, and then a bit closer; Harry obliges. “And I’m going to try to kiss you this time, so get ready.”

“Ready,” Harry says, grinning, before Liam closes the gap between them.

This time it feels like a proper kiss, Harry’s mouth big and soft against Liam’s. Liam’s still holding onto Harry’s wrist, trying to see how Harry likes to kiss, the motions he’s prone to; Harry is easy and wet against him, moving at a pace that could move with oceans, brush up against sand. Liam goes along with Harry, lets Harry lead, pushes back against him every so often; when Harry opens his mouth by a gap, gliding his tongue against the seam of Liam’s mouth, Liam opens up for him too.

It’s, of course, not the first time Liam’s kissed someone that he’s not particularly attracted to. Not that Harry’s not attractive—there’s a small tug of want in his stomach because Harry is so swift and sensual against him. But it’s like holding hands with a mate, or sharing beds with Louis, or cuddling with Niall in the car on their drive from the X Factor dorms to the stage because they’re both dead tired from the night before but can’t express it when they’ll be judged as hell for falling asleep on their feet. Liam’s kissing Harry and it feels perfectly normal—like a thing that friends do, that Liam and Harry do.

When Liam pulls back, Harry’s eyes are bleary and dark. “Well, that was—” he says, voice rough. He clears his throat. “That was much—” he says.

“Much better?” Liam suggests.

Harry shrugs. “Something like that,” he says, and Liam grins.

“I think Brenda was onto something, about like, what kind of couple we are,” he says, pulling back so there’s more space between them. It feels weird when Harry is nice and warm, but they’re in private and Liam’s parents or Ruth could spring upon them at any given point, so. “Like, are we the type that touches a lot, or holds hands a lot? Hugging?”

“Kissing in public cafés?” Harry teases, and Liam whacks him with a couch pillow. Harry squawks in mock protest. “I like to think that I like touching, myself,” he says, trying to find a pillow of his own.

Liam grabs the pillow that Harry’s trying to reach for so that he’s hoarding them all on his own. “Do you, really,” he says. “You like touching yourself?”

“Oh, shut up.” Harry looks behind him, then pouts when he realized what Liam’s done. “You’ve taken all the pillows.”

“Indeed I have,” Liam says.

Harry tackles him and sits on his stomach, grabbing one of the pillows Liam had taken for himself and smacks him with it. “Arse,” he says, and Liam laughs, despite Harry kind of literally sitting on him.

“You’re the arse, you’ve just hit me with no way for me to defend myself,” he says.

“Because you’ve deserved it.” Harry settles on Liam’s waist with apparently no intention to get off any time soon. “We’ll be the couple that touches like this, right? We’re young boys—we’re insatiable.”

“I don’t think that word means what you think it means,” Liam says, laughing and sitting up, heaving Harry off.

Harry falls ungracefully on his back on the couch and goes, “Oof! You’re strong.”

“You ought to work out more,” Liam tells him. “Dunno if I can be seen dating a weenie like you, then.”

“Hey, I am plenty strong,” Harry says indignantly. “I eat my veggies, I eat fruits, I,” he pauses. “I eat my veggies.”

Liam laughs. “Are you staying for dinner, then?” he asks, because the clock on the TV reads 5:00 and his parents will be bothering them soon.

Harry shakes his head. “‘s my turn to cook for me and my roommates, so I should head to my flat soon,” he says.

Liam nods, trying not to feel too disappointed. “Right.”

“But hey,” Harry says. “We snogged the right way this time.” He beams. “And you should give me your number for when we meet up tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah,” Liam says, because they’re supposed to meet at the café Harry works at again tomorrow, since the paps will be expecting it the most. “My phone’s in my room, I’ll just go get it.”

“I’ll come with,” Harry says curiously, and Liam shrugs, not minding much.

He grabs his phone off his nightstand and hands it to Harry; Harry gives him his own and says, “I’m putting myself in as ‘The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World,’ if you don’t mind.”

“Dunno why you’d ask that if you’d just do it, anyway,” Liam says. He’s already put himself in in Harry’s phone as Liam Payne; he thinks about changing it to something like Harry’s, except he doesn’t know what he’d change it too.

Harry gives him his phone back. He’s put the In The Whole World part as his last name, and Liam laughs.

“I’d better make sure not to get you confused with any other boyfriends I’ll have,” he says.

Harry mock pouts and says, “Hey.”

“Well,” says Liam, and they make their way back out of Liam’s room. Liam walks Harry to the front door. “S’pose we should kiss,” he says, awkward. “For goodbye. And to get used to it.”

“And to get used to it,” Harry agrees, picking up his messenger bag from by the door. “Of course.”

He leans in; this time, Liam leans in with him. They meet in the middle, a gentle brush of lips. Liam’s eyes are closed this time, and he can’t help smiling. He’s pretty sure he feels Harry smile too.

“Well,” Harry says. “See you tomorrow.”

*

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Leeyum Payne
Liam Payne: hi. Wazzup
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World:: I await your sweet presence.
Liam Payne: stop talkking like a nob
Liam Payne: what dyu mean by sweat
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Last time you were very sweet. I think it was your shampoo.
Liam Payne: ur weird. nbodys reading our texts
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: they could!
Liam Payne: when r u workin tmw
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: 11:00-4:00
Liam Payne: b there half past 11
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: K x

*

The week Brenda had planned for Liam and Harry is one of the busiest weeks of Liam’s life, only second to when he was on X Factor and practiced his routine nearly every day, since for some reason he thought that dancing would be a good part of it. He’d gotten second place as a solo artist so it wasn’t a bad decision, and Liam likes working when he likes what he’s doing, he does.

He’s not sure if pretending to be in a relationship with a near total-stranger is one of those things he enjoys doing, though.

He gets to the café at 11:25, sure not to be late. He considers getting a drink like last time, so it won’t be weird—but he figures that it would be better if it were weird, so it was more obvious that he’s here for Harry. He sees someone with one of those large cameras lurking in the back already; Liam wonders how long they’ve been waiting for him to show up.

Parking himself at a table, he pulls his phone out and sends, here xx, to Harry (well, to ‘The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World’), adding the kisses just in case, you know, someone could read their texts like Harry suggested. He doesn’t think anyone really is, but you can never be too careful.

He looks up and sees Harry scanning the room, until he locks gazes with Liam and he grins. He says something to his coworker, who looks over and nods.

Harry begin to come over. Liam is astutely aware of the many eyes in the café fixed on them.

“Hi,” Harry says, sitting with Liam. Liam half-expects him to kiss him greeting, and feels weirdly lost when he doesn’t.

“Hey,” Liam says.

And when neither of them seem to have anything interesting to say, Liam adds, “Fancy meeting you here.”

Harry laughs. His cheeks are actually kind of pink, the sight enthralling. “My boss said I could take a five minute break to, um, see you,” he says. “I reckon he’s seen the news.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Probably.”

“We’ve actually gotten some more customers since you—um—” Harry scratches the back of his head. “So, thanks, I s’pose. From our management and all.”

“Are you the management representative?” Liam says dryly.

Harry laughs again. “This is so insane,” he says, glancing to where some people are watching them curiously; the one cameraman in the corner is indiscreetly taking photos of them, and Liam shifts a little like he’s trying to hide himself, even though the attempt is obviously futile. “I wasn’t working yesterday, but everyone—they told me how people had come in, asking about you.”

“They’ve stopped then?” Liam says, gesturing to the low queue activity; most people are just sitting around, on laptops or textbooks or phones, while unsubtly staring at them.

Harry opens his mouth—but then a girl materializes by Liam’s side out of apparently-fucking-nowhere, and says, “You’re Liam Payne, right?”

“Right, yeah,” Liam says, blinking. He wonders if she’s going to ask him if he’s gay.

Instead, she hands him a napkin and a pen and asks, “Can I have your—Can you sign this?”

Liam spares a glance at Harry—this is just about the first time this has happened, aside from the X Factor hype which had only given any girls’ attention to him because he and Louis and Niall dicked around and made video diaries while competing. Harry gives him an encouraging nod, so Liam signs the napkin for her.

“Here,” he says, handing it back to her. “You won’t be selling it on eBay or anything, will you?”

The girl blushes. “No. I, um, I listened to your music after—” she glances at Harry, who has the grace to look abashed, “—and I like it lots. Um. Thanks!” She rushes off, before Liam can apologize for his mistake.

“Well,” Liam says, turning back to Harry. “That was a first.”

“I’ll say,” Harry says. “And that reminds me—I checked out your music yesterday, too! You’re good.”

“What, didn’t check after I kissed you?” Liam says, because they can make jokes about that now, right? “Thank you.”

“Really,” Harry insists. “I kind of have an eclectic music taste—”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

“—but I really like yours,” Harry continues, giving Liam a look. “You’ve got good beats going. Is there one you wanted to be the single?”

“Yeah, the one the title’s named after,” Liam says. “Same Mistakes.”

Harry nods. “Very pop ballad,” he says. “You’ve got another fan in me, too, not just strange girls who like the idea of you snogging other blokes.”

“Not other blokes,” Liam reminds. “You.”

Harry leans back, hands behind his head, looking smug. “Me,” he says. “Right. The best boyfriend you’ll ever have in the entire world.”

“You needn’t say it again,” Liam says, and Harry laughs.

One of his coworkers comes up to them then, and says, “Harry—Sorry, Mr. Payne, but—it’s been five minutes, you’re coming back to work now, right?”

“Right, right,” Harry says, standing up. Today he’s wearing a maroon t-shirt button-up and black slacks, dark purple apron layered on top. “Mo, this is Liam Payne, my boyfriend.” He says boyfriend so easily that Liam nearly forgets that they’re pretending. “Liam, this is Mo, my manager.”

“How do you do,” Liam greets.

Mo the manager looks flustered. “Nice to meet you, um, sorry to be terribly rude.” He turns back to Harry. “Harry?”

“Yeah,” says Harry, and they go back to the counter. Harry says, walking backwards, “Minimum wage job, you know. Can’t all be superstars like you.”

“Shut up,” Liam says, rolling his eyes.

He does grab a bite while he’s there, and he’d brought his bag along so he takes out his notebook and pencil to do some songwriting while Harry works. They’re to meet Brenda at the recording studio later to do more long-term planning, in part for the holiday and also a small concert tour Liam’s been hoping for, anyway. They’d been discussing it before Liam’s album had launched, but with no dates or venues since it’s only his first and they didn’t want to overuse their resources.

Though with the way Liam and Harry play footsie during Harry’s ten minute lunch break in plain view of the pap in the corner, they’ll probably have more cash coming in.

At the end of Harry’s shift, Liam packs his notebook away as Harry comes to get him. “What were you doing, then?” Harry says. “Writing?”

“Songs,” Liam clarifies, nodding. “I write my own.”

“Oh, good,” Harry says. “There’s something comforting about artists who write their own music, I dunno what it is.”

“Well, I don’t think it matters,” Liam says, shrugging his bag over his shoulder. “I just prefer to sing my own songs, you know.”

“Right,” says Harry. “I just prefer it. I dunno,” he says again.

Liam gives him a funny look. “Right,” he echoes.

He leads them out and to the recording studio. As soon as they’re out of the café, Harry grabs his hand—when Liam turns, Harry gives him a bright smile like he’s trying to remind Liam why they’re doing this. Liam squeezes Harry’s hand and rolls his eyes—they don’t have to be holding hands to convince the world they’re dating.

“You’ve got sweaty palms,” Harry remarks as they make their way down the block.

“You’ve got odd fingers,” Liam retorts, and squirms when Harry uses one of those odd fingers to scratch the inside of Liam’s palm.

“Oh,” says Harry, grin spreading across his face. “Don’t tell me you’re ticklish.”

“I’m not ticklish,” Liam says, which gets completely refuted when Harry tickles the inside of his palm again with a stroke of the thumb and Liam lets out a bark of laughter akin to a squawk.

Harry grins at him the whole walk to the recording studio, to which Liam elbows him once they’re inside. “You’re not allowed to use this against me,” he says. “My sisters have tortured me with enough tickles to last me a lifetime.”

“But I haven’t,” Harry says. “Where’s my penance?”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means, I should have my fair share of tickling you,” Harry says.

“No,” Liam says. “Not here.” They’ve entered the building and Harry’s looking around with interest. The lobby has a high ceiling and a small reception desk, where the receptionist nods at Liam and looks at Harry suspiciously.

“He’s with me,” Liam says. He means to gesture, but he ends up holding their hands up awkwardly instead. The receptionist turns his gaze on Liam suspiciously, but says nothing.

“I think he might know what we’re up to,” Harry whispers to Liam loudly.

Liam leans back into Harry’s space. “What are we up to?” he whispers back.

Harry just takes the opportunity to elbow him before pulling away. “C’mon,” he says. “Show me around. Show me where the magic happens. Ooh, have people been caught having sex here before?”

Liam scoffs. “No-one has sex in a recording studio, Harry.”

“You mean, no-one’s been caught,” Harry points out, following Liam into the elevator.

Liam does show him around, at least the places he’s allowed, which are a few conference and break rooms, and then the conference room that he has rented out, where Brenda is waiting. The rest of the building is for business management, though there are several other recording studios; Liam was told on his first day just to go to the places he’s directed, since there are businesspeople and lawyers in this building, too.

Brenda stands up when they arrive. “Liam, we’ve got good news—you’ve been invited to the TCAs this year.”

“Really?” Liam says, surprised. “That’s—those are in two weeks.”

“Yep. I guess this,” she says, pointing between Liam and Harry, “has got you on their radar. So Harry, you’re going as well.”

“I am?” Harry says. Then, “Oh, as Liam’s date, of course. Will I get to wear a dress and look pretty?”

“Only if you want to be in the news some more and alter Liam’s reputation more than we want,” Brenda says.

Harry looks between them. “Has Liam been to an award show before?”

Brenda sighs; before Liam can respond, she says, “No. Not even Liam’s single got us an invite to the Billboard Awards this year—”

“Which we don’t need,” Liam reminds her.

“It’s not about need, it’s about exposure,” she shoots right back. “Anyway. Just loads of stress.” She chews on a pinkie nail. “So, today. How was that?”

“It was fine,” Harry says, while Liam tries not to get whiplash at the subject change. Brenda does this a lot; they do see eye-to-eye for the most part, but Liam just wants to enjoy himself while Brenda, fully appropriately, is trying to get Liam to make money. They work well, but Liam’s glad that Harry can be both in business-mode and himself at the same time. “Some pap’s been in the café since Liam’s made the news; I’m sure he’s got plenty of good shots.”

“Good,” Brenda says. “Any touching? Hold hands, kissing, cuddling?”

“We played footsie,” Liam says. “Feet under the table, lots of—erm, feet touching, you know.”

“I think she knows what footsie entails,” Harry says to him.

“I do,” Brenda says. “Well that’s good, I’m happy for the both of you. Now, do either of you have any problems with going to California for your holiday?”

Both Harry and Liam exchange glances with each other.

“No,” they say simultaneously.

*

The next day is Tuesday, an otherwise unremarkable day. And it would be, otherwise, except today Liam and Harry have a date planned for the London Eye, which is so unbelievably touristy that Liam’s sure that if he heard about any other couple from the UK actually going on it as a date and not with a family he’d get suspicious.

As it is, it becomes one of those more expected things for them to do because no-one really knows who Liam is yet. Liam wakes up early for the gym, during which Harry begins texting him.

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I’m bored and at work and why isn’t it noon yet.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Are you awake yet?
Liam Payne: y. gym
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: :) Sexy
Liam Payne: ur bein wierd again
Liam Payne: Workin out is good 4 u
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: As you told me last time. I still eat my vegetables.
Liam Payne: :p

Liam puts his phone down and grins, thinking about what he could say to Harry. It feels weird to have someone like a fake boyfriend suddenly in your life when you didn’t even know them beforehand, but Harry has a peculiar presence—not being with him or knowing him is almost as easy as being with him and knowing with him.

This is probably not a kind thought to have about someone, so Liam shakes the thought off and returns to his bench presses.

If this were any other morning where Liam works out (he does so every other day), he would go home, shower, and then write some music or text his bandmates to go down to the recording studio to try some songs, any that they might have to work on with him or that Liam’s just been humming to himself. Today, though, as soon as he’s stepped out of the gym, he’s accosted by two of the paparazzi, one of whom goes, “Liam, who’s that man you were exercising with?”

“Do you come to this gym often?” says the other.

“Erm,” says Liam, because he’s never really had to deal with this before—there were fences around the X Factor arena, and all of the other camerapeople worked with the X Factor. He doesn’t really want to respond, but he supposes they do expect an answer, so he says, “Erm, yeah, I come here a lot, but—I mean, I work out, I’m really only dating, um, Harry—”

“Harry,” repeats the one who asked the question about Liam working out with Nate. “Who’s that? Your gym partner?”

Liam frowns. “The bloke I snogged a few days ago—can you—” He tries to move out of their way, but the other immediately blocks his path, snapping more photos.

“Oh, the one you were in the papers with,” says the one who’d asked about the gym. “He’s your boyfriend then? Or—”

“I just said we’re dating, didn’t I?” Liam says, annoyed. “Now can you please—” He lets out a frustrated noise and decides, fuck it, and shoves them both out of the way and storms to his flat. Neither of them seem to be too upset about Liam’s rudeness.

His neighborhood had always been relatively inscrutable before; he doesn’t even know how these guys found him or his gym. He’s already showered in the gym, and when he gets home his mum is on her computer at their dining table. “What’s wrong darling?” she says, reading the expression on his face immediately.

Liam grumbles and sets his bag down in his chair. “Some paps found me at the gym. Asked me questions about it; I don’t even know why they care.”

“Oh, darling.” His mum gets up and pats his cheek. “I’m sorry. You didn’t say anything did you?”

“Well, I told them that—” Belatedly, Liam realizes that he probably should have shut up and not said anything; even more, should’ve just said something to Brenda about it before saying anything to a couple of strangers. “That I was dating Harry,” Liam finishes.

His mother frowns. “Oughtn’t you to make a statement about that?”

“Yeah, I.” Liam exhales through his nose. “Yeah.”

“Well,” his mum says bracingly. “You can tell Brenda later today, I’m sure she’ll understand. What time’s the town car coming?”

Liam glances at the dining room clock. “Ten minutes,” he says. “I’ll get changed.”

*

Liam Payne: we r outside :)
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: :)!!!! xxx

The car picks up Harry from his flat, a modest two-story that Harry comes out of in a cardigan and jeans. “Hello,” he says, greeting the driver before joining Liam in the back. “Hi,” he says to Liam. “Ready for the London Eye?”

Liam snorts. “I’ve been on it loads of times, it’s like we’re tourists,” he says. “It’s going to be full of other tourists and families, I’ll bet you.”

“Yeah, don’t think I want to take that bet,” Harry laughs. “Should be fun, though. We can pretend we’re a real American couple. ‘Look at the London Eye, Liam! Isn’t it so big?'” he says in a rather impressive American accent.

“‘Oh yes, Harry, I’ve never seen anything quite like it before,'” Liam says, in his own best American accent.

Harry laughs. “Nothing like it in America,” he says sarcastically. “Funny.”

They get to the Thames, where Harry actually says goodbye to the driver—he’s odd like that, Liam figures, but at this point it doesn’t come as much of a surprise to Liam anymore. As they get out of the car, it seems apparent that it’s busy on any day during the summer, even the Tuesday—bunches of families are milling about, tourist or likely local alike. They’re unnoticeable at first, but Harry says, “We should bet on how long it’ll take for one of us to spot a paparazzo.”

“Fine by me,” Liam says. “Ten pounds?”

“Hm. Twenty.”

“Twenty pounds it is,” says Liam, and sticks his hand out for Harry to slap.

Harry does—but then he holds it to actually hold hands, twining their fingers once more, familiar. “We’re so good at this, we should be actors.”

“I dunno about that, I don’t fancy myself an actor,” Liam says, trying to imagine it. “Besides, it’s quite easy, isn’t it? Holding hands, kissing, that sort?”

“I suppose. But we’re so convincing.” And Harry swings their hands together at least for emphasis. “Give us some credit, Liam, we could be geniuses in the making.”

Liam laughs. “Doubt it.”

They meet up with Brenda, who goes up to the person operating the Eye so they don’t really have to queue up or share a cart with others for the sake of privacy. The operator recognizes Liam, which never ceases to be weird, and soon enough a cart is coming towards them and emptying out for only Liam and Harry to occupy. “Have fun,” the operator says to them, looking painfully like she has more questions for the both of them.

Harry smiles at her; Liam says, “Thanks.” Then to Brenda, he says, “I, erm. I might need to tell you something, er, later.”

“What?” Brenda says, as Liam quickly backs into the moving car. “Liam Payne, what aren’t you—”

“It’s not really that big a deal!” Liam calls, as the operator closes the door, looking like she’s pitying Liam. Brenda is making faces at him—Liam supposes it wasn’t fair of him to tell her just as he got on.

Harry looks amused when Liam gets himself situated. “What happened?” he asks. “What do you need to tell her?”

“Oh, just.” Liam shrugs. “Some paps asked me about the—” He takes a deep breath. “I was at the gym today and they kind of hounded on me and I said I was dating you. Which isn’t untrue,” he adds. “Probably should’ve released a statement, though.”

“Probably,” Harry agrees. “But people will pay more attention if it’s an accident, isn’t it?”

“True.” Liam nods.

The space in the carriage is pretty sizable and mostly glass, see-through. If Liam were claustrophobic he might get scared; he’s more scared of his agent right now, who he’s sure is shooting him death glares from down below. Harry stands beside him at the edge as they look over the city and says, “It’s still magnificent, every time.”

“It’s not that—” Liam shrugs. “I think I’ve been on too many times.”

Harry grins at him. “Maybe,” he says. “There are paps down there, don’t you think?”

“Shouldn’t we be looking for them for our bet?” Liam says, grinning back.

It takes them until they’re at the top to spot the first paparazzo, whom Harry spots, angling a camera up at them from beside the park carousel. “Ha,” Harry says, pleased. “Now you owe me twenty pounds.”

Liam elbows him. “I’ll get you back for this.”

“You won’t” Harry says confidently, looking smug.

The paps pointing at them, though, makes Liam remember something. “Think we ought to snog?” he says to Harry. “Give them a good show?” His lips are tingling already, remembering what it felt like for Harry to kiss him. His chest does a funny thing when Harry looks just as eager as he feels.

“Best give them something to talk about, I s’pose,” Harry agrees, pressing up into Liam’s space.

They’re both standing side-to-side, elbow-to-elbow. Harry leans in a small increment like he’s not sure if he’s allowed, so Liam does the other half of the work, joining their lips together. It’s a sweet kiss, is what it is; Harry sort of kisses like he wants to be naughty, but Liam pulls his tongue back, doesn’t let Harry go that far. Harry grins against him, and it’s kind of weird to be able to feel it again, but nice as Liam manages to retract himself away.

“I’m sure that was—” he says, hearing himself sound breathless. He doesn’t even feel that breathless. “—something to be talked about.”

“I agree.” Harry touches his lips absently. “They’re expecting something intense, I’d imagine, since this is pretty romantic.”

“I’ll take credit for it since you’re getting twenty pounds from me,” Liam says, and Harry bumps shoulders with him teasingly.

They reach the bottom again, Brenda looking peeved as Liam comes out. Before she can say anything, Liam tells her right away: “Okay, there was a pap outside my gym this morning, and he asked me some questions, and I told him that I was dating Harry, okay? It’s—none of it was untrue—”

“It’s not, I’ll agree,” Brenda says, effectively cutting him off. “But we hadn’t—we haven’t released our own statement—”

“Wouldn’t that be better to get in the news then?” Harry chimes in. “Since then that’ll get people wondering?”

“Then we could release a statement after,” Liam suggests. “It could be—um, better, actually, that they harassed me.”

“You shouldn’t be pleased about being harassed, Liam,” Brenda says, but she seems to relent. “Alright then. You’ll have to go to a new gym, and we’ll hire you bodyguards. Your album’s got a bit more attention, so we can afford it,” she adds, at the look on Liam’s face. “It’ll be good for when Harry’s with you, too.”

“I’ll have bodyguards vicariously,” Harry says happily.

Brenda waves them off as she pulls out her phone. “I’ll get this sorted,” she says. “You go have lunch—look pretty for the paps, but don’t say anything to them.”

“I’ll make sure he doesn’t,” Harry says, and just smiles when Liam gives him a look. “Don’t talk to the paps, darling.”

“Don’t call me darling,” Liam says, but he’s smiling too.

*

On Wednesday they do a perfunctory walk by the Thames date, which is ultra convenient for the nearby paps and even, at the very least, normal people who have started recognizing Liam. Harry tells him, as they make another way ’round, “I Googled your name yesterday and all the things that have come up for it are directly related to me.”

“You shouldn’t Google people you know,” Liam advises; he’d learned his own lesson with searching himself during X Factor and seeing some comments he’d have much preferred not to see.

Harry giggles. “Googling,” he says, before continuing. “Well, it’s nothing bad. Well, some of it’s bad, but from people you’d expect it to be bad from. Loads of them are just like posting pics of us looking pretty together.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “We’re not pretty,” he says, though he really means himself; if he’s honest, Harry is quite pretty.

“Yes we are!” says Harry. “Look at us, two good-looking fellows, in a relationship. If we had babies they would look gorgeous.”

The way the sun hits off the grey surface of the Thames makes the side of Harry’s face glow a dim gold, catching the edge of his smile just right. Liam blinks before he realizes he’s been staring; that jogger who just took a picture of them will end up with an excellent angle of Harry, he thinks. “You flatter yourself,” he tells Harry, and Harry laughs.

Thursday they do the standard movie-and-a-dinner date; Liam’s been wanting to see The Amazing Spider-Man since it came out last week, and Harry doesn’t terribly mind. It was quite good, both Liam and Harry agreed afterward during dinner, and though more and more people have started recognizing them from the new issue of OK! that had come out today, Liam’s new bodyguard keeps the onlookers at bay aside from the occasional autograph, so as long as Liam and Harry say nothing about how Dan had teared up at Uncle Ben’s death during the movie.

And hanging out with Harry is relatively easy, because a lot of the times it does just feel like Liam’s hanging out with another mate, aside from the occasions when Harry remembers that they have to hold hands since he remembers more than Liam, and every once in awhile they’ll kiss each other hello or goodbye when they’re in public. But Liam just feels like one of the lads, because they have a couple of pints over dinner and they talk and laugh about the things that Liam would talk and laugh about with any other friend so there’s really no difference here. Liam just feels like he’s made a new friend, which is far easier and much more low pressure than, well, this fake dating stuff.

At the end of the week, Liam decides to treat himself to sleeping in late on Friday. Which means that at eight in the bloody morning, the door to his bedroom is unceremoniously slammed open, and Liam jolts awake.

Louis Tomlinson is, of course, standing there with his hands on his hips. “And how come you didn’t tell me you’ve got a boyfriend this past week?” he demands.

Niall appears in the doorway behind Louis, grinning. “Think we’ve just woken him up, Tommo,” he says to Louis, otherwise paying no mind to Liam’s very bedraggled hair.

Liam looks at the clock on his phone and then sighs. So much for sleeping in late. “What’re you doing in my room?” he grumbles.

“The question is,” Louis says, tugging Liam’s blankets off the bed even though Liam’s obviously awake already, “what are you doing not introducing us to your boyfriend right away?”

“He’s not—” Liam sighs, goes through too many processes in his head for still being this asleep, and then sighs again. “He’s not my boyfriend, we’re faking it, I did something stupid, that’s it.”

“That’s it?” Louis exclaims dramatically. “What, so you haven’t trounced around and managed to snag up a fantasmical romance behind our backs?”

“Don’t think fantasmical‘s a word,” Niall says. He’s got a doughnut in his hand. Liam’s pretty sure the doughnut’s from his own kitchen.

“It’s a very boring, very untrounce-y, not-romance,” Liam says. He grunts; he gets out of his bed and begins to look for clothes. “Are you staying in my room to watch me put my clothes on?”

“You’ve barely got clothes on as it is, I don’t see how it matters,” Louis says.

Niall nods. “So tell us about the boyfriend,” he says. “Saw some pictures of him online—real curly one, that—”

“Curly,” Louis says, and then shakes his head. “Don’t trust a man like that.”

“I had curly hair once,” Liam says, looking from where he’s picking out a button-down and a white tank.

“And I don’t trust you, right?” Louis fires back. “What with the, not telling us about the boyfriend, and all—”

“Harry,” Niall chimes in, chewing and swallowing the last of his doughnut. “Read that online. Liam and Harry, that’s who you’re dating.”

“Harry,” Louis says with visible mock disgust. “Harry the Curly.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright, I’m dating Harry, sure.” Liam pulls his jeans on. “It’s not important—”

“Not important?” Louis squawks, the same time Niall goes, “What’s not important about you having a new bloke in your life and not telling us,” he gestures between himself and Louis, “the other blokes in your life?”

“We left you five star reviews on your album, Liam!” Louis says indignantly. “Given, you deserved every one of those stars—”

“Thank you,” Liam says, not sure if he’s being insulted or complimented right now.

“But we were your biggest fans from the beginning!” Louis says, as if Liam’s just kicked him out of his life instead of forgetting to text him for like, a week. Well, to Louis they’re probably the same thing.

“Think you’re being dramatic,” Liam says, rolling his eyes and picking up his phone now that he’s all dressed.

He has one new text.

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Getting off early. Can pick you up :)

“Oh god,” Liam says, remembering. “I have a mini golf date with Harry today.” It was supposed to be at ten in the morning; Liam was waking up at nine (rather than the usual seven am) to give himself a break, and it’s not that he particularly minds his friends meeting, but—

“What is it?” Louis says eagerly, as he and Niall crowd behind Liam’s shoulder. “Is that the boyfriend?”

Liam puts both his hands and his phone to his face. “Yes,” he says after a moment of Louis and Niall watching him expectantly.

“Will we get to meet him?” Niall says, just as excited.

“Unless you have something else better to do today,” Liam grumbles, because he knows that there is no way he’s getting out of this.

Louis hollers in joy. He and Niall dance around Liam’s room, and Liam says, “Think you’re overhyping this,” and Niall says, “No we’re not, we get to meet Harry the boyfriend!”

“Harry the Liam’s curly boyfriend,” Louis enthuses. “Do I look okay? Does my hair look good?”

“You look great,” Niall tells him.

Louis gives Niall’s face a soft slap. “You’re too nice to me,” he says. “Liam?”

Liam has retreated to sitting on his bed and gives Louis a thumbs up. “Awful,” he says, and Louis says, “Thank you.”

Liam texts Harry back sure. m8s ovr but u can meet if u wnt x and hopes he isn’t overdoing it with ending it with a kiss. It’s something that Harry does every once in a while in general, even when they’re not talking about anything related to their dating, so Liam figures it’s okay territory for him too. Like a part of their regular banter, though Liam doesn’t really text kisses to his other friends very often.

Harry just texts him back with a :) which Liam takes as a yes.

Louis and Niall pester him for details about Harry, which makes Liam realize that he doesn’t know much about Harry at all. He knows they’re around the same age since Harry’s in uni, even though he doesn’t know his exact age (“What! You could be dating a forty-year old.” “Nah, he didn’t look forty when I looked him up.”), he has no reason to know Harry’s favourite colour, and even though Liam knows that he’s a music theory major, he doesn’t even know if Harry’s a decent singer, which Louis and Niall take as a personal offense.

“For shame, Liam,” Louis says, as the doorbell to Liam’s flat rings. “We need to know if he can be a part of our up and coming boy band.”

“We’re getting Bruno Mars in, that’s a fact,” Niall says, and Louis laughs and says something about Justin Timberlake as Liam gets up to get the door.

His mother, in the dining room, seems completely undeterred that Louis and Niall crashed into his room and got him awake. They’ve broken in enough times before that the rest of his family has gotten used to it (or, has really enabled it since the first time Liam’s dad said, “You’re welcome anytime,” and both of his friends had taken it in stride), so his mum just says, “Golf today?” and Liam says, “Yeah,” and answers the door.

Harry smiles at him in greeting, though he peers warily behind Liam. “You’ve got friends over at eight thirty in the morning?”

“Yeah, sorry,” Liam says, scratching the back of his head. “They woke me up.”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s not a problem,” he says, just as Niall and Louis come bounding out of Liam’s room.

“Harry! The curly boyfriend!” Louis says dramatically, as Niall grins at Harry and says, “Hi.”

Harry regards them with very appropriate wariness as he says, “Hello.”

“Harry, this is Louis and Niall,” Liam says, pointing at each. Louis does a garish bow, so Niall does the same. “Louis and Niall, this is Harry. My, erm. Boyfriend I suppose.”

“Did you tell—” Harry says to Liam.

Liam shrugs. “I tried to,” he says, because Louis will take things his own way and Niall will follow.

“Harry, nice to meet you,” Louis says, sticking his hand out like he’s some sort of gentleman and not, well, Louis. “I haven’t heard anything about you, thanks to Liam.”

“Really,” says Harry, taking Louis’s hand and shaking it. “Well I’ve heard a lot about.” He looks at Liam pointedly, before turning to Louis again. “You.”

Something in Liam’s chest sinks, which makes no sense because they are both his friends so it shouldn’t matter. But it is weird, he thinks, isn’t it? He did tell Harry that he and Louis used to experiment—they haven’t since the X Factor, and Liam really does not plan on it happening again—and Niall knows this too, so it’s never really been a sore spot for anyone. So why does Liam feel so guilty about this?

“Well I haven’t heard much about either of you,” Niall says.

Louis sticks his hand out to Niall and says, “Hi, I’m Louis Tomlinson.”

When Harry gives Liam a funny look—presumably about Louis, as who else would it be about—Liam says, “Ignore him. He’s… weird.” Louis makes everyone look normal in comparison to him, even Harry.

“I’ll say,” Harry says, before re-hitching his messenger bag over his shoulder. “So, are you coming to golf with us?” he asks, angled mostly towards Niall, probably because Louis is going into an over-the-top backstory of who he is to a laughing Niall who knows all this already.

Niall blinks and says, “Sure! We love golf, right Lou?”

“Right,” Louis says, grinning at Harry. “We love the golf. Right, Liam?”

Liam ignores them both. “I’ll call a car,” he says, sending a text to Dan first before pulling up the car service on his phone. “Don’t want them to have any more attention than we already have.”

“Good idea,” says Harry.

Once Liam gets that sorted, the four of them start making their way out of Liam’s flat with the rest of Liam’s family bidding them goodbye. As they head downstairs, Louis and Niall are talking very enthusiastically at the front; Liam and Harry trail behind, and Harry says to Liam in a low voice, “So is that the Louis you were—”

“Yeah,” Liam says quickly; Louis has pretty good ears and Liam doesn’t want all of what he’s told Harry lain in front of the four of them. “It’s just—it was a one time thing, really, I didn’t really—”

“It’s fine,” Harry says. He sounds pretty genuine, so Liam lets it go. “I just assumed, obviously, I wanted to know.” He elbows Liam. “Plus, I want you to meet my friend Zayn, and you already know—”

“Yeah,” Liam says, blushing because the reminder sort of makes me think of Harry wanking off, which he doesn’t need to be thinking right now.

Harry grabs his hand and holds it between them. “This is what’s going on now, anyway,” he says.

Liam rolls his eyes and, with the same side that Harry is holding his hand with, elbows Harry back. “Yes, thank you for the reminder, boyfriend.”

“Oh! Are you two being cute?” Louis says suddenly, spinning around to face them. “Where’s my phone?”

“Don’t sell anything we touch today on eBay,” Liam warns.

“Now you’ve just given us the idea,” Niall points out.

Liam groans. Beside him, Harry laughs delightedly.

“I would love something that I touched to be sold on eBay,” he says. “What if you sold a golf club that I rented out on eBay?”

“We’d need to buy it first, though,” Louis says.

“Not if you don’t buy it.”

Louis points at Harry. “I like the way you think.”

Niall tells the both of them, “Don’t throw away any water bottles you use today.”

The town car’s already picked up Dan, so all four of the climb into the back when it arrives. Liam’s squished between Niall and Harry, who’s by the window; Louis, who’s on the other side, says, “Oof, I think we ought to have given Liam and Harry a room of their own, Ni.”

“We’ve got plenty of room,” Harry tells him, and deliberately drapes one of his legs over Liam’s knees. “See?” His legs are spread giving a very wide access to his crotch, making Liam’s body feel warm. He hopes to god Harry can’t feel it (though it’s probably just, like, mental), and he bats at Harry’s crotch in retaliation. That is admittedly not much better, but then Harry puts his legs together and whines, “Ow, what’d you do that for, Liam?”

“We don’t have that much room,” Liam says. “And you practically invited it.”

“Yeah, well—” Harry says, and then shoves himself into Liam’s space so that he topples face-forward into Liam’s lap “—you’re asking for this!”

“Boys,” Louis says, in his mock stern tone. Harry and Liam look at him; Louis shakes his head like a disappointed father.

“Reckon Louis’s gonna ground you,” Niall tells Harry and Liam, evidently thinking the same thing.

“You’re not my father,” Harry protests. “I was adopted!”

Louis gasps dramatically. “Who told you?”

“I did,” Liam volunteers. “Harry, Niall’s our real father.”

Niall cackles, as Louis chokes, “Our? Are you and Harry brothers instead of boyfriends now?”

Liam doesn’t bother correcting him anymore, and Harry, sitting up, grasps at Liam’s hand and says, “As long as we’re together in any universe.”

They reach the putt putt course soon enough. It’s bright and early in the morning that the only people at the area are families and summer camps, evident enough from the flock of small humans puttering around the adults’ legs, and Liam’s and his friends’ as they step onto the course. They get their mini golf clubs rented out—Harry threads his fingers between Liam’s, who jolts; he’d nearly forgotten—and Louis, batting his chest and clearing his throat, says to them, “Watch how it’s done, lads.”

Some kids lurking to the side giggle at Louis. Louis whips around to them—none too threateningly, they just giggle some more—and says, “What are you looking at, boys?”

“Nothing,” says one of them.

Louis bends over, wiggles his tush, and positions his golf club. He pulls it back violently and overdramatically—the kids giggle again—but then brings his club down gently, lightly tapping his golf ball and watching as it rolls towards the first hole.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen,” he says to Niall, Liam, and Harry, “is how it’s done.”

Liam rolls his eyes. The expression on Harry’s face is so bewildered that it looks like he doesn’t know if he’s supposed to laugh or cry. Niall has already buckled over in fits of laughter like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

“That’s Louis for you,” Liam tells Harry. Their hips are already pressed close together, so it feels only natural for Liam to wind his arm around the back of Harry’s waist as Niall steps up to golf next.

Harry smiles over at him. “You’re warm,” he says.

Liam raises his eyebrows. “I sure hope I am,” he says, pulling back the arm that had been embracing Harry and feeling the back of his other wrist with it. “I’d be worried if I was cold or something.”

“You’re a good temperature,” Harry says. “Now put your arm around me again, convince those children we’re dating.”

“I really doubt they know who we are,” Liam says.

“You can never be too sure.”

They watch as Niall goes—his ball has rolled nearly adjacent to Louis’s against the back wall of their first hole—and then Harry says, “I’ll go next.” Then, “Liam, teach me how to golf.”

“What?” Liam says. “You already know how to golf.”

Harry grins at him. “Teach me,” he says, with an insistent expression on his face.

Then Liam gets the gist. “Ah, right,” he says, grinning back, and gets behind Harry.

Louis and Niall are up by the hole. “What are you doing?” Louis calls to them. “This is a public venue!”

“Shut up, Louis,” says Liam, and immediately feels bad when the small handful of children who seem to be fascinated with their presence clasp their hands to their mouths. “Um, I mean,” Liam says quickly. “Be quiet! Now.”

“‘Be quiet now’?” Harry mocks from where he’s between Liam’s arms, in front of Liam’s body.

“You shut up,” Liam says, more hushed to Harry. This is—very weird. Harry’s body is warm too, warmer than Liam imagines what he might feel like against Harry, and Liam has fastened his hands around Harry’s wrists in the golfing position. Liam looks askance beyond his range of just Harry, but no-one seems to be paying them any mind, except for Louis who calls, “Hurry up!”

“They’re having a moment,” Niall tells him.

“We all can’t have moments.”

“So,” Liam says, hoping that the throatiness of his voice is all in his head as he speaks to Harry. Harry is a bit taller than him, by maybe an inch, crouching down a bit as Liam guides his hands. “We want to swing your wrist back, and then forth. Get the motion of the—”

“Do you even play golf?” Harry asks from between his arms.

“You asked me to teach you how to play,” Liam says indignantly.

“Yeah, that’s because I thought you actually knew how to play.”

“I do,” Liam says defensively. Then, “Kind of. Let me do this.” He hears Harry chuckle as he readjusts their arms. “Okay, so swing back, then forth, then—”

He and Harry hit the golf ball—with perhaps a bit more force than necessary. The ball soars up in the air, above the hole, between and past Louis and Niall who watch it go, and onto the upper surface grass before rolling under a bridge structure.

Harry’s pulled back, laughing. “Yeah,” he says. “You really do golf.”

“I’d like to see you do better,” Liam grumbles, going to get another ball.

They make it through all eighteen holes well enough after two hours—Louis as usual is determined to be the loudest person on the course, so even when some teenagers begin appearing and whispering to themselves at the sight of Liam and Harry, Louis manages to divert the attention away from them.

It’s strangely sobering, actually; Liam finds that the less he feels that eyes are on them, the more comfortable he is with initiating contact with Harry. It’s not much, just touches on elbows, touching waists, winding their hands together when they’ve been separated for long enough that it’d probably look suspicious if they weren’t hanging all over each other. And even then Liam’s sure they’re perfectly tame, even when Liam manages to get a hole in one on the tenth hole and Harry brings him in for a chaste kiss on the lips.

“Should I tell you I’m proud of you?” Harry says, and Liam shoves him playfully. He slides a hand into Harry’s back pocket though and keeps it there as Niall and Louis go through the hole too; it all looks perfectly normal.

By the end of it, all four of them are relieved to be done. Liam says, “Why am I tired from playing mini-golf? I’m not even sure I’d ever be able to handle real golf.”

“Because you’re an old man, Liam,” Louis says. “Be careful, Harry, Liam will break at any moment.”

“I’ll take care of him,” Harry says seriously, wrapping an arm around Liam’s shoulders.

“Be sure to give him a foot bath,” Niall advises, and Louis cackles.

“I can’t deal with the any of you,” Liam says, then goes to Dan, who’s been standing guard and watching silently this whole time. “What’s for lunch, Dan?”

Dan gives him a look like Liam should know that Dan’s not in charge of picking out lunch. Which Liam does.

“We should go someplace fancy,” Louis suggests eagerly. “For Harry here!”

Niall snorts. “Since when do you go to anyplace fancy?”

“I am plenty fancy, hey—”

“I don’t really care where we go,” Harry says. “Although I don’t know if I can afford a fancy place, I am just a poor, cheap uni student after all.”

“Are you trying to get us to pay for you?” Louis accuses him.

At the same time, Liam says, “I’ve got it, don’t worry.” And when all three of them look at him, he says, “What? I do.”

“Oh Liam,” Louis says, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Liam, Liam, Liam.”

“What,” Liam says again.

“Liam Liam Liam Liam Liam—”

Harry says to Liam, “You really don’t have to,” pulling him aside. “I wasn’t trying to get any of you to pay for me—I was just saying—”

“I know,” Liam says, because he does. “It’s fine, I’ve got it.”

Harry bites his lip. “Are you sure?”

“I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?” Liam says. Now that he’s the one who’s saying it out loud, it’s strange but also kind of—vindicating? “Honestly, Harry, what kind of boyfriend would I be if I didn’t pay for your meal?”

“I’m yours too,” Harry says, laying it on thick. “Shouldn’t I pay for yours as well?”

“Harry, do I need to remind you—”

“Harry!” Niall says suddenly. All of them jump and look at him.

“Let Liam pay for your lunch,” Niall says sweetly.

Louis claps Niall on the shoulder. “He has spoken,” he says. “Good man, Niall.”

“Good man, Lou,” Niall says back.

“I regret this whole day,” Harry says with a smile on his face.

So they get themselves to a lunch spot—Louis has a point with a fancy meal, because once the waitresses notice Liam’s bodyguard and then Liam, they guide all five of them into a private room in the back—and then there’s none of that tension of the whole world hovering over them. Niall orders most of the food, argues (and wins) with Louis for some of the dishes, and Harry sometimes joins in for fun, and sometimes just smiles at Liam.

“Can I be honest with you?” Harry says, once they’ve finished the appetizers and Liam as usual doubts his ability to eat a full meal after just the first course, even though he always does.

Liam says, “Go for it.”

“Well, I didn’t expect your friends to be quite so—” Harry gestures to Niall and Louis, who are mock fighting over the last piece of a chicken wing. Liam knows that it’s not real because Niall can’t keep a straight face, even though Louis frighteningly can.

Louis breaks out of his and Niall’s argument and says, “Oh, you think Liam’s the polite one, do you—?”

“Lou,” Liam groans, putting his head in his hands.

Niall says, “Is this the skinny dipping story?”

Louis smirks. “This is the skinny dipping story,” he says, and lets Niall have the last piece of chicken so he can tell Liam’s impossibly embarrassing skinny dipping story.

“So, during X Factor,” Louis says to Harry, “I dared this boy here, our Liam Payne, to go skinny dipping in the pool at our judges’ house at night. You see, our rooms were a few buildings over, so of course he would have to sneak all the way over and get himself in the pool in the first place—no-one would expect him to be there.

“But,” and here Louis pauses for dramatic effect, “there’s a hot tub by the pool, right? So it’s like, ten in the evening, Liam Payne’s run all the way over to the judges’ houses, I’m there with the camera ’cause you’ve got to get this stuff on tape, you know? And so Liam goes in—except he’s gone into the hot tub, of course, and Simon’s in the hot tub, Liam hadn’t even noticed him because it’s fucking dark out there, and he’s naked in a hot tub with Simon Cowell and Simon goes, ‘What the hell are you doing?’ And Liam just sprints out of there, buck naked.” Louis grins like he’s personally proud of himself for making this happen. He probably is. “Doesn’t even put his clothes back on or anything.”

“Where was Niall?” Harry asks with interest.

“Oh,” says Niall. “This is while Liam and Louis were sharing a room, er, kind of—”

“I told Harry,” Liam says quickly to Niall and Louis. “About, um, yeah.” Then to Harry, “Yeah, it was just, erm, me and Louis that night.”

“That makes sense,” Harry says after a beat. “You were naked with Simon Cowell?”

“In all fairness, I don’t think he was naked,” Liam says.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “You don’t think.”

“Simon Cowell has more dignity than that!”

“Simon is surprising,” Louis says, grabbing at a chip. “He surprises me.”

“Liam,” Harry says suddenly. “Louis and Niall—they know how we got together, right?”

“God,” Liam says, burying his head in his arms. “Go on, tell them then,” he says with resignation.

“Why?” Louis asks. “Are you going to tell us about how your relationship is all fakey datey like Liam tried to tell us?”

Harry rolls his eyes, apparently deciding to pay Louis no mind. “So he’s in the café that I work at,” he says to Louis and Niall, “and this was last week. We’d never seen each other before then.”

“You didn’t know each other before?” Niall says with some surprise.

Liam lifts his head up. “If you haven’t noticed, I’m a very boring person.”

“That is true,” Louis says, the same time Harry frowns but continues on.

“So, first time I’ve ever seen Liam Payne,” Harry says. “And I say, ‘May I take your order?’ and to that he kisses me. In front of everyone.” He grins at Liam, who despite himself smiles back. “Then his scary agent lady pulled him away and I never saw him again,” Harry finishes.

“Oh, Brenda,” Louis says, clutching his heart. “The true love of my life.”

“I can’t believe I haven’t made Liam do something terribly embarrassing yet,” Niall says mournfully.

“And that,” Liam says to him, “is the reason you’re my favourite, Niall.”

“Our relationship is very fake real,” Harry says to Niall and Louis. “Real fake.”

“Real fake,” Liam decides.

“You’re still my favourite couple anyway,” Louis says, and Niall raises his beer and says, “I’ll toast to that.” They clink their drinks, Liam rolls his eyes again while Harry laughs.

*

The next day, Liam sees how his album is doing, since there are more ratings coming in, most of which are positive and making Liam pleased while also not quite feeling that he belongs. He’s letting himself read a few positive reviews when his doorbell rings. It’s faced so much harassment for the past week that Liam is tempted to just let it unanswered—his parents are out shopping, and Ruth is with her friends—before he remembers that, in fact, there’s still a person on the other side of the door, and he bounds over to open it.

Harry’s there, on his phone and beaming up when Liam answers the door. “What are you doing here?” Liam blurts, before realizing what he’s said. “I mean—um. What are you doing here,” he tries again, more nicely.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, chuckling. “Brenda texted saying we should hang out for ourselves.” He gestures with his phone; Liam had left it in his room on vibrate. “Instead of, you know, for the paps.”

“Doesn’t that mean we’ll still get paps on us?” Liam says, going to grab his phone.

“It does, but I think she wants us to sort it ourselves,” Harry says, following him. “Did you see the photos from yesterday?”

Liam did. There are a lot of headlines about Liam, Louis, and Niall hanging out again after X Factor—people know Louis and Niall as much as they’d known Liam prior to the first Harry kiss—and it only gets more attention after the light kiss Harry had pressed to Liam’s lips yesterday during golf. The article comments are fawning all over Liam and Harry, Liam and Louis and Niall, and Louis and Niall, asking if they’re single or dating each other or what. His mum had patted his cheek during dinner and called him “my little celebrity.”

“It’s ridiculous is what it is,” Liam says, though not with any vigor. “Honestly, why do people care—”

“‘Cause anyone who’s not normal is interesting,” Harry says, as Liam fishes out his keys from his nightstand. “It’s just something for normal people like me to talk about.”

“You’re not normal,” Liam tells him, grabbing his wallet just in case and going back out to the living room.

“Thanks,” Harry says, trailing him. “Where d’you wanna go? What do you want to do?”

Liam glances at the living room clock. It’s nearly lunch time, so he says, “Eaten yet?” and Harry shakes his head. “Lunch, then,” Liam decides, and takes his phone out to text his family.

“Ooh,” says Harry, as they make their way out. “Then after I can show you my flat. We can eat somewhere close to that.”

“Sure. I haven’t seen much of your life yet,” Liam agrees. “And you might’ve seen too much of mine.”

“I’ve seen a good amount. We’re dating, remember?” Harry grabs Liam’s hand as if for emphasis, though they’re making their way out of the building, too.

“You don’t need to remind me,” Liam says dryly, though he adjusts their hands so it’s slightly more comfortable for him, which Harry grins at. Liam looks at their hands thoughtfully. “‘S like we’re back in primary school, you know. Holding hands.”

“I hold hands with people I go out with,” Harry says, sounding mildly offended.

“Yeah, I mean, just.” Liam holds their hands up pointedly. “We’re both blokes.”

“You know that doesn’t matter—oh,” Harry realizes. “You never really dated a boy, right. Well.” He shrugs. “Don’t think about it too much. Or walk closer to me, if you want.”

He leans into Liam’s space—like really leans into him, side pressed against him and all, and that…  well, Liam had dated a few girls before he realized he was gay and that felt like primary school too, with all the handholding, but this—this is Harry really touching him, being so close that they’re together, not just two people holding hands. Immediately Liam feels a full-body blush and steps back.

Harry looks at him carefully. “Too close?”

“No, it’s not—” Liam shakes his head, then tries to initiate it himself. Harry’s so close it’s like a constant warmth, and Liam doesn’t know how to feel about it. “It’s fine,” he tells Harry, and himself.

They pick a sandwich place for lunch and sit by the window and eat. Harry intentionally stretches his legs over into Liam’s space, smirking, and when Liam reaches down to dance his fingers on Harry’s bare legs (he’s wearing bermuda shorts), Harry pulls back, giggling.

Liam smirks. “I thought I was the ticklish one.”

“I’m not ticklish, I’m sensitive,” says Harry, and yelps again when Liam pokes at his knee.

Since they’re on Harry’s campus, there are a few kids who recognize them and take pictures—Harry says hi to a couple of them, and teases them, “I didn’t know I became a model,” which alleviates some of the social stress Liam would have otherwise with having his picture taken. Harry also has conversations with them, which makes it better; Liam joins in too, which makes the other kid either flustered or desperately eager to get him in. It’s strange, and Liam just wants to tell them that he’s normal, too.

Or as normal as this can be.

“I don’t know how I’m going to go back to school,” Harry says, amused as they finish and get up.

“At least you won’t have to sign any autographs,” Liam says, putting his pen away. He’s already signed three.

“True,” Harry allows. Then he grins. “Hey, Liam, can I have your autograph?”

“Very funny.” Liam nudges him. “Are you going to show me your flat?”

“Oh, right.” Harry leads them out, and the door jangles behind them. “You’ll have to know, my roommate Zayn—”

“The one you wanked off with?”

“Yes,” Harry says breezily. “Sometimes he doesn’t say much, or he disappears, but it doesn’t mean he hates you. He’s just need to get to know you.”

“Good to know,” Liam says, as they walk along the street. There’s a slight wind and it tosses Harry’s short curls quite gracefully. “Think I could do with someone who doesn’t care about my existence for a chance.”

“I could always ignore you if you’d like,” Harry says helpfully, and Liam rolls his eyes.

His flat’s in a building on a street surrounded by sprawling students, which Liam remembers from the time they’d picked him up for their Eye date. Harry greets some students as they walk in; the building’s a two story flat, and Liam follows as Harry leads him to the part that is apparently his and Zayn’s.

“So, my place,” Harry says, brandishing an arm and gesturing around. “Make yourself comfortable, I’ll get you some tea. Zayn?”

“Yeah?” A good-looking boy’s head peeks out from behind one doorway, and he seems to be sitting on the ground.

Harry grins at Liam. “That’s Zayn,” he says to Liam, before leaving toward the kitchen. “Zayn, that’s Liam, my boyfriend.”

“Oh.” Zayn gets up to get a good look at Liam. “The fake boyfriend, right?”

“And the realest boyfriend I presently have,” Harry’s disembodied voice calls. “I have no other boyfriend. Just so you both know.”

“Yeah,” Liam says to Zayn, ignoring Harry. “Harry isn’t going around telling everyone that I’m his fake boyfriend is he?”

“No!”

“No,” agrees Zayn, shaking his head. “I’m just his best mate, so he needs someone who’s not mad to know what’s going on in his life.”

“Implying that I’m mad.” Harry comes back from putting the kettle on, wiping the back of his hands. He spots a rack in the corner of what is presumably the sitting room and says, “Oh! Liam, I ought to show you this.”

“Show me what?” Liam goes to join him.

Harry pulls open the rack, and it’s shelves upon shelves of music records, stacked on each thin shelf. “My collection,” Harry says, beaming. “Got things like the White Stripes, Pink Floyd here for you—would have your own record here, too, if you released your album as an LP.”

“It’s good,” Zayn compliments Liam, from where he’s watching them. “Harry made me listen.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “He made you listen?”

“Zayn’s being dramatic, he listened because he wanted to,” Harry says, waving him off. “And there’s—oh, I forgot she was in there—some more independent artists—”

“Harry’s got an eclectic taste,” Zayn says, and Liam realizes where Harry got that word from. “Listens to more independent artists, ones that aren’t that big, you know.” He turns to go back to doing whatever he was doing in the other room. “Your stuff’s good though,” he calls behind his back.

Harry’s piled some records into Liam’s hands, and Liam turns them over in his palms thoughtfully. Harry begins rambling about the Rolling Stones or something, and Liam mostly thinks about how he doubts he’ll find any of his favorite artists in Harry’s records.

*

Because Liam can’t catch a break, the day after is his Radio 1 Breakfast Show interview. On the bright side, it’s live and in the morning so he doesn’t have to worry about it the rest of the day.

Unfortunately, he’s going on alone—Harry’s still too normal enough to accompany Liam on what’s seen to be any less out of the ordinary dates.

“So, your little snog with that barista,” Nick Grimshaw is saying, adjusting his headphones. “What’s up with that? Can you tell us a little bit about that?”

“Yeah, I,” Liam says, glancing in the window. Brenda gives him a thumbs-up, so Liam pretends that what he’s saying is real. He’d already practiced it with Brenda this morning, what questions they might ask, what topics may come up. “I was—Harry and me have been mates for a while I guess, and I couldn’t hold it any longer, so I was—it was a spur of a moment decision.”

“But a good one,” Grimshaw says. “There’ve been so many pics of you and this Harry fellow on the internet lately, have you seen—”

“Yeah,” Liam says, managing a laugh. “I have.”

“And you’ve had an album come out, too!” Grimshaw adds. “That wasn’t connected in any way, was it—a celebration kiss, of the sort—”

“Ha, well,” Liam says. “I can’t say it wasn’t connected in some way—it left me with a load of feelings to want to kiss Harry for the first time, then—”

In the window, Brenda slaps her hand to her face.

“First time too?” Grimshaw says with surprise. “Well, you’ve certainly lucked out on spontaneous kisses then, I know that if I snogged a bloke I liked without warning…”

Afterward, Liam checks his text messages to see some obnoxious kissy faces from Louis, teasing ones from Niall, and proud ones from his mum. The ones he’s looking for, though, is—

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: You talk like you’ve known me your whole life.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Hahaha Grimshaw
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: You did have a lot of feelings when you kissed me then.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Lots of passion.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I had won that bet and you know it.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Untrue, I am a far better golfer than you.

Liam begins typing out his replies as Brenda comes over. She pats Liam on the back and says, “I think you did a good job, aside from when you were talking about the first kiss.”

“I wasn’t lying or telling the truth, wasn’t I?” Liam points out, finishing texting Harry and then pocketing his phone.

Brenda rolls her eyes. “I know what you were doing. I’m sure Harry did, too. Anyway, during your interview,” and she brings his attention to the files in her arms, “I’ve booked your holiday to California in two weeks. You’re leaving on the twenty-eighth and arriving on the fourth. I’ve also managed to get you an interview with an American magazine—or maybe a blog, I can never tell.”

“Is that just for me too?” Liam asks. “Or me and Harry?”

“Just you,” Brenda confirms. “We want to leave Harry out of everything, of course—he’s like your trophy wife, but don’t tell him I said that.”

“I think he’d love that, honestly,” Liam tells her.

The MTV interview Liam has a couple of days later, though, is the one that Harry does attend. He’s not going to be behind the camera, but he’s in the van when he says to Liam, “You’ve done loads of interviews before, you’ll be fine. And you were really great on the Breakfast Show.”

“It’s different when it’s my face though,” Liam says, knee twitching. “And I usually don’t need to talk about my love life.”

“I looked up some videos from X Factor. You and Louis were fine.” Harry says this all very casually.

Liam gives him a funny look. “Why are you looking those up?” he says, cheeks heating. “They’re not—and look, Louis and I weren’t dating technically, we didn’t even have anything to talk about.”

Harry shrugs. “But you were casual enough. Pretend you and me are like you and Louis.”

“I never had to pretend date Louis.” Liam shudders at the thought. “I’m not even sure if he would be able to keep it up. Or he would keep it up so well and then I would give up on it,” he adds darkly.

“Well, you’re not really dating me either,” Harry points out.

Liam wants to say that it’s different, but he’s not sure how—both in that he doesn’t know what’s different about him and Harry versus him and Louis, and that he doesn’t know how to express it in so many words for Harry to understand.

It doesn’t matter, anyway, because the interviewer wants all the nitty gritty details—how Liam and Harry met, how long they’ve known each other, Liam’s own past history, how long Liam’s known he’s gay, who his favorite male celebrity is—all things that Liam, Harry, and Brenda have covered before, except for the last one, to which Liam stutters and says that he hopes Tom Daley does well this summer. Harry laughs off-screen and Liam covers his cheek in embarrassment.

Harry, because he’s Harry, gets along with everyone on set—not with a camera rolling but otherwise the interviewer talks to him, and Liam suspects that the magazine will use what Harry says as part of their article, even if it won’t be in the video itself. Liam comments, on their way to their lunch break, “You’re such a friendly person, it’s a wonder you aren’t a bunch of other people’s fake boyfriends.”

Harry laughs right at him. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?” he says, grabbing a bagel from the snack bar.

Liam shrugs. “I mean, I dunno if I can be as comfortable with people as you are,” he says honestly.

Harry’s eyes widen. “I’ve had a number of angry girlfriends or boyfriends come up to me because they thought I was flirting, you know.”

“Is that supposed to be a bad thing?”

Harry shrugs and picks up a fruit kebob. “I mean, I guess I am friendly, but I don’t see any reason not to be. You’re a friendly person too, Liam.” He eats a watermelon wedge.

Liam shakes his head. He knows that there’s a comfort that Harry exudes that he wouldn’t, in any lifetime, be able to emulate. “I mean, I’m not unfriendly—”

“I know you’re trying to say nice things to me, Liam, but it just sounds like you’re putting yourself down,” Harry says, after swallowing. He eats a pineapple cube while talking. “You’re funny, you know how to make people like you, and you pay attention to them. And you don’t stop being yourself.” He finishes his pineapple. “The interview you just did, you sounded so sure of yourself—”

“I was just talking,” Liam insists.

Harry presses on “—But it’s convincing. You’ve got me convinced that we’re in a relationship and that you deeply care about me—”

“I do care about you.”

Harry gives him a look.

“And listen,” Liam says. “You’ve turned a conversation that was supposed to be about you to be about me!”

“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t have done the same.” Harry eats the next fruit on the kebab, a cantaloupe cube. “Face it, Liam, I admire you as much as you admire me.”

“You’re a bad person and I dislike you,” says Liam, and when Harry says, “See what I meant about the humour?” Liam takes one of the bagels from the lunch bar and just pushes it into Harry’s face. Harry just feeds him the strawberry on his kebab in retaliation.

Liam has to do some modelling for the magazine in the afternoon, so he’s posing for the cameraman while Harry says things like, “Pose for me! More pout! Broaden your range!” to Liam in a terrible French accent, which makes the cameraman scowl. When Liam goes to take a break, he sees Brenda in the corner giving him and Harry a pointed look, and remembers that they’re supposed to look cuddly and relationship-y around the staff here, too.

He leans over to Harry and, very close in his ear, says, “I don’t think that cameraman is French.”

“I think it would be more offensive if he was,” Harry says to him, grinning.

Liam puts an arm around his waist and squeezes when someone from makeup looks at them curiously. “You should be in front of the camera, too, babe,” he says to Harry, hopefully loudly enough that other people hear.

“I think you’re right,” Harry says contemplatively, eyeing the cameraman who seems to be pointedly ignoring him. “Drop out of school, become a male swimwear model.” He catches Liam’s eye in a way that Liam knows that he’d spotted Brenda too.

“No comment,” Liam says, and goes back to the photoshoot. He feels a grab at his arse and turns around to see Harry humming to himself, glancing pointedly at the white screen. Liam makes a mental note to get back at him later.

On the ride back, Brenda says, “Oh, Liam, I have some news. We’ve been invited to the Olympics opening ceremony.”

“Wait,” Liam says, sure he’s heard her wrong. “What?”

Beside him, Harry says, “No way.”

Brenda’s sitting in the third row, since Dan’s in the front passenger seat. She says, “I’ve got an email from the event organizer—you’re to be a guest, plus one..”

“That’s—” It’s overwhelming, suddenly, and Liam opens a window.

“Don’t tell me this is also because Harry and I snogged.”

Brenda chuckles. “Well, I don’t know if I can say that it wasn’t,” she says. “It is pretty big for us, isn’t it—”

“Congratulations,” Harry adds sincerely.

Brenda says to him, “Oh, you’re coming too, Harry. We’ve got the plus one, so of course you’ll be Liam’s date.”

“I couldn’t—”

“Of course you could,” Liam says firmly. “Come on to the Olympics with me, Harry. It’ll be amazing.”

Harry smiles at him. “I sure hope so,” he says, so Liam takes that as a yes.

The car stops at Harry’s place first; Liam feels kind of weird leaving him alone with someone who knows Harry well and who Harry actually has history with. It’s not something he didn’t know or could’ve stopped before, but since he’s visited, it feels more real, somehow.

He goes out to see Harry off. “Think we should kiss goodbye?” Liam says. “Convince Brenda and Dan, too?”

“And the driver,” Harry says. All of their drivers had signed non-disclosure agreements.

“It couldn’t hurt,” Liam says.

“You just think I’m fabulous at snogging, don’t you?”

“No comment,” Liam says again, as Harry inclines his head.

The kiss is once again brief—these are easier to exchange, like kissing his mum—except Harry lets it linger, so Liam does too. He takes the opportunity to pinch Harry’s arse, and Harry yelps into his mouth, bumping into him and nearly knocking the both of them over.

“Payback,” Liam says, as they untangle.

“Why would you need to pay me back for that?” Harry says. “I’ve just kissed you!”

“I kissed you first,” Liam says airily, and Harry goes, “Oh no you didn’t.”

A window opens then and Zayn pops his head out. “You two are making a scene,” he says.

Liam glances behind; a few passersby have stopped on the sidewalk, peering over with interest. “I s’pose that’s the point,” he says a bit more quietly to Harry.

Harry taps his lips then. “One more kiss for good luck?” he says.

“What in the world do you need luck for?” Liam asks.

Harry shrugs. “You know. Anything. General you-related tomfoolery.”

“Why’d you have to say it like that,” Liam says despondently, but presses one more kiss to Harry’s mouth before leaving.

Driving back, the talk is business, and Brenda talks about Liam recording some songs tomorrow if he wants, and then sharing recipes with his mum. Liam gets a text just a few minutes after from Harry saying Zayn wants to sue you for drawing attention to our flat :) x and Liam texts back tll him bring it on xx.

*

Of course, Louis and Niall catch wind of Liam’s interview too, probably because they’d exchanged numbers with Harry and demand for them to watch it together. Then Louis creates a group chat, and Harry mentions that he and Zayn have just gotten their telly moved onto their flat, so they can go over to Harry’s flat to all watch it if they want? And Liam’s going, wouldnt wnt 2 intrude on ur flatmates and Harry’s replying, Sure, we can make them sign NDAs.

So that’s how on Friday, the day that Liam’s interview is airing, Liam finds himself taking a car to Harry’s place with Louis and Niall, while Niall’s going, “Oh, we’re meeting Harry’s flatmate, aren’t we? What’s he like, Liam?”

“Yeah, Liam,” says Louis. “Is he the type to try to steal your man?”

Liam says, “I don’t know what a bloke like that would entail. Um, I mean he’s quite fit, to be honest.”

Louis gaps dramatically. “No way, is he the type to steal you from Harry?”

“No-one’s going around stealing anyone, Lou,” Liam says as they pull up in front of Harry’s place. “I’m just saying. Smart, I guess?”

“But smart enough to know how to steal a man away right under your nose?” Louis says, waving a finger at him. “I’ll keep an eye out, Liam, I’ll be watching.”

Liam rolls his eyes as they pile out of the car. It’s quite a show and he hopes that Harry or Zayn answer quick enough so that they don’t draw enough attention for everyone else who lives here to be bothered by it. Liam rings the bell, as Louis and Niall chatter about the type of neighbourhood Harry lives in.

Harry’s the one who answers the door, beaming when he sees the three of them piled on their doorstep. “Hello,” he says. “Zayn and I got snacks.”

“The veggie straws are mine,” Zayn’s voice calls from inside.

“Oh, shoot,” Liam says, realizing how empty their hands are. “We should’ve brought something, shouldn’t we. Um. Have you got beer?”

Harry furrows his eyebrows. “Dunno. Zayn, have we got beer?”

“Buy more anyway!”

“Buy more anyway,” Harry tells them, grinning.

“My kind of man,” Louis says. “I can go for the run, start on without me.”

Liam frowns. “No, Louis, I can—”

Louis pushes at him. “It’s your night Li, what are you talking about? Niall, want to come with?”

Niall shakes his head. “I want to meet Harry’s roommate,” he says, and Louis says, “Ugh, you lucky duck,” even though he’d been the one to offer to leave in the first place.

“Come on inside,” Harry says, as Louis leaves to the car. “We haven’t got a couch, but we hope pillows on the floor is enough.”

“Good enough for my bum,” Niall says, following Liam and Harry inside.

Liam says, as they wind their way into Harry’s apartment, “My bodyguard—Dan—it’s okay if he stands guard outside your flat, right?” He’d come in last time, like a silent shadow.

“Oh,” Harry says, surprised. “I thought he would just be with us, like last time.”

“I trust you.” And Liam does; he and Zayn are non-threatening, and the only threat that Niall poses is eating too many snacks when no-one is looking. Harry gives him a funny look, but shrugs.

“If you’re comfortable with it,” he says as he opens his front door. “Anyway, welcome to my flat again! Niall, that’s the kitchen, a hallway with the bathroom, and Zayn.” For the last he points into the living room, where Zayn is watching the television already, lying back on a pillow and munching on some crisps. There’s a whole lot of other pillows scattered on the floor.

Zayn looks up from his bag of crisps and raises a hand in greeting. “Sup.”

“Hey Zayn,” Liam says, stepping over to grab a pillow of his own. MTV is playing, some trashy reality show Liam would pretend not to recognize. “This is my friend Niall.”

“Hi,” Niall says, immediately crouching down, shoving a pillow under him, and reaching over to steal crisps from Zayn’s grasp. “Are we inviting him into the group chat too?”

“We’ve only just made it today,” Liam says.

Harry’s the one who says, “Yes! Excellent idea.” He whips out his phone and sends a new four person MMS with the message Now Zayn’s here :) that Liam, Niall, and Zayn get immediately.

“Nice,” Niall says, pocketing his phone again. “Sorry in advance, Zayn.”

Zayn squints at him. “Sorry for what?”

“General harassment,” Liam guarantees him. “From the group chat. Soon enough.”

“Why did you add me to the group chat?” Zayn says to Harry, who only laughs.

“So you can join in on the fun!” Harry sits with them and then also grabs crisps from Zayn and Niall. Both of them give him a dirty look, which is hilarious since the crisps hadn’t even been Niall’s in the first place. “What are we watching?”

“Something,” Liam says, the same time Niall and Zayn say, “Jersey Shore.”

“Don’t pretend you don’t know what Jersey Shore is, Li,” Niall says.

“I—well,” Liam says helplessly, then turns to Harry. “I do know what Jersey Shore is,” he admits.

“Don’t worry, I don’t really,” Harry says cheerfully. “What’s it about?”

The three of them try to explain to Harry what Jersey Shore is essentially—Harry’s apparently never taken a second to watch MTV before, which is in part good, and in part makes Liam self-conscious because he wouldn’t be watching it otherwise if it weren’t for Liam. Niall mentions beers then, afterward, and then they’ve all got a perspiring bottle in their hands as Harry gesticulates while talking about a hypothetical Jersey Shore they could reenact. Niall is cackling and even Zayn has loosened up when the doorbell rings again.

“Oh, that’ll be Louis,” Liam says. He checks the time on his phone; his interview will be airing in about fifteen minutes.

Zayn gets up. “I’ll get it,” he says, and goes to open the door for Louis.

Harry says, “We could play all sorts of games—people would pay to see us strip, you know, and I do that all the time—”

“Do you really?” Liam says, scandalized.

Harry shrugs. “I mean, I’m comfortable naked, you know,” he says. “I’m plenty comfortable with my clothes on too, don’t worry,” he adds at the expression on Niall and Liam’s faces. “But I don’t need to be paid to do it, I’m just saying I could.”

“I would pay for you not to strip,” Niall says seriously.

Harry grins. “Pay up then.”

“What are we making Niall pay for?” Louis says, bringing in three six packs, one of which is tucked under his arms. “And I didn’t know how many to bring, so divide amongst yourself lads. And you owe me sixty quid, Liam.”

“You offered to pay,” Liam says. “And you’ve got the money.” He does; Louis released a single a few months ago.

Louis scoffs. “I did work for you, Liam. Pay up.” Liam just throws a bag of crisps at him and Louis yelps.

When MTV displays an MTV Exclusive logo at six thirty, Niall goes, “Oh, Liam’s interview is on!” and they all fall quiet. On the TV, Liam appears, sitting on that black couch in the white room he had done a few days ago with the interviewer, some bloke named Mike. Mike is introducing him, before asking Liam the usual questions about his career and experience in the X Factor and the music industry.

Then the questions about Harry come up. “So,” Mike is going. “The boyfriend, the real reason you’re here in the first place.”

“Yeah.” Liam watches himself on-screen chuckle and has a strange out of body experience.

“That’s been hot off the press for the past week or so,” Mike says. “What’s his name? Are you both gay?”

“Well,” the Liam on screen says, surprisingly unflustered. “His name’s Harry, and he’s—I mean, we’ve talked about it, of course, and he doesn’t like to label himself, which I respect.”

“It’s true,” Harry in the room says. “I don’t like to label myself.”

Louis pats him and says, “Good lad.”

On MTV, Mike says, “Interesting. So you’re not jealous that he doesn’t like to label himself—?”

Liam on TV laughs. “Why would I be jealous?” he says, and Liam doesn’t quite remember feeling that confident, but that’s what he looks like. “No, I mean, Harry and I are really good mates. I have no reason to be jealous of anything we wouldn’t talk about.”

“You talked about that café kiss then?” But Mike’s tone is teasing. “We’ve got a picture of—yes, look at that.” The screen has transitioned into a grainy pic of Liam and Harry’s first kiss, square on in the café. “How was that?”

“Well, I did a Breakfast Show, dunno if you heard about that,” and Liam doesn’t even remember saying all this, he must’ve mentally checked out, “but yeah, I mean. We didn’t talk about it talk about it at first, but we got it sorted, so yeah, now he’s my boyfriend.” The screen has switched back and now it’s a close up on Liam and the expression on his face. He’s smiling, privately almost. “It’s nice, I mean—the way we first met, with him being a university student, and my being, well, was essentially a meetcute, so it feels right becoming something like this.”

“That’s sweet,” Mike says, and sounds like he genuinely means it. “You know this will ward the girls off of you, knowing that you’re gay, though?”

Liam laughs. “Well, I don’t really think so,” he replies. “And even if it does—that’s fine. I make music for people, not just for girls. I mean, I hope girls enjoy it anyway.”

The interview goes in to talk about some of Liam’s music stuff then, and Harry says to Liam, “But we did meet as a meetcute, though. I mean, you kissed me and all—”

“It was very cute,” Louis agrees. “I would know, I was there.”

Zayn throws a corn chip at him, and Louis squawks. Liam says to Harry, “I s’pose, I mean—we’ve really moved very fast then, haven’t we?”

“I’ll say,” Niall says. “Dunno if I’d date someone after I’ve just met them, let alone pretend to.”

“I like to live life on the edge,” Harry says cheerfully. “Oh, oh, hold on. Here’s my favorite part.”

The conversation between Liam and Mike on the telly have come back around to Harry. “So what’ve you got to say for any of the issues this might raise?” Mike’s saying to Liam. “You know, the controversy—?”

“I don’t think there’s a controversy,” his television self says. “I mean, is there?” In real life, Liam’s face feels hot—why did he say that so cockily? “I think there are some people who don’t like the way I live my personal life, which I think they should mind their own business, in all honesty.”

“Ooh, an interesting choice of words,” Mike says. “So how does your relationship with Harry factor into all your songs?”

It’s a subtle topic change—Liam doesn’t know how he hadn’t noticed it at first—but his TV self rambles on anyway as if this question was an extension of the previous one.

“I mean, we’ve only been together since after my album’s come out, but,” he says. “But I write about what’s important to me, and how I feel, and love becomes a part of that and it’s important too. And I think I make music that matters—why does it matter whether I’m gay or straight otherwise?”

Outside of the television, Harry yells at the screen, “There it is!” while Zayn and Niall are clapping and Louis is yelling, “Bravo, bravo!” They nearly miss it when Mike asks curiously, “So is that how your feelings for Harry factor into your music?”

“I mean—” And here, Liam watches himself stumble for the first time in the interview. “I mean, yes, I suppose, essentially,” he says to Mike. “It’s the—Harry’s important to me, too. I don’t think I can make good music if my feelings aren’t real.”

“Cheers,” Mike says nodding. “Now, then—so who’s your favorite male celebrity?”

Back in the living room, Louis and Niall are watching Liam curiously while Zayn says, “That was good, great job, Liam.” Harry’s beaming and saying, “He did well, didn’t he?” while Niall says, “He was very convincing.”

“I’m a good actor,” Liam says, though a part of him is doubting it. (He usually played background characters with no lines in school productions of plays.)

Louis says, “You should kiss in celebration!” and then Niall and Zayn are chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!”

Harry turns to Liam and says, “Shall we?”

The way Liam’s own friends are looking at him are in a way like they think Liam really wants this—and he doesn’t, he doesn’t mind, but Harry’s mates with him the same way the rest of them are. Just because he said it because it’s important to him doesn’t mean he actually feels it, is actually experiencing it.

Liam says, “Oh alright, if it’s what you all want?” and kisses Harry full on the lips. Harry grins and uses his tongue, and it’s all appropriately friendly when Liam is fully conscious of the moment Niall says, “Okay, now you’re just being obnoxious,” and they’re all laughing against each other, Liam and Harry against each other’s mouths.

It’s not real. It doesn’t have to be real for Liam to still have meant what he said.

Right?

*

The day of the Teen Choice Awards comes all too soon—because it’s a couple of days later when Liam’s packing his grey suit and maroon button-up and picking up Harry from his own flat, to head to the airport. Liam’s family is coming of course—Ruth doesn’t hesitate to take any opportunity to take advantage of Liam’s semi-celebrity status—and when Harry climbs into the van, his own mum practically drags Harry into her lap and says, “Oh Harry, it’s nice to see you again.”

“Nice to see you too, Karen,” Harry says pleasantly, extracting himself from her grip and going back to the second row where Liam is sitting by himself. “Hi Liam.”

“You’ve packed formal clothes, right?” Liam says, peering into the back where his bodyguard has put Harry’s suitcase before joining them back the vehicle. “Didn’t forget anything?”

“Yes, yes, I’ve got everything,” Harry says reassuringly. “No need to worry.”

“He’s always worried,” Liam’s dad pipes up from the back. Liam frowns and his dad grins at him.

Harry laughs. “It’ll be fine. This’ll be fun!”

“It’s not your first time going to America, is it?” Liam asks.

Harry shakes his head. “Been there a couple of times for holiday,” he says. “And we’ll go back soon anyway for our own holiday.”

“Oh yes, your very romantic holiday,” Ruth says, and everyone laughs.

Harry and Liam of course also have their seats on the flight booked together, and since they have to continue playing it up for the six hours, Harry taps at Liam’s iPad a lot and Liam elbows him a lot and then they both get slightly drunk off the wine and end up snogging while in line for the restroom. The flight attendants pretend politely that they don’t see it, but the rest of the passengers aren’t dense enough to take any photos or videos.

“There’s no such thing as bad publicity,” Harry says, later, after Brenda has scuttled over and scolded them both.

Then they drinks lots of water and go to the bathroom more and then they’ve landed in LA, where the time is the exact same as when they’d left London. Liam’s tired already from all the exhaustion of the flight, and once they disembark and go through all the motions until they end up to their hotel, he tells Harry this.

That’s the moment they enter their room and see the one big sprawling bed in the room. Liam falters and says, “But I don’t have to sleep,” but Harry waves him off.

“Don’t worry, ‘s better than me and my jetlag,” he says. “I’m forcing myself to stay awake.”

“Well that’s probably better,” Liam says, heaving his bag in and then, after the door’s closed, taking his shirt off.

Harry seems undeterred and says, “I’ll hang out at the desk.” There is a sizable desk in the corner, and he lugs his own stuff over, plopping it down. “We’ve got to be there by five thirty, right?”

“Yeah,” says Liam, sprawling onto one side of the massive bed. “But I’ll probably wake up before then.”

“I’ll get you up at four just in case,” says Harry.

Liam passes out for a good several hours and wakes up to a rapping at their hotel door. Liam groans as he gets awake; after he rubs his eyes, he sees Harry leading Brenda into the room. “What?” Liam says. “Dan didn’t let you in?”

“He wouldn’t be doing his job if he did,” Brenda says. “I’m not here for long; I’m only here to suggest that you two practice for the TCAs.”

Liam frowns. “Practice what?” he asks, the same time Harry looks between them and goes, “What? Why? I thought we’ve already practiced enough.”

“Practice as a couple. When you’re at an event you hold yourself a certain way,” Brenda says pointedly. “And at things like award shows, I don’t often see couples together in the same way I might see them on the street.”

“That’s true,” Harry says, looking thoughtful.

Liam sits up in bed. “Is that—do you want us to practice in front of you?”

“Oh, I didn’t think of that, but that would be good,” Brenda says. “Nothing too much, just—walking, holding each other, posing for a camera, that sort of thing.”

“If Harry doesn’t mind,” Liam adds, and Brenda agrees, “If Harry doesn’t mind.”

“Harry doesn’t mind,” Harry says genially. “We should put our clothes on as well, make it all proper like it’s real.

They do, and Liam brushes his teeth as well for good measure. Once they’re all cleaned up, Liam comes back out to the room with Brenda sitting on the edge of the bed, and Harry looking ridiculously dapper in a black suit and white button-down underneath, with black trousers. Brenda’s going, “Oh, you look nice Harry, but this is terribly boring—we’ll have to get you something with colour. Like Liam’s!” she adds, when she sees that Liam’s come out. “Liam, what do you think?”

“What—oh,” Liam says, realizing he’s staring. The top few buttons of Harry’s shirt are open, exposing his clavicle. Liam tears his gaze away.

“Yeah,” he says, and coughs slightly. “Some blue would be good.”

“Excellent suggestion,” Brenda says happily.

Harry looks Liam up and down, from his grey slacks to maroon shirt tucked in the vee between the low collar of his buttoned outer suit. He blinks when he meets Liam’s gaze, then: “You look good.”

“You do too,” Liam says honestly, focusing on a spot to the left of Harry’s eye so he’s not staring. “So, what’ll we do?”

“Walking, I think,” Brenda says from the bed.

Liam looks at her. “Walking, really?” he says, and then to Harry who looks just as bemused.

“Walking as a couple,” Brenda emphasizes. “Honestly—not just holding hands, but like you’re married or something. Come on, you can do it.”

“But we’re not married,” Harry says, as Liam goes over to one side of the room anyway just to appease her. Harry follows.

Brenda waves him off. “Walk how you think like a couple would walk, go on.”

Liam grabs Harry’s hand. “Like this?” he says, and walks normally with Harry following suit with their hands intertwined.

Brenda rolls her eyes. “Boring, boys. Push into each other, make it look like you occupy the same space.”

Liam and Harry have reached the other side of the room, by the window. Harry goes, “Like this?” and, switching the hands they’re holding, begins leading Liam along, purposefully bumping his hip with Liam’s. Liam makes a noise and does it back, so they’re hipchecking with nearly every step.

Brenda says, “No. You know what I mean—don’t push at it too hard, just hold onto each other and walk like that, like you’re always waiting for the other.”

This time, Liam and Harry do actually try—Liam purposefully keeps his leg so close to Harry’s that they brush nearly every time, and they’re so close and it makes that side of Liam’s body heat up so much that he’s sure it’ll give him close to a phantom rug burn. Harry holds onto Liam’s arm and leans a little into him, and the whole time Liam swears that his heart is going to burst out of his chest.

“Good!” Brenda says, when they make the length of the room. Somehow, it had felt longer that time. “That was really good. Can you stand like that too?”

“I feel like that question is just, can we stand,” Harry says dryly, winding them around so that they’re facing her. Harry is still hanging off Liam’s arm, and their thighs and hips and torsos are still pressed tight and it feels sort of intrusive to be stood like this in front of Brenda, who is evaluating them and nodding.

“You’ve persuaded me,” she says, smiling. “And you know what to say, so I’m not that fussed anymore. Now come on, give us a kiss.”

She’s joking; but Harry says, “Shall we?” and Liam blurts, “Sure,” before he can really think about it. Harry pecks him lightly, but it’s weird to do on show for a third person and it’s not just the two of them joking around.

“Wonderful,” says Brenda. She checks the time. “Shall we head on out then?”

*

The TCAs are vibrant and lively, but Liam had slept enough during his nap—or maybe it was really a proper sleep, especially after all that wine—that he feels as awake on any other normal day. Harry meanwhile looks dead on his feet, and doesn’t even blink when the dancers during the open ceremony rip their shirts open and ELLEN is branded right on their chests.

Liam’s actually quite glad that he’s not big enough to get nominated for anything, just sitting in the audience and clapping when it’s appropriate, laughing at the jokes that are getting told and listening with pretty rapt attention at all the nominees and winners. When Taylor Swift gets mentioned more than once, at one point Harry says sleepily, “She’s fit, isn’t she?”

“Not sure if I’m the one to make that judgment,” Liam says, amused. Harry looks like he’s going to fall asleep on Liam’s shoulder. It’s at least well and good that he hadn’t been like this when they’d walked in, during which he was definitely more awake.

Ruth, from where she’s sitting behind them, says, “Don’t go dumping my brother for Taylor Swift.”

“I’m not,” Harry says. “I’m just saying she’s fit, is all.”

The worlds Harry and Taylor occupy feel far too apart for Liam to get jealous. Then Liam wonders why he’d thought he’d get jealous in the first place—he doesn’t care about who Harry really has feelings for. He says, “I suppose so,” and Harry says, “Thank you for humouring me.”

The whole ceremony, of course, is very gauche and childlike at the same time. By the end of it, Harry practically sounds like he’s snoring awake. “Best get you back to the hotel then,” Liam says, as soon as the ceremony ends. He’s sure there are afterparties and after-afterparties but he doesn’t know anyone well enough, and he’s willing to tuck in early for Harry to get some rest.

“No, I’m fine,” Harry says, which gets negated when he yawns hugely. “What’s next on the agenda?” he says, like hadn’t just done so.

Liam chuckles and nudges him out of the aisle. “Sleep, you knob,” he says, getting Harry to walk out.

Harry pouts. “I don’t have to sleep. Let’s meet Ian, or Taylor.”

“Stop talking about them like you know them.” Liam begins leading them out. “We’re leaving and then you’re going to pass out on our ridiculous bed.”

“What about you?”

Liam shrugs. “I slept enough, I don’t need to sleep more,” he points out. “We’re flying out again tomorrow, anyway.”

They are; so Harry sleeps the whole night, and on the plane the next day Liam naps for a few hours and then plays Fruit Ninja on his iPad with Harry for the rest of the flight. He thought he’d tire of one person after spending over twenty-four hours together, but Harry giggles at surprising things and says random things and—well, they haven’t stopped being friends, really, though Liam does get tired of being around the same people sometimes. But Harry is warm and unlike anyone Liam’s ever known—even if Liam expected himself to get tired of Harry any time soon, it probably still wouldn’t happen, he knows.

The rest of the week back home flies by in a flurry of Liam dealing with the aftermath of his MTV interview properly—suddenly, more and more random strangers are recognizing him, and he can’t go into the supermarket with his parents without someone in a single aisle recognizing him. His mum says, “My babe’s becoming a superstar,” and Liam says, “Please, Mum, just get the milk,” while his bodyguard watches the teen girl stare at Liam like he’s from another planet. His bodyguard, of course, is coming around more and more like he’s a part of the family—and he may as well be, with the easy way his mum mothers everyone and how his sister makes Dan play Words With Friends with her, but he doesn’t stop being Liam’s bodyguard, which is the odd par.

In fact, though it begins to feel natural, it still makes more sense for Harry to be the one to feel like he belongs. The Olympics opening ceremony is on the Friday at the end of the week, the day before they’re due to leave for their holiday. Liam can barely remember the last week as soon as he and Harry arrive from the TCAs—one moment, they’re saying goodbye outside of Harry’s front door (a sleepy goodbye kiss that Harry crinkles his nose at and says, “You’re smelly,” and Liam huffs a breath of laughter against his face), and the next he’s rolling up to his flat again, sort of anxious because Brenda says that there’s no way they’re not going to interview Liam on the red carpet here, even if only during the TCAs they just posed for a few cameras and were mostly undisturbed.

“I saw our faces in a magazine while I was at the store,” Harry says in greeting, climbing into the car. “It was surreal.”

“It usually is, I’m not even tired of it yet,” Liam tells him. He turns to Brenda in the back. “So am I the one who’s going to answer all the interview questions then? Is Harry just going to stand there and look pretty?”

“I’m very good at that,” Harry says seriously.

“Well if Harry needs to say anything, it’ll just to be support what you’ve said already,” Brenda says, looking up from reading some files. “It’s high-profile, but it’s the Olympics; they’ll be much more concerned with the actual athletes there.”

“And maybe you’ll get to meet Tom Daley,” Harry says with a smirk.

They’re going shopping for a suit for Harry first—Harry insists that he can on his own, but both Brenda and Liam reckon it’ll do better if they were here to know what they were to pair Harry’s outfit with when dressing Liam. Harry gets a deep royal blue suit with two shirts underneath, a white and a pink. He’d insisted on the pink even though it would’ve gone better with the black, Liam thinks. They get dressed in the shop dressing rooms, and Harry tries terribly hard to protest while Brenda buys his clothes for him. Liam tries not to let his gaze linger.

“It suits you,” he says, as they wait for Brenda by the cash register.

“Ha,” Harry says, delighted. “Suits.”

Liam shoves at him. He’d brought his own clothes along, so he’s wearing a white suit with a blue shirt underneath, contrasting Harry’s own outfit. “We look rather dashing, don’t we,” he says, looking down at them.

“That’s what I said before! I said we’d have wonderful babies.”

Liam decides not to dignify that with a response, but he does grab at Harry’s hand since they’re in public. Harry leans into him a bit, sort of like when they were walking at the TCAs—it’s strangely natural, even though they’re in the middle of the shop and have no- one to impress, but only just in case for if anyone pays them any more attention than usual.

They head off for the Olympics, Liam shoving (non-messy, due to his white suit) food into his mouth despite being too nervous to be hungry. Harry at least seems relaxed when they arrive, and during the walk down only one reporter comes up to them, which is still one more than the TCAs.

“And here we have Liam Payne,” the reporter’s saying into the camera, before accosting Liam and Harry. “With his new beau, as well. Liam, what are you excited the most for in the Olympics?”

“Oh, the swimming events,” Liam says, because it’s true. “Those are always fun.”

The reporter asks, “Diving, as well? We hear you like Tom Daley.”

Liam laughs a bit. “Ah—I do.”

“I think he’s right there,” the reporter says, pointing—and she’s right. Tom Daley’s getting his photo taken a bit down the line, and suddenly Liam feels very much out of his depth.

The reporter doesn’t seem to notice, since she calls over, “Tom!” Tom Daley turns around, and does a double take when he sees them. He walks over and greets the reporter, then smiles at Liam.

“Liam Payne, right?” he says. “The musician?”

Liam blinks at him. He doesn’t realise until a second later that he’s grinning. “You have no idea how crazy this feels to me now,” he says to Tom Daley.

Tom Daley laughs. “It’s crazy for me too! I saw your interview with MTV—cheers, mate, you’re really talented. Heard your new album, it’s wonderful.”

Harry chimes in suddenly, “It is, isn’t it?”

“This must be the boyfriend,” Tom Daley says, extending a hand to Harry. “Hello.”

Harry shakes it, as Liam says, “I don’t—how did you even find my interview? Oh god, I’m fanboying on camera.” He looks at the cameraman, who’s pointing at them; the reporter looks guilelessly amused. “This isn’t very professional of me, is it.”

“You’re perfect. It’s so nice to meet you.” Tom Daley, who is two years younger than Liam and makes Liam feel sort of like a proud father, or a proud teenager with a crush, shakes Liam’s hand again. “Great meeting you. Talk to you on Twitter?”

“Yeah, I’ll—I’ll follow you on Twitter,” Liam says to him, and Tom Daley beams before he leaves.

“Well,” the reporter says to the camera. “There you have it! Two fanboys, fanboying over each other. Now over here…”

As Liam and Harry walk on, Liam says, “I can’t believe—I mean, I’ve been a casual fan since Beijing, but that was. He’s an Olympic athlete.”

“You’re a star musician,” Harry points out. “An X Factor winner.”

“That’s true,” Liam says. “It’s just weird that it’s real.”

Harry nudges him. “It’s not weird. You’re both famous, you’re bound to brush elbows.” He looks around the carpet. “Is there a snack bar? I don’t think my salad was very filling.”

“I’ll say. You’ve got some lettuce on your trousers,” Liam says, and Harry looks to where he’s pointing and brushes it off and scolds Liam for not telling him sooner.

The Olympics ceremony is massive—by the time it’s twelve past eight, Liam’s felt like he’s made his way through a party, and that’s only the beginning. The rest of the night is noise and yelling and it feels like a concert, which Liam loves—Harry seems to love it too, cheering along with him and mostly standing in his seat with the rest of them. Brenda is off her own rocker, finally letting loose for what looks like the first time in weeks, and they’re all a bubble of noise in the stands. They watch Journey along the Thames, they watch children pop balloons, they watch the tree on Glastonbury Tor rise up, they watch the tribute to the ’05 victims. And of course they watch the gorgeous torch get lit by the teenagers while Alex Trimble sings, and they’re all cheering and still full of life somehow when it finally draws to an end.

Liam’s slightly disappointed that they won’t get to see any actual events today, but, as he says this to Harry on his way out, Harry says, “We’ve just watch history get made, Liam, what about that?”

“Well it was fun!” Liam says. “I s’pose I also would’ve liked to see something like the swimming event, that’s all.”

“To watch Tom Daley?” Harry asks suddenly.

Liam looks at him funny. “What? I mean, I like him, but it’s just fun to watch.”

“Yeah.” Harry suddenly looks very interested in the lampposts in the distance of the parking lot, as the crowd swims out and Brenda’s chatting excitedly to a stranger on their way out. Liam’s bodyguard is dutifully walking behind them.

“Hey,” Liam says, because Harry’s gone uncharacteristically quiet and it’s bothering him slightly. “Our holiday starts tomorrow, remember?”

This, Harry smiles at. “Of course I remember, I couldn’t forget,” he says.

“We can’t get drunk on the plane again,” Liam says.

Harry’s eyes glint in mischief, and he seems to be back to his old self again. It’s alarming, but not as dangerous as when he’s not being himself.

“Why not?”

Chapter Two

The plane touches down in LAX bright and early the next morning, which really means it’s the afternoon in UK time and Liam and Harry are wide awake for eight in the morning on a Saturday. All eleven hours of the flight they had played Fruit Ninja, gotten drunk and then sober again, though this time without accidentally snogging by the bathrooms (to Brenda’s relief), and then slept, because both of them have low alcohol tolerance and the wine had knocked them out pretty early on.

As they wait for the airplane to make its way down the tarmac, Harry says, watching out the window, “You know, I’ve thought about coming to America for school before.”

“What,” Liam says, “like transferring?”

Harry shrugs. “That or exchange. I like it though, they’ve got good music schools.”

“England’s got pretty decent music schools too,” Liam reminds him.

Harry nudges him with his knee. “I know that,” he says, amused. “I’m just saying.”

Liam watches him watching the airstrip roll by beneath them. “What d’you want to do then?” he asks, and Harry looks at him curiously. “I mean, like, with your life, your degree and all.”

“Oh.” Harry smiles at his lap, suddenly looking bashful. “I’ve actually—I wanted to be a musician, really. Like you are now. ‘S why I almost tried out for the X Factor a couple years ago.”

“That would’ve been fun,” Liam says. “You would’ve hung out with me and Louis and Niall.”

“A whole legion of teen boy popstars,” Harry says, and Liam laughs. “No, that would’ve been—would be great. I mean, I’ve met your friends now, they’re nice blokes.”

“Niall is,” Liam says, and Harry’s the one who laughs this time. “Yeah, I mean—you know what you want to do. God knows where I’ll be in a few years.” He shudders, trying not to think about it.

“Yeah, but you knew what you wanted to do when you were young, didn’t you?” Harry points out. “X Factor twice and all.”

“Sometimes starting young isn’t always a good thing,” Liam says.

Harry laughs again. “I feel like there are a whole lot of child psychologists you would have to talk to if you think that’s true,” he says as the airplane comes to a stop.

This time, unlike the TCAs, it’s just the two of them and Liam’s bodyguard, who’s been stood in front of the first class curtains for the whole flight. They disembark and, as soon as they get off, Liam texts Brenda who calls just to double check they’re alright. Liam doesn’t feel half as lethargic as the last time he landed in LA, though practically as soon as they disembark, a young woman comes up to him and says she’d recognized him on the plane, asking for his autograph. His bodyguard tries to divert them away, but Liam doesn’t want to be mean so he signs the notebook she’s shoved out to him.

When she’s gone, Dan looks over at him pityingly while Harry says, “You know, you don’t have to listen to them. That’s his job.” He points to Dan.

Liam shrugs. “Yeah but—I feel bad,” he says honestly. “I don’t want to be rude. And it’s only one girl.”

This is true until, as they make their way out of the airport, more and more passersby recognize Liam, shoving things and markers into his face and asking for his autograph. Liam does as many as he can because he doesn’t want to be selective, doesn’t want people to think that some of them are lucky and others aren’t—but it gets tiring, especially since it becomes so much that Liam’s gotten a small crowd around him while Harry and Dan are standing by waiting.

To make matters worse, then someone asks Harry for his autograph—Harry, who’s not even a celebrity—and Liam says, “I’m sorry, I—we should go.” He looks helplessly at Dan who take it as his turn to herd everyone off, so Liam’s met with disappointed whines and feels bad that not everyone got a signature from him, an actual person that they admire.

“They can always ask later, we’re here for a week,” Harry says, which does nothing to ease Liam’s guilty conscience.

“They’re flying out today,” Liam points out; most of the people in this area of the airport are either queuing up for the security check in.

“‘S alright,” Harry says, patting his elbow in a sort of odd gesture. “You’re famous now, it’s what happens. You’re too nice.” His carry-on’s over his shoulders, and he makes it sound like a compliment, even though Liam’s sure it’s not supposed to be.

“Well, I know how—” Liam starts, then isn’t sure if he’s ready to share that part of his life yet. Well, screw it. “It’s not easy to rely on luck,” Liam says. “You have to work hard, but sometimes life—” He shrugs. “I’m in the position to control that luck for some people, I don’t want them to feel like they’re missing out just because I haven’t got the time—”

“But you don’t,” Harry says gently. “You have your own life, Liam, that’s fine. You can’t control luck, that’s the thing about it. Sometimes it just…” He shrugs. “… is.”

Liam sighs. “Yeah, I know,” he says, thinking about MTV all those weeks ago, the day he first kissed Harry.

Harry slides his hand into Liam’s then, and squeezes. Liam smiles gratefully; they kind of look like two uni students right now, with their backpacks on and sunglasses pushed into their hair. It’s nice, Liam thinks. He wonders if in another world where they’re just perfectly normal lads, they could’vestill somehow met and become friends.

But this isn’t that world, because when they come to the baggage claim, there’s already paps there snapping photos and people staring at them and it’s like they’re in a zoo. Liam feels like he’s in a another world, but he murmurs to himself, “It’s fine,” as they wait for their baggage alongside the others who had been on their flight. The other passengers are staring at them curiously, and one of them tries to ask for Liam’s autograph before his bodyguard stops them. Liam feels terrible at his dejected face as the passenger walks away, and is tempted to call out and say that he’ll sign his hat.

Harry seems to notice, because he says, “Don’t worry,” and then, peeking around at the paps behind them, “We should leave everyone here with a souvenir; that’s what you want, right?”

His face is getting closer to Liam’s. Liam says, “I’m pretty sure we’re the ones who’re supposed to leave with a souvenir from LA, not them.”

“Potato, potato,” Harry says, then looks up in thought. “I don’t think it makes sense for me to say that right now.”

“Are we going to snog for the cameras or what?” Liam says.

Harry reaches up and drags his hand behind Liam’s head, pulling him in and kissing him lightly on the mouth. It seems to mean something, which Liam’s never felt before, with Harry or Louis or Angelica from year 7—every movement of Harry’s lips is careful, soft, calculative on Liam’s. He bites at Liam’s lower lip and Liam has no choice but to open up for him, feel the thick push of Harry’s tongue, breath warm and paced between them.

Liam realizes, with his palm is resting gently against the flat side of Harry’s waist, that Harry’s own hands which are cupping the back of his neck are trembling slightly, like he’s not sure if he wants this or wants to let go. Liam’s the one who breaks the kiss first, staring into Harry’s eyes, wondering if he’s searching for something.

“Well played,” his bodyguard’s voice says lowly near them, bringing Liam back to the present.

He drags his attention away, back to the room that seems at large to be staring at them, not Harry’s other palm still at Liam’s upper back, pressing absently. Sure, there are some people looking at them with disgust, but Liam resolutely ignores them. “I feel voyeuristic,” he says to Harry. “Don’t you?”

“Pretty sure that’s when you’re watching other blokes go at it,” Harry says. “Like porn.”

Liam chokes, clapping a hand over his own mouth since he’s not sure what would happen if he touched him again. “We’re in public,” he says, scandalized, and Harry says, “Well it’s not like we’re actually watching porn now, are we?”

They’ve booked a different hotel than last time, but still when they arrive, the bed in Liam and Harry’s room is one large one yet again, not a single second bed or even couch anywhere. “Well,” Liam says, stopping with his suitcase in the doorway as Harry pushes in after him. “We can figure out an arrangement, or book another room—”

“We can’t do that, people will get suspicious,” Harry points out.

“Well then, I can sleep one night, and you can sleep the next—”

Harry looks at Liam like he thinks he’s an idiot, which may be the case. “That would kill us,” he says. “Or, you, since I can function without much sleep—”

Liam snorts. “The night of the TCAs may disagree with that—”

Harry shoves him good-naturedly. “It’s fine, we’ll share the bed,” he says casually, heaving his suitcase onto the bed and making Liam wince. “You shared a bed with a bloke before, right?”

“I mean, yes, with Louis—” Liam says, and he’s about to add but we were shagging when something on Harry’s face makes him reconsider before speaking.

“Then it’s fine,” Harry says, shrugging. “If you can share a bed with Louis, then you can share one with me.” He opens his bag and crinkles his nose at a piece of underwear lying on top of his clothes. “I don’t remember packing this,” he says, shoving it into a side bag.

Liam’s at a loss for words as Harry prowls through his suitcase, finding clothes to change into after the long flight and muttering about Zayn trying to help him pack. It’s when Harry begins taking off his shirt that Liam blurts, “I’ll be in the bathroom,” and then goes and stays there until it should be well long enough that Harry’s fully dressed again.

*

Their first day in LA is to tackle the sight-seeing, even though Liam’s seen it all before. Harry has, too, when they cruise down Hollywood Boulevard and pass the walk of fame, and he calls, “Oh, that’s the Chinese Theatre.” He also has a map in his hands, though, so maybe he’d known from that and not from memory.

They’ve rented out a tour bus like proper tourists, and sometimes Liam catches Harry staring at him for some reason, so he’s pretty sure that he has dirt or something on his face. During lunch, when they’re eating Chinese and Liam is trying to figure out if he likes the tofu or not, he sees Harry staring at him for some reason and glances up to meet his eyes. “What?” Liam says. “Have I got some food ’round my mouth?”

Harry blinks, then shakes his head, smiling. “No,” he says, like he means otherwise.

Liam frowns at him. “Harry,” he says, prodding him with his chopsticks that he’s probably holding the wrong way. “Tell me if I’ve got food on my face.”

“You haven’t,” Harry says insistently, not looking up at him and still grinning.

Liam turns to his bodyguard, who must somehow get his nourishment when Liam’s not looking. “I haven’t got food on my face, have I?” he asks.

Dan looks at Harry, then back at Liam, then shakes his head. Harry’s grinning a little and Liam whines, “You’re both mean,” and wipes at his face about four times for good measure, though his napkin comes off with nothing.

It’s weird to be with just Harry (and, well, his bodyguard, but he’s silent enough that it’s easy to forget that he’s even there.) Liam brings it up as they cruise down Sunset Boulevard, back on the roof of the bus. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this alone with you before,” he says.

“What,” Harry says. “Because this bus is so empty?”

It is; Liam says, “Sometimes I wish I was normal again so we could go on tour with other people.”

“Liam, if you were normal again, neither of us would be here,” Harry says, amused. “In California, I mean. Right now.”

“You might be,” Liam says, because he knows that he wouldn’t. “I dunno. It’s kind of lonely.”

Harry shrugs. “That means there’s plenty of room to shag,” he says, and Liam from where he’s taking a drink of water nearly spits it out.

He swallows, forcing it down. “Harry,” he says, even though his bodyguard isn’t scandalized, just amused.

“You’re the one who made the comment about voyeurism earlier,” Harry says pointedly. “It’s your fault.”

“How is it my fault?” says Liam, gesturing so animatedly that his water bottle spout pops open and flings some water onto a nearby passerby down below. She shrieks and Liam and Harry duck down, bursting into giggles.

The rest of the day has Liam and Harry visit some museums, which are terribly boring, and then Hollywood Hills, which is decidedly much less boring. Harry says, “You could buy a house here, Liam,” and Liam hits his shoulder, because he’s not sure if he’ll reach that status yet but also it’s weird to think about, when he’s just a lad from Wolverhampton who’s really focused only on his career. Even though his career has put him in this place anyway.

Harry just sidles along Liam so that their shoulders bump when they walk, and it makes Liam more aware of that than the sprawling valleys of Hollywood that he’s really only dreamed of occupying several years ago on the X Factor. Fame wasn’t as much of a goal for him as it was to do and make something that he loved for a living—but he says, “Imagine if we lived here though,” to Harry.

Harry chortles. “You and me, then?” he says. “When we’re old and spry and still pretending to be a couple.”

“No,” Liam says elbowing him. “As mates. And with Louis and Niall too, that would be fun.”

“Can Zayn come too?” Harry asks, speaking a beat later than Liam would’ve expected. “He knows all my deepest darkest secrets, I don’t trust him alone.”

“Why would you tell your secrets to someone you don’t trust?”

“I trust him, I just don’t trust him alone,” Harry says, as if there’s any difference.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes, okay, Zayn can come too.”

Harry says, “Yay, I’ll put it in our group chat,” and awakens his phone to tap out the message.

Liam gets notifications from all of them in the next minute.

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Liam says we can buy a house in Hollywood Hills.
Niall Horan: Yay!!!!!!!!:)
Louis Tomlinson: Nice. He’s paying.
Zayn M: why am i in this chat again
Niall Horan: :)
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Because you mean a lot to us, Zayn.
Louis Tomlinson: because you make the number in this group even
Zayn M: 4s an even number

*

They end the day on a high note, going to CityWalk, eating dinner there, and gawking at street performers who are much more talented than Liam can ever hope to be. He tips generously as Harry tries to make conversation with some of them, half of whom are just trying to do their jobs and surreptitiously ward Harry off. “C’mon Harry,” Liam says, as Harry tries to ask a magician how to do his trick.

“But Liam, it’s magic,” Harry says with wonder.

“Yes,” Liam says. “Haven’t you ever heard that magicians aren’t supposed to share their secrets?”

“They could,” Harry says, like he thinks he has the power to persuade them.

It’s getting late, so they head back to their hotel back on the rented tour bus. They have it for a few days, as they’re flying up to San Francisco on Wednesday; Harry mentioned that he’d never gone before, and Brenda had insisted that they’d go, getting publicity on both sides of the state. Today they’d done plenty of handholding and looking pretty, which Liam figures that would be no less than anyone expected, since they’re on a holiday—they don’t have to snog everywhere they go. In the elevator in the hotel, though, Harry’s looking at him in a dazed sort of way that Liam thinks that he really might start kissing him here, even though there’s already an old woman and two teens in the elevator with them.

His bodyguard stands outside the room as Liam and Harry enter, worn from a long day of travel and then being tourists. “I’m knackered,” Harry says, immediately draping onto the large bed as Liam goes into the bathroom to wash himself off.

“Don’t go to sleep yet, wash up,” Liam calls, scrubbing his hands.

He can practically hear Harry roll his eyes from here. “Yes, mum,” Harry says sarcastically, and then the bedsprings bounce again like he’s getting off. “Are you showering tonight?” Harry asks, poking his head into the open bathroom door.

Liam shakes his head. “Tomorrow morning.”

“Mind if I take a shower then?”

“Sure, I’ll brush my teeth first.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, and then goes back out to the room, presumably to do what it is Harry does while Liam gets ready for the night.

Liam brushes, flosses, gargles with mouthwash, and then takes care of his skin before he’s back out of the bathroom, saying, “It’s all yours.”

“Sweet,” Harry says, bounding up from where he was on his laptop on the desk. “I sleep with only my pants on, is that okay?”

“Oh, erm,” Liam says, because he does too—he’s not sure if Harry remembers, or thinks he’ll do differently, or what. But if they both do, then it’s nothing Liam can really say anything about. “‘S fine,” he tells Harry.

“Brilliant,” Harry says, grabbing nothing but a pair of his boxer briefs before heading into the bathroom. “I’ll be washing, then.”

Liam himself is in his day clothes still. He shucks them off and changes into clean underwear, then sits on the bed and tries to decide what to do. It won’t be weird that both he and Harry will be half-naked, he tells himself, pulling the covers apart and loosening them from being tucked into the bed so that it’s comfortable all around. They’re both boys, they both have to sleep, and they’re pretending to date, anyway, aren’t they? It’ll just be like smooching for the paps except it’s just him and Harry inside; but none of it’s real, anyway, so none of it really matters.

Harry comes out of the bathroom eventually, and Liam calls, “You can shut off the lights if you want.” Then the lights to the room are out, nothing but the glow of the bathroom light still on, illuminating the side of Harry’s body as he steps out.

There are dark markings on his chest, Liam realizes for the first time since he’s met him. “You’ve got tattoos,” he realizes.

“What? Oh.” Harry looks down like he’s just realized for the first time, too. “I do.”

“I didn’t know that,” Liam says, as Harry leans over to flicker the bathroom lights off before crawling into bed.

Harry bumps into Liam’s knee and Liam says, “Ow, that’s me.” Harry goes, “Sorry,” then, “Should I have told you tattoos? Is that a dealbreaker for you?” His tone is teasing as he climbs into the other side of the bed next to Liam.

“Of course not, I just—it’s surprising.”

“I am quite a surprising person,” Harry says, and Liam laughs in the dark.

“This is weird,” he says, turning his face to Harry. They’ve got the blackout curtains pulled, so he can really only see a vague fuzzy shadow of Harry in the dark, and has to approximate where his figure is.

“It’s only weird if you make it weird,” Harry says with amusement. “We’re just boys, Liam.”

“‘Just boys’ don’t share beds with their mates,” Liam points out.

“Okay,” Harry says, rolling over so his back is to Liam. Liam can tell because his voice is a little more faint. “Then we’re just boys who everyone thinks is dating.”

Liam sighs. “Yeah,” he says, before rolling onto his own side, so their backs are to each other. “Goodnight Harry.”

Harry’s smile is visible in his tone. “Goodnight, Liam.”

*

Liam awakens to warm skin against his nose.

His first thought is, I don’t smell that good, before, with a brush of his nose, he realizes that his head is not bent in the crook of his elbow, or anything of the sort. What he’s pressed up against isn’t his own arm, but another’s.

He almost flails in surprise, before the moment he opens his eyes and remembers. This is Harry. Harry with his ridiculous bunch of curly hair and soft skin, spooned to the front of Liam’s chest.

They’ve accidentally cuddled in the night, which is so humiliating at first that Liam begins to move away, despite how warm and sweet-smelling Harry is. But then as Liam pulls back, Harry lets out a small whine and his hand grabs Liam’s, dragging him back. Liam shouldn’t—but Harry will surely wake up if Liam leaves him cold, and Liam can come back to Harry’s warmth so that Harry stays asleep. That’s what Liam tells himself as he allows Harry to rest into him again, curling into his body and rubbing up against him.

The movement does something to Liam’s nether regions, but he tells himself to ignore it and focus on something else.

Some minutes later—Liam’s not sure how long, but it can’t be that long—Harry shifts again, arse pushed against Liam’s thighs and his crotch again. Liam bites his bottom lip as Harry seems to shuffle awake, and Liam begins to pull back, ready to wank off in the bathroom and for them to pretend like this never happened.

But Harry’s got a hand wound in Liam’s, and when Liam pulls back Harry doesn’t let him go. In fact, he pulls tighter, and when Liam gives up on getting up, he turns around to see Harry watching him in a way that makes Liam uncomfortable in his own skin all of a sudden. Or all too comfortable, really, as Harry’s gaze is warm and open and yet, somehow, still unreadable.

“Morning,” Harry says to him.

“Morning,” Liam says, and then Harry’s pulled Liam’s body over him, hands still fastened together, mouths meeting less like it’s something they should do, that they have to do, but that they just do—mouth on mouth, skin on skin, Harry’s bare chest pressed right against Liam’s. If Liam opened his eyes and looked down he’d be able to see the tattooed birds on Harry’s chest, and the whole assortment of other tats he’s got there; right now his fingers are clutched in Harry’s big warm hand, as Harry kisses him so deeply and sleepily that Liam isn’t entirely convinced that this isn’t some elaborate dream.

Harry’s fingers skate over Liam’s chest, palming at his nipples, ribs, stomach, thumbing down the hair beneath his bellybutton. Liam feels dizzy with ridiculous heat, making a small noise as Harry’s knuckles brush over the front of his pants.

Harry’s hand lingers there, a question. “Yeah,” Liam breathes, already imagining it, imagining Harry’s large hand around him, on him. Harry sticks his hand in his pants, and Liam pulls away to take them off properly so that he’s naked. Harry’s eyes are as big as saucers as Liam comes back down on Harry to kiss his talented mouth. Harry kisses Liam’s jaw, the side of his neck, hand hot on Liam’s dick, and Liam groans.

“I should—” Harry says, and with his other hand squeezes it between their bodies to work at his own underwear. Liam helps him, slips his pants off, and then their pricks are pressed against each other, and Harry lets out a moan that sparks every nerve ending in Liam’s body. “Fuck,” Harry says, as his hand works on Liam and himself, the sound of skin slapping together.

Liam gets a hand down, helps him, watches the slide of their cocks and the sweaty heat of Harry’s body. “Yeah,” Liam says again, because he has no other words, the sight too hot for him, for them. Harry’s breathing is getting faster as he grinds up, Liam grinds down, hands pumping until Harry’s body twitches and his hand makes an aborted movement, and he comes all over himself. It doesn’t take long then for Liam to come too, using the slick of Harry’s cock on his own, grunting into Harry’s neck as Harry bites down on his shoulder, Liam’s own orgasm spurting out.

He pants, and pants, and then realizes what they’ve just done. At this point if it were a dream Liam would be waking up; but as it is, Harry’s looking up at him with that wonder in his eyes again, and Liam is realizing that it did really happen—quick, like he’s with Louis again, except they’ve got all the time in the world and Harry’s expression is soft like he wants to kiss and say something afterward.

Liam climbs off the bed and says to himself, It’s like with Louis again, it’s no big deal. “I’m going to clean myself up,” he says, casual. “You want a towel?”

When he turns to look at Harry again, Harry looks dazed, like a deer caught in headlights. “Yeah,” he says, after a second, blinking himself back. “That’d be nice.”

Liam goes to the bathroom, gets a washcloth, wets it, and cleans himself off. He gets another for Harry, tossing it at him as he comes back out.

“Thanks,” Harry says, with a smile. “That was—um.” He’s still smiling when he breaks off. Liam’s not sure what he meant to say.

Liam shrugs. “That happens,” he says, aiming for casual and coming out offhand. “You—I mean—you said you wanked with Zayn before, right?”

“Not like that,” Harry says. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes anymore. “But yeah, I suppose.”

“It was nice.” Liam laughs self-consciously. He has no idea what to say. “I’m sorry, I haven’t hurt your feelings, have I? I just—um—it was happening, I don’t know what—”

“It’s fine.” The light has returned to Harry’s eyes again, which is a bit of a relief. “It happens. That’s what you said, right?”

“Right,” Liam says, relieved. “And it doesn’t—it’s just wanking, it doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Right,” Harry agrees.

So that’s sorted. Well, Liam still feels like something is odd, but figures if they don’t talk about it it’ll get itself sorted. He goes to take a shower and when he’s done he flicks some water at Harry, who yelps and throws a pillow at him, so it’s alright.

Today they’re going to Disneyland, to Liam’s bodyguard’s chagrin. On the bright side everyone in LA seems to be so used to celebrities that not a lot of people spare Liam and Harry a second glance; on the other hand, while Liam doesn’t particularly mind kids, the amount of them running around their calves is stifling.

“I don’t remember being that short,” Harry says, amused, as some kids push their way past them to get in the queue for the Haunted House ride.

“Probably because you were young. That’s what happens,” Liam says. “You had to have been that short once.”

“Have not,” Harry insists. “I sprouted out of my mum’s uterus like this. I’m like a dwarf.”

Liam chokes on his cotton candy, and his bodyguard thumps his back. “Don’t give me an image like that ever again,” he says, recovering. “And I know you’re not, you showed us your baby photos when we were at your flat.”

“Those were Zayn’s,” Harry says, and Liam buckles over in laughter.

It’s sunny and nice on this side of the world, and they take their time through the park, standing in the queues for all the rides, even the kiddie ones, and playing hand games from primary school when they get bored and asking each other if they remember S Club 7 or Rosie & Jim. It’s like this morning never happened—or didn’t matter, Liam reminds himself, as they wind off a spinny ride that had Liam pressed to Harry’s side the whole time.

Of course, they still have to play it up for the public, so when they’re in line for It’s A Small World, Liam slips his hand into Harry’s and leans against him as they wait under the pavilion. “Do you think it’s a small world?” he asks Harry teasingly.

“I think,” Harry says, in an exaggerated voice, “that the world is its size depending on your manner of perspective, and—”

He yelps when Liam lets him go and pokes his side with a finger. “What!” Harry says. “It’s true!”

“Okay, you swot,” Liam giggles, because Harry’s grin is breaking through his serious exterior.

“I’m getting an education, of course I’m a swot,” Harry says, straightening his back haughtily. “When I have a degree, I’ll be able to determine how small the world really is.”

“Think they’ve already done that. You’re too late.”

“Oh hush, Liam, let me have my fun,” Harry says, and Liam giggles again.

Being with Harry feels as perfectly normal as always, and Liam does soon enough forget to worry about this morning as they bus to Universal Studios in the afternoon, getting bored of just Disney already. There’s a whole lot that’s closed off, of course, for—

“Harry Potter World,” Harry reads, on the map he’s gotten. “‘Opening in 2016′? That’s four years from now!”

“We’ll just have to come back in four years then,” Liam says, looking at the construction site.

Harry folds the map and they continue down the walk to Jurassic World. “I think I’d be a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff. What about you, Liam?”

“No idea,” Liam says honestly; he hasn’t taken much time to consider it.

“What do you think I am, then?”

Liam shrugs. He hasn’t actually read the Harry Potter books, but he’s seen the movies, so: “Gryffindor, maybe? You’ve got the same name as the, uhm, him.”

“I do, don’t I?” Harry says proudly. “Gryffindor it is then.” He cocks his head to the side and looks at Liam. “I think you’d be a Hufflepuff,” he says.

“Is that supposed to be an insult?” Liam asks. He can’t remember many Hufflepuffs from the movies.

“No, it’s a compliment. I like Hufflepuffs,” Harry says. “I think. Well, I don’t dislike them.”

“I’m glad to know that you don’t dislike me,” Liam says.

Universal has a whole lot of bigger rides so Liam and Harry go on those, traipsing through the Mummy ride twice because the first time had terrified them both. They make their way around to every large ride they can find, sitting down once in a while since their legs hurt, and then going again. In the afternoon, when they’re in the comics part of the area and Liam’s thinking of the least geeky way to ask Harry if he wants to take a picture in front of the Batman figurine, he sees a small girl with an ice cream cone peeking into a window of a merchandise shop before the ice cream accidentally slips out of her hands.

She looks down at the ice cream and her lower lip wibbles—then Liam’s there, asking, “Do you need another ice cream?”

He realizes that this is kind of a creepy thing to do, that he should’ve waited until the girl’s family came or noticed, but the girl nods. The ice cream stand’s just right next to the store, so Liam goes and pays for one and hands it to the girl, who’d gone to hold his hand when he’d offered to buy. She takes the ice cream eagerly, and licks at it.

“Thank you,” she says in a small voice, looking up at Liam.

“It’s no problem,” Liam says, before going back to the table where he’d been sitting with Harry. He sees a family rush over from a table on the other side of the open area, over to the girl. What looks to be the father is staring at Liam until seeming relieved when he sees that Liam’s just bought her another ice cream.

Harry is blinking at Liam. “You didn’t have to do that,” he says, but his expression is soft. “That was really nice.”

Liam shrugs, embarrassed. “I just—it was just ice cream,” he says.

Harry punches him in the shoulder. “Let me compliment you. You really are an amazing person, Liam.”

“I don’t know what to say to that,” Liam says, laughing. “Thank you? Um. You are, too.”

“We both are,” Harry concedes. “That’s what makes us a power couple.” He grips Liam’s hand, and then says, “Can you buy me an ice cream too?” Liam punches his shoulder with his free hand this time.

*

They get back to the hotel riding on such a high that it’s not until Liam’s climbing into bed that he remembers the awkwardness that had been this morning and—well, and a little bit after this morning. Harry’s coming out of the bathroom and turning the light off when Liam goes, “Um, earlier, that was—this morning was a one time thing, right?”

Harry’s already turned off the lights so Liam can’t see his face; but it’s maybe a second later when Harry says, “Yeah, no, of course.”

“Of course,” Liam repeats, relieved. “Like, with Louis and me it was sort of this arrangement, but I—we’re here for a week, it’s not—”

“Yeah,” Harry says, like he knows what Liam’s talking about. He climbs into bed next to Liam, and says, “You said before—it just happens.”

“Yeah. Yes.” Liam’s so glad that Harry gets it. That they don’t have to go into detail; that Liam doesn’t have to tell him how exactly Louis and he had some weird—sexuality talk, made an agreement, and it was nice but not satisfying because it made much more sense for him and Louis to prank each other, not wank off with each other. “It just happens.”

Liam feels Harry shrug in bed next to him. “So it just happened,” Harry says in the dark, and that seems to be the end of that.

*

On Tuesday they’re to go to the beach. Liam’s a fan since while there are beaches in England, it’s not the same when there’s a bright sun and a blue California sky hovering over them with a promising warmth.

Harry doesn’t seem to mind either as he leaves the hotel room wearing nothing but his trunks—no shirt or anything.

“Hey,” Liam says, grabbing a random piece of clothing and throwing it at Harry. It seems to be a t-shirt, which Harry crinkles his nose at when he looks down at it. “Cover up, you don’t want to be indecent.”

“There’s nothing indecent about me,” Harry says, pouting and looking down at himself.

Liam rolls his eyes and decidedly does not look at Harry’s chest. “Yeah, but you might not be allowed certain places if you’ve got no shirt, you know,” he says. “No shirt, no shoes—”

“I’m wearing shoes!”

“But no shirt,” Liam says pointedly.

Harry sighs and trudges back into the room, grabs a short-sleeve button up with a questionable pattern, and pulls it on. “Clothing,” he says. “Shirts. Service.”

“You’ll thank me when we’re eating lunch,” Liam says. They’d lounged in this morning and ordered breakfast because Harry said he’d always wanted to try room service breakfast. Liam thought it was odd, but was no-one to complain, and it certainly was delicious.

They make their way downstairs, sticking close together in their usual acting-a-couple way, every inch of Harry’s skin against Liam’s acute points of contact that Liam pretends he doesn’t notice as much as he does. They’re standing that close to each other in the elevator and clutching each other’s hands as they walk out, and Liam just learns to mentally check out when it feels like it’s becoming too much of a focus for his senses–and suddenly they’re at a town car and Harry is letting him go as they get inside.

Liam talks about how he can’t wait to go surfing, which Harry questions him about with curiosity. It doesn’t take them very long to get to Santa Monica beach, so Liam’s saying, “… and Louis and I wanted to find a place that has good waves, since Lou likes surfing too, and we haven’t had much of a chance to go together.”

“You could teach me how,” Harry says, peeking out of his halfway rolled down window. “Oh, that’s the beach isn’t it?”

They arrive with the waves crashing white onto the sand. Harry runs out and into the ocean right away as soon as they park, and Liam calls, “Harry, you should—oh,” he says helplessly, pulling out the sunscreen for himself. His bodyguard smiles at him, and Liam’s mildly glad that his bodyguard’s for him and not for the reckless Harry, before he realizes what a terrible thought that is.

“I’m going to go rent a surfboard,” he tells his bodyguard, who nods and follows him as Liam walks over in the sand to the nearby outdoor surf shop.

Harry, the lucky bastard, doesn’t have to worry half as much for getting recognized as Liam, who gets some curious glances. It’s not unwelcome, really, when a good looking boy in queue with Liam for the surfboards keeps looking at him shyly, before blurting that he likes Liam’s music. Liam’s surprised and pleased since he hasn’t had a lot of male people coming up to him complimenting his music, so they talk about it until they move a bit up more in the queue and then Liam’s nearly caught off guard when a bare arm swings around his shoulder and Harry says, “Hi, Liam.”

“Harry,” Liam says happily. “I was just telling Lucas about the X Factor—”

“I kind of want to try it now,” Lucas says. “It seems fun.”

“Doesn’t it? Liam was great,” says Harry, before tugging Liam back and pointing to a cluster of shops down the beach. His arm is warm against the skin of Liam’s neck. “I saw a neat restaurant over there, maybe we can do it for lunch?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Does it still give you service without a shirt?” he says, because Harry’s stripped out of his shirt again, it slung over his shoulder like a towel.

“I’ll wear it when we eat, I promise!” Harry says. He hangs off Liam’s shoulder and says lowly into his ear, “And you should kiss me, I think I saw a pap earlier.” Liam is aware of the weight Harry has against his own, all close in his space like that.

“Just ’cause there’s paps doesn’t mean I have to kiss you,” Liam mutters back. Lucas is getting his own surfboard picked out, glancing at Liam and Harry every once in a while.

Harry says, “Yes, but you should. We’re having a fun day at the beach, aren’t we?” and Liam rolls his eyes but pecks Harry on the mouth if it’ll make him happy.

Lucas says goodbye to him when he’s sorted. Harry gives him a strange look, but Liam supposes that there’s just a difference between surfers and non-surfers—Harry and Lucas. Lucas probably actually listens to pop music, says a voice in the back of Liam’s head, and Liam ignores it as he picks out his own surfboard.

Harry disappears again during this, so Liam lathers himself with sunscreen and hopes that Harry will find him or Dan again and get his own skin taken care of. “I’ll be surfing,” he tells Dan, who nods behind his sunglasses, before Liam takes off into the ocean.

The water is sticky and delightful against Liam’s skin as he paddles out, riding on the waves with his board, and meeting some other surfers along the coast, even if it’s mostly waving and nodding. It’s fun, is all, like singing and making music. Like grinning at Harry, who waves at him excitedly from the beach as Liam rides as many waves as he can, making keep until he crashes into the water, laughing at himself.

He and Harry get lunch; Harry frowns at the bruises on his chest. “Those are all from surfing?” he says, fingers flitting towards him and away like he’d thought about touching before figuring otherwise.

Liam shrugs. “Yeah,” he says. He probably should’ve rented a wetsuit, but it’s too late for that now and he doesn’t want to cut too much into Brenda’s funds anyway. The board’s enough.

“Isn’t that unsafe?” Harry says, glancing at some other surfers along the beach. “Why don’t you get the rubber suits like them? They look safer.”

“It’s unsafe that you’re parading around without any sunscreen,” Liam says, because Harry’s skin has not had a spot of white on it all morning.

Harry goes, “Pah, skin,” and Liam says, “It’s no less dangerous than my own skin when I’m surfing!”

“So you do agree you need a suit,” Harry says.

Liam grabs one of Harry’s chips and throws it at his bare chest. “You need to wear sunscreen,” he retorts.

This meal, of course, gets them nowhere. They sit on the beach to wait off their food, lying on the towels they’d brought. Like every other part of LA, the people seem to be used to the amount of celebrities here that for the most part they don’t seem too bothered by Liam and Harry, though they do cuddle on a single towel anyway. Liam’s leaned back on his elbows and Harry has one elbow propped on Liam’s chest, watching the other people play in the ocean.

“It’s nice, this,” Liam says. “Honestly, this is the funnest week I’ve had in a long time, and we’ve only been here for a few days.”

“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “I mean, my summers are usually full of dating hot popstars and taking a holiday in America—”

Liam laughs. “Hey.”

“Well, this is one of the better holidays,” Harry says good-naturedly. He sits up, away from Liam. Liam tries not to mourn at the loss or admire the curve of Harry’s spine. “I think we’ve given that pap enough material,” he adds, eyes flickering discreetly at some paparazzo disguised as a tourist, who’d been aiming his camera at them for the past fifteen minutes.

“Yeah.” Liam sighs. He picks his longboard back up again. “Race you back to the water?”

They spend the afternoon in the ocean, Harry dicking around doing whatever he’s doing (at one point Liam encounters him helping a small boy collecting shells; Liam’s heart does a weird tugging thing) and Liam mostly surfing until he gets tired. He tries to teach Harry, who gets it once before he crashes into the water, then Liam’s swimming to make sure he’s okay and Harry’s kissing him on the mouth, all salty and tasting like the sea. Liam laughs against him as a wave crashes into them, forcing the kiss apart until Liam has to drag their faces back together, but it must certainly look quite a sight and Harry must’ve seen another pap, since he’s really letting the kiss go on, dragging his teeth along Liam’s lower lip and hand tight on the back of his head until they’re thrown into the throes of the ocean again.

Liam gets his longboard back up, then heads back up to the beach. He can’t stop grinning at Harry; his mouth feels bruised, even though it’s likely not, given they barely kissed for a minute. “What was all that about then?” he says, because it had been kind of charged, kind of—heat of the moment.

Harry shrugs. “Figure we haven’t filled our quota of, you know,” he says, glancing around. Liam knows—now people are really watching them with interest.

Liam chuckles. “Think you’ve drawn more attention to us.”

“I like attention,” Harry says back, smirking. “Maybe I’m trying to trick you. Maybe I’m trying to be more famous than you.”

“Maybe,” Liam laughs. “Then you can pay for our Hollywood house.”

“I will pay for it,” Harry says, sticking his nose up, “and I will live in it.”

There’s an ice cream truck that comes an hour or so later, well into the afternoon and ringing a tune that’s even got the adults and teenagers looking over. Harry asks Liam if he wants one, and Liam says no, so Harry goes over by himself. Then Liam realizes that it’s a good opportunity to get Harry to stick sunscreen all over himself, so he clambers out of the water and trudges over to Harry, getting sand all over his feet and calves.

Harry’s talking to some girl in line. A short spark of anger that Liam hadn’t known was there before starts in him; Liam’s barely listening as he approaches.

“… not really the famous part of famous boyfriend, really—more the boyfriend,” Harry’s saying.

“Yeah?” says the girl he’s talking to.

“You know how sometimes it’s hard to believe that good people exist? Liam is—he’s one of those good people. Sometimes he can’t tell because he’s so stressed, and I’ve tried to tell him before—he’s fit, but he’s just good—”

“Not a lot of celebrities like that,” the girl says. She rolls her eyes. “I would know, I’m from around here.”

“Hey,” Liam says, reaching them and giving the girl a perfunctory smile.

Harry looks at him with some surprise. “Hey,” he says, cheeks pink all of a sudden. “What’re you—what did you come for?”

“Ice cream?” the girl he’s talking to suggests.

Liam says, “I’m fine, really,” to the girl, then, “You should get your sunscreen on.”

“Oh, fine,” Harry says, and takes the bottle Liam had grabbed from his bodyguard. “He’s also a bit of a control freak,” he tells the girl.

Liam scowls. “I am not,” he says to Harry. To the girl, he says, “I’m not, Harry just likes being irresponsible.”

“Responsibility,” Harry says with a scoff, dotting his arm with the white lotion.

He hands it back to Liam when he’s done, and to something that feels like Liam’s relief, tucks into Liam’s space as they move up in the ice cream line. “Anyway, I have an amazing boyfriend,” he boasts to the girl, who giggles.

Liam rolls his eyes. “And I’ve got an irresponsible one. Do you have money to pay for your own ice cream?”

“Oh.” Harry rifles through his shorts. He smiles innocently at Liam. “Can you pay for my ice cream, Liam?”

Liam sighs, but does. He also buys the girl’s ice cream for good measure, and they say goodbye as the girl goes back to her family or friends or whatever.

“Happy?” Liam says, once they’re alone.

Harry grins at him. “Yup,” he says cheerfully, and then sticks out his ice cream at Liam. “Want a lick?”

“No thank you,” Liam says. “What if you’ve got rabies?”

“You’d have contracted them already by the way we were snogging earlier,” Harry says. “C’mon Liam. Are you suuuure?”

Liam relents and bites the top bit off Harry’s ice cream. Harry goes, “There we go!” and then, “By the way, that was disgusting, Liam,” because Liam had gotten such a good mouthful that some of the ice cream’s all over his chin. Liam sticks his tongue out and Harry says, “Don’t make me come over there and kiss you.”

They get dinner on the drive back, going to In ‘N Out Burger and sharing a shake between the two of them. When they’re back at the hotel, the sky a dark musty blue with the memory of the bright moon as they enter their room, Liam says, “We’re flying out tomorrow, aren’t we?”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Harry groans, looking forlornly at the bed and shoving his shoes off. Liam’s glad he does—they’re both covered with sand and the smell of the ocean air, which gets tiring after a day of it. He looks at Liam, and asks, “Aren’t you going to shower?”

“You can go first,” Liam offers. “You usually shower at night anyway.”

Harry frowns at him. “It’s fine. I don’t have to—”

“You have to eventually,” Liam says, and pushes him. “Go. I’ll wait for you and go next.” He flicks on his phone, because his mother has been demanding minute by minute updates since they’d left and Liam very appropriately could not deliver.

Harry looks at him for a long second before disappearing into the bathroom.

*

They explore downtown the next day; they’re not on a set schedule like they had been the first week of getting to know each other, and Harry’s treating it like a properly holiday even though for Liam it’s still his job. Harry spies an ice cream spot as they’re walking—this time without a bus rented out—and Liam says, “We’ve just had ice cream yesterday.”

“So?” says Harry, and it takes Liam several seconds to realize after he’s walking that Harry’s stayed back to wait in the queue. At least Liam’s bodyguard stayed with him. Liam sighs and waits with Harry.

“Alright,” Liam says, pulling out his wallet. “I can’t believe I’m buying ice cream for you again.”

“I can buy my own, you know,” Harry says, but Liam waves him off and pays for both of their ice creams anyway.

Harry licks happily along as they stroll downtown. “I’m excited to visit the music centre,” he says; they had both been naturally drawn to it when looking at the list of attractions here. “I like playing for public venues and stuff.”

“You have before?” Liam asks.

Harry shrugs. “Yeah. I mean I’m in my uni’s choir but I like the performance part of it, you know?” He licks at a dribble of his vanilla ice cream leaking down. “On a big stage and all that. It’s fun, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” Liam says, thinking. He’d always kind of accepted it as part of his career but—it is fun, too. “Yeah,” he says, nodding it is.

“Screaming fans, band as loud as the audience.” Harry grins. “I’ve got, like, small gigs, but it’s fun every time.”

“And it’s why you want to make a career out of it, isn’t it?” Liam says, nudging him. “Because you love it so much.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighs dreamily. “One day maybe I’ll even perform in a place as big as this.” They’ve just reached the LA Music Centre—a mass of silvery geometric shapes as the building. Liam’s performed on a real, massive stage—the X Factor—but he imagines performing here too, all by himself, and he gets a spark of thrill at the thought.

They spend all morning in the music centre that they don’t do much before their flight out to San Francisco in the afternoon. They get hot chicken for lunch, which is a terrible idea for both of them as neither Liam nor Harry have the greatest tolerance for spice, but it’s all good fun anyway when they’re dying over their glasses of water and making fun of the other. Then they’ve got to head back to their hotel to get their things for their flight, and then they’re on the plane for north California.

“I think our hotel’s got a pool,” Liam says thoughtfully, when they’re in the air.

Harry hums in assent. “We should go,” he says. “We’ve gone to the beach already.”

“Yeah, but San Francisco’s supposed to have that nice beach, isn’t it?” Liam thumbs through the brochure in his hand; he’d picked it up in the airport. “Ocean Beach.”

“Beaches! Beaches everywhere!” Harry flails his fingers all over Liam’s iPad—he’s playing Fruit Ninja by himself, since Liam had wanted to take a break. “I’m glad we can replace some of that salt water with chlorine if we go to the pool.”

“We can,” Liam concedes. “I’ve got nothing against pools.”

“But you’ve got something against ice cream,” Harry says to Liam’s iPad. “Hiyah! I beat your high score.”

“I’ve got you against ice cream,” Liam says, reaching over. “Now give that back before you poke someone’s eye out.”

The whole trip to get to their San Francisco hotel is terribly uneventful and long, so by the time they’re settled it’s evening and tired from just moving. Harry decides they should get In ‘N Out Burger for dinner again because yesterday they hadn’t done it right and had gotten normal fries, not this rumoured, “Animal style,” Harry says, checking his phone. “That’s what Louis said.”

Liam checks his texts. They’ve been texting the other boys on and off during the trip—Zayn had just been complaining about how there’s nothing in his and Harry’s fridge.

Niall Horan: what are u guys doin:)
Liam Payne: dinner
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: In & Out again!!!
Louis Tomlinson: get the animal style this time
Niall Horan: oooh:)
Louis Tomlinson: It’s better
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Animal style what?
Liam Payne: hw do we kno we can trust u
Louis Tomlinson: Please liam
Zayn M: hes got a point. what the fuck is animal style anyway
Louis Tomlinson: its ANIMAL STYLE!!!

“I’ve just looked it up,” Harry says, looking up. “It’s got gravy.”

“Oh, that’s good then,” Liam agrees.

Niall Horan: have u ordered yet
Liam Payne: n
Louis Tomlinson: get the ANIMAL STYLE
Zayn M: i despise you
Niall Horan: :(
Zayn M: Louis
Louis Tomlinson: yes?
Niall Horan: :(
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: We’re standing in line, texting each other.
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Like normal weirdos.
Niall Horan: aww cute
Zayn M: i despise louis
Louis Tomlinson: well I love YOU zany
Louis Tomlinson: and liam and harry
Louis Tomlinson: my favorite couple
Liam Payne: your so weird i dont know why I know you
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Replace Louis with me :)
Liam Payne: k
Louis Tomlinson: WHAT!!! RUDE!!!
Zayn M: glad im not alone
Niall Horan: i love ya louis
Louis Tomlinson: I know love ya too Ni
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I thought Liam and I were the ones who were dating.
Liam Payne: we need 2 order now weve just been standin here like a couple of losers
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: We are losers.
Zayn M: have u not been talking to each other this whole time either?
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: No.
Liam Payne: yes
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I don’t know how to answer that question.

*

Things between Liam and Harry have been so normal that it’s almost as if they didn’t wank together—not the way Zayn and Harry have, but proper, like, sex-like—a couple of days ago… except they did. Liam’s been good at not thinking about it that much, because it kind of feels like something… monumental, sort of, except it’s not it was just a—a morning of sorts, the first time they’d slept in a bed together and Harry was so warm and sleepy and had tugged Liam by a little bit and Liam couldn’t say no, kind of wanted it too. They’ve slept in the same bed together again but since then it’s just been them on two separate sides of the bed—no accidental cuddling or spooning like that first time, no wanking together or touching or whatever.

That night Liam goes to the bathroom to get off by himself, and as the white hot of his orgasm rips through him like tugging on a bandaid, a random thought he has is, I wish I could be doing this in bed with Harry. Which is kind of senseless, since it’s not like—he has absolutely no plan to do it again with Harry, and it’d be convenient but also really weird. Liam’s already gone through his phase of convenience with Louis a few years ago—he has no reason or business to really try anything with Harry.

The next day Liam’s coming out of the shower when he sees Harry on his laptop. Liam had brought his clothes into the bathroom with him so he’s already got them on—he’s wiping his face with a towel when Harry grins at him and says, “Look at this.” He spins his laptop around and Liam’s greeted with a photo of himself and Harry sitting side-by-side at In ‘N Out yesterday.

Liam frowns, not remembering seeing someone aiming their phone or camera at them from that angle. They’ll have to be more careful. “‘Liam Payne And Hot British Boyfriend Buying Burgers,'” he reads. “I’m British too, though.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “They like the alliteration,” he says, which Liam has no comment for. “Don’t we look cute? I like seeing what people have to say about us.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” Liam points out, rifling through his suitcase for a pair of socks. “People can be pretty nasty on the internet.”

“I know that,” Harry says. “But they’re mad about you—they can’t say anything about me except for my looks.” He flips his hair. “And I know I’m dashing.”

“Yes, very,” Liam says sarcastically, finding crew socks and tugging them on.

Harry says, “Tell me I’m dashing, Liam.”

“You’re dashing,” Liam says obediently, rolling his eyes at Harry’s triumphant whoop as he gets his shoes on.

They go out for breakfast despite Harry’s preference for room service—Liam reminds him that they’re here on a holiday and should try new food to eat, and Harry says, “I’m on a holiday, I should be able to sit in bed and have food brought to me instead.” They’re in the heart of San Francisco so it’s not terribly hard to walk a few blocks and find someplace nice.

“D’you still want to go to the hotel pool?” Liam asks over their crepes.

Harry’s licking his sugar powder off his fingers—it’s kind of sensual. “Yeah, let’s,” he says, popping his middle finger out of his mouth. “I’ve always wanted to swim anyway.”

He licks at his forefinger with his tongue. Liam doesn’t realize he’s staring until he blinks, and says maybe a second too late, “Can you swim? You can swim, right?” When Harry grins at him, Liam kicks him under the table.

“I almost became an athlete,” he tells Harry. “A runner. Could’ve been in the Olympics and everything.”

Harry’s eyes go wide. “Really? What happened?”

Liam smiles. “This happened,” he says. “I decided that I like singing more—that I want to do music for my life. So it’s what I’ve become.”

“I’m glad,” Harry says. “I feel like I wouldn’t have met you if you’d become a runner. Unless I actually paid attention in gym in primary school…”

Liam laughs. “I had the whole music and sports dilemma going for me in secondary school,” he says. “It was very High School Musical of me.”

“Even more now,” Harry says, nodding. “Maybe when I go into the water, I’ll decide that I want to become a swimmer. Maybe you will, too.”

“I really doubt it,” Liam says. “I do like swimming though. So do you really—can you swim?”

“I can do the doggie paddle.” Harry actually looks proud of himself for this. “So if you think I’m drowning, Liam, I’m fine, really, just splashing and paddling like a dog.”

“I think I would still save you even if I didn’t want to,” Liam sighs.

They spend their morning going down to the trolley museum and back, sitting tight together so that Harry is practically in Liam’s lap, squashed into the back next to an old couple who recognizes neither of them and strikes up a conversation with them, completely undeterred by them both. At the museum Harry asks one of the gift shoppe tenders to take a picture of Liam and him, and then kisses Liam’s cheek for one of the photos which the tender laughs at, saying it makes Liam look grumpy. He calls them “sweet” before letting them head off on their way, Harry having bought a toy train for his family and Liam buying a magnet for his mum.

Liam and Harry hold hands, and as instigated by Harry practically cuddling on the trolley similar to Harry’s toy on their way back. “I like California,” Liam says, because he knows that he couldn’t do anything this touchy in London without getting words or looks. “It feels like another world.”

Harry chuckles. It makes his chest rumble; he’s got a head leaned against Liam’s shoulder. “I hope someone’s taking a picture of us now,” he says. “Right now. At this moment.”

Liam shoves at him with his shoulder, but not to get him off. “That’s why you’re doing this, isn’t it?” he says. “For the attention?”

He’s joking; but then Harry springs up, immediately apologetic and worried. “Liam, I’m not—” he says. “If you want me to stop—”

“I was joking,” Liam says, frowning. “It’s fine.”

Harry still doesn’t look settled. “I mean not just about the touching—but about any of this, I don’t—”

“Stop,” Liam says, and Harry does. “I asked you to, remember? I don’t know what you’re freaking out about.” His own frown deepens. “Do you mind the attention? Because if you don’t—”

“I don’t,” Harry says hurriedly. “It’s not—I’m fine—”

“Well then, I am too,” Liam says, and Harry stays silent for the rest of the ride, though their knees are still pressed together and hands are absently tangled in Harry’s lap. Liam looks at him funnily—that was such a strange conversation—and squeezes his hand; a little bit later Harry squeezes back.

They get lunch before heading off to the hotel, where they strip off their clothes and change into their trunks one by one in the bathroom. Liam makes Harry put a shirt on again (he’d wanted to go to the pool in just his trunks with nothing to cover), and they grab some hotel towels before heading off.

The hotel pool is at the top floor. It’s a dry, sunny day out, streaming in through the sunglass windows and making the blue pool shimmer with sky-coloured ripples. There are already some families and kids that look to be around Liam and Harry’s age there, so they fit in perfectly—or, as well as they can when Liam’s bodyguard is standing at one side of the pool, not taking his gaze off of Liam.

Harry calls Liam out for a race, which Liam wins by a significant margin—”It’s not fair,” Harry says, doggy paddling his way over. “You’ve got an athlete’s body.”

“You’re just saying that because I told you today that I almost was one.”

“Yeah, but even if you hadn’t, I would’ve said you were fit.” Harry turns to a friend he made already, a little girl named Linda, and says, “Oi, Linda! Time us!” so he doesn’t notice Liam’s cheeks flush pink.

Liam says, willing his blush to go away, “What’s she timing us for?”

“To see who’s faster,” says Harry. “I swear I’m better when I haven’t got the pressure on me to be good, okay?”

“You aren’t good,” Liam laughs, and Harry yelps indignantly and splashes him.

Then Liam splashes back and Linda joins and it’s turned into an all-splashing party that only someone like Harry would be able to start.

They play in the pool for the better part of the afternoon, that it’s when Liam feels a gnawing ache at his stomach and goes, “I’m getting hungry,” that Harry says, “Me too, let’s get something to eat,” when they get out of the water, Liam helping Harry up as he comes out. Harry stumbles into him—Liam thinks it’s an accident at first, until their chests are touching and Harry’s smiling at Liam and going, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Liam says, stupidly back, before Harry presses a light kiss against his lips. It’s innocent but feels like a lot, somehow. When they separate, Harry’s eyes are moving back and forth, like he’s searching for something in Liam’s gaze.

Liam jerks out of the reverie on his own. “C’mon, we should shower,” he says, and Harry nods.

The pools have showers of their own, so it’s simple enough to claim a stall and use the wall attached dispenser to clean. Liam gets into his own at first, expecting Harry to get another—but Harry comes in after him, and at Liam’s confused expression, says, “Won’t it look suspicious if we have our own?”

“I highly doubt the paps are watching us as we shower in our hotel,” Liam says, but lets Harry in anyway.

Harry closes the stall door behind him. “You never know,” he says.

It’s all very fine at first—Liam’s massaging the soap in his hair as Harry sits under the running water, and sprinkles some water at Liam with his fingers that Liam retaliates with soap. Harry squeals as Liam does it again, getting closer and delighting in the way that Harry’s sort of running away.

“You can’t catch me,” Harry says, very close to having Liam catch him.

“I’d like to see you try and stop me,” Liam says, grinning, pinning Harry to a tile wall with a palm.

Harry’s the one who kisses him first. It’s under the spray of the showerhead, water running along the side of each of their faces, bare shoulder against bare shoulder and Liam isn’t sure it’s really happening again. That’s with what it is about these things with Harry—with Harry in general, kissing so deeply and eagerly into Liam that it makes Liam dizzy with want. It’s almost desperate, and suddenly Liam wants it desperately too, pushing back into Harry, groaning when Harry makes a noise in his mouth, grinding the length of his body against Liam’s.

“We,” Liam starts, breaking apart. The look in Harry’s eyes scares him for a moment—Harry looks like he’s begging, so Liam says, “We don’t know if the paps aren’t watching us,” and Harry chuckles, bringing a hand to Liam’s shorts, dragging them off.

“Don’t know if I’d want them to see this,” he mumbles, getting a hand around Liam’s prick. Liam whimpers.

Harry looks up at him as Liam shuts the shower off. “Can I?” he says, beginning to kneel down on the ground.

Liam looks down at him, that close to his cock, that close to having his mouth on it that he gets lightheaded and babbles, “Oh god, yes.” Then Harry’s down on the ground and his lips are drawing Liam’s prick into his mouth and Liam has to put his hands against the tile walls, fighting back a moan.

Harry does this like he’s done it before, which Liam gets irrationally jealous at. Lips sucking, hand pumping, mouth wet and warm and oh-god-so-hot around Liam that Liam knows he’ll come embarrassingly fast, with the determined way Harry’s hand is working him up and down, taking him deeper and deeper and then off again, blowing at the head of Liam’s cock like he knows what he’s doing, looking up once when Liam looks down in curiosity and their eyes meet and Liam has to resist coming right then and there; he feels the back of Harry’s throat relax as he takes him even deeper which is insane that Liam grunts, Harry hums, vibrations all over Liam’s cock that Liam makes himself choke out, “Harry—” mere seconds before he comes.

Harry pulls off but actually watches as Liam comes, which is hot but also makes Liam feel ridiculously self-conscious. “Fuck,” Harry says as he watches. Liam’s not sure if he entirely knows that he’s said that.

Liam scrabbles at Harry’s shoulder at the tailend of his orgasm, mumbling, “C’mere,” shoving his hands into Harry’s shorts. They’ve both kind of dried out from the chlorine water but Harry’s hardened prick is leaking in Liam’s palms, and he uses the precome to stroke all around Harry, getting him wet and slick in his palm before Harry is bucking into his body, into his hand, mouth pressed against Liam’s shoulder and mumbling something Liam can’t quite distinguish. “Ah,” Harry says, biting down on Liam’s shoulder before Liam feels the hot spurts of Harry’s come on his hand, all over his fingers as he strokes him off. Liam caresses him through it, a hand at Harry’s side while the other slides along his dick as Harry’s shaking legs finish him through his orgasm.

Liam thinks that they’ll talk about it—or even set up something like he had with Louis, he really wouldn’t mind, he thinks—but Harry pulls off when he’s done, and says, “I’ll be in the shower next door.” Liam stares after him strangely, but figures that he just wants to wash himself off and might be too embarrassed to do it in front of Liam.

But afterward, when Liam is waiting for Harry, Harry blinks at him when he comes out before going, “Okay, yeah, dinner.” He tries to smile, which is odd, because he’s trying instead of actually smiling.

“What do you want?” Liam asks, opting for casual instead of concerned.

“Hmm.” Harry looks up. In a way it kind of looks like he’s trying to avoid Liam’s eyes, though Liam’s sure he’s mistaken or something. “Burgers,” Harry decides.

“Burgers it is then,” Liam says. “No take out this time either.”

Harry chuckles, looks at Liam for a strange second, then glances away.

Liam’s sure he’s just imagining it—Harry’s not avoiding him in any respect, it’s just that something seems off as they make their way to dinner after they’ve changed into proper clothes in their room. “Everything alright?” Liam asks, as they fall into step.

Harry nods, apparently fascinated by the cracks in the sidewalk. “Yeah, ‘m fine,” he says.

“Are you sure?” Liam asks. “Because you’ve been odd since we—um.” He coughs, and then blushes.

Harry looks up, and this time grins like his normal self. “Had a wank in the shower?” he says. Then, with kind of an odd tone, “Dunno what else people would expect us to do, Liam, since I’m your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, I know,” Liam says elbowing him. “You went off and got a shower on your own, though. Thought we were sharing since you’re my boyfriend.”

Harry smiles at his words in a way that doesn’t seem sincere. Which would make no sense, since Liam’s said nothing out of the ordinary. “I’d just remembered that I’m insanely self-conscious,” he says. “And I didn’t want you to see my third nipple.”

“What third nipple?” says Liam, and they spend the rest of dinner discussing Harry’s third nipple-related traumas.

But it continues feeling a bit off, when as they turn in for the night, Liam folding his socks as Harry clicks through something on his computer, Liam asks, “Beach tomorrow?”

“Hm?” Harry says, not looking up. “Yeah.”

Liam raises his eyebrows at him from where he’s standing. “Are you sure?” he says, staring at Harry.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Harry says lightly. He looks at Liam then. “Are you going to go to sleep?”

“Soon,” Liam answers. He closes his suitcase; he’s done with folding his clothes. “Why?”

“Think I might stay up for a bit,” Harry says. “Don’t wait for me, I can turn off the light. I’ll just be on my laptop.”

“Okay.” Liam worries his lower lip with his teeth. “It can be difficult for me to sleep with a light on, though—”

“I can go outside.” Harry brings his laptop up and then begins turning off the lights in the room.

Liam frowns. “Harry, it’s fine,” he says, but Harry’s already made his way to the door and shut it behind him.

Liam fixes his gaze on it in the dark until he hears Harry’s voice says, “I forgot to get the card key.”

“Here,” Liam says, and grabs one from the table and goes over to the door. He hands the card to Harry. “But it’s fine, really Harry, I can stay up late too—”

“I don’t want to make you do that,” Harry says to him. His gaze drops when it meets Liam’s in the dim hallway. “Just go on, I’ll be fine.”

“Okay,” Liam says worriedly, closing the door between them.

He goes to sleep, a bit restless but eventually enough that he’s knocked out before he knows it. The next morning, Harry’s in bed with him, back facing Liam and curled in his covers.

So that’s alright, he guesses, even though it certainly doesn’t feel like it. They’re going to the beach today, the nice one that according to Harry’s searches has a lot of firepits, though they’re just going for the ocean and not much else. “It’d be nice to have a barbecue on the beach though,” Liam comments, as they make their way down the stretch of Great Highway with the windows rolled down, wind cascading through their hair. Harry has his head out the window like a dog, and he’s not looking at Liam.

“Yeah, come out here with Zayn and Niall and Louis,” he says.

Liam nods to himself. “Yeah, that would be really fun. And stop putting the idea of living out here in my head, now I can’t get it out.”

Instead of smiling at him like Liam might expect Harry to do, Harry says, “You can afford it!” into the wind. It’s strange enough that Liam doesn’t bother trying to think of saying anything in response, instead looks out his own window along with Harry.

It’s windy, which makes it better when they get out of the car, sand whipping lightly around their feet as they make their way out. Still, as soon as Harry strips off his shirt, Liam says, “You’re not getting out of putting sunscreen on this time,” and whips out the tube like he’s ready to spray Harry with it if he starts running.

Harry pouts at him. “I don’t need you to mother me, Liam,” he says.

“I think you do.” Liam squirts a dollop on his palm, then faces it threateningly towards Harry. Or, as threatening as he can get with sunscreen. “Come here.”

Harry sighs, but relents. The flat of Liam’s palm starts at the back of Harry’s shoulders, smoothing between his shoulderblades and sliding down his spine. This time when Harry sighs again it seems to be out of relief; Liam squirts more onto his hand and gets the plane of Harry’s back until it’s coated with white stripes, then turns him around and does his chest, too. He expects Harry to tease him to say something like how he doesn’t have to, he’s overdoing it, and Liam will make a sarcastic comment about people always watching them to make sure that they continue to play it up, but it never comes. Harry’s skin is cool beneath the warmth of Liam’s palm, but it makes Liam feel even hotter as he drags his lotiony hand between Harry’s nipples, between his ribs and the heat of his abdomen, and suddenly Liam’s very close. He gets up to Harry’s collarbone and neck, then his cheeks.

Liam is kissing Harry before he knows it—really, it just feels natural, with so much skin on skin on skin and the rest of Liam feels like it’s on fire with how much they touch. It’s over before he knows it, though—Harry’s pulled away, saying, “Don’t get us arrested for public indecency.”

“I’m not,” Liam says, still stunned from his own kiss. He realizes that he’s still clutching Harry’s cheeks, and that Harry is shivering in his grasp, which is—odd. Liam lets him go and then swipes a bit of sunscreen on his forehead. “Now your legs.”

Harry takes off running before Liam can properly tackle getting Harry’s legs slathered. “Harry!” Liam calls after him helplessly.

Harry continues running without looking back. “No-one gets sunburnt on their legs!” he yells as he makes his way into the ocean.

He’s not incorrect, but Liam sighs anyway. There aren’t any setups and attractions for this beach like the one down in LA had; it’s just them and a few other people, nice and sort of peaceful even though Liam would prefer the chaos of messing with others and surfing. Still, here it’s good to lie in the sand, or wade by the foamy rush of saltwater, and there are even a few dogs that run around. Liam knows he gets recognized once—the dog’s owner’s a young girl whose eyes definitely flash with recognition when she sees Liam—but she says nothing, and Liam calls to Harry to meet the dog, and lets her indiscreetly take a picture of them with her dog as Harry comes over to pet him, too.

They decide to head back before it gets too dark. The smell and feel of saltwater lingers on Liam’s skin, and he’s sad to think about that in two days, they’ll be back in London. “This week’s gone by so fast,” he says, when they’re in the elevator.

Harry chuckles, tapping on his phone. “Has it? It’s the longest week of my life, really.”

Liam’s mouth turns downwards at that. “They say time flies when you’re having fun,” he says. “So does that mean you’re—”

“Sayings aren’t always true,” Harry points out. He looks up and smiles at Liam, so genuine that it almost throws Liam for a second. “I had a lot of fun,” he tells Liam. “Really. It’s just been a long lot of fun.”

“I’m hoping that’s a good thing,” Liam says, as the elevator stops at their floor.

“It is,” Harry says.

*

Liam almost misses that first day—when he’d woken up wrapped around Harry like a starfish, wanting to let go but part of him not wanting too, some hot ache in his chest that’s aware of every second he spends with Harry, every moment of their bodies touching never feeling like enough. It feels foreign-ish and new, and sort of like in that way where he stares at Nate too long at his old gym. Maybe it’s purely physical, except Liam also likes watching the way that Harry tends to throw his head back and laugh with his body, get excited at the strangest things.

Maybe it’s purely physical.

Liam does miss working out at the gym, though—he does it to stay in shape, but also because it’s nice to have that physical strain and not think of anything except for one thing for a while. He wakes up early the next day—alone on his side of the bed, the air around him cool as Harry feels an entire world away on his own side—and decides to see if the hotel has a gym.

It does, he finds out when he ventures downstairs, so he gets ready quickly and quietly back in the room without waking Harry up before heading up. Turns out the gym is on the same floor as the pool, and has some other people working out there as well—Liam begins, realizes that the television in it is switched to MTV, switches it to something else, and then works out in peace. He can’t do bench presses without a spotter and plays with the idea of asking Harry, but then figures that with the weird way Harry’s been acting lately, that Harry might say no. Best not to let it come to that; Liam does pec decs and dips and even some chin-ups too, relishing the burn so he doesn’t have to think about Harry’s odd behavior ever since yesterday’s—well, since Liam wanked Harry off.

He heads back to the room when he starts to get hungry. Harry’s already awake when Liam arrives, and stares at Liam comes in.

“Found the gym,” Liam says, jerking his head awkwardly. “I just—I wanted to work out.”

“You’ve worked out a lot,” Harry comments; Liam remembers the second time they met, when Liam was on his way out of the gym. “Training for something?”

At least his tone is teasing. Liam says, “Yes, I’ve decided to retire my music career early and go back to running.”

“I suspected as much,” Harry says. He’s distractingly only in his boxer briefs, like he goes to sleep in, so Liam turns to grab his clothes from his suitcase so he can go shower. “What are we doing today?” Harry asks.

“Think there’s a movie showing in the city,” Liam says. “Dolores Park?” Brenda had forward them an email, suggesting that they could go if they wanted to. “And I’ve always wanted to go to Chinatown.”

“Dolores Park and Chinatown it is,” Harry says.

Chinatown is bustling and filled with lots of yelling, which is fun. Liam has the map this time, fumbling with it as they try to find the Fortune Cookie shop—Harry hasn’t touched him very much recently, he realizes absently as he spreads his hands out for the map and Harry gives him room, not touching him at all. Not since yesterday at the beach, which had still been instigated by Liam anyway.

Liam tries to shake the thought out of his mind and points to the mark on the map. “That’s where it is,” he says. “And we’re…” He looks up at the nearby street signs. “Here? I think.”

“I’ve found it already,” calls Harry, poking his head out from a nearby alley and pointing.

Liam frowns at his map. “That can’t be right, unless we’re—oh,” he realizes. “I’ve gotten the street where we are wrong.” He follows Harry into the fortune cookie shop, inside which they’ve also got bags and bags of adult fortune cookies, which sound delightfully fun at first until they buy a bag and open a couple and realize that they can’t really make sense of any of the fortunes inside.
The movie in Dolores Park is in the evening, and Liam and Harry get there a bit early to find a nice spot to sit on the hill, with a blanket and all. Harry’s still being oddly quiet, interjecting at random intervals but watching Liam like he’s waiting for something to happen, and Liam doesn’t know what it is. He decides to just continue to ignore it—if it’s an issue, Harry will talk about it. That’s the type of person Harry is. Meanwhile, Liam is relatively good at pretending he hasn’t noticed anything.

Where they’re sitting on the hill feels very much like a picnic. Liam spots a queue outside a shop at the bottom of the hill that he can make out from here, and nods. “Look. More ice cream.”

Harry looks over. “Do you want some?” he says, instead of properly suggesting like Liam would’ve assumed he’d done.

Liam shrugs. “If you do,” he says. They’ve already had dinner and he’s getting increasingly aware of the space between their bodies—it feels like too much and too little at the same time, both of them leaning back on the blanket Liam had picked up from some vintage shop while they were walking with a gap between their elbows and legs. Liam thinks about them being touchy for the paps again, but doesn’t instigate it in case it might make Harry weirder.

“I could do some ice cream,” Harry says, and hums thoughtfully. “I’ll get it. Strawberry, right?” he says, because that’s what Liam had ordered last time.

“Yeah,” says Liam, and goes to hand him money. Harry frowns, and Liam says, “Really, Harry, it’s fine. You’re the starving uni student, remember?”

Harry does crack a small smile, though it looks forced in some way. “I can’t forget,” he says, and takes the American bills from Liam’s hands. “I’ll get you a cup, too, you boring old man.”

“Thank you!” Liam calls after him as Harry heads down.

Liam goes through the messages on his phone—at least Harry’s been normal in the group chat with their friends, so it’s probably just something minor. Harry’s been acting like he’s trying with something, too, whether it’s talking to Liam or not meeting his eyes. It still baffles Liam, but Harry’s not outwardly ignoring him, so it’s nothing to get fussed about.

Liam Payne: 16 candles:)
Louis Tomlinson: oh good movie good movie!!!
Niall Horan: a romantic date :)
Louis Tomlinson: very romantic
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: My world has never been filled with this much romance until Liam.
Niall Horan: cute
Liam Payne: haz u flatter me
Louis Tomlinson: we’ve got a FLATTER ALERT
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I’m getting him ice cream to express my gratitude.
Louis Tomlinson: there’s a good boyfriend harry
Liam Payne: hes ok :P
Zayn M: placed bets on him being terrible
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: :(
Liam Payne: its ok z’s wrong
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: :)
Niall Horan: !!!! cute :):) :)
Louis Tomlinson: it’s like we’re watching our own movie

Liam’s interrupted from his texting (or, really, mostly reading his texts) when someone says above him, “Hey, you’re that famous guy, aren’t you?” Liam looks up to see some sleepy looking guy smelling strongly peering at him with interest.

“Uhm,” says Liam, sitting up straight and crossing his legs. “I s’pose.”

The guy’s face breaks out into a grin. “Awesome. Weird, good to know I’m not hallucinating.” He chuckles. “You ever smoke before?”

Liam has, maybe once or twice, out during the X Factor when Louis or Niall or Matt or Aiden managed to get their hands on some. It’s not exactly his thing, but he glances around surreptitiously and wonders if Harry would act normal again if he was stoned. “A couple times,” he says to the guy.

“Awesome,” the guy says again, and hands him a joint. “It’s a good fuckin’ day to be watching Sixteen Candles, right? Can’t go wrong with that.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, nodding and taking it.

The guy begins to head off. “I hit up a famous guy with pot!” he yells to the crowd at large, and most of them just give him dirty looks as Liam hides his face and tries not to giggle.

He takes one hit, but waits for Harry, cleansing the end of his spittle after the first inhale. Harry blinks when he comes back, setting himself down and handing one of the ice creams to Liam.

“You smoke?” he asks Liam, and Liam blushes, realising that maybe Harry wouldn’t be up to it at all.

He shakes his head. “Not really,” he says, and coughs a little; his lungs are burning, since it’s been a while. “Some bloke offered me a joint, though, so—” He extends it out to Harry. “I mean, would—do you mind—?”

Harry shakes his head. “It’s fine,” he says, and takes the joint from Liam. “I’ve,” he shrugs, “a few times, too. Zayn’s the one really into it.”

“Oh.” Liam nods thoughtfully. “He and Niall would get along,” he says randomly.

Harry inhales from the blunt—Liam watches his lips close around it, then forces himself to look away—then winces and coughs a little. “Niall likes smoking?” he says.

“I mean in general,” Liam says, as Harry hands it back to him. “But yeah.”

The movie starts and it feels kind of—surreal, that Liam is in San Francisco and smoking with Harry his fake boyfriend as Sixteen Candles plays in the park they’re sitting at while they’re also eating ice creams. Harry does seem to relax, both of them laughing at random points during the movie, smoking their due and then Liam putting the blunt out, clutching it in his fist so no photos will come online of him smoking for his mum to freak out about. Everyone in this park seems pretty relaxed, probably at the same level of sobriety for the two of them; but then while Molly Ringwald and Anthony Hall are in the auto shop, Harry leans over into Liam’s space and whispers, probably lower than he should, “Look over your right shoulder.”

Liam does. There’s a camera aimed discreetly at them, and Liam’s first thought is about the joint in his hands. “What if—” he starts.

“You should kiss me.” Harry’s eyes are heavily lidded, and it’s the most direct he’s looked at Liam since their little tryst in the shower. “If you want,” Harry adds. “I just think that the pap—”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, and brushes his mouth against Harry’s. Harry quickly inhales like he’s holding his breath, and Liam doesn’t know how much he’s allowed to kiss Harry—if Harry really wants a real kiss, or just something for the public to see—but then he kisses Liam back, teeth grazing his lower lip, plush against Liam’s own.

Liam quickly breaks it off before he can lose himself, coughs, and then smiles in the bright light of Harry’s eyes. “Look at us,” he says. “Smoking and snogging during an outdoor movie, like proper teenagers.”

“We are teenagers,” Harry says, though he’s not looking at Liam again. Turned back to the movie like he’d done what he wanted—a kiss for the paps.

Liam frowns to himself, and tries not to think about it too much.

He thinks—hopes, if he’s being honest with himself—that the inebriation will make them, well, be a little more thoughtless tonight, leading to something like the shower or the first morning here, gasping against each other’s skin and that burst of euphoria pressed against each other, making the well of heat in Liam’s chest pool over. Instead, though, after the movie they get back to the hotel, sobering up with each minute, and then Harry says he’s going to turn in early, which is completely different from when he’d stayed up late the other day. Liam stares at Harry’s curled up back in the still-lit room since Harry claimed he could sleep if Liam wanted to keep the lights on, and wonders if he’d done something wrong. If this really is something that Liam can leave untouched and wait to go away.

*

Their flight back home is early the next day. Liam had set an alarm, and Harry is groggy when they wake up, looking half-asleep as they go through the motions until they’re in the airport, and then on the plane back home. They both fall asleep on the plane, and Liam wakes up to resting his head against Harry’s, Harry’s own head nestled on Liam’s shoulder.

Heat creeps up Liam’s fingers and, gently, he lets Harry’s head eventually slip off until he’s just tucked into his seat, no longer touching Liam. Liam feels colder with the loss, but he’s not sure if Harry would be prone to waking up grumpy if he found himself against Liam—it’s just best for the both of them if he never knows, Liam decides.

Harry sleeps through most of the eleven hour flight, so it’s when they’re on their way out of the airport Liam stretches and says, “I’m exhausted.”

“I’m not,” Harry says, finding his baggage.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because you slept on the flight.”

Harry looks outside to where traffic is. “It’s supposed to rain tomorrow,” he says, just as Liam spots his own bag too and runs after it. Liam grabs it and then comes back.

“It’s supposed to rain nearly every day,” he points out. “We’re in London.”

Harry chuckles, but still doesn’t look away from the dark outside. It’s night already, even though it would be the afternoon in California, and suddenly Liam wants nothing more but to be in his bed and pass out for another nine hours. He says as much to Harry, who responds, “I think I’m going to see how long I can last awake,” and Liam says, “Won’t that drive Zayn mad?” and Harry shrugs and smiles a little, off-kilter.

They get into the rented town car, and, as they approach Harry’s flat, Liam realizes how much he’ll miss Harry—for all of several hours, really, but after having spent an entire week in each other’s presence, it’ll be… lonely. Even with Harry acting weird like this, it’s better than not having Harry at all. Drizzle has started to come down on the car in light patters, and as they stop outside of Harry’s flat and Harry begins to go out, Liam puts a hand on his wrist and says, “Hey.”

Harry stops. “Hi?” he questions, hand on his carry-on bag. The driver has already gone out to help Harry get his suitcase out of the trunk. Liam stares at him in the dark light of the car.

“You’re… um,” Liam gets out. “This was a nice week,” he says. “Even with—it was nice. It was good.”

Harry immediately starts to get out, and says, “For me too,” when he’s already in the light patter of the rain outside, in the night.

“I’ll see you soon then,” Liam says helplessly, before Harry gets the door shut, waving at him. He’s actually looking into the car now, but probably can’t see Liam with the way his eyes are aimed slightly to the left.

Liam waves back, anyway. Later when he heaves himself into bed and tells himself he should fall asleep straight away, he thinks about how much he knows about Harry and how much he still can’t parse, and wonders if it’s a good thing that there’s so much of Harry he still doesn’t understand.

Chapter Three

It may be a good thing that Louis can’t give anyone a break, because the next day their group chat goes something like this:

Louis Tomlinson: Liam and hazza are back!!!! This calls for a celebration
Zayn M: wtf do you mean by that
Louis Tomlinson: celebrate good times!!!!
Niall Horan: hahahahaha
Niall Horan: party at zayno’s
Zayn M: why?
Niall Horan: bcuz its where u live
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I’m at work!
Niall Horan: not w liam? :(
Liam Payne: we just got bak yesterday
Louis Tomlinson: so!!! PARTY!
Zayn M: why are we having a party
Liam Payne: 4 wat?
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Is there any point in asking or are you just going to come over anyway?
Louis Tomlinson: we’re coming anyway!
Louis Tomlinson: gettin Nialler and Liam
Louis Tomlinson: Liam get the beer
Liam Payne: y me
Louis Tomlinson: because ur the rich celeb here!
Niall Horan: bc we luv u liam
Zayn M: i dont recall inviting you lot over
Niall Horan: too bad
Liam Payne: Im not getting the snacks

So right after lunch Liam opens up the door to Niall and Louis; because Louis can’t be a normal person and ring a doorbell but Niall can, Liam’s both checking his phone and greeting them. “You’re back!” Louis cries, while Niall flings himself at Liam, wrapping him into a hug.

“Yes, I’m back,” Liam says, patting Niall’s back until Niall gets off of him. “You realise we’re going to be breaking into Zayn and Harry’s flat.”

“Not if they let us in. C’mon,” Louis says, because Liam is holding the beers he bought earlier with his keys and his wallet in his pocket.

Liam calls over his shoulder, “We’re breaking into Harry’s and his roommate’s flat!”

“Have fun!” his dad calls back to them.

Louis says, as they make their way to Harry’s flat, “We saw lots of pics of you on the internet. You and Harry were looking awfully cuddly.”

“Too cuddly,” Niall agrees. “No—a good amount of cuddling. My mistake.”

Liam shrugs, pretending that his neck isn’t warm from the mere mention of him and Harry together. “Of course we were, we were doing that on purpose,” he says. “It’s what you lot see that we’re trying to do. Obviously.”

“‘Obviously,’ he says,” Louis scoffs. “If I were you, I’d be all up in that man love. Come pretend to date me, Ni.” He tries to wrestle Niall in a headlock.

Niall giggles and yelps. “I’m spoken for,” he says. “Anyway, Liam, how was it? That newest picture, of you and Harry in the dark—”

“We were watching a movie!” Liam protests. He had to go through this with his mother, too; she’d asked about that picture as well.

“Snogging during a movie like proper lads,” Louis says. “I like it. He’s good at snogging then, I take it, from all those pictures I’ve seen of you two?”

“He’s not bad at it,” Liam says diplomatically. At both Louis and Niall’s expression, he goes, “Really! I mean, it’s not like I have a choice.”

“You do, technically,” Niall says. “You could not snog him.”

“People would talk,” Liam points out. “Or, they wouldn’t talk. It’s better if we just—”

“Snog at every waking moment?” Louis says, and Niall laughs. “I’m teasing, Liam. Wouldn’t want you to snog someone you don’t enjoy kissing.”

What matters is, Liam thinks—as they arrive at Zayn and Harry’s place in a great show of cheers and “Liam brought the booze!”—is how much Liam enjoys kissing Harry. And it’s certainly enough—it’s more than enough that makes Liam slightly hesitant when he sees Harry looping sleepy and rumpled and terribly kissable when they walk in and Liam goes, “Hi.” Harry nods, looking to the left of Liam’s face, and Liam comes to the fact that he and Harry probably aren’t going to kiss very much tonight.

Not that it matters, really. It’s the afternoon so they start off drinking slow, keeping MTV on—”Sometimes they replay specials,” Zayn says from where he’s lounged on one of the bean bags in the room. The other one is presumably Harry’s, but Louis has hoarded it, so Harry’s on pillows like Liam and Niall. Niall had brought his guitar and is strumming random chords while they talk about places in the world that they want to visit.

“Oh,” Liam says, when Louis mentions just owning houses in random places in the world, just because, when he gets rich enough. “My parents want me to own a place of my own now. Says that my career is too big for our flat.”

“What,” Louis says, as Zayn claps from his couch. “Good job, Liam!”

“Must’ve been after they didn’t have you for a full week,” Zayn says.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, thanks Zayn,” he says, and Zayn just grins. Harry’s smiling too, but is only nodding like he doesn’t have much better to say. “Anyway, they say they want me to be independent, but I want to buy a new house for them first before I move out.”

“Liam, find a flat of your own first,” Niall says, nudging him with his foot. Touching with him is normal, but Liam is acutely aware of every second he and Harry aren’t touching. “Family’s second. Oh who am I kidding, family’s first.”

“Family’s first!” Louis reiterates, while Zayn and Harry nod.

“I would definitely buy my mum a place before myself,” Zayn says, looking at Liam. Then to Harry, “You’ve got a good boyfriend here, you know?”

“I know,” Harry says defensively, moving a little closer so that Liam and Harry are almost touching. Almost. “I know better than you do, Zayn,” he says, to which Zayn snorts and rolls his eyes.

“Well of course I’d hope so,” Zayn says. “I’m not going to steal your boyfriend away from you.”

“We’re not really dating,” Liam reminds them both.

Harry inches away again. Zayn scoffs. “Sure.”

Then night falls and they’re dicking around and Liam is too distracted by Zayn and Louis and arguing about superheroes while Niall’s still playing guitar singing something like, “Liam thinks Batman is cool, but Louis wants Iron Man to beat Liam up—”

“Batman is cool,” Liam insists. “And they’re different, they’ve both got gadgets—”

“Iron Man’s got Jarvis—”

“Batman has Alfred!” Liam says, which Zayn and Harry both snort at.

“Batman,” Niall sings. “Has Alfred.”

“You know who I think is cool,” Zayn says, reaching over for a crisp. “Deadpool.”

“Yes,” Liam agrees immediately, and Louis even says, “Okay, Deadpool is a good choice. I’m just saying though, Liam, Iron Man—”

“Iron Man is fine!”

“But Batman is just a bloke who’s rich and dresses up like a bat! He’s a load of bollocks!”

Then it’s nearing midnight and they’re all very decidedly not sober and Niall’s guitar playing is getting louder (either that, or Liam’s just somehow moved closer during the evening) and Louis goes, “Liam, play us one of your unreleased songs!” Liam flails as Zayn goes, “Yeah!” and Harry this time joins in Louis with chanting, “Perform for us! Perform for us!”

“You’re a performer too,” Liam shoots back to Louis. “And I don’t know which one to play—”

“The, you know,” Louis says, swallowing for a second. “The kiss one.”

“Oh, Last First Kiss,” Niall says, changing the tune on his guitar. “I know how to play that one.” Liam knows; he, Niall, and Louis sometimes email copies of their songs to each other for suggestions.

“It’s hardly done,” Liam says petulantly, but Louis pelts a cheese ball at him. “Okay, okay, fine.”

He begins singing—it’s only the chorus, really, he’s barely got much of the verses done—and he’s got to sing the high notes which makes him self-conscious but he hits them anyway. Louis and Zayn cheer when he’s done—Harry is looking funnily in Niall’s direction, but when he meets Liam’s eyes he smiles anyway. Liam returns it; Harry smiling at him makes his chest flutter and he feels ridiculous.

“That was really good,” Zayn says, eyeing Niall’s guitar. “But it sounds like you could lead up to it, like—what would you do, would you wanna stay, if I were to say.”

He’s singing and got a smooth voice—he’s looking at Niall while he’s singing it, and Liam notices that Niall’s neck is pink suddenly.

“Yeah,” Liam says, cutting in. “We can—”

Zayn sings the line again, and Liam sings the words with him, Niall strumming and looking between the two of them. Louis says, “The pair of you sound like angels, I could fall asleep right now.”

Harry says to him, “Not sure if that sounds like a proper compliment, Lou.” Louis reaches into the bag of cheesepuffs next to him and throws one at Harry, too.

Harry says to Liam, as Liam makes himself remember what Zayn had suggested, “That’s one of the songs you’re working on right now, then?”

“It—yeah,” Liam says, slightly flustered. Whether it’s from Harry looking at him directly for the first time all night—or at least, that’s how it feels—or something else, he doesn’t know. “I’ve got loads, but it’s hard to write songs.”

“It is,” Harry agrees. “That’s—it sounds good, though. As good as the album you’ve got out. And your other songs.”

Liam nudges him with his foot. “I hope they are,” he says, and the crooked smile that Harry sends him is worth it even if he’s not meeting his eyes again.

Then they’ve all passed out on the floor and Liam wakes up some undeterminable amount of time later when it’s still dark outside and Niall is curled around his guitar at the foot of Zayn’s bean bag, while Zayn’s passed out on it and Louis is face flat onto the other one. Harry meanwhile is curled like a comma, body facing Liam’s like he wants to touch but won’t let himself, and Liam blinks at him, chest feeling tight like it wants to burst out from his body. He drowsily gets up to turn off the lights in the room, then comes back to Harry.

Liam lies on his back next to Harry, watching as Harry silently breathes through his nose. His eyelashes are long and dark splayed on his upper cheek, and Liam knows it’s inappropriate to want to kiss Harry while he’s passed out like this but the feeling burns in his chest anyway. He wills himself to sleep, thinking about the past week, past weeks he’s had with Harry—and how many longer they have until they’ll inevitably have to put this to an end.

*

Liam doesn’t see Harry for the rest of the week, presumably because he’s got lots of work to catch up with, while Liam himself is back to recording with his band since he had that one song with Zayn figured out—he texts Zayn, actually, asking if he has any more suggestions, and Zayn tells him it sounds more like a ballad than something fast with a beat like Niall had been playing, before mentioning some offhand comment about how he shouldn’t text Liam that much or else Harry will get jealous.

Liam’s sure it’s just a joke, but—since California, or maybe even before, Liam’s not sure anymore, but touching and being with Harry makes him feel like every inch of his skin is on fire and he wants more. There’s a part of him that’s tracking how many days it’s been (it had been hours since they’d woken up on the floor together, but then Liam actually lost count of that and switched it tocdays) since he’s last seen Harry, when he’s allowed to see Harry again. They’re dating, or at least supposedly, to everyone else who’s not their friends or Liam’s family, so they should be seeing each other more often, right? Even if they did spend an entire week together, all the nerves in Liam’s body are itching to see Harry more.

He’s not dense. Liam knows what this is—where just pretending to be interested in Harry has turned into something real, when he’s touching his prick at night and thinking of the length of Harry’s back, how it felt lathering sunscreen on him that one day, the way he curls into Liam like an embrace when he comes, glimpses of his smile when he’s laughing or just finds something amusing to himself and Liam catches the angle of his face from the corner of his eye. Just thinking about it makes Liam’s whole body burn aflutter, with want that it feels almost impossible that they’ve been faking it for so long that Liam hasn’t gone up and lost his mind.

So the week passes and it’s somehow much slower and faster than the week with Harry had been. They’d gotten back on Sunday—and then it’s Saturday again, and Liam’s in the recording studio with his band when their group chat comes to life again—which it becomes when Zayn actually sends a message in it.

Zayn M: need a night out lads what u got
Louis Tomlinson: !!!!!
Louis Tomlinson: LADS
Niall Horan: hahaha why? ;)
Zayn M: harry says he wants to go out
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Zayn’s lying, he’s the one who wants to go out.
Liam Payne: recording, somewhere close?
Louis Tomlinson: there are loads of clubs near your recording studio liam
Liam Payne: k
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I’m working late today, I can pick Liam up.
Niall Horan: cute :)
Niall Horan: pints lads!
Louis Tomlinson: harry’s such a good boyfriend
Zayn M: hes a terrible roommate
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: You’re a terrible roommate.
Louis Tomlinson: keep it in the bedroom
Louis Tomlinson: jk jk keep ur bedroom stuff with liam Harry ;)

Harry comes by Liam’s recording studio shortly after, and it feels weird after not seeing him for several days, that itch of want starting under Liam’s skin again. “Have you had dinner yet?” Harry says, and Liam does his best to calm that hot tug in his chest.

“Yeah,” Liam says, packing up his notebook. “Have you?”

Harry nods. “On the job,” he says, and grins. “One of the perks.”

“What, you skived off food?”

Harry seems back to normal—or Liam’s been hallucinating the past few times he’s been with Harry as any less than normal—because Harry grins and says, “Maybe. I can skive some off for you sometime.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal, thank you.” Liam pulls out his phone. “Are we meeting them at the club?”

“I think so.” Harry goes to the chat himself. “Yeah, Louis’s sent us the address. And the directions. And… a picture of his foot.”

“Delete that,” Liam says. “It’s best for everyone,” and Harry laughs.

He’s pretty sure Harry is normal again, if he wasn’t before. Liam goes back to recording, and through the glass Harry grins at him and sometimes mouths along—incorrectly, since Liam hasn’t show Harry this song before—but it makes Liam grin back and he has to pause in between because he needs to giggle so badly. His producer is looking between the two of them in a mixture of amusement and annoyance—Liam goes, “Sorry,” and does his best to focus again, lips resisting twitching every time he meets Harry’s eyes.

Afterward, on their way to meet up with the others, Harry says, “So that’s your process, is it?”

“I’m better than that,” Liam says. “It’s your fault I was so distracted the whole time.”

“Yes, my fault,” Harry agrees, or maybe he’s being sarcastic. It sounds all the same when it’s him. “It looks fun though.”

Liam shrugs. He’s not sure if he’s supposed to offer Harry to sing with him or not, but he says, “‘S just singing.”

“Everything you do is just singing,” Harry points out. “Everything I want to do is just singing.”

“How about we switch places then?”

“What, you as my arm candy where I’m the famous popstar?”

“You’re more than eye candy,” Liam says.

Harry tosses his hair back. “I’m fine with being eye candy. I am eye candy.” He gives Liam a once-over, too. “You’re plenty fit too Liam, you know.”

“You know how to make a boy blush,” Liam says, hitting Harry and ignoring how much he actually is blushing.

When they reach the club, Louis goes, “The boys!” and Harry takes Liam’s hand and says, “Yes, that’s us.” Niall is leaned into Zayn’s side and laughing about something with him—they seem to be hovering over Zayn’s phone as they wait outside the entrance—and Louis is unbothered as he says, “And the gang is back together!”

Going inside and the club is full of life, of course, all bright lights and pulsating beats with a melody Liam can’t quite make out over the crowd and the bass. Niall shouts, “Pints!” and heads straight for the bar, so the rest of them follow. Harry gets Zayn into a conversation about something.

Louis turns to Liam. “Alright Liam?” he yells.

Liam tears his gaze away from where he’s staring at the profile of Harry’s face, illuminated by the pink and purplish glow of the room. “Yeah!” he says, to Louis. “I’m fine.”

“Liver all right then?”

“It’s my kidney,” Liam corrects, ignoring the way Louis scoffs. “You know I got it removed while we were on X Factor.”

“Just making sure,” Louis calls back. “Gotta look out for you and all. My children. Every single one of you.”

Liam laughs a little as Niall passes out the beers. “Are you drunk already?”

“Of course not, this is my natural state, you know,” Louis says, before sipping his beer. “Oh. Oh, that’s good stuff.”

“It’s all the same,” Harry calls to him, and then to Liam. “Beer all tastes the same to me,” he tells Liam.

“Me too,” Liam says, taking a drink himself.

Harry peers at him curiously. “What’s that about your kidney then?”

“Oh,” Liam says, forgetting—it had been such a problem in his life, and then it hadn’t, that he’s more used to not needing to talk about it anymore even though that hadn’t been the norm before. “I was sick a lot when I was in primary school,” he tells Harry. “Something with my kidney—couldn’t drink at all either ’till I got it removed.”

“Wow,” Harry says, eyes widening. “That’s dangerous. And you ran—?”

“To prove that I was strong.” Liam’s cheeks feel inflamed suddenly. “Still.”

It doesn’t help that he takes another drink of beer and it makes his whole body feel hot all over—either that, or the way Harry says, “You are. I mean, that is incredible.”

“Yeah?” Liam says to him. He sort of wants to ask Harry if he imagined the past week or so, but maybe he did and then Liam will have to stutter his way out of needing to talk about the fact that he’s been paying attention more to Harry than he probably should for being just mates.

“Sometimes,” he says to Harry, “I feel like I’m terribly boring, so then I’ve—I’ve got to go out and do more than people would really expect me to do.”

Harry nods. “I understand that,” he says. “I mean, I don’t think I’m boring—”

“You’re not,” Liam laughs. The five of them have stopped at a tall table in the club, but Niall and Zayn have gone out to the dancefloor and Louis is yelling at the bartender about something.

“—but I don’t think you’re boring either,” Harry says sincerely. “Really. You’re not.”

Liam takes a gulp of his drink. “Thanks,” he says, because he’s not sure how to meet Harry’s eyes after being complimented by him.

Harry nudges Liam’s beer with his own. “There’s nothing wrong with boring, anyway,” he says, and Liam laughs.

“Is that supposed to convince me that you don’t think I am?” he says.

“Well I don’t,” Harry insists. “Look, you’ve come out here, haven’t you?” He eyes the dancefloor. “Think I might pull some moves out there. What about you?”

Liam shrugs. He looks at his beer—he’s already downed it while he’s spent so much time talking to Harry. “Think I might get another drink,” he calls to Harry over the music, and Harry nods before going out to dance.

It’s a nice, busy night, though Liam keeps to himself because he doesn’t trust himself to not be all over Harry, especially if he’s drunk in such an atmosphere. Plus, he faintly registers people watching them, sending him sidelong glances and the occasional cameraphone flash in his direction.

The strobe lights are flashing and blinding and the floor of the club moves at a rhythm that pushes Liam’s body along with it, like a heartbeat, and Liam can’t stop thinking about Harry even if he wanted to. At one point he looks out to the dancefloor to see Harry chatting with some girl and grinning at her; Liam’s heart immediately seizes up, and he has to tell himself that Harry’s allowed to talk to whoever he wants.

They are supposed to be dating, though, he reminds himself. So he goes out to the floor eventually with Louis, joining the mass of swarming bodies moving along to the beat—and then finding Harry in the chaos. Harry says, “Hey,” and Liam takes his hand, leans over to talk in his ear.

“We’re dating,” he reminds Harry, before pulling away.

Harry smiles at him, this edge of confusion. His eyes are doing that aimed-off thing again, and he says, “We are.”

“We are,” Liam says again. He might be a bit drunk. “You can’t flirt with other people if we are.”

This earns him a genuine smile from Harry goes, “I’m not. You’re drunk again, did you want to snog outside of the bathrooms like we did last time?”

Liam pictures himself saying yes—instead he shakes his head and says, “I’m just making sure you haven’t forgotten. You can flirt all you like when we’re over.”

“Of course.” Harry’s not meeting his eyes again. “I’m going to get a drink.”

“Okay,” Liam says, watching as Harry trails off.

He bounces to the music; then he’s back getting his own drink, seeing Zayn and Niall sitting at the table they had claimed for themselves, laughing about something or other. Liam sits with them, looking for Harry.

“What’s up?” he asks, eyes scanning the bar.

“Niall accidentally walked into the ladies’ room,” Zayn tells him, cackling at Niall’s wail of humiliation.

“I didn’t notice till I came out the stall,” he says. “And a girl was looking right at me like—”

“—you didn’t belong there, because you didn’t.” Zayn cackles again.

Niall’s bright pink, flushed, but he also looks pleased that Zayn is making fun of him and laughing at him, even though Liam knows that he himself would be humiliated beyond belief. Liam says, “Did you not look at the sign on the door?”

“Well I’m going to start looking now,” Niall says.

Zayn says, “‘s all right, this one time in primary school me mum told me where the girls’ bathroom is, and I…”

Liam spots Harry then, on the far side of the bar, talking with Louis, which is fine. Louis gets handsy when he’s drunk (and in general) so it’s nothing to be fussed about—but then a bloke comes up to Harry, and says something—he’s leering, and Harry is shaking his head while Louis is insisting otherwise. Then the bloke is saying something to the bartender, getting a drink in his hand, passing it over to Harry who’s taking it reluctantly—

Then all the nerves in Liam’s body are wired to going over there, parking himself by Harry, and saying, “How’re you—oh, hi,” to the random bloke, like he hadn’t noticed him before.

On the bright side, Harry looks relieved to see Liam. “Josh, this is my boyfriend Liam,” he says to the bloke who’d evidently bought Harry a drink.

The bloke-whose-name-is-Josh-but-whose-name-Liam-doesn’t-care-about blinks, then says, “Hello. You look familiar.”

“I get that a lot,” Liam says. He leans over to mutter in Harry’s ear, “I’ve always wanted to say that,” and Harry giggles.

The bloke is eyeing them suspiciously. “Right. I didn’t know you had a boyfriend, Harry,” he says to Harry, and Liam’s stomach flares jealously at hearing Harry’s name come out of someone else’s mouth. “Didn’t even know you swung that way.” Clearly a lie.

Harry says, “I swing a lot of ways,” but then winds an arm around Liam’s waist. “Mostly this way,” he says.

Liam hopes that his entire body imitating fire beneath his skin isn’t evident to Harry, through his thin white t-shirt. “My way,” he says, and Harry kisses Liam sloppily on the cheek.

The bloke still named Josh looks between the two of them. “Right,” he says. “Well, enjoy your drink, Harry, and enjoy your Harry…” He nods at Liam. “Liam.”

He walks off. Liam calls to his back, “You can look us up online! Everyone knows we’re dating!”

“Wow,” Louis says, once the guy’s walked away. Louis had been watching the whole thing. “Jealous much?”

“I had to stake my claim,” Liam says, which sends both Louis and Harry into a fit of snickers. “What? I could see him flirting from all the way over there.” He points to where Zayn and Niall are still sitting at their table.

“Stake your claim,” Harry repeats, as Louis is still cackling.

“Right, right,” Louis says. “I s’pose you’ll still want to do that if I’m all over Harry.”

And he does in fact sit right in Harry’s lap. Harry laughs and pinches his arse. “What are you doing, Louis?” he says, amused.

And they’re both laughing like this is nothing, but something in Liam’s gut is piercing—can’t stand the way Louis had been touching Harry so much, the way Harry had pinched his arse of all places. Liam’s seen Louis over the moon for some blokes before so he’s not that worried about him, but Liam doesn’t know Harry that well—

He forces himself to laugh. “Yeah, Lou, what are you doing?” he says, trying to play it up as best as he can. “Harry’s more than just a lap to sit on.”

“Is that an invitation?” Louis says. “Because I can snog him, too.”

It makes Liam feel both pleased, and then ashamed when Harry says, “Please, don’t,” snickering and covering his lap up with his hands.

Louis rolls his eyes and takes a sip of his drink. “You randy kids. I’m not going to sit on anyone’s lap.” He looks to the bartender. “Well, hers maybe.”

“You’re a regular menace,” Liam says. “Harry, let’s go out and dance before Louis can unleash himself on us.”

“An excellent idea,” Harry says, sticking his tongue pointedly out at Louis. “I don’t need to sit on people’s laps to mess with them. I’ve got a good boyfriend right here.”

“You lot are way too all over each other!” Louis calls, as Liam and Harry make their way back out to the dancefloor.

Liam has disappointingly sobered up a bit, but Harry says, “We really do ought to dance with each other, oughtn’t we? For the paps and all.” He does a spin with where he’s holding onto Liam’s hand—which Liam hadn’t even noticed, and now he feels hyper-conscious of where his skin is touching Harry’s—and Liam blinks and lets Harry twirl a bit.

“I can’t dance at all,” Liam informs Harry over the music. “Sorry if I’ve given you the impression that I can.”

“Oh, I can’t either,” Harry laughs. “But it’s a whole lot of humping each other, right?” He does an exaggerated pelvic thrust, which under normal circumstances Liam would’ve laughed at but now it’s making him think of brief moments in showers and hotel beds.

“We right can’t do that,” Liam says. “My mum would see and be disappointed.”

“Shall we dance like we’re in primary school, then?” Harry says. He stretches out his arms and puts his palms on Liam’s shoulders, and it really does remind him of primary school.

“I think this can do,” Liam says, before Harry’s dopey grin like he is a child. Liam buckles over and laughs. “Stop it, I can’t look at you like that.”

“Dancing’s right ridiculous, isn’t it?” Harry says, dropping his hands. Then they’re just moving to the beat with each other, like normal people, like everyone else on the floor.

“It’s fun,” Liam tells him. “Just move your body to the music like you’re singing.” He does as much—and it is admittedly a bit of hip-thrusting and exaggerated limb movements, but rather than laughing or mocking him, Harry’s eyes go soft and he jostles along with him.

“It’s fun when you don’t think about it,” he shouts, which Liam nods to. But a lot of things feel like that with Harry—Liam just can’t think about them. He makes himself focus on the music, and not the body moving to the rhythm next to, against his own.

*

Liam wishes he had someone to ask if they see the same thing with Harry as he does—that moment between the wank in the shower and then in the club like a blip of strangeness that Liam’s not sure is real. He almost asks his bodyguard even though that isn’t Dan’s job, and he sort of wants to mention it to Brenda even though Brenda wasn’t there for either of them.

They’re in the recording studio and Brenda’s going over the small concert tour that’s becoming more of a guarantee since dating Harry had fielded in quite a bit of attention. Liam says, as she goes over the venues in her little notebook, “We haven’t got to meet with Harry sometime, do we?”

Brenda looks at him peculiarly. “No? We haven’t got publicity to do, if that’s what you’re asking. Your holiday in California’s gotten quite a bit of the news online.” She raises her eyebrows at him.

Liam feels himself blush. “Well, I’ve seen that,” he says, thinking about the Dolores Park kiss again. What he wants to ask is if Harry’s been the same since they left, although that’s a suspicious question, he knows.

Brenda continues, “Until the breakup, you don’t need to do much—as long as you’re not seen around with overly intimate blokes.” She squints at Liam. “Your friend Louis—”

“I’ll hold off on being out alone with Louis,” Liam assures her. “I know how he can be.”

His stomach sinks at the reminder of the breakup, though. What’s he supposed to do about the heat prickling at his skin when he thinks of Harry, when this isn’t supposed to last? “Harry and me are still breaking up then?” he says.

“If you and Harry are planning on it,” Brenda says offhandedly.

“I think Harry is,” Liam says, stomach sinking further.

Brenda glances at him with something like curiosity and worry. “Both you and Harry are in the relationship, not just one of you,” she says. “You can continue to make dates—”

“We will,” Liam says hurriedly. He stops himself from saying I want to. “I’m just—there’s not another strategy we need—?”

Brenda’s smile turns soft, and she pats Liam on the shoulder. “Do what you’re comfortable with, Liam,” she says. “Well, preferably if it helps your career. If you want to break it off earlier—”

“I don’t,” Liam says.

Brenda pats him again like she’d expected him to say that, before moving on. “By the way,” she says. “Your mum mentioned that you’re looking into flats of your own—?”

“They want me to look into it. I have,” Liam adds in a grumble, looking mindlessly at the paperwork Brenda brought over.

Brenda nods. “I think it’s a good idea,” she says. “You can move out—it’ll help the public treat you as an adult, not someone living out of their parents’ flat—and you’re mature enough. I know you are,” she adds, to the expression on Liam’s face. “Do you need my help?”

“Yes please,” Liam says. Brenda continues looking like she’d expected him to say that, too. “They’ve—I want to buy out a flat for them, first—or at least my sister,” he adds, thinking of Ruth, who had talked about not wanting to commute anymore either.

“Oh, of course,” Brenda says. “We ought to look for a flat for you, first—you’ve got your concert soon.”

“I don’t mind living with my parents for now,” Liam says, but the look Brenda gives him makes him meekly add, “But I suppose that is a priority.”

So Liam’s actually looking into flats of his own now, actually looking, which is terrifying to do (but disappointing his agent is even more terrifying.) Brenda does want him to work at his own pace, but she also sends him email suggestions anyway for things related to real estate, so it’s a little less than a week later when Liam’s rifling through some of the papers he’s printed out and trying to feel like a real adult.

His mind is still stuck in that Harry-ridden haze as well, of course, so that he nearly doesn’t hear it when the doorbell rings on top of Harry and breakups and flats of his own. Liam gets up from the coffee table, still reading through something. His mind only half ready for Louis, or even Niall to want him to go out and do something like mini golfing again or catching a new movie in cinemas—as is and was their life after X Factor—Liam presses the button on the doorbell buzzer.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice says from the intercom, jerking Liam out of his daze. “It’s me. Um. Can I come in?”

Liam stares at the intercom, then “Yeah, yeah, of course,” and buzzing Harry in.

Immediately his mind is in full Harry-mode—what Harry might need, want, want to talk about with him. Liam worries for a moment that Harry might want to like, talk about how he knows that Liam really wants to kiss him and Harry doesn’t and he creeps him out so can they stop doing this anymore?—but then Harry’s at his front door and smiling at him and all of Liam’s worries disappear from his head.

“Hi,” Liam says, stepping aside to let Harry in.

“Hey,” Harry says. “Sorry this is—weird. I just wanted to talk, is that alright?”

Then Liam’s worries come back. “Yeah, yeah, that’s fine,” he says, feeling the complete opposite way and wanting to die on the spot. Or multiple spots, since he’s moving into the living room and Harry’s following him, sitting on a couch.

Harry exhales through his nose, then looks at Liam for a moment. “You alright?” he says.

“What? Yeah, I’m fine.” Liam joins him on the couch next to him. And, “I should say that to you, you’re the one who’s come here—”

“Yeah, I just—” Harry says. “Sorry.”

Liam shakes his head. “It’s fine, you can always come whenever—”

“No,” Harry interrupts. “I mean. Sorry for, um—”

He looks around to make sure that they’re alone, expression suddenly embarrassed. “When we—after the pool, in America,” he says. “I’d been—rude, I think. I didn’t mean to be. Sorry.”

“You weren’t rude at all,” Liam says, baffled. At least he’s slightly more assured that he hadn’t imagined that all. “I mean, I thought you were acting, well, a little less like you—”

Harry ducks his head down again. “Sorry,” he repeats. “I really—it was rude, and I shouldn’t have spruing it on you like that.”

“It’s fine,” Liam says, watching him carefully. “You’re alright now, yeah? We are?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, and then exhales again. “I really didn’t mean to—I wish I had just been normal then too. Not make you worry.”

“I wasn’t worried!” Liam says, so quickly that Harry gives him a look like he doesn’t believe him. “Okay, maybe I noticed, and maybe I wanted to ask you what was wrong, but I’d thought if I didn’t then you would work it out on your own like you wanted—”

“Yeah.” Harry nods. “I did, I have, I just—shouldn’t have been so weird to you about it. I thought I had been awful.”

“You weren’t,” Liam insists. “I understand. Really.”

Harry smiles at him. “You understand me so well, anyone else would give me far less credit—”

“They wouldn’t,” Liam says. “It’s fine, it’s not a big deal.” Really he’s just relieved that Harry felt comfortable enough to talk to him about it, that he’s back to his old self again. That’s all that they need—if it’s not an issue for Harry, then it’s not an issue for Liam.

And vice versa.

“Okay, okay, I believe you,” Harry says. He fidgets. “I suppose I can go then—”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Liam says, before a wave of panic overcomes him. “Unless you want to—”

“I don’t, I can stay for a bit.” Harry looks relieved, too, that Liam wants him to stay longer. “What are you looking at, then?”

Liam sighs and gestures at the papers in front of him. “I really am moving out of my parents’ flat, I guess,” he says. “Not that I mind, I just have to look through the lot of this. And make decisions.”

Harry nods. “That must be terrible,” he says. And then at Liam’s expression, “I’m serious! Making decisions can be terribly bothersome.”

“You must be joking with me,” Liam says.

Harry pouts. “I’m not.”

Liam prods him. “If you’re sure.” He hands Harry one of the papers. “You should help me look over real estate agents.”

“Haven’t I just told you I’m terrible at making decisions?”

“It’s easier for me if you’re here,” Liam says. “Or we can look at houses on my laptop and pretend we’re really doing something of importance.”

Harry grins at that. “That sounds like an excellent idea,” he says.

This is how about thirty minutes later, Ruth finds them both crouched over Liam’s computer, looking at houses in California. Ruth’s coming into the room, saying, “Liam, I had another thought—oh hi, Harry.”

“Roo,” Harry says, turning Liam’s laptop toward her. “Do you think this is big enough for two people?”

“Stop,” Liam says, taking his laptop back but not with much force. “It looks like it could house you, me, Louis, Niall, Zayn and our families and still be too much—”

“It looks like it’s big enough for two people,” Ruth says, grinning and crouching over their shoulders. “Why? Is it where you and Liam are looking to move?”

“Potentially,” Harry says seriously, as Liam elbows him.

“Don’t say that, you’ll get her hopes up that way,” he says. “Then she’ll want to bring her friends over, and next thing you know it’ll have turned into her house—”

“That’s why you’re looking for a house for me then, Liam, isn’t it?” Ruth says smugly.

Liam chucks a pillow at her and she throws it right back at him. “Yes, that’s why I’m looking for a house for you,” he says to her, barely dodging. “I spoil you.”

Ruth sticks her tongue out as she heads back to her room. “Love you, Liam!”

Harry’s smiling as they watch her run off. “You should meet my sister, Gemma,” he says to Liam. “She’ll like you more than me, I guarantee it.”

“I doubt it,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “Harry—”

“I guarantee it.” Harry shoves at him to get him to shut up. “She likes to compare all my friends to me and say how she likes them better. It’s usually true,” he adds with all seriousness. “She doesn’t have very good taste.”

Liam laughs and shoves him back. “Then maybe she’ll like you more than she likes me,” he says.

Harry squawks indignantly, hitting him back with a pillow. “I should Facetime her and see.”

“See how much she likes me more than you?”

“I don’t even know what we’re arguing for anymore,” Harry says, pulling out his phone. “She—oh, I can’t pretend to even remember her timetable today. Let’s just try this.”

He goes to his contacts list on his phone, and Liam adjusts himself on the couch to hover over his shoulder. “Her name’s Gemma, right?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, thumb hovering over the Facetime option. “And remember, you’re my boyfriend—”

“I haven’t forgotten, you know,” Liam says, before realising, “Wait—you’re not supposed to tell your family, are you?”

Harry shakes his head. Then, tilting his head in consideration, “Well I suppose I could, but I’ve already told them that you’re my real boyfriend, popstar Liam Payne—it’s more fun that way.”

“You’re using me to impress your parents,” Liam accuses, grinning.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re using me to impress the public,” he says back, teasing. “I think it’s fair.”

Liam’s still grinning when Harry presses the Facetime call and his phone starts ringing. His phone’s face camera is pointing at them, and Liam adjusts himself so they look more like a happy couple on Liam’s couch. Which they are—Liam squashes himself closer to Harry, skin tingling under his shirt at the warm pressure, and the smile on his face is so real that he can’t stop it.

Harry’s sister is a pretty girl with long brown hair, and as soon as she picks up, Harry shouts, “Gemma!” Harry’s grinning too—whether because of Liam, or because they’re phoning his sister, Liam’s not sure.

“Hi Harry,” his sister says. She looks like she’s walking around, around a tube station or something. “What’s up? Is that your—”

“Just wanted to say hi with my boyfriend,” Harry says smugly. “What about you? What about your famous boyfriend?”

Gemma laughs. “Oh shut up,” she says. “Is that all, then? You wanted to show off your famous boyfriend to me? Does he speak, by the way?”

“Hi,” Liam says, waving. “I’m Liam, the famous boyfriend.”

“It’s nice to meet you Liam, the famous boyfriend,” Gemma says genially. “You know, you should come over for dinner sometime, Mum would love to meet you—”

“I should call her with Liam sometime,” Harry muses.

“You needn’t go boasting about your cute and famous boyfriend,” Gemma says, with that tone know-it-all sister tone that Liam is all too familiar with. “What about you, Liam? Have you gone around boasting about what a dunce of a boyfriend you have?”

“Hey!” Harry says, at the same time Liam laughs and says, “Yes, I’ve shown him off to all my friends.”

“Liam,” Harry says to him. “You don’t think I’m a dunce, do you—”

“He’s just said he does,” Gemma cuts in, amused.

Liam tells Harry, “Yes, but you’re the dunce that I li—um—” like is too strong of a word, but “—love,” he ends up finishing, anyway.

Harry’s expression is unreadable on Facetime—Liam turns to him, but he’s not easier to see from the side—as Gemma on the other end laughs and goes, “Aw! I like him already. I suppose you two are cute,” she says to them. “For a couple that includes my brother.”

“I am plenty cute,” Harry says, breaking out of whatever stupor he’d been in before. Liam wonders if he’s said something wrong.

Then Harry turns to Liam and goes, “Don’t you agree, Liam?”

“Of course I do,” Liam says.

For some reason, this makes Harry light up like a firework. Liam’s stunned, so much that he doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until Ruth’s voice says, “Oh, who are you Facetiming with?”

“Who’s that?” Gemma asks, as Ruth waves frantically from behind Liam and Harry, forcing them to separate their shoulders.

Liam tries not to feel too far away from Harry; he says to Gemma, “That’s my older sister, Ruth.”

“Oh, you’re a little brother too,” Gemma says, looking all too pleased. “Hi Ruth. Our brothers are something, aren’t they?”

“They are,” Ruth agrees. “Something indeed.”

“I feel like we’ve made a terrible mistake,” Harry says to Liam.

Liam nods. “We shouldn’t let them talk too long to each other,” he says, before turning to Harry’s phone. “Bye, Gemma, it was nice meeting you!” he calls, as both Gemma and Ruth start shouting as Harry hangs up on her.

“Hey!” Ruth says. “What was that for, I’ve only just met her.”

“I don’t trust Gemma talking to any girl who knows me,” Harry says darkly.

Liam snickers, and fails to duck his sister’s thwack upside his head. “We’re only doing what’s best for the world,” he says, as Ruth frowns at the two of them. “Besides, Harry’s sister doesn’t know we’re not real—”

“Oh, she doesn’t?” Ruth says with interest. “Why haven’t you told her, Harry?”

Strangely, Harry’s neck gets red and he doesn’t look up at her when he answers. “‘Cause it’s more fun that way,” he says. Liam watches Harry thoughtlessly check his messages, which haven’t gotten any notifications.

“Is it now,” Ruth says. “I’ll have to date Zac Efron and see.”

Zac Efron? Harry mouths to Liam, who shrugs.

“You’re not dating Zac Efron, Roo,” Liam says to his sister.

Ruth shrugs at him. “That’s what you think,” she says, before heading back down the hallway. “I’ll be a fake girlfriend one day and not tell you, Li—”

“I wouldn’t want to hear about it,” Liam calls after her.

Harry snorts, once they’re alone. “It’s actually quite funny that my family doesn’t know,” he says, turning his phone to sleep and looking to Liam. They’re still pressed awfully close on the couch, Liam realizes; he moves a bit further, since he doesn’t want to weird Harry out. “My mum wants to make sure I’m not ruining your reputation—”

“You’re not,” Liam says.

“I know that.” Harry looks amused. “I think I would’ve realised by now.”

“So does that mean I get to meet your family?” Liam says. “It’s only fair.”

“If we have time,” Harry says, and Liam doesn’t know what that means.

He doesn’t get a chance to ask, though, because Harry plows on, “I also—before I forget—I meant to tell you this earlier—um, I have a singing gig tomorrow.”

The topic change is so fast that it takes Liam a full minute to process the words. Harry’s looking at him expectantly, and Liam thinks, I’ve been in a relationship with him for over a month, and it feels all too short and too long at once.

Then Liam latches onto what Harry’s said and exclaims, “What? Congratulations! Where—how—”

“It’s really not all that big,” Harry says, though his head is inclined and he looks cutely bashful. “It’s at my school, I’m just playing guitar and singing at a club—”

“I’ll come,” Liam decides. When Harry’s expression turns reproachful, he continues, “Unless you don’t want me to—”

“I do,” Harry says hurriedly. “I just—I’m telling you because, I dunno, I don’t want Zayn to mention it and you not hear—”

“Zayn’s going then?”

Harry shakes his head. “He’s got an art thing. I just wanted you to know, I don’t expect you to come, I know you’re busy—”

“I’m not busy,” Liam says firmly. Harry doesn’t look persuaded. Liam says, “Really, Harry. Why would I not go? Brenda wants us to keep going on dates, you know—”

Something on Harry’s face flickers, but it disappears as quickly as it had come. “Oh, yeah,” Harry says. “That would be—that’s good, then.”

“And I want to come,” Liam says. “I am completely and honestly free tomorrow.”

“Let me see your timetable,” Harry says, and makes to mock fight for Liam’s computer which Liam bats him away for. “I suppose I—I do want you to come.”

“You suppose?” Liam teases.

Harry sighs. “Yes, Liam, I do terribly want you to come to my concert,” he says mockingly. “In fact I’ll be looking forward to it all until you come.”

“You better,” Liam tells him.

*

Harry leaves Liam with the address to the club, to his own chagrin. Liam looks it over, but it’s not much of a decision to make when he knows he’s going to—for Harry, even if it makes his mum look at him oddly when he’s saying that he’s going to go out for dinner alone the next day. He thinks about bringing Louis or Niall before figuring that Harry would’ve told them if he’d wanted them to go, but had at least told Liam for a reason.

A part of Liam pretends that it’s something special. He knows it isn’t—Zayn had known, although Liam supposes that’s because they’re flatmates—but also Liam highly doubts he’s something that special to Harry. It’s convenient because they’re pretending to date, and they’re friends so of course Harry would invite him—but Liam pretends it’s something special, anyway, something that’s—just between them, despite the loads of time they’ve had just between them already.

So he can’t quite stop thinking about it to the point that he arrives early to the club the next day. It’s a nice restaurant on Harry’s uni campus, one that students would stop by to feel nice and up themselves while still being uni students—and the type that has live entertainment, which Harry is going to be tonight. Liam spots Harry at the back corner of the stage—the place is still completely lit, so no-one really looks twice as Liam goes to Harry, who’s jumping up and down in place.

“Oh,” Harry says, when he sees him. “You’re here.”

“I am.” Liam’s distracted—Harry’s wearing a button-up and dark jeans, and he looks both casual and terribly fit. “You’re—this isn’t your first gig, is it?”

Harry shakes his head, and Liam tries not to watch the way his curls brush the back of his neck. “I do some singing around my campus, sometimes—not lots, since this is all I have.” He gestures down to himself. “My mouth and my guitar.”

“It’s enough. I’m sure you’re good,” Liam says.

Harry rolls his eyes. “You haven’t heard me yet,” he says, before peering over Liam’s shoulder like he’s looking for someone. “You didn’t—you’re alone then?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, furrowing his eyebrows. “Did you want me to—”

Harry shakes his head before he can finish. “I didn’t want you to do anything,” he says. “I don’t care. I was just wondering—”

“If you’re sure—”

“Stop, I’m supposed to be the worried one.” Harry knocks his shoulder forward against Liam’s. “I’m just glad you’re here.”

“Well, if you say so,” Liam says, and Harry laughs. “Have you played here before, then?”

“A couple times,” Harry says. He takes a deep breath and looks around. “‘S my first gig of the summer, though. I dunno if any of these people have heard me before—”

“You’ll be brilliant.”

“You keep saying that and you haven’t heard me play yet,” Harry says, laughing again. “Now get off the stage, you aren’t the popstar tonight.”

“I’ll be your biggest fan,” Liam says seriously, and Harry just blows him a kiss as he leaves.

Liam heads to the back of the restaurant to order his food. As he waits he scans the place—it really does look like that Harry only invited him, which sends a thrill up Liam’s chest. He immediately feels bad about it, because their other friends or anyone else who Harry might’ve wanted to invite should have the opportunity to enjoy Harry’s music as well. Then he considers that maybe Harry did invite others but they couldn’t make it. He thinks about asking Harry, then figures that he’d rather have the illusion of being the only person Harry bothered to tell about this gig, even if it’s not true. Though, Liam would prefer the truth. He doesn’t know.

When he’s all settled with his dinner and is talking to his bodyguard—who’s not much of a talker, but he doesn’t want to go up to Harry and distract him—it’s only a several minutes before the lights dim and the incredibly small stage that Harry’s standing on becomes the centre of the room. His body is illuminated by the yellowish purplish lights of the restaurant, and suddenly Liam’s transfixed, eyes on Harry’s sort of shy face as he stands in the middle of the crowd like he belongs there.

Most of the students in the club continue talking like they’re used to this, but some of them glance at Harry curiously; they mustn’t have seen him here before. “Hi,” Harry says, smiling with the sort of confidence a performer needs to have. Liam doubts he ever looked this comfortable on stage his first few times. “Um, I’m Harry Styles and I’m going to play some back to school songs.”

“We’ve got three weeks, mate!” calls someone from the crowd, and there’s a tinny of laughter.

Harry laughs with them. “Three weeks until school then,” he says, and the crowd hums with interest. “And thank you, Porter.” Porter, the one who’d called out about three weeks of summer left, says, “Cheers, Styles!” Liam realises that not only are these Harry’s classmates—but he knows them; these are people who’ve known Harry likely longer than he has.

It’s a weird thought to have, especially when Harry’s eyes meet his and he says, “I’ve got some songs to sing, so eat your suppers and I’ll get on that,” while beginning to strum his guitar.

Harry’s songs are this kind of mix of indie and rough rock—and Liam doesn’t know a lot about the music Harry himself enjoys other than what Zayn had told him, but now that he’s listening and watching Harry perform the whole load of it makes sense. Harry sings the types of songs he enjoys—there’s lots of guitar, more focus on melody than beat, and his voice has a distinctive quality to it that’s either raspy or strong.

That’s Liam’s technical mind speaking. Harry’s voice is—Liam knows his own voice can be strong, but Harry’s voice sounds as if it’s made to be strong. Hearing Harry talk in his daily life and Liam could probably pick him out from a crowd; hearing him sing and Liam’s sure he could pick him out of a thousand other voices singing. Harry sings with his whole body, using his guitar as if it’s a dance partner, really inside his music in a way that Liam feels he can relate to. Even though the music Harry plays isn’t always what Liam prefers, the way he performs is mesmerizing—it makes Liam’s heart lurch with a deep feeling of want.

Then, it’s over before he knows it and Harry is smiling humbly at the crowd and saying, “Thank you, thank you,” while bowing his head up and down. Liam had forgotten himself but remembers to clap now, and Harry winks at him before going offstage and the lights in the place come back to life.

It had only been about a half an hour of his playing, but still when Harry comes to his table, Liam says, “That was—you’re good.”

Harry’s tan and flushed face looks pleased. “It’s been a while,” he confesses, sidling down next to Liam and stealing one of his chips. Liam doesn’t even care. “I don’t get gigs a lot—”

“You should,” Liam says emphatically, and Harry kicks him under the table.

“I’m just glad you enjoyed it,” he says honestly to Liam. “I’m sorry if you were terribly bored—”

Liam kicks him back. “I wasn’t bored, you’re a natural performer.”

“Well,” Harry ducks his head down in embarrassment. “Thank you, I s’pose. For coming out here and all.”

“You invited me, didn’t you?” Liam says. He hesitates before asking his next question. “Did you invite any of the others?”

“Oh.” Harry’s eyes widen. “No. Should I have?”

“No,” Liam says quickly. “I mean, I wouldn’t have minded if you had done, but I’m glad you invited me, at least—”

“Since you’re my boyfriend,” Harry says hurriedly, glancing around like he’s making sure anyone who’s interested in hearing does. “And it’d be stranger if you weren’t here than if you were the only one who was.”

Liam nods, pretending like he actually feels the same. “Right. You can always invite the other lads next time—”

“I mean, really,” Harry says. “You’re the—um, you’re the professional between us, I mean there’s always Louis and Niall but I don’t know them as well, and Zayn doesn’t like performing.”

“He should,” Liam says pointedly. “He’s really good.”

Harry looks up at him from beneath his eyelashes. “But I’m better?”

Liam laughs and kicks him under the table again, resting their ankles together—Harry doesn’t flinch at it, welcomes it like he’d expected Liam to do such a thing—and Liam says, “Yes, Harry, you are better.” Harry beams at him.

He grabs another one of Liam’s chips and looks forlornly at the menu stood on the table. “I’ve already eaten, but now I want something,” he says, flipping it over in his hands.

Liam takes out his wallet. “I can get you something—”

They’re interrupted at that moment when a girl comes up to their table and, with Liam looking through his wallet, she says only to Harry, “You were good up there. Harry, right?”

“Styles,” Harry says to her, smiling. “The one and only.”

The girl slips Harry a piece of paper as Liam gets twenty quid out just in case, and says, “This is my number, in case you wanted to—”

“Oh,” Harry says. He actually pushes the paper back to her. “Actually, um—this is my boyfriend Liam.”

“Oh!” The girl’s voice goes high-pitched when she notices Liam. Liam smiles and waves at her, sure that the expression on his face is conveying he’s mine go away and never think about him again. “I didn’t realise you had a—so sorry—”

“It’s fine,” Harry says graciously. “He’s just being supportive—”

“Wait,” the girl says, peering at Liam. “I recognise you. You’re that singer, aren’t you?” Then she looks at Harry. “Wait, you’re the—”

“Yes, I’m the singer who kissed a random bloke that one time, Harry here is the random bloke,” Liam says, gesturing. “That’s us.”

“I don’t even know how I didn’t recognise you at first. That’s amazing,” the girl gushes. She turns over the paper in her hands to the blank side, and then hands a pen to Liam. “Can you—would you mind signing—”

If it got her to stop flirting with Harry, then Liam would do just about anything. “Sure,” he says, before scribbling his signature on the paper and handing it back to her.

She beams at him, and then Harry. “This is incredible,” she says, to the both of them. To Liam, “You’re like, a celebrity.”

“He is incredible, isn’t he?” Harry says.

“You’re the one who’s just performed,” Liam says to him. “I don’t know what you’re going on about.” To the girl, “Harry’s plenty incredible too.”

“I’ll say.” The girl giggles. “I’ll leave you two alone—thank you so much,” she adds to Liam, who nods before she disappears.

Harry goes to order his food; when he comes back, Liam says, “What is it about you that makes you so flirt-able? That’s the second time since we were at the club that, right in front of me—”

Harry snorts into the drink he’d gotten. “I usually don’t get asked out on many dates,” he says. At Liam’s expression, “I’m serious! I think when I’ve been with you I’m more confident, and that’s why I’ve been asked out.”

“Clearly I’m doing something wrong then,” says Liam, “if people are asking you out when you’ve been with me.”

“That just means you’ve got to make it obvious you’re with me,” Harry says pointedly.

“I don’t know if you ought to be suggesting things like that,” Liam says. “The paps will think—”

“—that you’re a great and possessive boyfriend, yes,” Harry says with a grin.

Liam says, “I dunno if I want to be known as possessive,” and remembers what Louis had said to them when they were at the club the other week. He rubs at his cheek self-consciously. “I’d rather be not jealous—”

“But you aren’t, aren’t you?” Harry teases.

Liam’s saved from actually answering his question when Harry perches his chin on his hand and looks around the club. “I quite like that we’re here alone,” he says, a remarkable amount of honesty that Liam doesn’t know how to respond to. “But I do like that our friends get along.”

Liam’s brain is still catching up with his words—and then Harry’s words suddenly sound like an if but, not just that Harry likes spending time with him. “Yeah, me too,” Liam finds himself saying, but he does mean it.

“Zayn doesn’t warm up that quickly,” Harry says.

Liam raises his eyebrows.

“I mean Louis, too,” Harry adds. “It’s clear that he and Niall—” he waves a hand. “But for all of us, I’ve been thinking we could go out again.”

“There’s this karaoke bar Louis and Niall and I go to sometimes,” Liam says, remembering. “I know you’ve just sung tonight, but—”

“No, that’s brilliant,” Harry says, brightening up. “And there’s the beach, which we’ve also just gone to, but—we should.”

Liam agrees, “We should.” The smile that he gets in return is worth it.

*

Brenda calls early the next morning because she’d booked several places for Liam’s tour, a great deal of coincidence (or fate) after Liam had just gone to see one of Harry’s shows. Liam’s shows are just bussing around England and in the area, but Brenda also mentions that management is looking into him getting a continental tour next year, since it’s much too late to book areas across different countries to be within the next month. But next year is better than none, and with all the publicity as of late—Liam going to Harry’s show ends up in the news a couple of days later—he does have enough money going towards album sales and Liam’s lead single is actually charting, and also he’s looking into private enough neighbourhoods to eventually move into.

At least picking out a place for Ruth is much less of a stress headache.

So Liam gets swamped with so much of the business technicalities with concerts and real estate for the next few days that the next time he looks up, Harry and Louis are peering down at him in his own living room.

“Hi,” Liam says, blinking at them.

Louis turns to Harry. “He’s forgotten. He’s forgotten all about us!”

“Liam,” says Harry, despite Louis’s melodramatics. “Did you forget that we’ve made plans for today and tomorrow?”

(Liam Payne: nite out soon?
Liam Payne: karaoke?
Louis Tomlinson: YES!! need me some lads
Niall Horan: lads 2 pick up
Zayn M: live a desperately and lonely single life tommo
Louis Tomlinson: I can’t believe u would say that to me
Louis Tomlinson: WHILE calling me a nickname!!!
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I could do with some lads.
Liam Payne: hey
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: And karaoke.
Niall Horan: think u mean just liam mate
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Lads and karaoke and Liam. :)
Niall Horan: o :)
Louis Tomlinson: YES lads!!!
Liam Payne: I swa harry sing the othr day
Zayn M: ohhh haz sang for liam
Zayn M: in bed ;)
Niall Horan: ohhhhhh
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: No. It was at my gig.
Louis Tomlinson: a gig with LIAM IN BED!!
Louis Tomlinson: when are we going then??
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Tomorrow? I’ve got no work.
Liam Payne: good 4 tmr
Niall Horan: me too!
Louis Tomlinson: tomorrow then :D
Zayn M: guess i’ll come)

Liam checks his calendar. “It’s Tuesday,” he says.

“It’s when we scheduled,” Harry points out. “Do you have something to do on Tuesdays?”

Liam shakes his head. “I’ve just got this,” he says despairingly, pointing at his piles of real estate references. Part of being an adult is doing this all on your own, and while Liam’s made a lot of phone calls and has an idea of what he’s looking for even if he’s not sure where, that doesn’t make the whole business any easier.

Louis tugs at his wrist and, when Liam won’t get up, gets Harry to yank on his other arm. “Take a break Liam,” he says, forcing him up. “Come do karaoke with us! Hit the beach! Have some fun!”

“Is that what we’re doing today?” Liam asks dryly, getting up. “Karaoke, beach, fun?”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” Louis says.

And Harry says, “Well, we’re doing karaoke today. It ought to be fun.” Then he nudges Liam. “We can play it for the paps, can’t we?” he says, making Liam’s whole body flush with warmth.

He puts his papers away and turns to the two of them—Harry’s looking at him expectantly, Louis is still being melodramatic. “Fine, we can have fun,” he says, like he’s reluctant to it. Truth be told, he’s looking forward to it—since coming back from America, everything feels like it’s been dragging slowly, and there are too many days interspersed with not seeing Harry than there are of actually seeing him.

He grins at Harry, and Harry grins back. Liam suddenly feels driven, eager.

“That’s the spirit,” Louis says, intentionally slapping Liam so hard that Liam lurches forward. Harry eases him back upright. “C’mon, we should get to the bar before Zayn and Niall upend it and try to call it a date.”

It’s late afternoon, so the karaoke bar that they eventually arrive at is just beginning to get traffic. Zayn and Niall are already at a booth themselves, sitting across from each other and talking. Louis gets in on Zayn’s side of the booth with Liam while Harry sits next to Niall. Liam cranes his neck to look over to the back of the bar.

“Are we going to sing then?” he says; they do all sing, after all.

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Now that would be cheesy.”

“It would be touching,” says Louis.

“I’ll sing with anyone,” Niall offers.

Zayn leans back in his seat. “I don’t feel like singing today,” he says, and then Niall tries to goad him into singing something while Louis looks back at where the karaoke queue is, which has already begun.

“Oh hell, I should—” he says, and Liam makes way for Louis to get out of the booth.

“This place is busy,” Harry comments, looking around.

Liam nods. “We’ve been here before,” he says, passing the drink menu to Niall—he knows that he’ll want it. “Me, Louis, and Niall I mean. Everyone here is serious about their singing.”

“As they should be.” Harry unravels his silverware and napkin and begins arranging them on the table. “Singing is a very serious thing.”

Liam tries to be casual when he suggests, “We could sing something.” He’s been thinking it since he’d seen Harry’s show—in the back of his mind, nothing he thought would be really real, since he hadn’t really thought of a situation where he and Harry could or would need to sing with each other. But with karaoke…

Harry lights up at the idea, to Liam’s relief, instead of balking and saying no way. “Brilliant idea,” he says. “We should tell Louis.” Then, calling across the bar, “Louis! Me and Liam are going to—okay!” He sends Louis a thumbs up before grinning at Liam.

Liam rolls his eyes, but is grinning too. “Did you have to cause a fuss like that?”

“I did,” Harry says.

The karaoke is open at seven o’clock, when the queue begins moving and Liam, Harry, Zayn, and Niall are subjected to a number of types of singers, some of whom are passable and others who are quite good, despite the less than talented selections. Liam also doesn’t stop getting recognised, although most of the people in the bar are regulars and come up to their table and said, “Heard about you two,” to Liam, winking pointedly at Harry. Harry, interestingly enough, blushes as Liam says, “Roger, you’ve known me since X Factor,” before introducing Zayn and Harry properly.

As another regular that Liam knows actually comes up to him and asks for his autograph (to which Liam jokingly refuses until the pen had somehow found its way in his hand) before disappearing, Harry asks, “You’ve sung with Louis or Niall before, right?”

“I have, before, but not here,” Liam says. Niall had ordered drinks for all of them, and Liam sips distractedly at his own. “We’re solo acts, you know, we sing by ourselves.”

Harry grins. “So today’s the first time they’ll hear you sing with someone else?”

“I suppose so,” Liam says. He glances at Niall, who’s laughing too hard at something Zayn had said; Zayn looks pleased with himself. “Hey Ni, are you gonna sing with Zayn today?”

“No,” Niall scoffs. “On me own, I don’t need Zayn to help me.”

“This isn’t a competition,” Zayn points out.

“Well still,” Niall says. “You’ll be blown away by my singular talent. Don’t need to sing with anyone.”

Harry nudges him. “Alright, Niall,” he says. “You’ll be fantastic on your own.”

“I sure will,” Niall says, as Liam and Zayn laugh at him.

Then Louis’s up, and he says, “I’m in the queue for, uh, my table over there.” He points to where Liam and the others are singing. “Who’s coming up first, lads?” he asks into the mic.

Niall bounds up. “Me!” he says, before climbing up onto the seat so he’s standing and stepping over Harry. “‘Scuse me, Haz—I’m comin’!”

He runs up to the mic and nearly trips and says, “Pretend you didn’t see all that.” The crowd laughs.

Niall ducks to whisper something in Louis’s ear, and Louis grins, glances over at the table where Liam, Harry, and Zayn are sitting, and then goes to the karaoke machine to find a song. “This song’s not dedicated to anyone in particular,” he says airily, as the tunes of a Michael Buble song start playing.

Niall sings—and Liam’s always liked his voice, the breathy light quality to it—and they all whoop for him, as is the nature of the bar—boos are for bad song choices, showboating, or just really bad singing, though Liam hasn’t been around for something as awful as that yet. (Louis claims he was, but Niall hadn’t been with him either.) Cheering is for everything else, and Harry claps Niall on the back as he makes his way back to the booth.

“Good song choice,” Liam compliments, as Zayn looks at Niall peculiarly.

Louis goes next, singing “Party Rock Anthem” of all choices, earning a mix of cheers and boos when he’s done. Laughing, Louis goes, “And now for our happy couple, Liam and Harry!” gesticulating so wildly that he nearly falls off his stool.

Liam turns to Harry and says, “What song should we do?”

Harry grins and shrugs. They’ve begun to make their way out of the booth. “Dunno. You can pick.”

“I don’t want to pick something you don’t know,” Liam points out.

“Hm,” says Harry, and they both crouch over the karaoke machine before agreeing on a song. They’re getting interested looks from the crowd—clearly anyone who hadn’t come up to Liam before recognises him, and not just from him coming here before.

Liam does his best to ignore it as he grabs the second mic by the side while Louis hands off his own to Harry. “Hi,” he says to the crowd, who’re grinning at him.

“Sing some Madonna!” Zayn definitely yells over from their booth, and the crowd laughs.

Liam chuckles lightly and says, “We’ve picked a song we think will suit both our voices. You haven’t heard Harry sing yet, but he’s a good singer—”

“Sing already,” Niall calls this time.

Harry waves him down. “Alright, alright,” he says, as the song begins playing.

They sing a Bruno Mars song that’s relatively boring at first, before Liam decides to go off book and start harmonizing with Harry. Harry grins at him and continues carrying the melody, and at the bridge Liam nods pointedly to Harry and they switch up again, Harry taking the harmony this time with Liam back on the melody. Harry’s flat for all of two notes before getting back on track, and Liam sings a little louder so his voice is stronger alongside Harry’s.

At the end, they get a collective of cheers and boos. “What,” Liam says, as Harry looks baffled.

“Showboating!” someone calls from the crowd, though they’re laughing too so they’re obviously joking. Harry sends Liam a confused look, and Liam shakes his head, grinning.

As they get off the stage and Louis tries to drag Zayn up for all five of them to sing something together (Zayn stoutly refuses), a bloke comes up to Liam and Harry as they descend. “You’re a couple then?” he asks them, immediately making Liam wary.

Harry grabs Liam’s hand. “We are,” he confirms.

Liam’s too stunned in remembering how much he misses Harry’s touch even though they haven’t not been touching that he nearly doesn’t catch the bloke saying, “I can see why you’re dating, singing like that.”

“Oh,” Harry says, and then looks to Liam.

Liam takes a second to catch himself up to speed. “Oh, thanks,” he says to the bloke, nodding. “Yeah, we—I mean, I’d actually only heard Harry sing in the shower before recently.”

“You’re good,” the stranger says. “Cheers then.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, and Liam nods as they make their way back to the booth.

Liam sits beside Harry on Niall’s side of the booth; he realises as they sit down that Harry’s still holding his hand. Harry makes no movement to let go, so Liam doesn’t either, palm clammy against Harry’s warm one.

“That was really good,” Louis says, and Zayn nods.

“You two were like, amazing,” Zayn says. “Dunno why you got booed.”

“Oh,” Niall says. “It’s this bar, they…”

The rest of the night progresses as they watch and listen to some other people sing, more coming up to Liam and Harry with interest, Liam fine with fielding questions until he gets tired and just wants to talk with his friends, when his bodyguard steps in the way and bars others from talking to him, even though he feels terrible about it. Later, Harry sings again, Liam sings again, Zayn finally gets goaded into singing though by himself, and then Liam’s not exactly sober and gets the sudden urge to kiss Harry so he does, Harry asking, “What’s this for?” against his mouth and Liam says, “We’re supposed to be dating.” Harry smiles against him and says, “Yeah,” and there aren’t any cameras nearby and Liam tells himself it’s to convince everyone around them that this is real when, he knows, it’s only to convince himself.

*

Liam wakes up in Harry’s bed in his flat, flailing for a moment before remembering yesterday. They all hadn’t been terribly drunk, just this edge of tipsy, but Zayn had suggested for them to stay over, while looking somewhat pointedly at Niall, and so Louis had taken it as an invitation for all of them (which in all fairness, it was.)

Since the night had ended really with Zayn and Niall snogging in the booth while Louis was whining about ending up “forever alone” as Liam and Harry paid them no mind, it seemed only appropriate later for Liam and Harry to share a bed, leading to Liam now, scrubbing his face awake and staring absently at Harry’s curled up and unconscious body like a freak. Liam hunches over him and whispers, “I’m going to go home,” but Harry whines and rolls over, keeping a hand on Liam’s wrist.

It reminds Liam painstakingly of that first night waking up together, and—what had followed. But then Harry is blinking sleepily up at him and says, “We’re going to the beach today, remember?” His voice is throaty and it’s doing things to Liam down below.

Liam says, “Alright, but I’ve got to get my swimmers from my flat.” He manages to pry himself out of Harry’s grasp and make his way off of Harry’s mattress, which is pressed against the wall.

Harry immediately swings his legs off the bed. “I’m coming with you then.”

“It’s—” Liam checks his phone that he’d left on Harry’s bedside. “Six in the morning, Harry.”

Harry gives him a look. “Yeah, you wanted to leave my flat at six in the morning,” he says. “I’m coming with you to get your stuff, and then we’re coming back here and passing out for another four hours, and then we’re going to the beach.”

Liam rolls his eyes; but that is what they end up doing, when they sneak into Liam’s flat to grab his things, Harry stealing snacks from the kitchen, knocking into a chair in the dining room and saying goodbye to Liam’s father before heading back out. Harry manages to drag Liam back into his bed, which is kind of odd, but Liam doesn’t have much time to think about it because he passes out and then Louis is whacking them awake with one of Harry’s stuffed toys, threatening them with exposing them to Zayn and Niall shagging in Zayn’s room.

They aren’t—they’re actually sleeping quite peacefully in Zayn’s bed, and when they all make their way out and prowl through Zayn and Harry’s refrigerator for food (or what’s left of it, anyway—Liam proposes to buy them all breakfast, and they cheer) Liam can see that Louis had combined the two bean bags last night, got a blanket from somewhere, and then passed out in the living room.

“I don’t have to get a place of my own,” Liam says, as they head out to get breakfast. “I’ll just live with you and Zayn.”

“You won’t,” Zayn says petulantly.

“If Liam does, I will,” Niall declares.

“Neither of you will,” Zayn says.

Liam nudges Zayn and says, “I’d like you to try and stop us.”

“I won’t try to stop you,” Harry says. “Niall can crash on Zayn’s bed, Liam—”

“Or,” Louis says exaggeratedly. “Liam could buy us all a fabulous place in California where we can all live, like we discussed before.”

“I’m not moving to California for you four,” Zayn says.

Louis just calls him a hater, and Niall asks Zayn if he would move for him. Zayn blushes and doesn’t give a proper answer.

They get breakfast; then they’re at the beach, another muggy day but at least without any rain. As they walk through the sand dunes, Louis points out, “Oi, Liam,” and jerks his head back to where some paparazzo are pointing cameras at them.

Liam would complain, but he wouldn’t properly mean it when it gives him an excuse to step a bit closer in Harry’s space—not just like they are with Louis and Zayn and Niall—and Harry curls a hand around his own.

Niall coos at them. “Our favorite couple,” he says, which means nothing with Zayn’s arm around his shoulder.

“We are your favorite couple,” Harry says. His hand squeezes Liam’s which wouldn’t be seen by the paps, so Liam doesn’t know why he does it.

“You should give us a kiss then,” Louis says, smirking. “Go on.”

“Oh.” Liam looks at Harry, and then the paparazzo behind them. “Um—”

“There’s nothing wrong with kissing Harry, is there?” says Zayn.

“Of course not,” Liam says, affronted. He glances behind them again. “But the paps aren’t asking us to—”

“That’s right,” Harry says, in such an odd voice that it worries Liam for a second that he can’t read it. “We only listen to the paps, not you three.”

“You’re both terrible,” Louis says, and then Harry surprises Liam with a quick peck on the mouth, and it makes Louis go, “Aha!”

“Paps couldn’t have caught that one,” Niall points out, and Harry shrugs.

They continue to get more looks while they’re on the beach, which just makes Liam feel like he ought to cuddle Harry or something, and desperately not wanting to in the case that he may spontaneously combust right here. Zayn, Niall, and Louis make it a bit easier for them to ignore by the way all of them mess around with each other; and of course Liam’s bodyguard, who’s been on watch since they were at Zayn and Harry’s apartment, is once against resigned to standing on the sand while swaths of other kids and families run around them.

Harry wants to go into the ocean, so naturally Liam has to go with him. They splash around, and Harry’s chest gets slick and shiny from the ocean water, and Liam tries his damnedest not to stare. When they come back to catch their breaths, he sees that he has one new text from Brenda.

As he picks it up to respond to it, Harry plops down next to him. “Beaches in London are still good,” he says, resting on his elbow.

Liam’s glad that he has an excuse for not gawking at Harry right now. “I’m assuming this is in comparison to California,” he says.

Harry rolls his head over in the sand so he’s facing Liam. “Obviously,” he says. He looks at Liam’s phone. “Are you busy?”

Liam shakes his head. “Just flat stuff,” he says.

Harry hums, then looks up at the grey sky. “Get one close to me and Zayn,” he says. “It’ll be nice to visit you without your family always around.”

Liam laughs, putting his phone away into the hoodie he’d worn out since yesterday and curling his arms around his legs. “I’ll be sure to tell them that.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Harry says hurriedly, but Liam laughs again. Harry’s grinning at him too when he says, “I just mean that—you know, you’ll have a flat of your own. Being grown up and all that.”

“Yeah,” Liam sighs. He looks out to the ocean. “I don’t miss being in school,” he says honestly.

“I’d think you’re mad if you did,” Harry says fairly.

Liam shrugs. “It’s just crazy how I can look out at this beach now and say, ‘I like the beaches in California better.’ I do, by the way,” he adds to Harry. “The one in Los Angeles at least.”

“Really? I quite enjoyed the San Francisco one,” Harry says. “Not as many people.”

“That’s a good thing?” Liam says, raising his eyebrows.

“It’s less loud! This is in between,” Harry says, motioning to the activity on the Sussex; they’re on the east end, at West Wittering. “But if you move to America, I suppose you’ll be with all the beaches you enjoy,” Harry adds.

Liam bumps their knees together; some people are staring, others have their cameras out, so Liam leans a bit closer to him. “I’ll get your permission first,” Liam says earnestly to him, gaining an eye roll from Harry.

After messing around in the water, the five of them explore the grasslands by the sea and walk down Chichester Harbour, the wind blowing in their hair, and at one point Niall complains about getting sand in his mouth. They laugh at him, but Zayn insists on kissing the sand out of his mouth until he realises that Niall hadn’t been joking and there had been sand in his mouth, and then they’re all laughing as Niall and Zayn indignantly spit onto the boardwalk to get the sand out of their mouths.

During the walk, Liam also confers with a real estate agent that Brenda had approved of, and they all congratulate Liam on his progressions towards adulthood and whatnot. Louis says that Liam better move in with Harry—”I vetted him yesterday, but you’re all good.”

(“Shouldn’t you have done that earlier?” Liam asks.)

As Niall asks Louis how exactly he vetted Harry and Louis begins explaining, Liam says, “We can’t though, we’ve got to break up in a couple of weeks.”

“What?” Zayn says, frowning.

Louis stops from where he’s talking to Niall and screeches, “No!”

“What?” Liam says, looking between all of them. Even Harry looks confused, which makes no sense since he knows that they’ve got to—they’d talked about it before. “You don’t think that Harry and I are going to be like this forever, do you?” he says, grabbing Harry’s hand and making a show of it.

Niall says to him, “You’re going out, why would you suddenly break up?”

“Because this whole thing was for show, remember?” Liam reminds him. “When I kissed Harry, that was—that’s what this has all been about.”

While Zayn and Niall and Louis are looking at Liam like he’s grown a third head, at least Harry says, “Yeah, this is for the publicity, we’ve got the plan to break up only if it’s been fake for long enough.”

“Exactly,” Liam says.

Louis waves him off. “Whatever, I don’t understand you kids and your publicity relationships or whatever,” he says, as Harry takes Liam’s hand. It seems to be for a just-in-case show, but Harry looks at Liam with a question in his eyes that Liam can’t quite parse. “Anyway, when Liam has a place of his own, I’ll need a room because I won’t be doing this sleeping in common rooms anymore, do you hear me?”

*

Their whole relationship has come to the point where they’re as boring as any other celebrity couple, except slightly less since Harry’s not a celebrity—being seen together is as good as “dating” to the news reporters’ eyes, so Liam doesn’t need to kiss him on the beach for their relationship to be convincing. It almost feels maturing, like—the touchiness was the early part of their relationship, but if they’re seen together people will just know. It makes Liam pleased, which does nothing to quell the ridiculous feelings in his stomach, since Harry is much too friendly and nice to protest to a single thing like he hasn’t so far, even though Liam knows that Harry has no reason to feel the same way.

Since they don’t have any more official dates scheduled, Liam isn’t expected to go back to the cafe for some sort of deliberate public outing—but he goes anyway, because he kind of wants to drag Louis and Niall along and have them bother Harry while he’s on the job; they’ve never seen him at work before. Then Liam gets to bring his laptop and ponder over some of the songs that he’s working on.

And maybe being in the same room as Harry is giving him more of a thrill than it used to, and maybe Liam is staring at Harry in the times that it looks like he’s just gazing into space in thought.

“Time to evaluate this tea,” Louis says, coming back to the table where Liam and Niall are sitting, Niall seeming awfully busy on his phone. “Niall,” Louis says, when Niall’s not looking up. “Nialler.”

Niall jerks his head up. “Yeah?”

“Ugh, you and Zayn,” Louis says, before turning to Liam. “He’s been texting Zayn. I can’t believe you’re on Team Harry now.”

“What’s Team Harry, exactly?” Liam says, as Niall nudges Louis’s teacup a little, making it spill on him.

“Hey,” says Louis, but then when he takes a sip he seems to decide that he wouldn’t want to waste any by pouring it on Niall. “It’s when we’re either on Team Liam or Team Harry in your little thing,” Louis says, gesturing vaguely at Liam. “Your relationship or whatever. Zayn’s on Team Harry, of course, and me and Ni are supposed to be on Team Liam—”

“I’m on Team Liam,” Niall says without looking up from his phone.

Louis shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “Ugh,” he says. “Disgusting. Not this tea though, which is quite good.”

Liam decides he’ll get something to eat or drink too—that, and an excuse to talk to Harry, even though he could just be a normal person and walk up to him and start a conversation. Instead, Liam waits in the queue, and when Harry reaches him he’s grinning and asks, “What can I get you?”

“A croissant and Earl Grey tea,” Liam says, smiling at him. “And a Harry Styles off shift sometime soon, if it’s possible.”

“I’ll check with my manager,” Harry teases, before going around the counter to get Liam’s order. “I can lunch break right now, I think,” he says, glancing at his manager-coworker, who nods.

“Hurray,” Liam says, and after getting him his food, Harry takes off his apron and joins Liam with Louis and Niall at their table.

“D’you know that apparently we’re on different teams,” Liam says to Harry as they sit down. “According to Niall and Louis. There’s Team Harry—”

“And Team Liam! Which we are on,” Louis says indignantly. “Me and Liam, anyway—dunno where Niall’s loyalties lie.”

“Team Liam!” Niall says without looking up.

“Can I be on Team Liam too?” Harry says. “Or is it an exclusive thing?”

Louis looks between Liam and Harry and says, “Sure. I dunno. Fine, what the fuck ever. Harry will be on Team Liam now. Too bad, Nialler, you and Z are the only ones on Team Harry.”

“I’m on Team Liam!” Niall says again, but he’s laughing at something on his phone that it kind of ruins the effect.

Harry smiles at Liam and says, “We’re all on the right team.” His leg bumps into Liam’s under the table and Liam ignores the silly flush it sends all up that side of his body.

“You’re all being ridiculous,” Liam tells them. “I’m on Team Harry. There. Now it’s balanced.”

Louis squawks. “Well hardly! Now Harry and I are on the losing team. I’ve changed my mind, I’m now on Team Harry.”

“Does that make me the only one on Team Liam then?” Harry says. “That’s fine by me, I’ll take it.”

“Ugh,” Louis says. “You lot are disgusting. And by disgusting I mean utterly adorable. I’m getting more tea.”

He gets up from the table to go back to the counter. Harry casts his gaze to Niall, before turning to Liam, something intent on his eyes.

“Hey,” he says. “So you remember when we were talking about the, um, break up—”

“At the beach?” Liam asks. It’s been a couple of days since the beach; Liam and Brenda have been working on his timetable for the next year, even including Liam’s personal ventures, compiled with his housing and concerts and new albums and singles for the next season. They’ve progressed with a real estate agent, who seems content to find Liam’s flat first, as he wants to stay closer to his parents than either of his sisters. Plus, with his country-wide concert tour starting up soon, they’ve got to find one before October, which is when the tour starts.

Except for a preview concert this Friday, for which Brenda had managed to book the O2 a while back, for some miracle.

Harry says, “No—well, yes, but also in the beginning.” He shifts uncomfortably.

Liam rests his hand on Harry’s—maybe if it’s familiar it’ll make him feel better. “What about it?” he says.

“When your agent was talking about—” Harry starts, and then stops. “I mean, she said only if we wanted to—”

Louis arrives back at the table then, saying, “I’m trying some more tea! How’s the chai?” he asks Harry.

And before Harry can answer, then his manager is rushing over and saying, “Um, hello, oh, hi Mister Payne, I mean, Liam—Harry, you’ve got to come back—”

“Oh alright,” Harry says, looking put upon and leaving the table. He’s avoiding Liam’s eyes—or he’s just leaving, Liam can’t tell the difference.

Louis sips from his tea and says, “This chai is just horrifying! Oh, how can you mess up good chai like that?” then Niall looks up from his phone and steals from Louis’s tea and Liam clucks at them because they might accidentally spill tea on his notebook and forgets all what he and Harry had been talking about.

*

Liam would be lying if he said he wasn’t nervous for his preview concert. He is, though not terribly—he’d managed to get farther than Louis and Niall after all during the X Factor, finishing in third of the top three while they’d only made it past eight weeks.

It’s just that these things feel so sudden that it’s unnatural—one minute Liam’s at the beach, at a cafe with his friends, and then the wardrobe team and makeup and everyone is fussing over Liam, and it’s four in the evening and it’s going to be the first time he’s been on a stage in months. Namely, since the X Factor, which adds that much pressure to it, even though Liam’s looking forward to having the eyes on him, being the centre of the room, doing something he loves and being others’ entertainment.

It’s the matter of being here in the first place after what feels like for so long that’s making him feel out of his skin.

Harry, of course, has come. “You’ll do great,” Harry says sincerely as makeup dusts over Liam’s neck. “No—don’t cover up the moles,” Harry says to the makeup lady. Then: “I’m going to go see if there’s a crowd out there.”

“No, don’t,” Liam moans, not meaning it. That’s the other part of this—his audience is real this time, not just because of a competition but because of him. The fucking O2. He’s not that big of a deal, is he?

While Harry’s gone out to check the crowd, Liam takes out his phone and searches his name on Twitter.

@Alicia526: liam payne concert tonite!!!!

@directionlessheathen: who else is jealous of everyone with liam payne tix ):

@samemist8ks: LIAM PAYNE & HARRY AT LIAMS CONCERT!!! AAAA

[Attached photo not available.]

They’re all sent within the span of the last minute; as soon as Liam begins reading, 20 new Tweets appear and he closes out of the application. He used to use it more during X Factor to mess with Louis and Niall, but since it was over and since he’d been focusing on his solo career there had been less time to waste on social media.

Harry comes back from the stage with big eyes. “You’ve got quite a crowd,” he says. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen one quite like it this up close.”

“Oh, don’t give me the flattering compliments now,” Liam groans. Suddenly the world feels much bigger than it did before. “I think I’ll do well, but now I don’t want to perform at all. I feel I’ve tricked everyone into thinking that my music’s good.”

“Your music is good.” Harry leans back on the table for makeup; the makeup girl glares at him, but since Liam’s all done he’s not actually getting in the way of things. Harry slots his legs between Liam’s as they sit across from each other. “Your music’s good and your hair’s good and I’ve seen you on the X Factor so I know you’re good.”

“I don’t know if I care about my hair that much,” Liam says, patting it self-consciously.

Harry glances at hair and makeup and giggles. “Don’t think you want Alex hearing you say that, after all the hard work he did,” he says.

They’ve not got any opening acts; it’s just going to be Liam and his band for an hour, which is unconventional and sort of terrifying. Liam gets himself into it, getting up and jogging up and down, Harry helping him sort of by joining him, clutching his hands and grounding him. The sparks shooting off from Liam’s nerves are mixed both with the actual performance anxiety and the way Harry believes he’ll do well—Liam’s mildly afraid that with the expectation he’ll somehow let Harry down.

“C’mon,” says Harry, when they’ve got fifteen minutes to go. “You’ve done well in front of cameras for us, you’re going to be amazing with an audience of—how much?” He asks Brenda, who’s come back at this point.

“Twelve thousand,” Brenda tells him.

Harry chokes. “Twelve thousand,” he says to Liam, whose vision greys out at the number.

“Tickets were cheap, Liam’s got enough attention that people were interested,” Brenda says, flipping through the papers she had been helping Liam find flats for. “And half of them are families, if it’s any better.”

“You better not curse in your songs,” Harry advises Liam.

Liam chokes out a laugh. “Can you believe I was here a few weeks ago,” he says, “singing for the Olympics—and now I’m here, singing again?”

“This time by yourself,” Harry says.

Then, of course, Liam’s actually got to go out—so Harry takes his hands before he does and says, “Kiss for good luck?” He’s grinning and Liam’s chest is doing funny things and he wants nothing, terribly more, than to kiss Harry—doesn’t want to go out on stage, just wants Harry to kiss him and tell him he’ll do alright.

As it is, Liam gives Harry a brief kiss on the mouth; some stagehands are passing by, so he can use them as an excuse. “Wish me luck,” he says, before heading out to the crowd.

“Good luck!” Harry calls after him.

Liam takes a deep breath and makes his way out. It sort of feels like his first time out on the X Factor—the first time, the second time. He’s never half as terribly worried as he is as just not living up to expectations—not being as good as he could be—that’s what Liam thinks about, somehow being able to fake it this whole time.

The main lights are off. The overhead lights begin to flicker.

And once he’s on stage, it feels like home again. It’s not the same as Wembley Arena during X Factor—and it’s not the same as the Olympics, because he’s alone.

But the lights are blinding and Liam can just sing and be with his music and that’s what he likes doing the most. Well, one of the few things that he likes doing the most. He bounds up and down the stage, dancing alongside his band and singing, rocking out to his own music like the first time his album had come out and he’d played it, felt that thrill of creating something for the whole world to see, for it to be polished and out there the way he’d always imagined it.

He’s sung before, done concerts before, private and public venues alike, but never with the roar in the crowd like they actually know him, actually want him to entertain them, not like his parents but masses of strangers. This in itself is thrilling—and Liam’s never felt more in his place in the world than here in the O2 arena, singing out, Yeah yeah yeah that’s what crazy is when it’s broken and you say there’s nothing to fix, the crowd singing along with him because they know the words as well as Liam does. The beat is fast and loud and the type to dance to, just the way Liam likes—and here, it’s the way Liam likes as well.

*

By the time the concert’s over—only the measly hour, of Liam by himself, but still one of the best hours of Liam’s life—Liam’s riding on the high of performing, the adrenaline settled into his bones like it belongs there. He makes his way backstage, and he immediately thinks of Harry, how much he wants to kiss Harry.

It’s Brenda who finds Liam first, though, saying, “Oh, I’ve missed seeing how happy you are out there—Liam, you were wonderful—”

“Thank you, really,” Liam says. “I couldn’t’ve—there’s nothing about this I would’ve been able to do without you—”

Brenda shoves at his shoulder. “We’re not talking about me right now, Liam. Honestly, I’m just glad to see how happy you are.”

“I am,” Liam says, hugging her and laughing.

They go around, Liam getting a good round of congratulations. It’s a while until he sees Harry, who’s panting like he’s just run, and beaming like he’s never seen Liam before.

Liam’s skin is buzzing; he just wants to take Harry in, kiss him like he did the first time, wants them to take each other apart. He resists every temptation, because Harry is talking like a normal fucking person, gushing, “You were amazing, you’re so utterly talented—”

“You saw it from back here?” Liam says, and Harry shakes his head.

“Of course not,” he says. He waves a ticket stub in his hand. “I’d bought my own ticket of course.”

Liam laughs. “Harry, you really don’t have to, you know me—”

“I know that,” Harry says, and quickly wraps his arms around Liam’s shoulders in an embrace. Liam’s so stunned that he doesn’t fully register it when Harry releases him. “I had to support you, obviously—”

Liam gets a hold of himself and rolls his eyes. “Obviously,” he mimics. The adrenaline is still bustling in his veins, and he can’t stop back a smile, which Harry returns. “And had to come backstage again, despite the bodyguards—”

Brenda claps a hand on his shoulder suddenly, interrupting them. “I invited Harry backstage of course, so he gets a pass,” she says. “Are you boys going to head home then? Liam, you’ll probably need to sign some autographs when we get out.”

“Yeah, okay,” Liam says, still keeping his smile locked with Harry’s.

They get out of the venue and Liam does indeed sign a whole lot of signatures—as many as he can, really, especially with the strap of banner blocking people out from actually crowding around him—until he’s forcibly tugged away and apologizing to everyone else he can’t get autographs for and telling them to check out his tour in October. He’s still pumped up and full of energy as they head to the car—Harry keeps glancing at him like he’s never seen him before.

“I’m ready for the next concerts,” Liam says as they pile in from the parking garage to the car. He’s just with Harry—his bodyguard’s with Brenda to divert the attention from the fans. “I can’t wait until October, that was so fun.”

“It looked it,” Harry says. He sounds yearning.

Liam blushes self-consciously then, and says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to brag about it in your face—”

“No, it’s fine,” Harry says quickly. “You aren’t bragging about anything. I’m glad you liked it after all, you seemed to be dreading it so much—”

“I wasn’t, really,” Liam says. “I was just going on for the first time in a while, since my album debuted, it was just a little frightening at first—”

Harry laughs lightly. “I know,” he says, looking at Liam in the darkness of the car and the light of the city. “You were excellent, you know.”

Liam doesn’t know what it is—the glow of Harry’s face from here, the light in his eyes, the shadowed silhouettes of the city against his cheek—but the next second he’s in Harry’s space, pressing him against his side of the car and kissing him. Liam’s still got his seatbelt on, and Harry is faintly kissing back like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to, and all of the energy in Liam’s body is focused on the single point where their mouths are meeting, the two of them together.

Liam breaks apart. “Harry,” he starts, breathing heavily.

But that’s when Harry leans forward, takes his own seatbelt off and kisses Liam hard, making Liam forget all the I don’t know what to do about my feelings for you he was going to say, fly out of his head. Harry kisses hard like he means it, tongue slipping into Liam’s mouth and crowding all over Liam that the angle feels bad and the contact doesn’t feel enough and Liam desperately, desperately wants more.

Harry does away with Liam’s own seatbelt, which would be cumbersome if Liam wasn’t on a quest to get as much of Harry on himself as possible. Then Harry is climbing into his lap and his tongue is sliding slick against Liam’s, and Liam’s brain feels like mush as he clutches at Harry’s thighs like he’s not sure he’s allowed to have this. Harry’s hands are trembling as they cup Liam’s face, and Liam is ready to—he doesn’t know, but his mind feels numb and every part of him feels simultaneously light and heavy at once and what feels like bursts of light are coursing through his veins. Liam’s not sure if he really wants to fuck Harry in this car.

Then, somehow, finally, before Liam loses his mind, the car parks in front of Harry’s house. They’ve got the partition up and Harry’s getting out of the car, dragging Liam’s out with him. Liam goes, “But Zayn…” and Harry shakes his head, kisses Liam in the lamplight of the street and says, “Zayn’s out visiting his family.”

“Oh,” Liam breathes, and then Harry’s getting them inside before kissing Liam outside of the door of his flat; then they’re in his flat and Liam has turned Harry back around, on the other side of the door, the one pressing him against it this time. Harry makes a small noise in his mouth as Liam’s hand scrapes across his chest.

“I want to—I think about you fucking me,” Harry says, cheeks red but determined as he says this.

Liam forgets how to breathe for a second. “Okay,” he says, because Harry’s staring into his eyes hard. Then, dumbly, “I’ve not got any condoms.”

Harry kisses him on the mouth. “That’s fine,” he says, before dragging Liam into his bedroom.

Everything feels like they’re happening in short, delicious bursts—of Harry just kissing him and kissing him over and over again, lips sore and inevitably bruised; stripping off their clothing and getting them on the ground; bodies winding against each other, skin against skin as Liam lies horizontal on Harry’s bed as Harry sinks down, does that amazing thing he does with his mouth, has his tongue on Liam’s prick that Liam almost loses his mind. His hand is pumping and Liam is sure that he’s going to come, sooner than he wants, faster than he wants, wants to live in this moment forever, except he also wants the moment where he’s done and Harry’s kissing him sweetly on the mouth, and Liam can taste himself in Harry’s mouth and he doesn’t even care.

Then Harry’s shoving a bottle of lubricant in Liam’s hands and says, “If you want,” and gestures behind himself in a way that makes Liam’s cheeks go all warm.

“If I—if I want?” he says to Harry. “You, Harry—”

“I want you to,” Harry tells him.

Liam goes quiet, mind not working at the mental image, the mere thought of it. “Okay,” he says finally, and cracking the bottle open. “I want to, too.”

He gets a slick finger in Harry, and Harry just adjusts himself like he’s used to it, like he does this to himself a lot and that makes Liam’s brain stutter too. Harry sinks down on his finger, breathing steadily, then—

“Another,” he says, after some time has passed and Liam is trying not to think too hard what it might feel like for himself to be in Harry’s hot, tight space—what this might feel like the other way around.

Liam’s got two fingers in Harry and he is so tight and wet from Liam’s fingers and they’re so close together that Liam would be sure he’s stopped breathing for however long it’s been. Harry is panting out in little gasps now, fucking down on Liam’s fingers at the same, perfect pace Liam is thrusting his fingers into him. Liam wraps a hand around Harry’s cock and Harry says, “Fuck, yes,” leaning over Liam’s body, panting harder.

Liam says, “Harry, Harry,” rejoins their mouths there, pushes his tongue inside Harry’s mouth, tastes where Harry had tasted him before, licking himself out. Harry moans in his mouth and then is coming awkwardly between their bodies, arse shoved down onto Liam’s fingers and body twitching with his orgasm.

He comes down with a sigh as Liam slips his fingers out. “Fuck, I feel worn out,” Harry says, resting his head against Liam’s chest.

Liam pets his head awkwardly, not sure what to do with his one hand that’s covered in come. “Sorry,” he says.

Harry props his head up. “‘S not a bad thing,” he says, grinning, and then spotting Liam’s hand. “Want me to take care of that for you?”

“Sure,” Liam says, and thinks Harry’s going to be a normal person and get a tissue or some sort.

But instead, Harry just draws Liam’s fingers into his mouth, licking at his palm, closing his eyes like he’s actually enjoying his own taste on Liam’s skin and sucking it right off. Liam inhales quickly—he would be getting hard again if he had the stamina. The energy is finally winding down in his body, though, so he files away these images for later when he’s alone.

“Why are you the least normal person I know,” is all Liam says, when Harry’s done.

Harry laughs, and turns his face into Liam’s chest again. “You know Louis,” he points out.

“True,” Liam admits. “But you’re my favourite least normal person I know,” and Harry smiles. “And I dunno why—we’ve just shagged after my concert. Is this some sort of celebration thing that we’re doing?”

“It’s whatever you want it to be, Liam,” Harry says, poking his nipple.

Liam yelps and turns them around so he’s sitting on Harry’s naked body while Harry grins up at him. “We ought to sleep,” he says, and once they’ve got the lights out and Liam’s face is pressed into the back of Harry’s shoulder, Harry whispers to him in the dark, “We don’t have to worry about waking Zayn up, though.”

Their hands fumble under the thin sheet of Harry’s blanket, Liam grinds against Harry’s arse, and it’s very quick and incredibly teenagery of them but Liam’s not one to care. He falls asleep with come cooling on his stomach and Harry wrapped up in his arms and thinks of nothing else but right now.

*

Liam wakes up feeling disgusting and indescribably happy, curled around Harry who’s snuffling into his pillow and looking dead to the world. They’re both still stark naked, and filled with a whole mess between their skin. Liam gets out of bed over Harry, pulls his underwear on, goes to the hall bathroom to clean himself off, then brings out a wet towel to clean down Harry as well.

When he gets outside, he runs into Zayn in the hallway.

“Oh,” Liam says, as Zayn stares at him for a full second before covering his eyes.

“I see what happened,” Zayn says from behind his hand. “Take care of him, yeah?”

“That’s what I—” Liam gestures to his towel. “That’s what I’m doing.”

“I meant generally.” Zayn eyes the cloth in Liam’s hand. “Not just when you’ve just shagged.”

Liam blushes. “It’s not—we’re—” he says, but Zayn just shakes his head and makes his way past Liam into the bathroom.

Still blushing, Liam comes back into Harry’s room. Harry’s still passed out, facing the wall, and Liam turns him over gently and wipes down the cooled come on his chest. Harry makes a soft whining noise and tries to drag the blankets up his body; Liam slips his hand underneath and says, “Come on love,” before realising what he’s said.

On the bright side, Harry’s asleep still and Liam doesn’t have to think about it too hard. He gets Harry clean, then goes back to the bathroom to rinse the towel off properly and dry it on the rack, before joining Harry back in his bed.

This time Harry’s blinking at him as he settles down, seeming confused that Liam had been out of bed. “Wha- ?”

“Good morning,” Liam says to him.

Harry watches him blearily, then pouts. “You didn’t give me a good morning kiss,” he says petulantly.

Liam laughs and pecks Harry lightly on the lips, even though both of their breaths are disgusting. “There,” he says.

Harry reaches over and tries to scrabble for his phone on the bedstand. “What time is it?” he says, as Liam hands it over to him. “Oh. Eight o’clock.”

“Zayn’s back in,” Liam tells him. “Told me to take care of you.”

He doesn’t know why he says it—but maybe it’s for the way Harry just smiles and says, “You already do,” before curling forward again, dragging Liam’s body up his back.

Liam wraps himself up around Harry, feeling slow with the world suddenly—with being here, being with Harry. It doesn’t quite feel like they’re together because people think they are, that there’s a whole world of people interested in their relationship.

“You ever think it’s odd,” Liam says, “that we’re a couple?”

Harry’s quiet. Liam thinks he’s said something wrong for a moment, before Harry elbows him back in the stomach and says, “What’re you saying that for?”

“I mean,” Liam says, laughing a little because this situation is ridiculous, they’re ridiculous, “that so many people care?”

“We can pretend that they don’t,” Harry says airily.

“Then we wouldn’t be together,” Liam says pointedly.

Harry ruffles the back of his head against Liam’s face, and Liam yelps before nuzzling his face back against Harry’s scalp and making him giggle. “Don’t say things like that,” Harry says. “I like you plenty.”

“Well,” Liam says, not sure what to do with this. “I like you plenty, too.”

Harry eases into his arms like it’s proper now, and Liam hadn’t noticed before but now it feels more like home, like Harry is giving exactly what Liam is taking. “I need to tell you jokes, clearly,” Harry says. “So you’re not so depressing.”

“This isn’t depressing,” Liam says into Harry’s neck.

Harry ignores him evidently, when he says, “What’s a vampire’s favourite fruit?”

Liam doesn’t say anything for a full minute. Harry nudges him from where he’s spooned up in Liam and says, “Liam. What’s a vampire’s favourite fruit?”

“I don’t know, Harry,” Liam says, half laughing into Harry’s neck. “What?”

“A neck-tarine.”

Liam pinches his side and Harry yelps. “That’s terrible,” Liam says, grinning.

“You loved it,” Harry says. “Okay, why did the banana go to the doctor?”

They spend the morning talking about nonsense, Harry telling Liam jokes about fruit and body parts, and Liam feeling like he really is in a relationship with Harry, that the world out there really doesn’t exist. If there was a way to live in a moment forever, this would be it.

Eventually, though, Liam’s stomach starts grumbling and Harry’s does too, and Harry moans, “Oh, breakfast.” He starts pushing his way out of Liam’s arms—Liam lets him go—and asks, “What’re you feeling like?”

“Anything,” Liam says amicably; he realises how hungry he is, too. “I don’t think I’ve eaten since before my concert last night.”

“Neither have I,” says Harry thoughtfully, then, “Well.” He gives Liam a raunchy smirk.

Liam feels his cheeks heating up. “I don’t think my—my prick really counts,” he stammers. “You haven’t gotten nutrients—”

“Your prick has nutrients,” Harry says, and Liam elbows him and makes Harry lead him to their kitchen.

As they make their way out and find that the refrigerator is despairingly empty, Harry is… it’s almost the opposite of last time, after they’d shagged, in that hotel pool—which Liam hates to compare to—but rather than the distance, there’s a comfort that Harry exudes, Liam notes, as Harry straightens up after looking in the refrigerator and says, “We ought to go out for breakfast, then?”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees. “We should see if Zayn wants to, too.”

“Good idea.” Harry pokes his head out into the small hallway where the doors to the bedrooms go, and calls, “Zayn? Breakfast?”

There’s the faint sound of Zayn groaning from his room.

“We know you’re awake!” Liam calls with Harry.

Zayn’s voice says, “Five minutes!”

“Dunno if we can wait five minutes,” Liam says, turning to Harry who nods.

Zayn says, again, “Two minutes!”

“Two minutes then,” Harry says.

“I dunno if he can even get ready in two minutes,” says Liam.

A few minutes later, though, Zayn comes out of his room looking tired and rumpled but in proper clothing. “Ugh,” he says by way of greeting, looking between Liam and Harry. “You two look happy then.”

“Cheers,” Harry says, grinning. “So what about breakfast then? I was thinking of croissants.”

“Croissants are good,” Liam agrees, as Zayn shrugs and follows them out of the flat.

And it’s the small things like when Liam slides his hand into Harry’s as they walk and Harry doesn’t even blink from the conversation he has about his timetable next semester with Zayn. And when they’re in the queue Liam touches a hand gently at his waist Harry settles back like he’d expected it. Harry doesn’t instigate anything—but there’s a part of Liam that’s wishing—hoping—dreaming that this isn’t as fake as it feels. That maybe Harry feels the same.

Over breakfast, while they sit under an umbrella outside of the croissant place, Zayn says, “I take it you and Liam had a good time last night?”

“Yeah, it was good,” Harry says. He smiles over at Liam, no sly winks or anything like this is pretend or that they’re obliged to pretend, just amicable that it would be this easy for Liam to believe it’s real.

Liam swallows and says, “It was great. I’ve missed performing.”

Zayn nods and takes a sip of his tea. “Wish I could understand that,” he says. “I want to be a teacher—suppose that’s different from what you two are doing.”

“I don’t think so,” Harry says, looking between them. “Teaching’s a lot like performing. You’ve got to stand in front of an audience— ”

“Of young people,” Liam adds.

Zayn snorts. “Sure,” he says. “Dunno why my life has suddenly got the lot of you like this—”

“Incredibly talented musicians?” Harry says, batting his eyelashes.

“I’ve known how apparently talented you are since we were twelve,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes. “And when we were at karaoke—”

“You say that as if you haven’t got an incredible voice either,” Liam points out. “I remember, you know.”

“Zayn likes to pretend he’s modest,” Harry tells him.

“Harry likes to tell lies,” Zayn says, and deftly avoids it when Harry tries to flick a piece of his croissant at him. Then Harry looks sadly at his chocolate croissant, and Liam gives him a part of his own, and Zayn says flatly, “You’re adorable,” and Liam says to him, “We know.”

An irrational part of Liam almost regrets that they’re together, as Harry puts a hand on Liam’s cheek and says, “He’s the adorable part, I’m the sexy part,” and both Zayn and Liam laugh at him. Liam, as he tries to stay in the conversation, and in the moment, and out of it, only regrets it because—well, they aren’t really together, Liam hadn’t really been thinking, and now it feels like having something and not really having it.

And when they’re walking back and Liam’s getting stares and forgetting himself, Harry nudges him and says, “Hey,” and nods to someone with a camera unsubtly aimed towards them. He hands Liam his drink and Liam lets their hands linger; Harry smiles at him again, all normal-like before resuming his conversation with Zayn and it’s still on that edge of almost but not quite.

But Harry doesn’t shy away when he has to go to work and Liam has to go back to the recording studio so when they’re in the middle of the street, with the bustle around them and Liam’s bodyguard staving off at least half the curious looks they get, Liam tugs Harry in for a kiss and Harry goes willingly.

“Have a good day at work, sweetie,” Harry says teasingly when they pull back again.

He begins to leave; they’d stopped outside of the cafe that he works in first. “I could say the same to you!” Liam calls, and Harry laughs as the door jingles behind him.

*

If Liam glows for the next few days, none of his bandmates nor Brenda comment on it. He feels in that in between place with getting a little bit of what he wants, and still needing and wanting more. His insides feel jittery as he writes songs, plays them with his band, thinks about Harry and wondering how he’s faring on his job. He would text him if they both weren’t working, and while Harry might appreciate it (and Liam would do anything that Harry would appreciate), Liam does need to work and he would do what he can to make sure that Harry, in his best interests, is working as well.

So that’s why Liam asks him if he has work on Wednesday, and when Harry says no, Liam says that he should come with him to the recording studio.

“Do you have songs you want to show me?” Harry asks, perching his elbows on the counter. Liam’s visited Harry at the cafe again.

Liam shrugs. “I just want your opinion on some of them,” he says, and Harry grins.

So on Wednesday Harry does come into the studio, watching as Liam and the band play and record some songs, clapping and saying, “Bravo! Brava!” and not offering any constructive criticism at all.

“That was good,” Harry says, a while later when Liam’s come out of the sound room to rest his vocal chords. “It sounds like an invitation.”

“That is the point of the song,” Liam says.

Harry hums the tune. “You know I used to be nobody, but now I’m out free,” he sings. “You could make it a ballad. Like, a rock ballad.”

“You want to make everything a rock ballad,” Liam laughs.

Harry kicks him across on the couch. “Just rock,” he says, and Liam laughs again.

His band comes out of the recording room and say that they’re going to get lunch. Liam’s a bit hungry too, but Harry doesn’t say anything about leaving for food so Liam stays too. They fool around on a spare guitar—Harry tells Liam that he’s still learning, even if he had been able to play at his own gig a few weeks ago—and Liam shows Harry a few more songs. He’s kind of self-conscious about them, but Harry seems genuinely fascinated and Liam hopes maybe, once again, that he’s not imagining something that could—that doesn’t have to end in a matter of a few weeks.

Then they’re really fooling around, Liam crouched over Harry’s body and groaning, cupping Harry’s thighs as Harry tries to take off Liam’s shirt. Liam gets it off, then Harry trails his nose down Liam’s chest hairs, nuzzling at him and making Liam want, want more, where touch isn’t enough. Harry kisses at the crook at the front of Liam’s armpit and says, “What if someone comes in?”

“Stop,” Liam says—he knows no-one’s gonna come in, Harry knows, they’ve only just left for lunch.

Harry nips at his skin. “What if someone sees?” he says. He pushes so that Liam takes the hint and rearranges himself lying with his back on the couch, Harry still with his shirt on on top of him.

“Are you trying to suggest that you want to stop?” Liam says dryly as Harry squeezes him through his jeans, making Liam’s hips buck up. “In case someone sees?”

“I wanted to know how quick you can be,” Harry says, rubbing at him through his jeans again as Liam feels himself harden at the clever stroke of Harry’s hands. “Or how fast I can make you come.”

Then Harry’s the one back on his back, Liam having flipped them over and kissing down Harry’s button-up, catching the skin of his stomach at the bottom, then tugging the jeans of his zipper down with his teeth. Harry watches glassy-eyed and mumbles, “Holy shit,” as Liam maneuvers his jeans off, through his boxer briefs, mouthing at the cloth, tugging the elastic down, all with his lips and teeth and mouth.

Liam’s determined to try to be as good as Harry—he doesn’t think he has quite the same amount of experience and skill, but he won’t get faulted for trying, so he does. He can’t get Harry all down his throat the way Harry had done the past couple of times, but Harry watches him the whole time and Liam must be doing something right because it doesn’t take Harry that long to go, “Liam, I’m—” and then he’s shooting into Liam’s mouth with a tremble of his hips and broken gasps of ah, ah.

He practically climbs Liam after that, cock still out and grinding off against him as he tugs, blows, tugs Liam off, spurting into his own hand. Harry does that finger licking thing he’d done last time, and it’s just the way—Harry’s confidence is natural, performing isn’t something he loves so much as it is something that comes naturally to him, whether in a small club in the University of London or crouched over Liam’s chest and licking Liam’s finger off his palm. Liam watches, mesmerized, until Harry smirks like he’d done that deliberately.

Liam shoves at him. “Geroff,” he says, and Harry falls from his lap back onto the couch, laughing a bit.

“Not my fault I’m irresistible,” Harry says, perching back with a quick “oof.”

Liam gets them wiped down with the tissue box on the table in front of them—himself, at least, he tosses a small handful over to Harry—before getting his underwear and jeans back on. “‘S my birthday, you know,” he says, after a beat.

Harry scrambles up from the couch, getting himself done. “What? No way.” He pulls out his phone. “What’s today’s date?”

“Twenty-ninth.” Liam shrugs. “I didn’t—I didn’t want it to be a big deal.”

Harry seems to be paying him no mind. “Damn, I didn’t get you anything,” he says. He looks up to Liam. “Mind if I take the entire afternoon off to do some mysterious shopping?”

“It’s fine, really.” Liam sits down back next to him. His birthday is no big deal to him; it’s just another day. “I just wanted to let you know—”

“But now I’ve got to get you a present.” Harry frowns. “What do you want? What have you always wanted?”

You, Liam thinks, even though this is still a new development for him, for his realizations—for everything. He doesn’t say that, though, only, “I mean, the shag was good.”

“Not good enough,” Harry says insistently. “C’mon, I’ll pay you in loads more sex before your band comes.”

“Don’t think that’s a good idea,” Liam says. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. When’s your birthday, anyway?”

“February.” Harry waves a hand. “It’s not for a while. Now tell me something that you want so I can feel awful for not knowing it’s your birthday.”

“it’s not something you should feel awful about if I’ve just told you,” Liam points out. “I mean, I guess I want…”

He thinks. Brenda had mentioned an open spot in 2-Tone and her schedule, with some agents and artists having left the label due to inconveniences (or so Brenda had said; Liam’s usually guilty conscience immediately attributes to it being his fault in some way, but he has to remind himself that even if it does have something to do with him, that doesn’t necessarily make it his fault.) It’s really minor, an open contract, but Liam loves his work, and Harry—

“Do you want a contract deal with me?” Liam says. “I mean, Brenda, obviously—she’s got—well, she’d told me that, um. Just in case,” he adds quickly, at the wide-eyed look on Harry’s face. “There’s an open spot in the company and in her timetable, so if you—since you said you wanted to do something like this—”

“I’ll think about it,” Harry says, before Liam can go on rambling more. “That’s, um. Wow, Liam.”

“I thought it might be useful for you,” Liam says helpfully.

“I mean, it is,” Harry says, elbowing him. “I’m glad you thought of me. But you know that I’m supposed to offer you things on your birthday, right?”

“It’s not about my birthday,” Liam says. “I want—I mean, you like performing so much—”

“I do,” Harry says easily. But he still doesn’t take Liam up properly on his offer, just says, “I will think about it, don’t worry,” and then kisses Liam again.

They end up snogging on the couch until Liam’s band comes in from lunch, and one of them says, “Don’t go shagging on the couch,” and Harry cheerfully says, “Already did that,” while all of them make noises of disgust and Brenda, who’d gone with them, just pretends she hadn’t heard that. Then Liam says that he’s hungry now and Harry says he is too and they all have to wait for Liam and Harry to come back from eating lunch, which they get distracted at when Niall and Louis demand to eat with them too. As Liam comes back, laughing and feeling guilty knots in his stomach dissipating by the way Harry says, “We can just say that we were snogging out in public again, surely they won’t want to hear that but they’ll believe it,” and replaced by all the knots in Liam’s stomach just wanting this, desperately, to be real.

*

Zayn M: guess whos not looking forward to classesssss
Zayn M: wrong chat
Louis Tomlinson: TOO BAD now ur stuck with us
Niall Horan: was that sposed 2 b for me?
Zayn M: ya :/
Niall Horan: :)
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: I’m also not looking forward to classes, Z, you could always message me.
Zayn M: ur 5ft away from me
Louis Tomlinson: WHAT. Zayns got a physical presence and Im not there to witness it?
Liam Payne: dont be dramatic Louis
Louis Tomlinson: the idea!!!!
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Bad movie night anyone?
Liam Payne: y
Niall Horan: ooh yes!!!!
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Zayn wants to take credit but it was my idea.
Zayn M: it was not
Louis Tomlinson: YES what movie where when why BAD MOVIE NIGHt
Liam Payne: dont be dramatic Louis
The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Ha.
Zayn M: tonite 5pm bring drinks and niall
Niall Horan: :) :)
Liam Payne: adorable
Niall Horan: u 2 liam

*

Both Liam and Louis bring drinks that night, they discover when they meet outside of the door to Zayn and Harry’s flat. “Dammit,” Louis says, when he sees Liam waiting there for Harry to ring them in—he’d texted Harry only, since he’s pretty sure Zayn wouldn’t open the flat door up if Harry’s in—and Liam raises a hand and waves.

“Oh, now we’ve got double the drinks,” he says.

Louis sighs. “Or I could’ve not spent thirty quid on all this,” he says, as Harry opens the front door. “Harold! You owe me thirty quid!”

“For what?” Harry says, furrowing his eyebrows as he lets them in.

“For ruining Louis’s plans to be cheap,” Liam says, kicking the door shut behind him. “What’re we watching?”

“Twilight,” Zayn says, from where he’s smoking a joint and toying with a DVD player on the floor. “Harry’s idea. Don’t look at me.”

“Remember the scandal or whatever that got you all angry the day you kissed me?” Harry says, pleased. “Well, this is the movie with the actors. Or, one of them. The other one’s Snow White and the Huntsman but I heard it was quite good.”

“All movies are shite,” Louis declares. “All of them!”

“Even Fight Club?” Liam asks.

Louis grimaces. “Especially Fight Club,” he says, as Zayn says, “Yes.”

Louis and Zayn go to high five. Liam and Harry exchange a look, and there’s a knock on the door again.

Zayn actually bounds up to get it this time. “Hey,” he says to Niall, who’s at the door.

“Hey,” Niall says back, beaming.

“Well,” Louis says loudly, pressing Play and turning the volume on the television all the way up. Liam and Harry cover their ears. “Now that everyone’s here, time for our bad movies!”

“Don’t worry, we didn’t buy the movie for this,” Harry says, as Zayn goes over to kick Louis before turning the volume back down. “Rented it from our uni library. And it’s not even that bad.”

“You could have a bad movie collection,” Liam says.

“I could,” Harry says thoughtfully. “But this wouldn’t be on it. Shh, it’s starting.”

Regardless of Louis and Harry’s shushing, Zayn and Niall whisper to each other the whole time during the movie anyway, exchanging the joint just between the two of them and giggling at intervals, ignoring even when Louis throws a pillow at them. Liam watches the telly screen attentively—the movie is certainly cringeworthy, but not the worst thing he’s ever seen.

“Have you ever seen Room?” Zayn asks all of them at large at one point.

By the way Niall bursts into a fit of giggles Liam takes it that he has. Liam shakes his head along with Louis and Harry; Zayn says, “It’s great.”

“It’s terrible,” Niall giggles again.

“By Tommy Wiseau,” Zayn says as Louis looks up the movie on his phone.

“Good old Tommy,” Louis says, reading about it. “Worst Movies of All Time. Well now I’ll have to watch it.”

“Zayn and I watched it,” Niall says, which explains that. “It was—”

“An experience,” Zayn says.

Liam turns to Harry. “You know, from that,” he says. “I’m starting to think that bad movie night was Zayn’s idea.”

“It was definitely mine,” Harry says indignantly.

Zayn laughs over from where he’s sitting with Niall and says, “No, it was mine.” Harry’s the one who throws a pillow at Zayn this time—Zayn at least throws it back at him.

Liam kneels up and pushes the pillow back in Harry’s chest before this turns into an actual pillow fight.

When the movie’s over, Zayn says, “So Harry’s definitely the Edward and Liam is the Bella in their relationship,” as Harry goes to mute the TV so they’re not subjected to the soundtrack on repeat.

Liam shouts indignantly and Harry says, “What? Why am I Edward?”

“Because of your middle name, duh,” Zayn says. “Harry Edward Styles.” He points to Liam. “Liam Bella Payne.”

“My middle name’s not Bella,” Liam tries to protest.

“But it’s not not Bella, is it?” Louis says.

Liam says, “That doesn’t even make sense,” but Louis ignores him.

“I like it,” Louis says. “Liam Bella Payne, Harry Edward Styles.”

“Well,” Liam says. Harry’s leaned back so their shoulders are nudging up against each other, and he can pretend that this teasing is for a relationship that’s real. “Zayn’s Bella, then. Niall, you’re Edward.”

“Yes,” Niall says, fist-pumping.

Zayn shrugs. “That sounds about right. I am Bella,” he says to Niall, who giggles and curls his feet into Zayn’s side.

“Li and Harry’ve got the more Twilight thing going on though,” Niall says, nodding at the two of them. “With the forbidden romance and all.”

“It’s not forbidden,” Harry says pointedly. “It’s the opposite of forbidden.”

“We’re like, meant to be together,” Liam says.

Louis goes, “Aww.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Liam says, flushing. “I mean, people want us to be together. Sort of.”

“Yeah, and we’re supposed to break up.” Harry says this very casually, and if it makes Liam shift in surprise, angle an inch away, it’s likely that Harry hadn’t even moved. “We’re like, the opposite of the Twilight couple.”

“Wait ’till you watch the next movie,” Zayn says, cackling. “Then you really won’t want them to be together.”

“Well I can’t say the same for Liam and Harry,” Louis says. “They make quite a cute couple.”

“Because we’re both cute,” Harry says. Liam’s still thinking about supposed to break up—Harry wants them to break up, knows that they have to, and they’re going to. In less than a week’s time, they’re going to, and Liam suddenly wants to talk about it, ask Louis and Zayn and Niall what they think.

Liam comes back to earth when Harry continues, “If Liam and I are Bella and Edward, we’d make a far more interesting story, won’t we?”

“Probably ’cause we’re both blokes,” Liam says, and Zayn calls out, “Hear, hear!”

Liam tacks on as naturally as he can, “We haven’t got very long anyway, I feel like I’ve just kissed Harry for the first time yesterday.” His face feels hot, but Harry curls up and laughs into Liam’s neck—for show, Liam realizes. This is Harry’s for show smile; Liam can tell the differences now.

“How sweet, Liam,” he says. “It has been quite fast, hasn’t it?”

“When are you breaking up?” Niall asks with interest, jerking away at Zayn trying to tickle his side.

Liam checks the date—they’d decided early on on the date that Harry’s classes start so—”Next Monday,” he says, and all of their friends yelp in surprise.

“Next Monday,” Louis screeches. “But that’s in—”

“Three days!” Niall says, who’s quicker.

Zayn kicks Harry. “Why didn’t you tell me before?” he asks Harry, who just shrugs like he doesn’t have a proper answer.

“I forgot,” he says. “It’s like Liam said—I feel like it’s just last week you told me your sister would have my head for saying that the Twilight movies aren’t that bad.”

“She’ll have to have mine, too,” Liam says. “I mean, also ’cause I’m getting my own flat before I buy hers.”

“At least that’s a better reason,” Harry says and Liam nudges him gently.

Louis’s gaze switches from where he’s watching the two of them to going, “What about dear old Nicola? Are you getting her a flat too?”

“Yeah, but she’s pissed that I’m getting hers the last.” Liam’s oldest sister is out of the city for uni. “Meanwhile, Brenda wants me to move before my tour starts—so this month.” Liam thinks. “Or, well, during September.”

“Harry’s thinking of quitting his job and going into full-time singing,” Zayn says, kicking Harry, who says, “Shush! I told you that in confidence.”

“Are you?” Liam asks with interest, wondering if Harry’s still considering his contract deal. “Do you have any more gigs?”

“Not yet,” Harry says, avoiding Liam’s eyes. “I’m just thinking about it—quitting my job, at least,” he says pointedly to Zayn, who seems to be ignoring him.

Liam nods. “It could get you to do what you want,” he says, to which Harry just shrugs. “Singing and all that.”

“Yeah, Haz,” Louis says, throwing a pillow at Harry this time. “Become professionals like me and Liam and Ni. Drop out of school.”

“That’s certainly the right thing to say to any student,” Zayn says sarcastically, grabbing the pillow that had been thrown at Harry and throwing it back at Louis.

Then it actually does devolve into a pillow fight of sorts, in Zayn and Harry’s living room, with Louis trying to hoard and Niall springing all the pillows at them at once and Liam hiding behind the one pillow Harry has holding up, using it to defend himself rather than attack anyone. Liam’s covered with feathers and then Harry actually hits him with the pillow he’s using and they all laugh, tumbling to the floor in a mess of limbs and pillows.

*

But Liam really hasn’t been keeping track of the date, and on Saturday he’s woken up to the ugly alarm of his phone. “Wha?” he says, looking at where he’s half-naked in Harry’s bed and thinks, I’ve got to stop waking up like this.

Brenda’s voice says, “Have you forgotten you’re nominated for a VMA, Liam?”

“I haven’t,” Liam says groggily, rubbing at his face. “What’s that got to do with this morning?”

“It’s after Monday, when you and Harry are going public with your breakup,” Brenda reminds him. “Unless you’ve decided otherwise—”

“No, no,” Liam says quickly, suddenly awake, with that weight settling in his chest. “We’re rehearsing for any VMA interviews.”

“Yes, dear,” Brenda says long-sufferingly. She pauses for a moment. “Bring Harry along with you.”

“How’d you know I’m with Harry?” Liam asks.

“I didn’t know. I thought you’d pick him up.” Brenda’s tone is not convincing. “You’ve got to talk about Monday too.”

“Of course,” Liam sighs, and then pokes Harry awake.

Harry grunts and peers up at him through his eyelids. “Morning,” he says to Liam. He’s half-naked too. “That was Brenda, then?”

“Yeah,” Liam says. “She—we have to discuss Monday. And I’ve got the VMA’s on Monday.”

“Oh, right.” Harry’s getting up from his bed and putting clothes on. “Congratulations on that, then.”

Liam shakes his head, and stares as Harry drags his pants on. “We ought to get food,” Liam says, and Harry nods in agreement.

It’s dead early—the way Liam likes to wake up when he hasn’t just spent the whole evening watching vampire movies with his friends—and they grab a bite on the way to Liam’s recording studio. Liam says, as they board the tube, “It’s so strange to think that we haven’t got much time left.”

Harry gives him a funny look. “You make it sound like we’re going to die, Liam.”

“Sorry,” Liam laughs, and clutches his breakfast sandwich as the train begins lurching. “It’s just—it doesn’t feel like it, does it? It feels like another day.”

Harry hums. “I s’pose,” he says, looking forward and not at Liam. “Two months isn’t terribly long in the first place, though.”

“I guess not,” Liam admits. “But sometimes you’re doing something and you think you have longer to do it, you know?”

Harry turns to him. “I know,” he says, as the train rattles around them.

*

And then after talking about the VMA’s and Monday, Harry has work, and they’ve not got much time left at all because then it’s Sunday and Harry swings by Liam’s place unwarranted. He doesn’t allude to any of it at all, just says, “I thought I’d be a good boyfriend,” with a teasing smile on his face.

Liam assumes that he’s milking this for what it’s worth until it’s done—which Liam doesn’t mind him for, he would be doing the same. “It doesn’t feel like it,” he says to Harry, as they go out for lunch—some place they haven’t been before, to Liam’s disappointment, so he’ll probably have to associate this place with Harry for the time to come.

There’s always a lot of restaurants around the area, it’s just—knowing that there’s one more place that will make him think of Harry.

“That it’s going to be over already? I know,” Harry says.

It feels like any other average day of the summer—or the almost-not summer, since Harry sighs and says, “I can’t believe I have to start going to classes tomorrow,” like that’s the big event between them.

Liam can deal with that, though. “I don’t have classes,” he teases. “I’ll just have—well, I have to move out of my flat.” He groans. “Can I just live with you and Zayn then?”

“Don’t think that’ll tell anyone that we’ve really broken up,” Harry laughs.

Liam thinks about saying it—about saying, Well what if we didn’t break up, we don’t have to. They don’t have to, though the way Harry winds his pasta around his fork and nestles his legs between Liam’s like they’re acting again makes it terribly obvious that they are.

It doesn’t really—it doesn’t feel like anything, with this one day left, with Liam being able to pretend that maybe tomorrow doesn’t happen. He does say, though, “You should stop doing that, though,” nudging his legs with Harry’s, “people will still think we’re friendly if we’re stopping tomorrow.”

“Right,” Harry says, drawing his long legs back. “Now people will think there’s something wrong between us, since you’ve just told me to stop touching you.” He grins, but there’s something sad in his expression.

“Hey,” Liam says, because they’d talked about this before, what exactly their breakup would entail. “We can still hang out as mates though, right?” he says to Harry. “I do like being your friend.”

“Yours too,” Harry says, and then shrugs. “We’ll have to wait, obviously—what did Brenda say again?”

“Six months,” Liam says, and sighs. “Give or take.”

Harry snorts. “It certainly didn’t take me and my exes six months to start hanging out after we’d broken up.”

“I can’t tell if six months is too long or too short for you,” Liam says, amused.

“Too long.” Harry forks at his pasta. “I miss California,” he says randomly.

“California was nice,” Liam agrees. “I miss the beaches.”

“I miss just being us.”

Harry sounds so honest that Liam has to look away. Just them, to Harry—a holiday and a country away, where their schedule was much more about having fun, not any of this—break up stuff. They both know what tomorrow will entail—not a huge fight, not a massive break up, just Liam in a place where Harry isn’t. Like bookends, Brenda had said, when they’d discussed it in detail this week.

It had been Harry’s idea, for Liam to be there and for Harry not to show up, after all.

“I miss when our friends hadn’t known each other,” Liam laughs, deciding to get to a lighter topic. “You know, since Zayn and Louis have found something to bond over—”

“Movies that they both dislike?” Harry says, grinning.

Liam groans. “The movies they don’t like aren’t that bad. Now they want to have more bad movie nights.”

“It was still my idea,” Harry says, and Liam says, “It was not.”

Afterward, they go for ice cream—Liam goes for pistachio this time, and Harry says, “Why do you not pick the same flavour all the time?”

“Why do you always pick vanilla?”

“Vanilla is good,” Harry says defensively, licking at his ice cream cone.

Liam laughs. “Vanilla is boring.”

They walk back to Liam’s flat, and suddenly Liam realises what this is. It feels like a normal date, an average date—that he’d either have on with a bloke he really likes, or Harry much earlier in their relationship—but it’s really a last time thing, feeling and holding a lot of the things that Liam doesn’t know how to say. Liam doesn’t know what he wants to say.

Harry asks, “How’s moving out of your flat?”

“I’ve started packing,” Liam says, “and I haven’t even gone around to find a flat that I like.”

“I imagine you’ll be really easy to please,” Harry teases. “You’ll see one and you’ll say ‘yes’ right away.”

“Hey,” Liam says, laughing and elbowing Harry on the sidewalk. “I can be picky.”

“Not with movies either though,” Harry says. “It’s okay, we’ll both have mediocre flats and watch movies that Zayn and Louis hate and be content.”

Liam smiles and thinks, I’m okay with that.

He thinks maybe Harry will go back to his own flat afterward, that they’ll separate and then tomorrow will happen and they won’t see each other like they never happened, just like that, just that easy—but Harry says, “Can I come up?” when they’re at Liam’s flat and Liam says sure. Liam’s bodyguard, of course, opens the door for them so they can avoid all the curious glances they’re getting, first—then Harry very politely tells his bodyguard to take the stairs as they enter the elevator.

Dan eyes Harry suspiciously, which Liam finds ridiculous when he’s been around Harry this often—but Liam says, “It’s fine,” because then when he and Harry are inside the elevator Harry is kissing him gently, tasting of the very boring vanilla ice cream, terribly terribly sweet. They reach the floor of Liam’s flat first, and Liam opens the door to the stairwell and shouts, “I’m fine, Dan!” before Harry’s dragging him into his own flat.

Liam asks, “Are we having breakup sex?” and Harry laughs, even though Liam doesn’t think this is something to laugh about. He forces himself to smile when Harry looks at him anyway.

“It’s just sex,” Harry says, before going to nose at Liam’s jaw. “It just happens,” he says, and Liam remembers himself saying those words not too long ago—or too long ago, really.

“It does,” Liam agrees anyway, forcing himself to calm down.

Harry silences him with his mouth on his own, and then Liam is lost in the feeling of Harry’s mouth wrapping around him and them doing, mumbling desperate things to each other, mostly a flurry of each other’s names and Liam biting down the temptation to say anything more. Harry’s fingers are as quick and clever as his tongue, especially when they sneak backward and he gives Liam a questioning look, who nods because he’s been thinking about this since he’d done it to Harry.

Then Liam’s got Harry hot and heavy on his tongue and drinking him in, tasting him. It’s all over much sooner than he’d like but it does—it does feel like breakup sex, and Liam thinks such a thing again when Harry gets up from his bed, naked and long and slender and looking down at himself, fingering at the drips of come on his stomach with curiosity.

“Are your parents home?” is what Harry asks, as he gets up to pull his underwear on.

Liam laughs over at him. “They’ve no reason to be out, it is the weekend,” he says, propping his head on his elbow.

“Oh,” says Harry. “I hadn’t meant to shag you while they were in, I should go apologise to them—”

“Please don’t,” Liam says, as Harry leaves the room, still in nothing but his underwear and some of the bite marks Liam had absently left on his chest.

Harry comes back in with a wet towel, and says, “They’re glad we christened your flat.”

Liam says, “They said no such thing,” as Harry tosses the cloth at him after wiping himself off.

“They didn’t,” Harry agrees. “But I think I’ve scandalised your sister who came into the hallway just now.”

Liam laughs, and rolls over, clutching the towel and still laughing. He doesn’t feel like it—suddenly he feels terribly sad, that the weight in his chest is so bloody heavy that he doesn’t know what to do with it and he and Harry are sitting around in his room like today is just another today, tomorrow is just another tomorrow. He settles down and focuses on wiping himself off, trying not to think too hard about it.

“Also,” Harry says. “I’ve—this isn’t because of you, Liam, honestly, but I don’t think I’ll take that contract deal with your record company or Brenda.”

This does come as a surprise to Liam. “What? Why?” he says immediately, half regretting how surprised he sounds.

Harry shrugs. “I don’t think it’s… the direction I want to go in,” he confesses. “I mean, I can’t because then I’d see you and—people would talk.” He sounds like he meant to say something else, but Liam’s glad he didn’t because he didn’t want Harry to say something about how he doesn’t want to be seen with Liam. “I’ve still got school,” Harry adds.

Liam says, “Zayn said you were—”

“For my cafe job, not my classes,” Harry says. “I’ve still got to revise, you know. Get a degree.” He smiles tryingly and Liam really wants to kiss him again, just wants time not to move forward, just to stay in this moment where they are still—and have been—Liam and Harry.

“That makes one of us,” Liam says.

“I think it’s best for me,” Harry adds. “I want to do my own gigs for a while—don’t want to worry about recording, just making people happy.”

“You are good at that,” Liam says, because Harry is. Harry is fun and weird and Liam’s never really met someone like him, liked someone like Harry like this before. Or maybe a little more.

Harry’s getting his clothes on. So this really was breakup sex—or sex that just happens to be the day before they’re supposed to break up. Liam says, “Remember what Brenda said in the beginning of it all?”

“How this works perfect with when my school starts?” Harry says, with a groan. “Yeah.”

Liam’s thinking about when they’d talked about if a breakup wasn’t necessary—but he’s far too hopeful, and only that would make this worse. Wouldn’t let him and Harry hang out after this, months down the line, as mates again.

And maybe by that time, Liam’s feelings will go away.

“See you in six months then,” Liam says, and Harry says bye, and then Liam’s alone in his room with the taste of vanilla already disappeared from his tongue.

*

The idea for the breakup—the public message—had been this:

On Monday afternoon, Liam walks into the cafe that Harry works in. He waits and waits, and then Harry doesn’t show up, and then Liam leaves. The paps will show up, eager for another date between the two—and when they see that Liam is alone, that Liam goes in and exits alone without talking to another person, they’ll get the message.

GAY POPSTAR AND HIS BOYFRIEND HARRY BREAKUP, the headlines will say.

So that’s what Liam does.

He wonders idly how Harry’s faring with his classes, if Harry had come in for work today—Harry does have a shift around this time, usually, Liam remembers, but not today. Not today when Liam is looking despondently over his phone and perhaps acting—or not—that he’s disappointed he’s alone. He’d woken up this morning with a vague sense of everything being the same and nothing being so—a cold loneliness by his side that he’ll just have to get used to.

His parents had asked him how he was—they’d said goodbye to Harry when Harry left, and it had been like he was just leaving for the day—except he wasn’t. Liam wants to text him, wants to say to Harry, Isn’t this ridiculous, how people will think we’ve broken up? Except they have and they are and yesterday with Harry had been so final, and Liam doesn’t want to bother Harry if Harry wants this to be on all fronts—no texting, no talking, nothing.

A few people are beginning to give Liam peculiar looks. Liam shifts and glances to the counter. He knows Harry won’t be there, but there’s a part of him that still doesn’t believe—that hasn’t quite made this a reality for himself yet.

Still, he supposes he should order something at the least rather than sitting here and looking like a creep. That would tarnish his reputation—waiting for an ex-boyfriend who won’t come, like some sort of stalker. He goes up and orders tea, since it’s morning, and considers staying here longer than agreed. In case Harry comes in later. Then Liam can tell him that this is a whole mistake, and Liam doesn’t want them to be over, and the breakup won’t have to happen.

That won’t go over well, though. Liam still wants to be friends with Harry, and Harry—he does, too. Liam looks over his songwriting notebook that he’d brought with him for something to do. He scribbles down a few thoughtless lyrics.

His bodyguard is still standing guard, so when someone tries to say, “Excuse me,” to him, Liam looks up hopefully.

It’s just some pap, though, trying to intrude in Liam’s space with some sort of interest.

“Are you sitting here?” the pap says over Dan’s shoulder. “Can I sit with—”

Dan pushes the pap back. Liam sighs and goes back to his notebook.

The pap won’t leave him alone, though, even though Dan is resolutely blocking him out of the way. “Liam Payne, right?” the pap tries. “Why are you sitting alone? Don’t you usually—”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Liam bites out. It’s on script, but it’s annoying to hear out loud, from his mouth, knowing that someone won’t come through. That Harry won’t come through.

The pap says, “Waiting for your—” before Dan successfully hauls him away and out. He returns quick enough, but it doesn’t stop the whole cafe giving them curious and odd looks—they’re likely used to Liam being here by now, but that doesn’t stop this likely out of the ordinary of Liam alone, Harry nowhere to be found. Liam supposes he looks pitiable; he thinks about texting Harry again. Life’s chaos without him already, Liam thinks, and it hasn’t even been a day.

Louis would tell him he’s being overdramatic. Hell, even Zayn would. Niall would think that it’s funny how they’re acting, and Liam wishes he was. He turns back to his notebook, scribbles down a few lines and keeps looking at his phone, keeps looking up to see if Harry will come in—and he knows that it looks like they broke up, exactly what it’s supposed to do, but Liam can’t help himself from hoping anyway.

*

It’s easy to live a Harry-less life, but Liam’s still not used to it, especially since it’s only one person—Harry—and it shouldn’t matter as much as it does. Liam thinks about texting him again and then tells himself he’d just be bothering him; his phone rings when he’s out of the cafe—on time, on script—and he finds himself hoping, before he realises it’s just Louis.

Louis Tomlinson: how’s my favourite ex-boyfriend of an ex-boyfriend!!!
Liam Payne: we nvr dated
Louis Tomlinson: yea I know :P
Louis Tomlinson: so how’s harry
Liam Payne: wouldnt kno. U knw that
Louis Tomlinson: was just checking :((( whyyyyy did you breakup, your SOULMATES

Then Niall:

Niall Horan: heyo payno
Niall Horan: how goes it
Liam Payne: fine
Niall Horan: fine? Rly?
Liam Payne: rly thx ni
Niall Horan: saw a mighty sad pic of u alone this morning
Liam Payne: rehersed it
Niall Horan: :(

Then Zayn, which Liam doesn’t even know what to do with:

Zayn M: hazza told me this morn to tell u sry.whats he sry for
Liam Payne: breakup
Zayn M: Oh is that today ?
Liam Payne: y
Zayn M: damn. Sry from me too. Didn’t have to break up tho
Liam Payne: yes we did

It’s even more cumbersome when Brenda, after her own consolations at work, reminds Liam that he has the VMAs soon and Liam will have to go out to L.A. again, this time without Harry. He asks his sister to come with him instead, to which Ruth goes, “Oh, of course! But I need a new dress!” which turns into an excuse for her to drag him around Westfield while she tries on dresses and he gives her such bad feedback that she Snapchats her friends for their opinions instead.

Liam’s parents, when they’re home, ask Liam if he’s alright. Liam says, “Why wouldn’t I be?” while avoiding their eyes, because he doesn’t want them to be sad. His parents have very probably picked up on that he wanted him and Harry—every bit of them, during the relationship, California, when Ruth had brought up how cute Liam and Harry were Facetiming Harry’s sister and Liam and blushed and said nothing—to be real, and it wasn’t.

But Liam needs to convince his parents that he’s happy. And then maybe he’ll convince himself.

He and Ruth fly out to the Staples Center in L.A. along with Brenda and his bodyguard, and yeah, it’s so much lonelier without Harry, even if it’s the same amount of people, even if Ruth chatters the whole time. Then they’re at the actual ceremony and Liam’s got to introduce his sister to everyone as his, well, his sister, even though more than once someone makes a comment about Liam’s sexuality and Ruth grabs the mic and says, “Liam is very gay, thank you very much.”

On the other hand, he is actually nominated for this ceremony so he’s getting stopped on the carpet almost as often as Demi Lovato, which is baffling.

Most of them ask about his album, more consolidating than the one article Liam had found online titled GAY POPSTAR AND HIS BOYFRIEND BREAKUP with a picture of him sitting alone in the cafe. The article was in the Daily Mail so no-one will take it seriously at first, but then—

“What do you have to say about the rumours about you and your boyfriend’s split?” the reporter asks him. They’d just been talking about the other celebrities Liam was eager to see today (Kanye, Drake, Beyoncé) so the topic change kind of gives Liam whiplash.

Liam tries to answer as platonically as he can. “Well, I mean they’re not untrue—”

“So you have broken up, then?” the reporter asks eagerly. “Liam Payne is on the gay market?”

Liam forces himself to laugh. “I didn’t realise there was a gay market,” he says. “Um, yes, Harry and I—it was—we kind of had to end it, you know.” He remembers what he had rehearsed with Brenda. “It was really more of a summer romance than anything.”

“A summer love then?” the reporter says. Her name’s Naomi, Liam remembers; she’s smirking like she knows this is going to be real news now that he’s actually said something about it. He hopes it contributes to her paycheck.

“Yeah, I s’pose,” he says. “It’s… it was okay, I guess. No hard feelings. He needs to go to uni.”

Naomi the reporter laughs. “It’s always school that gets in the way, isn’t it?” she says. “Well good luck with your nomination,” and Liam bids her goodbye as he and Ruth move on.

Ruth looks at him from where she’s on his arm. “You alright?” she asks gently.

Liam shakes his head. “I’m fine,” he says, wishing he could believe it.

Ruth nudges him. “Hey,” she says. “If you win your nomination tonight, you can rub it in Harry’s face.”

Liam makes himself smile and thinks about how he’d much rather have something like celebratory sex with Harry instead if he does.

He doesn’t have to sing for the VMAs, which he’s not sure if it’s a good thing or a bad thing in either making him think of the last time he’d performed (and everything that had come after), or any possible comforting feeling it could have, being back in a place that he loves. It’s memory enough just being in California again, but Liam knows that Ruth does her best with all her cheering and making Liam stand up, jumping up and down during the whole thing and being in the same room as a lot of people they both admire. “Look, that’s Rihanna!” she says excitedly to, yes, Rihanna standing up on stage.

Liam’s only nominated for the one award, and even though he and Ruth have no hope anyway, they hold their breath when the announcer goes,

“And the award for Best New Artist goes to…”

Liam’s not sure he heard correctly. He blinks; Ruth is beaming up at him, practically jumping up and down. Numbly, Liam goes down; then he’s got the award in his hands; then he’s in front of the microphone and flashing lights, and saying the first words that come to his mind.

“I’m, um, thank you,” he’s saying. “Massive thank you, to—to my sister, over there—” He points, and he can hear Ruth’s squeal from here “—my agent, um, every single one of you, my friends in California I guess, and, um—friends I’ve come to California with.”

He blushes once he realises what he’s said. “Thank you,” he says again, before bustling off to the crowd.

So many celebrities are congratulating him as he makes his way back to his seat—and it takes a moment to sink in that Liam is one of these celebrities too. Ruth is hopping up and down and demands to hold Liam’s award, which Liam lets her; he still doesn’t feel quite here, but feel his mouth go on autopilot as he says, “I can’t believe I won.”

“I can’t believe you won,” Ruth echoes. “Liam! My little brother with a VMA!”

Liam sits down and feels his phone in his trousers buzz. He opens it and feels his heart rise in his throat.

The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World: Congratulations :)

Seeing his name like—that, really, makes Liam’s stomach twist and turn. He should really change it.

The ceremony has moved on and Zayn and Niall and Louis and his parents are texting him their congratulations too and Liam isn’t changing Harry’s name on his phone, doesn’t want to at all.

He doesn’t text back, but he does send a collective thank you in the MMS to which they all respond to, even “The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World” like there’s nothing different. Liam wants to have a pseudo conversation with him through the MMS—wants to text him, no-one’s watching their texts, he thinks to himself, but that wouldn’t really help. If anything, it’ll remind Liam what he can’t have so he can’t text Harry for the six months that they won’t be able to see each other.

The award feels suddenly heavy in his hands. He tries to ignore it.

They fly out of LA and it feels like time moves too fast; then Liam’s home and it feels like time’s moving too slow. He finishes packing for moving out to a new flat, which he’s going to go hunting for the day after the next. Then it’s going to be Niall’s birthday, which presumably he and Louis and likely Zayn are going to go out for (but not Harry, a voice in his head reminds him), but it’s not coming soon enough.

*

To make things slightly better, the distraction of looking for a flat has petered off into picking between three potential places, which Brenda looks over the contracts for when they’re back in 2TE and managing Liam’s tour next month. He still has a few weeks before it begins, but—well, it’s a similar amount of time to since Liam and Harry had come back from California and afterward, which feels so long ago and so shortly ago.

Liam doesn’t have new contracts to sign, but Brenda’s reading over the ownerships of the flats.

She looks up as she rifles through her papers, and then again. Liam notices, and asks, “What? You look worried.”

Brenda sighs and puts whatever paper she was reading down. They’re in a conference room, juggling between both his next concert and his flat, because they both prefer working on two things at once, even though thinking about drawing up his own terms for his flat makes Liam groan.

“You’ve looked distracted since you and Harry broke up,” Brenda says. “You’re alright, right?”

Liam shrugs; and when that doesn’t seem to do it for Brenda, he nods. “I’m fine,” he says. “Really. I’m just thinking about money right now—”

“Oh, we should get that handled.” Brenda shuffles through more papers, and then reads down something and frowns. “I’m not sure how comfortable you are with handling this sum—”

“No,” Liam says, without even reading it. “I can give it to my mum or something—”

“How about your sister? Nicola,” Brenda adds, at the expression on Liam’s face. “She’s good with money, isn’t she?”

“Better than me or Ruth,” Liam says.

Brenda nods and writes something down, looking satisfied. Then she peers up at Liam again. “Do you want to talk about Harry, Liam?”

Liam knows that if he says no, it’ll look like there’s something wrong; if he says yes, then he’ll admit there’s something wrong. He busies himself with actually picking out flats—one of them hasn’t got the contact information for the previous owner, so that one’s out—and says, “I don’t think there’s anything to talk about, really. Harry and I have got to stay away from each other, so later we can be mates and all.”

“That is true,” Brenda admits. “I wish there was an easier choice for you to make—you and Harry can still talk, you know, in private—”

Liam shakes his head. “It’s fine. It’s realer this way.”

“I don’t want you to be alone, Liam,” Brenda says. “You can go out on other dates, you know—be with others, even your friends.”

Liam shrugs. “It might be weird,” he says. “We’ve really gotten used to Harry being around.”

“Oh, Liam.” Brenda pats his hand. “You haven’t got to sacrifice your friends just because of all of this. Go out and have some fun. Be seen with someone else!”

“I haven’t got much choice,” Liam says, and when he sees that his sarcasm just makes Brenda look at him with even sadder eyes, he says, “I’m kidding, Brenda. I’ve—yeah, I’ll get myself seen with someone else.”

“Good,” Brenda says. She smiles at him. “I’ve a number you can call.”

*

This is how Liam ends up with Tom Daley’s number in his phone.

Brenda had apparently spoken with Tom’s agent, or some sort, but either way they’ve agreed that it would be good publicity for the both of them if Liam and Tom were seen out together. Tom does have his own boyfriend, which Liam’s happy for him about, but it’ll get Tom in the headlines more if people see him with Liam, and vice versa.

“Any publicity is good publicity, right?” Tom’s saying, as they make their way to a club together.

They’d met up with their agents together, so Tom knows the truth about Harry and had suggested for them to go to a club tonight for the paps. Liam’s glad—he genuinely does like Tom, does want to know him more, and says, “I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Tom laughs, and then glances behind him. “My boyfriend is coming tonight,” he says. “Forgot to tell them—”

“Really,” Liam says wryly.

Tom pretends to look offended. “Really! And I want you to meet him. Getting over a breakup can’t be terribly easy.”

“It wasn’t real,” Liam makes himself say, even though he wants to say, yeah, it isn’t. “It’s not a real breakup.”

“Well, it’s something of a breakup then,” Tom says. “Either way, I want you to meet Dustin—I think you’ll like him.” He looks up thoughtfully. “I liked Harry, when I met you at the Olympics.”

Liam laughs. “You barely talked to him.”

“Well I liked what I barely talked to him for, then,” says Tom.

They board the tube—saying goodbye to their agents, staying with their bodyguards—and as they continue on, Tom says, “It can’t have been easy, then, being in a pretend relationship?”

“It was, actually,” Liam says. “Easy, I mean.”

“Really,” Tom ponders. “I’d say that I’d like to look into it, but me and Dustin are terribly, for-real dating.”

“Must be terrible,” Liam says, and Tom laughs. Liam grins. “No, well, it was easy because—well, Harry’s really great to be with, and we just felt naturally like mates, you know? It was just that, but with the kissing and such.” He shrugs.

“Right,” Tom says. “Because you kissed him when—”

“You’ve just said there’s no such thing as bad publicity!” Liam points out indignantly.

Tom laughs again. “Fair,” he says. “And tonight hopefully people will see us and talk.”

“We can be their new favorite bromance,” Liam says, and Tom goes out to fist-bump him.

The bar that Tom wants them to go to is a gay bar, so Liam feels slightly more comfortable than otherwise when they walk in and see lots of men dancing with other men, women dancing with other women. Tom orders them drinks right away while Liam looks around awkwardly, thinking of where Harry would fit in, how much Harry would enjoy this. No—Liam can’t think about that right now. Tonight is a decidedly Harry-free night.

“Cheers,” Liam says, when their drinks arrive. “You come here often then?”

“Sounds like you’re trying to pull me.” Tom grins. “Yeah—well, often enough.” He takes a sip from his pint. “Hope you don’t mind, but I’m not going to dance until my boyfriend arrives.”

Liam nods. “Fair enough,” he says, before he realises that Tom expects him to go out on the dancefloor by himself, since Liam’s the one who’s single. It’ll just be strange if Liam waits for Tom and his boyfriend to dance, and this isn’t a date so as much as it is for the papers.

Tom grins, and gestures with his beer to the crowds of people around them. “Go on, I want to see how you pull.”

“I’m not going to pull, I’ve just had my heart broken, remember?” Liam takes a big swig of his drink to avoid thinking about how close to the truth it is.

Tom lifts his drink up. “A toast to melodramatics.”

Liam takes another drink, and the part of him that doesn’t want to go out alone is quelled by his wondering, well, why the hell not? Maybe Liam will meet someone he likes just as much, or more than he likes Harry out while dancing or something—and it’s not likely, but it’s certainly possible.

Liam puts his glass down and says, “Now I’m going to go dance.”

Tom looks amused. “You go do that.”

“Tell me when your boyfriend arrives,” Liam says, before taking off into the crowd.

The nice thing about dancing in a nightclub is that everyone treats you like you’re their mate, so it’s kind of weird at first when Liam’s alone before someone randomly shouts to him, “You look familiar!” and Liam has the satisfaction of saying a second time in his life, “I get that a lot!” Then there’s laughter and more people looking at him with interest, while a girl says to him over the music, “You’re sure you’re not some famous celebrity?” and Liam goes, “I might be!” The songs change and Liam feels like a normal person, sort of, dancing with a girl he’d seen snogging another girl earlier, drunk on the music and the adrenaline of other people.

He thinks about what Harry would think of the nightclub, the music, the girl who’s grinning at him because they’re both drunk and she looks like she might know why she recognises him now. Liam grins back, but all he can think about is how much he wants to discuss how silly dancing is. “I’m—going—” he tells the girl, who nods and looks unbothered as Liam squeezes himself back out from the floor.

He comes back to the table he and Tom had stopped themselves at, and sees Tom talking animatedly with a handsome bloke. “Liam!” Tom says, when Liam reaches them. “This is my boyfriend Dustin.”

“Hi,” Liam says, and Dustin smiles at him in greeting.

“S’pose I’ll be spending my night out with two impossibly famous people, instead of just one,” Dustin says. “This’ll be the talk of the papers.”

“Don’t worry, you’re plenty famous too for dating me,” Tom says to Dustin.

“Yes, I blame you for that,” Dustin says. “Liam’s ex, however—”

“What?” Liam’s flustered, had momentarily forgotten that there are people who aren’t strangers but who Liam doesn’t know well enough to consider friends still read the news and all. “Harry’s not been in the news, has he?”

“Oh, I meant about how much talk was about you before.” Dustin looks curious. “Why do you ask—?”

“Let’s talk about publicity later,” Tom says, nudging his boyfriend. “Liam’s still nursing his breakup, you know.”

“Ah.” Dustin’s expression turns sympathetic, and it makes Liam feel awful—well, not just for lying for now, which coupled with his and Harry’s actual breakup turns into a weird twist of guilt. “He ended it?”

Liam shifts. They had decided on that—Harry had been much more comfortable with the prospect, which Liam tried not to think about too hard—so he says, “Yeah. We just kind of—it wasn’t working.”

Dustin frowns. “Because you’re famous?”

Liam shrugs, trying not to take the consideration as real as it feels. “Well, that and a load of other stuff,” he says. “I don’t—If it’s not working for him, then it can’t work for me.”

Tom’s watching him with interest now. “And it wasn’t working for you, either?”

“It was,” Liam says hurriedly—he’s not sure what Tom’s trying to get at, since he actually knows the truth. “It was just—not in the way that either of us wanted.”

“But you’ve still feelings for him,” Dustin says, nodding understandingly. Tom is still observing Liam, and Dustin continues, “That’s the worst kind of breakup.”

“I would hate for that to happen to us,” Tom agrees, resting his hand on the small of his boyfriend’s waist. Liam misses when he and Harry used to touch each other like that. “So you’ve got feelings for Harry still then, Liam?”

“I—yeah,” Liam finds himself saying, under Tom’s gaze. “I do.”

“Pity you can’t just solve it by telling your Harry that,” Dustin sighs. “Tom and I saw your interview at the VMA’s—you lot have got that going on, his school, I imagine it can’t be that simple—”

“It isn’t,” Liam agrees.

“But isn’t it?” Tom interjects. Behind him, a camera flashes, but Tom and Dustin are pressed close enough that Liam’s not worried about being mistaken to be thought to be seen on a date with either of them. “If you told Harry how you feel—”

“He knows,” Liam says, not believing himself.

Tom raises his eyebrows. “Does he?”

Dustin says, “Of course he does, Tom, they’ve been dating for weeks now, haven’t they?” and Tom doesn’t respond. Liam can read the expression on Tom’s face; and when Tom and Dustin finish their drinks and head out to the dancefloor, Tom says lowly, “He doesn’t know, does he?” to Liam.

Liam says to him, “He doesn’t have to,” before Dustin drags him off.

*

Liam wakes up with a cotton mouth and a surging headache that threatens to burst out of his skull. “Ugh,” he says, rolling over.

He’s in his own bed; after a drink of water and a paracetamol, he remembers enough of last night. He and Tom had danced, not with each other as much as they’d both danced in the crowd of grinding bodies, Tom’s boyfriend possessive enough that Liam could read for him to back off when necessary. Then he’d gone to the bathroom and Tom had danced with him for all of five seconds before laughing and saying how ridiculous it is—which it was, Tom was a terrible dancer and had grabbed Liam’s hand and everything—but it’d also ended up in the news, apparently, since Liam opens his phone to five separate notifications.

Louis Tomlinson: cant believe you got tom daleys arse!

Zayn M: why did u do that

Niall Horan: Liam!!!!!

[Attached photo not available.]

Brenda: Liam please explain to me what you’ve got yourself into. http://mirror.co.uk/tv/tv-news/liam-payne-and-tom-daley-in-nightcl…

Dad: Did you have too much fun last nite?

Liam winces at the image Niall had sent—although he’d sent it to Liam individually, Louis had been the one to send the message in the group chat—but not that that would make it any better, as Harry would find out eventually, evident by Brenda’s apparent text message.

He responds to her first, since she’s the one who’d asked for a response and actually poses something of a threat. He sends honest it was just as friends and Brenda, apparently awake this early in the bloody morning, replies, It would have been different if you were with a stranger, not Tom Daley. He figures she has a point; they’d recognized each other instead of picked one another up, after all.

Liam sends into the group chat, in case Harry’s seen it and Liam doesn’t want him to get the wrong idea, ive not gotten anyones arse. He hesitates before sending it—but then his finger’s pressed the “Send” button and Liam stares at his message in the MMS. Hopefully Harry’s gotten it—or maybe Harry doesn’t even care and it’ll just look like Liam’s defending himself.

He shuts his phone off again and makes himself sleep for another few hours, which means he’s unceremoniously woken up at eleven when his mum raps at his door. “Realtor’s here!” she calls, and Liam groans and drags himself out of bed again.

The whole day’s a load of bollocks, which really means that Liam drags himself through the flats that he’s being shown and, like Harry had predicted, genuinely likes pretty much all of them—there’s only one he doesn’t like quite as much because it comes furnished and the single bed is too impersonal, reminiscent of a hotel bed. Liam shakes his head at that one and the realtor is surprised; Liam tells her that he would just much rather pick out his furniture on his own.

Then at the end of the day they’ve actually settled on one, and Liam feels so out of it that when he signs the contract, he half forgets which one they’d settled on until Brenda reiterates, “The one in Central? Are you sure?”

Liam realises belatedly that he’d picked the one closest to Harry’s campus, probably unconsciously as Brenda’s now giving him an odd, worried look. “It’s fine,” Liam tells her, before adding as much to the realtor. He hadn’t even meant to; he remembers not long ago Harry telling him to pick a flat near him. Liam thinks about how he had actually, and almost wants to take back signing the contract except he can’t and a part of him wants it anyway, wants to be this close to Harry without being able to have him.

*

This is what his life has been reduced to—and maybe he’s thinking too much about it, because a few more days pass when he realises the date, and remembers that Niall’s birthday is the next day, and no-one’s said anything, and fuck. He doesn’t even know if Zayn knows.

“I don’t think he does,” Louis says, when they’re talking about it the next day and Liam is over at Louis’s. Liam had decided that Louis had crashed into his own place enough and barged his way over into Louis’s with a polite knock on his front door. One of his sisters, of course, had answered and then Liam had surprised him by tackling him in his living room, playing FIFA.

“He should know,” Liam says thoughtfully. “We should do something.”

“Group chat?” Louis says, and Liam shrugs, pulling his phone out.

His thumb hovers over The Best Boyfriend I’ll Ever Have In The Whole World as he scrolls through his contacts list.

Louis’s voice says by his ear, “Are you going to invite your ex-boyfriend?”

“Be quiet,” Liam mumbles, going to put Zayn in instead, glossing over Harry completely. “We’re not supposed to be seen with each other, otherwise people will think we’re dating again.”

“And what’s wrong with that?” Louis says, leaning back on his couch. His eyes are fixed on the TV screen, but Liam knows he’s listening.

“Because we’re not,” Liam says. He adds, typing out nialls bday chat!! shh surprise into the MMS, “He doesn’t want to date me anyway.”

“Are you kidding Liam?” Louis says, tearing his gaze away from the telly to give Liam an incredulous look. “Harry’s fucking over the moon for you.”

“Pretty sure he’s not,” Liam says, putting his phone to sleep. “Otherwise we’d still be dating.”

“Um, you’d still be dating if you’d talked about this,” Louis says.

“We did talk about it,” Liam says patiently. “Harry, he—we’re mates, it had never really been something.” He can’t help the bitter edge to his voice. “Besides, I’d asked him if he wanted to be a part of the company and he said no.”

“Because that’s a job,” Louis says, frowning.

“No,” Liam says. “It’s because we were together, and now we aren’t, and he knows that and knows that we can’t be seen with each other. It makes sense.” He stares for a moment at the controller next to Louis. “Give me that, I want to play.”

Louis hands it to him, but looks troubled as Liam moves over from the single chair he was sitting on to the larger couch. “Have you and Harry shagged then?” he asks bluntly.

Liam covers his face with the controller. “I don’t have to answer that,” he says.

“You do, that’s my Xbox controller there,” Louis says, trying to tear it out of Liam’s grasp. Liam holds on valiantly. “C’mon Liam, let’s talk about your feelings.”

Liam’s mouth is turned down as he faces Louis again. “We shagged a few times,” he says. “But it doesn’t—it didn’t mean anything to him. It doesn’t,” when Louis raises his eyebrows again.

“I know that. We shagged quite a number of times and it didn’t mean anything,” Louis says to him. “But you and Haz—”

“There’s no difference,” Liam insists. “To him, I mean. It’s fine. Let’s talk about Niall’s birthday.” He turns back to Louis’s TV, face feeling engulfed in flames.

Louis continues frowning at him, but says, “Alright, fine. What’re we doing? I imagine Niall want to get smashed.”

“Naturally,” Liam says, relieved that they’re back into discussing comfortable territory. “Night in? I’ve got the keys to my new flat.”

“Already?” Louis says, surprised.

“Yeah.” The one Liam had picked had been lived in before but vacated, and he had the money to buy it in full from the previous owner without too much thought. It wasn’t on campus for Liam to get harassed by uni students, but it was still enough within the area that Liam could pretend he was one of them if he wanted. He had paid a pretty sum, but it had been quick and he doesn’t mind the place and now he owns it, to Brenda and his family’s delight. He’s not moving all of his things out though, obviously, but now he has somewhere to live on his own.

It is admittedly freeing to think about, even if it feels too lonely.

Louis whistles. “You move fast, Payne.” Liam shrugs.

“Well,” he says.

“I heard that people buy things they don’t mean to buy when they’re depressed,” Louis says wisely.

Liam says, “I’m not depressed.”

“Broken up with, then.” Louis’s just kicked his arse at FIFA and raises his arms in victory. “You never went off and bought flats when X Factor ended and we stopped shagging.”

“That’s because I was seventeen and couldn’t buy any places for myself,” Liam says. He shoves Louis lightly and Louis tips himself onto his side. “And we were different.”

“Why?” Louis says, teasing. “Because with Harry you’re in loooove?”

Liam decidedly does not answer him as he starts up a new game.

They play; then Zayn texts n and i were gna do smthng tmrw but we can hang and then there’s an x right after, followed by that was from niall. “Cat’s out of the bag, then,” Louis says cheerfully, after having defeated Liam at FIFA again.

So they make plans to break in Liam’s flat tomorrow, and Niall offers to help him move in which they don’t have to do but—”That’s what we’re gonna do!” Louis crows after he reads the text as well.

So on Niall’s birthday the four of them are carrying Liam’s bags from the car to Liam’s flat, the second floor of a three storey along the side of the road. Once they’ve got all his stuff settled into the middle of what looks to be the living room (Liam still needs to go furniture shopping), Louis cracks open a beer and goes, “To Liam!”

“Liam,” Niall echoes, as the four of them drink.

“And to Niall,” Liam adds, and Louis says, “Cheers,” and drinks to that.

Zayn says, “So we aren’t going to talk about the elephant in the room then?”

“The elephant in the room?” Louis looks around dramatically. “Liam, I didn’t know you’ve an elephant in here, too.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I assume you mean Harry?” he says to Zayn, who just shrugs, unbothered.

“I had to tell him that I was just going out with Niall tonight,” he says to Liam, raising his eyebrows. “Since you didn’t put him in our chat and all.”

Liam immediately feels bad—he hadn’t meant for this to make it awkward between Zayn and his roommate. “Sorry,” he says to Zayn. “I just thought, since we’ve broken up—”

“Yeah, what’s up with that?” Louis says pointedly to Zayn. “Liam and Harry broken up, isn’t that strange, lads?”

“It’s not strange,” Liam says, when Zayn and Niall for some reason nod their heads along with Louis. “We were never dating in the first place.”

“Yeah, but—” Zayn cuts himself off, looks thoughtful, then sighs. “You’ve liked pretend-dating Harry, haven’t you?”

Liam shrugs, drinks his own beer so he can avoid Zayn’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter,” he says, after a moment.

“It does matter, though,” Niall says. “You ‘n Harry—you got something out of it, haven’t you?”

“I mean, if you’re counting how people actually know who I am now,” Liam says.

“I don’t mean that,” Niall says, waving him off. “You’ve—you can’t have a pretend relationship without those feelings being real in some way, can you?”

“I can,” Liam says pointedly. “You know Louis and I shagged—”

Niall grimaces. “That’s not what I meant,” he says, as Zayn goes, “Wait, what?”

“Yeah, it was an X Factor thing,” Louis says offhandedly. “Point is, Li—you wanted something out of it—”

“It doesn’t matter if I wanted something out of it,” Liam says, frustrated at the way that Niall and Louis and Zayn are giving him looks as if they know something that he doesn’t about his own relationship with Harry which is absolutely ridiculous. “A real relationship is if Harry and I both want it, and I know that’s not true.”

“How do you know?” Zayn asks curiously.

Liam sets his beer down and sighs, looking at the space of empty blank wall and remembering how white all the spaces in hotel rooms were, but despite that they never felt lonely. “Because we aren’t together now,” Liam points out. “And that’s telling.”

They get off the topic of Liam and Harry eventually, to Liam’s relief, turning into drunken truths or dares that lead Liam to throw his shirt out the window and accidentally hit a neighbour (“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Liam cries, going outside shirtless to pick his shirt up while Niall and Louis and Zayn laugh from his flat window) and Louis to wear one of Liam’s Hawaiian shirts that he insists is horrific. They end up passing out on the floor—in the back of his mind, Liam reflects, he’s passed out on way too many floors as of late—and he wakes up half curled around Louis and thinking of Harry. “Ugh,” Liam mumbles, turning away and shoving a pillow in Louis’s hands so he doesn’t do anything while he sleeps.

Liam goes to the mattress that he’d gotten into his flat the day he bought it and passes out on it, thinking of Harry again in the not-so-dark recesses of his mind.

In the morning they’re all groggy and not the best rested, though Liam does feel better than all of them who’ve got carpet markings on their faces. He laughs as he offers them all tea. Zayn’s on his phone as Liam sets his mug down in front of them; all of their phones ping.

“What’s this?” Liam says, as Louis makes a face at his phone.

“Zayn,” Louis says, but Zayn smirks.

Niall’s reading his own phone and says to Zayn, “You’re so meddling.” Zayn says, “I know.”

Liam opens up his own phone to see a pic of himself and Louis last night, sent into their group chat. Not just for Niall’s birthday, but the one of all five of them, Harry included. “Zayn,” he protests, when Zayn just looks at him innocently. “I don’t want—”

“What?” Zayn says. “Harry to get the wrong idea? If he’s not interested in you the way you think he’s not, he won’t, right?”

Liam bites his lip. Louis says, “Yeah, but we want Harry to know that Liam’s still on the market, right?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “As if Liam would date you,” he says, and Louis squawks.

Liam turns to Niall, who’s just grinning at the whole thing, really. “Care to explain what your boyfriend’s just done?” he asks Niall.

“Yeah!” Louis chimes in. “And also when did he become your boyfriend! We never discussed that?”

“I didn’t realise we had to discuss it,” Niall says honestly. “We’re not complicated like you and Haz—”

“Me and Harry are not complicated.”

“We just kind of talked, and then, well.” Niall shrugged. “It happened. I think Zayn wants it to happen for you and Harry, too.”

Zayn says, “You’ve got me, babe.”

Louis says, “Not with the implications of a picture of me and Liam!”

“I know you’re all trying to be supportive,” Liam says, shifting, “but there’s nothing to happen, honest. I can’t,” he shrugs. “I can’t make Harry like me.”

“What if he already likes you?” Zayn says.

Liam shakes his head. “He doesn’t. We would be together if—” He cuts himself off and shrugs again, because he doesn’t want to think of the alternatives.

When they get up and start to head back to their own places—they’re going to take the tube, since they don’t want to wait for a car—Zayn stops by the front door and looks Liam in the eye.

“I think you should talk to Harry, you know,” he says. “About it. Just think about it, yeah?”

Liam tries to smile. He doesn’t know the best way to say that it’s hopeless, that no matter what, talking about things they’ve already talked about won’t make a difference.

He says, anyway, “Yeah.”

*

But he thinks about Zayn’s advice, when a couple of days later he’s making the trip from his own flat to his family’s again, moving things one at a time and also having just had his mum’s advice on the furniture, when he passes the cafe that Harry works in.

It’s not that he hasn’t passed it before, but he looks in and something in his head is going, what if. What if he missed out on this opportunity—what if he’s already missed out on an opportunity?

He doesn’t even know if he and Harry will still like each other as much as they do in six months. If they’ll still get along, if it won’t be terribly awkward after all that time passing.

He knows they’d agreed not to, but then he’s walking into the cafe, looking desperately behind the counter and hoping that Harry is here. Harry usually works during the days, nearly every day, and it’s early in the afternoon so he should—

“Is Harry in?” Liam asks the person he recognises as Harry’s manager from behind the counter.

The manager jumps, and then stutters. “Oh, Mr. Payne!” he says. “Um, Harry—”

“Harry Styles, yes,” Liam says impatiently, and then apologises. “Sorry. I just really need to see him.”

Harry’s manager frowns. “Harry resigned,” he says, and the words don’t quite process for Liam at first. “He doesn’t work here anymore.”

Liam stares at Harry’s—well, the manager of the cafe, technically, since he’s not Harry’s boss anymore. “What?” he says. “Why?”

The manager shrugs. “Said he wanted to focus on classes,” he says hesitantly, like he’s afraid of Liam lashing out at him. “We didn’t want him to go—he was quite good with the customers—but—”

Liam’s mind reels. Harry had mentioned it after all, hadn’t he? Why didn’t Liam consider it? Is Harry just trying to absolve all contact with Liam? Liam remembers that this is the place where it all started—where Liam kissed him, where this had all come from—and his chest does a painful thing that he just wants to tear out of the cafe and never look back.

Instead, he asks the manager, “I… when did he resign, then?”

“The day his classes started?” The manager makes a face in thought. “Can’t remember the day, but he said his classes started that day anyway…”

The day Liam had been in the cafe to be purposefully stood up. Harry had probably come in early to quit, and doesn’t want to be a part of Liam’s life anymore.

The reality of the break up finally sinks in—not just discluded group chat messages, unreplied congratulations—but that they’re over, that this short period of Liam’s life is over. That the Harry chapter of his life is over, and that even if Liam sees him later in his life, in six months, it’s never going to be the same.

That Liam will just have to get over him.

*

It’s not an easy thing to think about at first. Liam goes through the motions of the rest of the evening like a robot—it’s so easy to say that he and Harry are over, but it’s another thing entirely to think it. To believe it.

The next day, he wishes he could start anew, but instead he looks around his empty flat and decides to do something about it. He asks his mum and Brenda for good furniture shopping advice, and then he spends the rest of the day out and about, deciding on furniture sets and how much he can actually spend before Nicola who’s managing his money now (since the album and single sales got too much for Liam to go on his own) will send him loads of angry face emojis and make him feel bad.

If it feels like he’s filling a Harry-shaped space in his life, Liam doesn’t think too much about it.

The move, at least, gives Liam a decent headspace to think about him and Harry a little less. He had broken in his flat during Niall’s birthday, but it’s still yet to feel like a proper home which Liam thinks he can get over if he fills it with things. The next few days he’s offered opinions on things like wood and glass and feng shui, and Liam’s feeling weirdly like an adult about it all and sort of uncomfortable, except that it’s still empowering to be able to decide these things—and he doesn’t splurge, even though he’s still wary of Nicola sending him angry messages, so he keeps himself in check even more.

It’s only when a couple of days later he’s yet again out walking—this time on his way back from getting all his furniture sorted out—that he realises that Harry and Zayn’s flat can be detoured through this route, and, well. Liam doesn’t want to bother Harry, but he does believe that things will happen if they’re meant to, so he stops by Harry’s place. He buzzes in outside, and waits patiently on the front stoop as someone opens the door.

It’s Zayn. Liam remembers how Zayn doesn’t usually answer if Harry’s home, but tries not to let his brave face fall. “Is Harry in?” he asks Zayn.

Zayn furrows his eyebrows, then shakes his head. “No,” he says politely. “Can I help you?”

“I wanted to—” Liam cranes his neck to look over Zayn’s shoulder—not like that’d help, since Zayn and Harry’s flat is off to the side. “Can I come in?” he asks.

Zayn stares at him for a moment, then nods. He lets Liam in, and Liam fidgets awkwardly as he looks around in case Harry is avoiding him. Then again, his brain reminds him, if Harry is avoiding him then it’s best if he leaves entirely.

“Want some tea?” Zayn calls as he heads to the kitchen.

Liam peers suspiciously around corners but says, “Yes please.” Zayn’s far too nice to sell Harry out, even if he had sent that picture to their group chat.

Zayn comes back with a mug of tea, perching on a bean bag. Liam sits on the other one. “What’s up?” Zayn asks. “Have you come here to ask after Harry?”

Damn. Well, Liam supposes he was quite obvious about it.

“Yes,” Liam sighs, and then shifts his tea on the coaster Zayn had brought with it, on his knee. “I just wanted to know if he was alright,” he says, and Zayn scoffs.

“‘Alright’—Harry’s being Harry, you know,” Zayn says. “Dunno if that would qualify as ‘alright.'”

Liam shrugs. He sips his tea. “S’pose I just miss him,” he says after a moment. “We’re not supposed to see each other and all.”

“Then why’ve you come to see him today?” Zayn asks, and Liam doesn’t have a response for that. “Liam, I don’t know you very well but I know you’ve got an interest in Harry.”

Liam shrugs. “I guess,” he says, not meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“You want to be with Harry, don’t you?” Zayn says. He thumbs at the remote in his hands; the telly’s playing, he’d obviously been watching it before Liam had come in. “You’ve got the feelings and shit?”

Liam sighs. “Sure.”

“You—” Zayn’s gaze strays to the tv, and then he’s looking at Liam again. “I’ve known Harry for a while,” he says, “and Harry’s not going to talk about his own feelings if he thinks you don’t feel the same. I know you think you both have talked about it, but if he—” He shakes his head, and then scrubs his face. “You’re both fucking idiots,” he states plainly.

“Thanks,” Liam says sarcastically.

“I’m serious,” Zayn says, though he’s laughing a little like the whole thing is too ridiculous for him to comprehend. “You’ve both kind of fucked it up, I don’t—just talk to him.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do,” Liam says insistently. “Or trying. He resigned from his job—”

“He did what?”

“I tried to go in the other day, his manager had said that he doesn’t work there anymore.” Liam tries not to look too disappointed. Zayn’s expression is just baffled. “I dunno what he’s doing.”

“Me neither,” Zayn says. “He keeps going out during the day, and I know he hasn’t got that many classes…”

A thought occurs to Liam. What if Harry’s just moved on already? Moved on without him, to someone else, has a secret boyfriend or girlfriend and just doesn’t want Zayn to know? That’s a reason to quit his job and not tell Zayn or Liam or anyone.

It’s too likely and too real and Liam stands up.

“I need to go to the bathroom,” he blurts, and Zayn nods before Liam leaves.

He goes over to the corridor between the kitchen and living room, and peers into Harry’s open doorway—just in case. But his bedroom’s empty, so Harry really isn’t here, which makes it even more likely that he’s out with some—secret boyfriend or girlfriend or whatever.

Liam returns to the living room with Zayn. Zayn looks at him awkwardly, before saying, “You should go, I’m about to have Niall over.”

“What, don’t want to be with the both of us?” Liam jokes. At Zayn’s expression, he says, “Okay, okay, I’m going.”

“Thank you,” Zayn says sincerely, as he sees Liam out.

*

So Harry probably has a secret boyfriend or girlfriend. Or has a better life without Liam or something, because he’s not telling his flatmate about it and Liam feels terrible and suddenly wants to buy another flat.

He doesn’t, and he also makes a mental note to not tell Louis about this impulse either.

He can still distract himself with buying new things like silverware and dishes for his flat, so he does just that. Brenda starts as a reference, but then they’ve made plans because Liam wants to know exactly what he needs and doesn’t trust himself just on Brenda’s descriptions. So then she and Liam’s bodyguard and Liam are out looking for bread knives and filet knives and salad spoons. In all fairness, salads are easy to make and Liam doesn’t mind eating them.

Liam sort of wishes he could get Harry’s opinion, and then curses himself for thinking about Harry again. But then his mouth is saying—

“Brenda, you don’t think Harry and I were really dating, were you?”

“What do you mean?” Brenda says, inspecting one of the spoons on the nearby rack.

“I mean,” Liam says, and then thinks of the best way to phrase this. “I dunno. Harry and I weren’t really dating, but—do you think it seemed like we were?”

“I think you were doing your jobs,” Brenda says diplomatically. “So yes.”

For some reason this doesn’t feel like the answer Liam was looking for. He doesn’t want to think about why.

Brenda looks back at him again. “But I don’t know how you really felt, and I’d have wanted for you to discuss that,” she says. “Neither of you have had a problem with it—I don’t think the problem is what’s not there. I think anything you ought to have needed to talk about is what is there.” She puts the spoon she’d been examining, and then nods at Liam pointedly.

Liam doesn’t know what to say. “Is that code for something?”

“Liam,” Brenda says gently. “I don’t know how you or Harry feel, and I don’t want to make assumptions. I don’t want you to, either,” she says. “Just be honest with him.”

“I haven’t been dishonest,” Liam says.

Brenda rests a hand on his arm. “Like I said, it’s not about what’s not there,” she says. “It’s about what is.”

Liam nods at her. And he knows what she’s saying—but he doesn’t want to think about it. He turns to his bodyguard, Dan—who has been here almost the whole time, silent, non-judgmental, hiding behind his sunglasses. “Dan, what do you think?”

Dan raises his eyebrows at him, but is otherwise expressionless. “I think you’ve not talked as much as you think you have,” he says neutrally.

“Well.” Liam throws his hands up. “Am I supposed to talk to Harry about something I don’t know that I’m supposed to talk about, then?”

“Just be honest about what you want, Liam,” Brenda says, moving onto chopsticks. Dan is following her like she’s actually the one who needs bodyguarding—or like he’s afraid of Liam lashing out at him and doesn’t want to put Liam in a headlock. “Whether it’s something or nothing—I told you in the beginning that the breakup was optional, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Liam grumbles. “But I thought Harry wanted—”

Brenda looks at him pointedly then.

When they’re in line to check-out, Liam takes out his phone and deliberates over it. He presses Zayn’s name in his contacts list, and makes himself type out a message before he loses the courage.

Liam Payne: is Harry free tonite?

He drums his fingers against his phone, but Zayn doesn’t answer right away. Which Liam should’ve expected, anyway; he pockets his phone and tries not to think about it as they drag the kitchenware back to his flat. It’s all very helpful and before long, Liam’s got a usable kitchen and no new texts in his phone.

He’s thinking about giving up and maybe ringing up Tom for the evening, after Brenda has left and Dan’s taken off, when his phone finally buzzes in his pocket. Eagerly, Liam whips it out to see the notification from Zayn on his lockscreen.

Zayn M: hes out now, should b back soon

That’s what gets Liam out of his door, because he can—wait at Zayn and Harry’s or something, anything. He can talk to Harry and get what he apparently needs to say—that he’s fancied Harry the whole time, that he wanted something more—out, and.

Liam slows and thinks. And then what? He can’t be ruining anything, but when he thinks about it, he also doesn’t need to say anything if it won’t change things either. And Liam won’t rely on that. But his feet keep carrying him to Harry’s flat, and he remembers when Brenda and Dan and Louis have said, and if there’s—if there’s no change, then there’s no harm, either?

He tries not to think too hard of what to say, but that just leads him to obsess even more. What to do, what he’ll say when Harry arrives, what Zayn’s expecting, if they’ll talk in the living room, or Harry’s bedroom. If Harry will just shut him out immediately, or give him pitying eyes and tell Liam it’s kind of pathetic that he grew feelings while they were in this relationship—except Harry wouldn’t do that, Harry would be nice about it. He would try to make things comfortable for Liam and maybe crack a joke, and Liam’s chest pangs.

There’s no power in the universe forcing him to do this, and two failed attempts has to be a sign. But Liam keeps going, rounding blocks and telling himself that Harry will be in—he won’t have resigned without telling one, he won’t be out with a secret boyfriend or girlfriend—even if he’d been with one before, Liam reminds himself, since Zayn had mentioned that Harry wasout.

Liam tries not to let the thought get him down as he approaches the block with Harry’s flat.

And then he stops in his tracks.

Because Harry’s walking down, too, in the opposite direction; and in the streetlight and afternoon sun, Liam can see that it’s a pretty girl with a guitar on her back, and Harry’s leaning down close to speak to her. She says something, and it makes Harry throw his head back and laugh. He gets closer and they share a look like they’ve got a secret, and suddenly Liam just wants to turn around and run.

It’s not the girl, it’s just how… happy Harry looks now. Well, a little bit of that sinking feeling in Liam’s chest is because of the girl, too. She and Harry look painfully cosy, holding the other’s gaze between the students passing by, not even noticing Liam on the next block. Liam has to make himself move again, turn away so he doesn’t analyze how intimate Harry looks with her.

Feeling numb, Liam turns the corner, to another block, and begins moving away—away from Harry, away from the girl, away from how happy Harry looks with someone else, without him.

Liam’s chest feels heavy and he keeps on walking, walking, and walking, back until he’s at his flat.

It’s all over.

*

Liam does not brood. He changes out of his clothes, into his pyjamas, and makes himself go to sleep. Then during the day he helps his family around the house, makes plans with Ruth to look around for a flat with his real estate agent, and then the both of them help getting Liam’s own flat polished up.

Liam and his sister eat dinner at home and then Liam goes to sleep and wakes up it’s another day. And it’s fine. The Harry-shaped hole in his life will be a hole for a while, and then it’ll disappear or get taped over or whatever and Liam will get over it.

It barely makes a difference, as Liam brushes his teeth and thinks about Harry flicking water at him while he does the same.

Today at least he’s actually got to work on music stuff, so he’s at the recording studio and with the help of his band actually gets a song recorded for once. He thinks about asking for their advice, but he’ll likely get laughter or you’re stupid expressions, both of which he thinks he deserves but doesn’t know what to do about, anyway. He gets the one song recorded anyway, finishes another, and leaves the recording studio feeling a mix of accomplished and dissatisfied inside.

It’s during the evening when Liam’s walking back to his flat when he sees a familiar figure there, ringing the buzzer rapidly. “Harry?” Liam says in disbelief, and Harry spins around to look at him.

“Liam,” he says. “Hi, I thought you were—”

“I was at the recording studio.” Liam doesn’t bother mentioning how he’d stayed later today because his average hours didn’t feel like enough. “What are you doing?”

“Ringing your flat and trying to figure out why your sister says that she won’t talk to me until you talk to me,” Harry says honestly. “I—sorry about this—”

“No, it’s fine,” Liam says, bewildered. This feels oddly like it’s out of a dream—Harry suddenly at his doorstep, just this easy for him to talk to. “I’ve been trying to see you as well, I—”

“You have?” Harry says, with some surprise.

“It’s not—” Liam shakes his head. His head is still trying to wrap around the fact that Harry is here, just—here. “What’s—what are you doing here?” he says, suddenly breathless.

Harry just about gapes. Then he gathers himself up.

“I’ve—I need to talk to you,” Harry says. Then: “I mean, we are talking. But I mean, about us. This—I haven’t been—” He shakes his own head. “I don’t even need to talk about us, I just want to talk about me, I’m sorry about how terribly selfish this sounds—”

“It doesn’t,” Liam tries to encourage, but Harry rambles on.

“It’s just, this whole—I’ve really… I liked you, Liam,” Harry says.

Liam’s brain stops.

Harry revises, “I mean, I do. Like. Present tense. I did, ever since California, ever since… I dunno, I saw you on the beach and buying ice creams for little girls and your face in the mornings, or even before when you’re just getting me to bed after award shows and I thought maybe—” his breath hitches “—you did too, but you never said, or did, and I dunno—”

“Harry,” Liam tries, though he’s not sure if his brain has caught up with his mouth yet.

“Let me finish,” Harry says desperately. “I just haven’t been able to stop thinking about you, it’s never—it’s not the same without, like, thinking about Liam, my boyfriend, who’s not, but you’re…” He looks at Liam and his expression is suddenly raw, desperate, open. “I hate to call it love,” he says, “but I think it might be, I just need to get this out okay, let me vent and then we can never speak to each other again. I don’t even want you to know, I just.” He scrubs at his face; his eyes are red now. “I need it to be known.”

“Harry,” Liam says, and steps closer, clutches at the side of Harry’s face with one hand. “I—”

“You look like you’re about to let me down and say sorry,” Harry says pitifully.

Liam can’t help himself. He leans forward and sweeps his mouth against Harry’s like he’s done loads and numerous times before. Harry presses back hesitantly, but there’s still something—withheld, like he’s still using his brain.

When Liam pulls back again, Harry says, “You look like you’ve just kissed me goodbye or sorry—”

“Harry,” Liam says, again, again. “I’m not saying goodbye—though I will apologise if you want me to, but I—”

“Don’t want to see me again?” Harry says.

“I’ve had the same thoughts,” Liam says. “That you, that… I didn’t even think I would matter to you.”

“Are you kidding?” Harry says. “I’ve—I mean, you’re Liam Payne—”

He says it so emphatically that Liam laughs, that Liam says, “Yes, who kissed you all of three months ago—”

“The celebrity who’s been in my life all of two months ago,” Harry says.

They are beginning to earn looks, and a few cameras have come out, but Liam doesn’t care. Liam says, “But you’re Harry, you’re normal—if you’d—if we were real, I thought we would still be together—”

“Neither of us had said shit,” Harry points out. “We both thought—”

Liam laughs wetly, brings Harry’s shoulder to laugh into. When he pulls back, Harry looks pleased if not confused.

“But,” Liam says. “But I thought you had someone—that girl—”

Harry frowns. “What girl?”

“I tried to come by your flat yesterday.” Then Liam remembers the ruckus of the past few weeks. “I went by your old cafe and your manager said you quit! And I went by your flat again and Zayn said that he didn’t know! And yesterday morning, I saw you and a girl—”

“Oh,” says Harry, realisation dawning on him. “She’s a lesbian—”

“But you looked so—”

“I haven’t been—it hasn’t been quite the same without you.” Harry shuffles his feet. “And you and Tom Daley—I thought—”

“Tom?” Liam says incredulously. “He has a boyfriend.”

“Yeah, but you can still—I dunno,” Harry says. He scratches the back of his head. “I’ve been terribly jealous—”

“You don’t have to be,” Liam says emphatically.

“And I’ve only been out with others—well, not only, but I’ve been trying to find new gigs.” Harry looks embarrassed suddenly. “I didn’t… ou’ve been in the papers with Tom Daley, and I didn’t want to think about it, and I’ve been trying to find gigs because I don’t want people to know if I perform and no-one really turns up. I want to impress strangers, that way I know that if I’m good, it’s real.”

Liam says, “But you invited me once—”

“I wanted to know what you thought,” Harry says. “I wanted to show you.”

Liam looks at Harry and feels a whole mess of things—but most of it is bursting, bubbling, warm. “You’ve got nothing to worry about with Tom,” he tells Harry. “And I still think you’re good. Your music and singing and everything.”

“Okay,” Harry says.

“And you,” says Liam. “I don’t—I want us to be in a relationship again. Brenda told me that we should tell each other what we want, so—that’s what I want. That.”

“That,” Harry repeats. “That’s it?”

“What else am I supposed to want?” Liam says.

Harry tugs on Liam’s hand. Somehow, they’ve wound up together, and Liam’s face isn’t too far away from Harry’s, who has his head tilted, eyes flickering down to Liam’s lips.

“I dunno,” Harry says, with a crooked smile. “You might want me, maybe?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yes, okay,” he says. “I want you too, Harry.”

Harry leans in, keeping their gazes locked, looking at Liam in such a way that makes him feel warm all over like he hadn’t expected it, like he wants to sit in Harry’s line of sight forever. “And I want you,” Harry says, before Liam leans in and kisses him.

Up above, they hear the sound of Ruth whooping from Liam’s flat window. Down here, below, around them where some people have gathered with their phones and cameras out, there’s some scattered applause and Harry smiles against Liam’s mouth. Liam’s phone rings of a text that says, Coming in 2min from his bodyguard, which Liam shows Harry.

“The paps are that quick, huh?” Harry says, looking around them to the shameless small crowd that’s gathered.

“Thought you would’ve gotten used to it by now,” Liam says, and Harry sighs.

“All day—I’ve tried going to your new flat, and this one, and your recording studio,” he says to Liam. “And then Zayn gave me the address and I thought you’d be in by now.”

Liam squeezes his fingers. “I’m here now.”

Some people around them are calling out questions, like, “Have you gotten back together?” “Why did you break up?”, “Liam Payne! Can you give us a smile?” and Liam drags Harry bodily closer to him, protectively. Harry stumbles but doesn’t seem to mind the proximity, as Liam looks over their heads.

“We can’t get any alone time, can we?” Harry says into Liam’s ear.

Liam spots his bodyguard appearing from an extremely quick cab, who’s beckoning them over while rushing towards them. Liam begins pushing through the crowd, toward the cab, and turns to Harry so he can reply.

“Well,” he says, back into Harry’s ear. “I’ve got my own flat now, haven’t I?” and Harry grins.

*

Liam turns onto his side—being in bed with Harry again is fine, but Liam likes it afterward, when the world has come down to this point, barely anything else in existence other than the room in his flat. Harry’s got classes and Liam has work, of course, but they can pretend.

Liam lifts himself up onto an elbow and says, “So have you got any new gigs then?”

“Oh,” Harry says, delighted. “Yeah, I had an audition this week, and the girl you saw me with—she said she could play guitar for me. I don’t mind doing it myself, but.” His gaze gets wistful. “I like just singing.”

Liam nods, tracing absent shapes onto Harry’s chest. Harry giggles and bats him away. “I understand that,” he says.

“Guitar’s fun,” Harry says. “Hey—maybe I can play guitar for the both of us singing.”

“Maybe Niall can,” Liam says, and Harry grins in approval. “We really can make a band.”

“Wonder what kind of scandal that would be,” Harry says. “Two of the band members dating—four,” he realizes, with Niall and Zayn. “Oh god.”

“Poor Louis,” Liam says, snickering.

Harry leans up and kisses him on the mouth, and Liam meets him, just smiling, feeling Harry against him. Harry pulls away again and says, “Best if we don’t form a band though. I like having a famous boyfriend.”

“I suppose this makes me the clingy one, then?” Liam says. “Still being with you after all this time.”

Harry tweaks Liam’s nipple, and Liam elbows him in the sternum. “I was the one who’d come outside your flat,” he says. “I made a Hercules confession—”

“Did you, then?”

“Disney movies are very inspiring,” Harry says defensively, sticking his nose up.

Liam giggles, and noses at the space between Harry’s shoulder and neck. Harry huffs and begins talking about an upcoming gig he has, sounding awfully like he’s inviting Liam—that Liam’s welcome to come, of course. And Liam knows he will. Where others will see, after articles about their being back together will flood the news, after everyone will wonder what happened between them, why does Liam keep coming back to this barista he kissed months ago—or, ex-barista, really. There might be a crowd at Harry’s gig. Who knows.

But as he perches on his elbow, listening to Harry talk, and then saying, “Yes, I bloody get it Harry, I’m coming to you watch you sing,” and watching a smile bloom across Harry’s face, Liam thinks that the view from his room is pretty good too.