Chapter Text
(x)
you and me
got a whole lot of
history
we could be
THE GREATEST THING
that the world
has ever
seen
CHAPTER ONE
If Harry had to describe Vegas with one word, it would be ostentatious. He’s never cared much for the city to be honest, all the flashing lights, the partying, the gambling, the countless amount of strippers, the sense that you could just throw away all your inhibitions and let go… yeah, he appreciates the quiet life nowadays. Mostly, anyway. Sure, he’s still a celebrity, and he still enjoys all the perks that come with it, from industry parties, to free clothing, to private planes, but he thinks he prefers a party with friends or a night in to the high-pulse party scene of Las Vegas. Maybe he’s getting old…
He is twenty-eight, after all. That feels pretty old when you were catapulted into stardom at sixteen.
Honestly, the thing is, he’s a bit more of a suburban stay-at-home mum than an eligible bachelor these days. He’s just about reached the point where he’d rather pop a roast in the oven and stay in with a bottle of red than throw back shots in some seedy club. God… that truly does make him sound like the biggest knob. It’s not that he doesn’t like a good party. He loves a good party. After all, he has partied his fair share and then some through the years. Sometimes he feels like the entire first half of his solo career was just one big party, going from one to the other. It’s just… well, he prefers a house rather than a club nowadays, and he prefers to not be quite so… done with everything as he’s found himself to be for the last few years. He’s a little bit tired— burnt out, some might say. So, yeah, a roast and a bottle of wine really does sound so much more appealing to him.
Obviously the roast-and-wine setting would be loads more fun with company, but where Harry’s had so much luck in his life in terms of his career and general well-being, he’s never had much luck in terms of love. Maybe it’s some kind of cosmic karma thing, where he’s been so unbelievably lucky with everything else that it simply wouldn’t be fair for him to find an epic true love too. Some sort of twisted poetic justice. Maybe he just isn’t the kind of person people want to settle down with? Though his friends do reassure him that isn’t the case, and certain parts of his fanbase certainly make him know so very explicitly as well.
At any rate, it’s the sad truth that at twenty-eight, he’s out and proud and still very much lacking romance in his life. He doesn’t like thinking about the prospect of it continuing like that, because that would imply a lifetime of living alone, being alone, and he does like to hold onto the hope that someday he’ll meet ‘the one’, however much that still seems like a fairytale concept, almost too good to be true. He would definitely think so if he hadn’t seen examples of it with his very own eyes. Niall and Sara are a good, and, considering the circumstances, fitting example.
It still hasn’t happened for Harry, though. Frankly, it hasn’t even come close.
It had helped a bit when he came out on Christmas 2020, four years into the break turned break up of the band. It was nice, just on principle, not having one catwalk model after the next being thrown at him. The fact that he didn’t have to parade around with the newest up and coming Victoria’s Secret angel was great. It was right after the end of his first tour, when things had settled down somewhat for him, and it felt, then and still, like the best possible timing. Still, though, it didn’t help him much with finding someone he could imagine spending his life with. It was fun at first, the possibility of meaningless hook-ups and brief flings, a whole new world to explore where he didn’t have to hide who he was, where he didn’t have to constantly look over his shoulder – not as much, at any rate. Now, though, at twenty-eight, with the longest relationship under his belt being a three-month fling that had, somehow luckily, never made the press, he’s longing desperately for something that can last, something that’s forever. He’s ready to settle down, ready to begin thinking about getting married, and having kids, and living a life that’s not quite as fast paced as the one he’s had the last long while. He’s not ready for the big things right now, but he’s ready for finding someone to share his life with, someone to make those plans with, someone to figure out how and if his career can fit into that dream. He’s ready to mould his career to fit his private life and not expect it to be the other way around. He wants to continue making music, of course he does, but he also wants to not be so bloody lonely whenever he’s off stage, too. He just wants to find someone who loves him and wants him for who he is.
He doubts very, very much he’ll find him (whoever he is) in Las Vegas, though.
Maybe these thoughts of forever, and life partners, and someone to eat Sunday roasts with are amplified tenfold right now because the very reason he’s currently on a plane heading to Las Vegas is due to the fact that Niall is getting married. And it’d been easier to ignore how everyone but him had someone back when his friends and their partners were still calling each other boyfriends and girlfriends, but it somehow became infinitely harder when they started calling each other fiancés and, soon, partners, spouses, husbands, and wives. It’s not that he’s not happy for Niall and Sara, not at all, because really, he’s nothing short of ecstatic. He can’t quite help feeling a bit sorry for himself, is all. He’d always hoped that at twenty-eight he’d have settled down, that maybe he’d at least have found someone he could see himself with long-term, that maybe he’d even be engaged, committed, be talking about kids even if having them was still a few years down the road. The fact that none of that is true is a bitter pill to swallow.
Honestly, he’s been dreading this trip to Vegas to celebrate Niall’s last remaining time as a bachelor pretty much ever since the invitation was dumped into Harry’s letterbox in his Los Angeles home. Of course he knows that he could never not come, that he’ll always want to come, but still the very thought of coming is enough to send him into a near-panic attack. But, of course, that has nothing to do with Niall nor his impending status as a married man. It’s also perhaps a much too strong reaction to what this trip really is, which is probably also why he feels so wretchedly guilty about being so reluctant to come. Vegas isn’t what he really dreads, not when he’s really honest with himself. It’s a convenient excuse, saying that he isn’t looking forward to the flashiness and how over the top the city is, when, in reality, what he isn’t looking forward to is being reunited with his ex-band mates under these circumstances — and, if he’s being really, really, painfully honest, one former band member in particular.
He shakes his head, stretches his limbs as well as he can in the limited space of the aeroplane. He’s never done well with flying long distances by himself, though he’s had to do it time and time again. It’s something about the limited space and the number of hours he has to entertain himself. Granted, this definitely isn’t a long distance flight, the hour between Los Angeles and Las Vegas meaning that the plane barely has time to reach maximum altitude before it has to start descending again, but, still, he’s the only one on the plane apart from the pilot and though he tries to fly commercial whenever he can for environmental reasons and all, he’s glad to have the plane to himself right now. The lack of other people and space is resulting in him having nothing for company or entertainment but his own thoughts, and with what he’s flying towards, those thoughts are hard to keep back.
Fact of the matter is that he’s scared. Plain and simple scared. It’s stupid and irrational but it’s the truth nonetheless. He’s flying towards the unknown, and perhaps more than anything it frightens him that he doesn’t know what’s waiting for him. He can’t really do anything to prepare himself mentally for the coming weekend because he has no idea what it will be like, no idea what he should expect.
Regardless, who he’s meeting or why he’s doing so doesn’t change the fact that Vegas has never really been Harry’s scene. It’s always been much more of a Niall thing, which is why it shouldn’t have come as such a surprise to Harry when Niall chose exactly this destination for his stag party. The Irish lad has always had an unhealthy appreciation for The Hangover, after all. Harry vividly remembers how Niall had forced them to watch it time and time again on the tour bus until Louis had snapped one day and hid the DVD. Harry really hopes he isn’t expecting them to smuggle a tiger into a bathroom. Though The Sun would probably have a field day getting to print that particular article.
He sighs and settles back into his seat, checking his seatbelt is still properly fastened as the pilot announces over the intercom that they’re about to land. He wishes that he’d maybe had some time to sleep or something, for just a second wishes that the plane ride had been longer, but at the same time he knows that he’s only trying to put off the inevitable. He hates how much of a coward he’s being, but Louis, no matter what terms they were on, has always had an unnatural pull over Harry. Whatever emotion he caused Harry would always magnify tenfold in comparison to when someone else made Harry feel like that, whether it be happiness, or anger, or sadness, or, as it is right now: trepidation. And, honestly, also a mixture of the other three as well. The small smidge of happiness he can’t deny himself he’s feeling at the prospect of what’s essentially the first time he sees Louis under normal circumstances since the end of the band makes little sense even to himself— and he’s the one feeling it. Luckily for his sanity, though, the other emotions win out and he’s too tired and overwhelmed to contemplate the meaning of linking happiness to Louis after all this time, however tiny the amount is.
He shakes his head, like that might expel the thoughts and worries from his mind, and closes his eyes, trying to relax through the last ten minutes of the flight, trying not to think about anything really.
It works fairly well, and as soon as the plane touches down on solid ground, Harry’s out of his seat, grabbing his bag in the luggage compartment above him. When the plane finally comes to a stop and the pilot lets Harry out, the first thing he notices is the wall of heat that meets him. It’s even hotter than in LA, and it had been pretty bloody hot when Harry’d left home. He supposes it was foolish of him to forget the fact that Vegas is practically half dessert.
He lifts his leather duffle bag higher up on his shoulder, preventing it from slipping off. At least there’ll be no pap parade as he leaves the airport, Jeff had promised him that much, and that’s a relief. Although perhaps it could have served as a nice distraction from the reconciliation that’s coming closer and closer.
God, his mind’s all messed up when he actually, even for a split second, considers paparazzi a good thing.
He really is so very happy for Niall and Sara, and he is really looking forward to seeing Niall again. He is, he definitely is. They’ve kept in touch, the two of them, as regularly as their individual schedules have allowed, and it’s been less than a month since Harry went with Niall to look at potential tuxes for the wedding. Hell, he’ll even go so far as to say that he’s quite excited to see Liam again. His contact with Liam has been a lot more sporadic than his contact with Niall, perhaps most of all due to how close Liam was and is to Louis, but there are no hard feelings between the two of them, not that Harry knows of anyway, and it’ll be nice to see him again.
The only thing that is making dread gnaw at his stomach right now, is the fact that he’ll come face to face with Louis again. And, God, saying that he dreads it makes it sound as though Louis is an awful person, as though he’s utterly terrible to be around, as though he’s Harry’s nemesis or something. That’s not it at all, it’s just… well, to be entirely honest, seeing, hearing, even thinking about Louis just kind of hurts.
Still.
Always.
Even after all these years. Harry’s perfectly aware of how ridiculous and pathetic that is, how much he should definitely just be over it, how much he should have moved on by now. He can’t help it though, anytime he sees Louis laughing with Liam, or hugging Niall, or chatting to someone else all crinkly eyed and happy, it makes Harry so, so unfairly upset.
Rationally, he knows that it’s not Louis’ fault that they aren’t friends anymore. That it’s not Louis’ fault that they drifted apart. Not anymore than it’s Harry’s anyway. So why does Harry feel like it was Louis who set the ball rolling, him who turned away from Harry, him who left Harry behind? It was Louis who changed the most, Harry thinks. Perhaps the anger is a defence mechanism most of all, because all Harry can see when he sees Louis with someone else is how Louis got tired of Harry. How their friendship went from everything to nothing in a heartbeat. It’s… God, it’s scary thinking about how everything was so right and then abruptly so, so wrong. How Harry went from living with Louis and always having him there to suddenly going on tour together and barely even acknowledging each other’s presence.
It takes two to tango, Harry knows. Logically, he knows that he’s as much to blame as anyone, definitely as much to blame as Louis, and that he should have tried harder, fought harder, done literally anything to get their friendship back on track. It had felt like once their friendship had started to slip, it went slipping from his hands so quickly, he couldn’t even try grasping for it before it was entirely out of sight. Never out of mind, though. At the time, Harry really did feel that he’d done everything he could to stop it from happening, everything short of chaining himself permanently to Louis. And there’s only so long one can be persistent when getting rejected literally at every turn. That’s what it had felt like, anyway, and it had left Harry so hurt, so vulnerable that, well, it’s hard imagining how he could have acted differently than he did.
The subsequent feeling of abandonment nourished the intense feeling of sadness and longing that he tried masking by going out, meeting more new people, making new (though never better) friends. Then, as he saw Louis’ friendship with Zayn blossom into the tight knit union that used to be him and Louis, well… that’s probably close to the worst thing he’s ever experienced. Suddenly, Louis was sitting next to Zayn in interviews, riding with him in the bus, going out with him at night. Suddenly, Louis was so painfully succeeding in what Harry couldn’t manage even a little: replacing him. Suddenly, Louis started smoking; cigarettes and weed; fucking around and taking nothing seriously; doing all sorts of things that the two of them used to lie awake at night in the X Factor house promising each other they’d never do. God, they’d been naïve. Harry knows now, naïve and way, way too young, thinking that they could go through stardom without encountering and taking part in the more extreme aspects of being famous, without enjoying it too. They’d been naïve to be even thinking of it in such black and white terms as good and bad, but, fuck, they’d been children. It’s not like Harry has never smoked a joint himself or gotten absolutely plastered – hell, it was a talking point for his second album that he nearly bit off his own tongue doing shrooms – but still… it had felt different with Louis. And maybe that makes Harry a hypocrite, no, that definitely makes Harry a hypocrite, but not only had he lost Louis, it also felt like he was watching him turn into someone Harry couldn’t even recognise right in front of his eyes.
He knows that he started to practically look for evidence to support his own little theory that Louis had changed into someone who could no longer be Harry’s friend because then, perhaps, it might ease the hurt within him, maybe then it wasn’t because Harry wasn’t a good mate or because Louis had grown bored of him. Now, so many years down the line, he’s so tangled up in all the confusing, conflicting, and hurtful things he felt and experienced back then that he can’t make out what’s right, and what’s wrong, and what really happened anymore. He’s not sure he’s really ever known or understood it completely, and maybe, more than anything, that’s what’s made Harry feel like he does today, seven years later. Maybe that’s what’s made it impossible for Harry to forget, to move on.
They’d all had those manufactured personas back then, all five of them. Hell, Harry, gay as a bloody rainbow, had been a womaniser, but with Louis… suddenly Harry couldn’t figure out what was genuine and what was a carefully crafted persona. He couldn’t figure out where his Louis ended and this new version began, couldn’t even really see if there was any of his Louis left. And while he does realise how unfair and one-dimensional that way of thinking and viewing Louis is now, he didn’t then.
And besides, maybe Louis would say the same for him. Probably.
Of course he realises that he has no claim over Louis, no ownership or right to dictate how he should be. But even still, it hurt to see him replacing Harry like that, it hurt to see him becoming more and more like this new version of Louis and less and less like Harry’s Louis, the one who used to be his best friend. Everything about that time and everything that’s happened since is so hard to make sense of and half the time he doesn’t know what to think at all. He doesn’t like to think about the last three years in the band much, because somehow it seems that every happy experience, every mind-blowing opportunity is tarnished by how estranged he became from Louis.
Somehow – and even now, Harry isn’t quite sure how it happened – their drifting apart evolved into an actual dislike for each other. Harry started choosing to spend most of his free time without the boys, didn’t want to spend it with them, not when he knew it would only make the day worse for both Louis and himself. Somehow Harry could just feel how much Louis disliked who Harry had turned into, how he thought him posh and maybe even self-absorbed. In return, Harry looked at Louis and saw someone who acted more like a brat than an actual adult, whose ‘hashtag LADS’ way of life made Harry want to roll his eyes constantly. Rationally, he knows that it was the distance talking, that he needed to dislike Louis for all of it to hurt less, that had they been like they were back during the beginning of the band, had Harry been right beside Louis through all of it, he would have found him hilarious and endearing.
He’s not proud of himself exactly, especially not now when the years that have passed have allowed him to see how childish he was being, how his years of hurt and anger had manifested itself into a deep seeded maliciousness and feeling of superiority that was both unfounded and unfair. Pre-2013 Harry would be ashamed, really, if he saw the way things had developed between him and Louis. Or, rather, Younger Harry would piss himself laughing first because no way he’d believe that things had turned out like that between them. And then, of course, once he learned that it wasn’t some twisted, cruel joke, he would undoubtedly be immensely disappointed in present day Harry, because, after all, he’s the one who let Louis go.
2022 Harry is plenty ashamed, too.
Sometimes when Harry’s feeling particularly nostalgic, usually when he’s well into a bottle of wine all by his lonesome and he has stumbled upon a picture of the two of them from the early days on his twitter feed, he wonders what went wrong. It seems almost laughable that a friendship so strong and solid could crumble so severely and with such speed. It doesn’t make any sense, not now, not even nearly nine years later. Not even with seven years spent almost entirely apart, seven years to ponder what went wrong without the constant influence of seeing each other all the time. Sometimes he thinks that maybe their friendship wasn’t as strong as he’d thought it to be, maybe it wasn’t as solid. They’d grown so close in such a short amount of time at the beginning of the band, maybe that’s why it could fizzle out just as quickly.
He’s an introspective guy; Harry. He’s penned two hit albums filled with songs from the heart. He’s had plenty of time to wonder, and yet he’s no closer to a satisfying conclusion. He’s written songs about Louis, songs about their falling out, but in the end he’s no closer to understanding it properly. He’s always missing half of everything – half of the conversation, half of the context, half the puzzle.
God, it seems so strange that he genuinely hasn’t spoken to Louis in seven years – with the exception of reaching out to each other when Robin and Jay passed, attending funerals, they haven’t seen nor spoken to each other at all. It’s not that they spoke much during the last three years of the band’s run either, but still. Sometimes they’d exchange a few words, if only in interviews in order for it not to seem like they hated each other too much. Not that he ever hated Louis. Not really. Honestly, Harry doesn’t think he could hate Louis even if he had cut Harry’s favourite Alexander McQueen scarf to bits and pieces. It’s like there’s something in Harry’s biology that prevents him from actually hating Louis, no matter how much Harry’s sometimes wanted to. He was angry; he was hurt; he was fucking miserable, and sometimes quite unkind in his thoughts about Louis, but he never hated him.
It might have made things easier if he had.
It leaves him in the oddest limbo now, because how’s he supposed to feel about Louis seven years later? Has Louis thought about it all as much as Harry has, or is he long past it? How is he supposed to act around him?
It’s going to be so terribly awkward to spend this weekend with Louis now, Harry’s sure of it – especially because he knows himself well enough to know just how caught up he can get in his own head, just how many terrible scenarios his imagination can concoct, and also that that particular approach to unpleasant situations rarely makes them better but, in fact, very often makes them worse. Trust Niall to decide to throw a party for all his other friends in Ireland, and invite only the three of them to this thing in Vegas – invite them despite his wedding still being several months off. Typical of Niall, who was never willing to accept that the picture of the four of them as the best of inseparable pals, was never quite as real as everyone thought. His stubbornness is quite touching. Maybe if Harry had followed Niall’s example back then, things would have been very different today.
At any rate, it will be just the four of them in Vegas, the last remnants of what was once One Direction. Harry doesn’t know if Niall invited Zayn, thinks he probably did, it wouldn’t be like Niall not to, but from what Harry’s understood, Zayn won’t be joining them. It’s probably for the best. Harry hasn’t seen or interacted much with Zayn since he chose to leave the band, and, frankly, it’s always been a bit of a touchy subject for him. It’s not that he hates Zayn in any way, or really carries much bitterness anymore. It’s not that he doesn’t understand why he left either, Harry just never loved the way Zayn went about it. At this point, Harry doesn’t see himself having much in common with Zayn either apart from their shared past, which Zayn at any rate doesn’t seem to want to be reminded of, and reconciling with him would undoubtedly be awkward enough for Harry never to have felt all that strongly about attempting it.
However, it’s also one less buffer between him and Louis, and just the fact that if Zayn had been there, it would surely have removed focus from the whole Louis-Harry dilemma is enough for Harry to almost regret that Zayn won’t be joining them. Although, it is nice to keep the amount of awkward encounters to a minimum.
Perhaps, though, what he’s dreading most of all is exactly that he doesn’t know where the two of them stand, him and Louis. He’s hardly even had a single conversation with him in seven years – and since the only ones they’ve had involved condolences, Harry doesn’t really think they count. Besides that, Harry has really only seen Louis across the room at a random industry party or award show once or twice, but that in no way helps with deciding how to go about spending a weekend in close quarters with your former best friend turned quite the opposite.
God, it’s at times like this when he feels tired and weary that Harry wishes he’d fought harder, done more, actually talked to Louis about what was happening between them, about what was going on. Confronted him, even if Harry is one of the most non-confrontational people around. If he’d just forced the other boy to sit down and bloody have it out together, maybe something, anything, could have been salvaged, maybe he wouldn’t have spent the bigger part of his time in One Direction rolling his eyes at Louis’ antics and pranks (the same ones that he was once an important part of) before leaving the room, secretly wishing that he was the one beside Louis, that they were still partners in crime. Maybe Louis wouldn’t have snorted every time Harry passed down the offer of a greasy slice of pizza for a salad, or when he hung out backstage with Jeff and his newest industry friends.
So many maybes.
Harry sighs and shakes his head as though to rid himself of all his thoughts and worries that way. There’s no use in thinking about it anymore. He’s less than 30 minutes away from seeing all of them again. The first actual One Direction reunion in seven years, because, fuck, funerals do not count. He opens the car door and tosses his leather duffle in first before following himself. He’s rather glad that another celebrity perk is the fact that you can hire private chauffeurs to drive you around, because he’s honestly so knackered he doesn’t think getting behind the wheel would be a very smart decision. Whatever Niall has in store for them today, Harry rather hopes he’ll have the time to take a nap first.
>>>><<<<
As it happens, he manages to fall asleep in the car, though it does nothing in terms of making him feel more rested. Quite the opposite, really, but again that probably makes a lot of sense since when he checks his phone upon waking up, he’s only slept 20 minutes. He’d texted Niall that he was on his way when he’d gotten into the car, and he finds the Irishman waiting for him in the lobby when Harry’s tipped and thanked his driver.
“Harry!” Niall exclaims, his smile sunny. He looks tanned and healthy, and so incredibly familiar Harry can’t do anything but walk straight into his arms and hug him close.
“I missed you,” Harry mumbles into Niall’s shoulder, squeezing him tighter.
“I missed you too, H,” Niall says back, squeezing Harry just as hard in return, before bumping him a few times on the back and drawing back. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so glad all of you are here. I’m so excited— aren’t you excited? We’re gonna have so much fun, all of us together again, I can’t wait. I’ve planned the sickest things for us. All my boys together again— finally! If I knew all I had to do to manage that was get married, I’d have done so ages ago.”
He grins at Harry, nothing but mirth in his eyes. Harry still feels kind of guilty. He knows, much like he’s sure Liam and Louis must know, that Niall never wanted them to split for good, that all this time Niall’s hoped, and waited, and wanted the band to get together again, wanted them to release new albums and go touring again. Sometimes Harry wants it so much too, so much he positively yearns for it, but then he realises that what he really yearns for is the way things were in the beginning, but not in the middle and definitely not in the end. He’s not sure he could go through that again, not sure he could go through that kind of confused hostility once more. He’s too old now, he thinks, for confusion and misunderstandings. Too old to work with someone who detests him, someone who would rather spend time with anyone but him. Still, it doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel sorry for Niall, doesn’t mean Harry doesn’t wish things were different. Maybe if he and Louis could somehow, some day bury the hatchet, they could think about getting the band back together, maybe just for a reunion tour or something, because he does miss it, or at least the idea of it, so, so much. It’s not like he and Jeff haven’t already discussed the possibility; it’s not like Harry can pretend that he doesn’t still write songs with them as the imagined artist; it’s not like he doesn’t save the ones he likes the best for the potential of some day rather than sell them to others.
“Liam and Louis have arrived already, they’re up in their rooms,” Niall smiles. “I’ve got your key card here. We’ve got like a big hotel apartment kind of thing, so we’ve all got our own rooms, but we’re also all connected, there’s a joint living space too. I think they’re both sleeping right now. I could use a nap too, tour life is a bit of a bitch, but I didn’t want to sleep until you’d gotten here. What do you say we sleep until dinner and then let the Vegas adventure start?” Niall grins at him as they reach the lift and step inside, Niall pressing the button for the top floor.
“I say that sounds rather brilliant,” Harry grins back, moving his shoulders slightly as though he can physically work out the tension he feels.
“Hey,” Niall says, his voice more sombre than it’s otherwise been yet, as though he can actually detect Harry’s uneasiness. “Harry, I really want to say thanks for coming. I know you probably weren’t too keen on it, and I know things between you and Louis are probably still pretty weird, but I’m really glad you’re here. I’m really glad you’re both here. You’re my best mates, and it really means so much to me that I get to have this trip with all of you.”
“Niall,” Harry says, reaching out his arm to curl it around Niall’s shoulder and pull him into a hug. A terrible feeling spreads in Harry’s stomach, because, God, how bad of a friend is he that one of his best friends feels he has to thank Harry for coming to his bachelor party? Just no. “Fuck, Nialler, there’s nothing to thank me for. Literally nothing. I’m so glad to be here with you. I wouldn’t miss it for anything, you hear me? Not for anything.”
He’s relieved to find that he means it too. Not even a wild Louis Tomlinson could keep him from this weekend, however unsettled everything is making him feel. He’ll just have to remember that it’s Niall’s weekend, and if that isn’t enough for him and Louis to behave like civilised adults, then, really, they don’t deserve to call themselves friends of Niall Horan.
They bid each other goodbye outside of Harry’s room, Niall letting him know that he has the one next to Harry’s and Liam and Louis in the two that are left. Harry’s kind of ashamed to find himself relieved that he gets a room to himself. It’s entirely idiotic since why should he not, but still… he remembers the early One Direction days when they always bunked together and if he’s going to maintain his sanity through this trip, he needs a place of his own to retreat to. Shit, he really hopes that he’s making this whole trip out to be a lot more taxing in his head than it will actually end up being. Maybe he’s just going through all the worst-case scenarios in his head, and in reality everything will actually turn out to be super great. One can only hope.
It’s jarring though, because it’s been so long, so long since he’s really seen Louis. Harry’s certainly not the same person he was seven years ago, so it’s stupid to assume that Louis will be so. They must both have grown up, must both have changed so much. Now with the years between them, it would be foolish to think that they can’t just be civil and put everything behind them, right? God, Harry hopes so. If nothing else then for Liam and especially Niall’s sake. They both deserve a nice trip after putting up with Harry and Louis’ estrangement for so long and the complications connected to it.
Harry drops his bag at his feet once he’s locked himself into the suite. It’s a lovely room as far as hotel rooms go. Spacious and luxurious, everything that a suite in a hotel in Vegas ought to be. Probably has an excellently stocked minibar too. That will be a thing for later though, because right now Harry just finds himself utterly exhausted. He toes off his boots, unbuttons his jeans and wiggles out of them expertly, before unbuttoning his shirt and letting it fall into the pile on the floor. Left standing only in his tight boxer briefs and the cross necklace around his neck, he quickly uses one of the elastics from his wrist to tie his hair back into a bun. Finally he climbs into the spacious bed, snuggling under the covers and sighing as soft fabric and nice, clean smells encompass him.
It takes him no time at all to fall asleep.
>>>><<<<
It takes a lot more effort to wake up. Sleep seems to have an impossibly tight grip on him when his alarm goes off, refusing to release him from its hold. His body feels heavy, feels as though he can hardly lift it. He mostly just wants to roll over and go back to sleep, and then sleep until morning with no distractions. He’s certainly not feeling up to heavy drinking and everything that goes along with that. He’s turning into an old man on the inside. Niall would be embarrassed if he knew how Harry really felt. Honestly, Harry’s a bit embarrassed himself. He’s the world’s worst twenty-eight year old rockstar, really. Twenty-eight, honestly, and he feels sixty-eight, probably.
A shower will help, maybe. Hopefully. A shower and then dressing up, taking the time to make an effort. Niall deserves an effort. And he deserves enthusiasm and positivity too, something which Harry will provide once he’s had that shower. He just needs to remember that first and foremost this is Niall’s weekend, this is for Niall in every way, and that the fact that Harry’s maybe not the most comfortable around Louis shouldn’t impact Niall’s weekend in any way. He’ll make sure of it. If he repeats that to himself enough times, surely it’ll end up coming true. The power of positive thinking and all that. Niall’s gonna have the weekend he’s always dreamed of, he’s going to get the closest thing to everything being like it used to be that can be reconstructed. Harry will make that his mission, yes, and maybe having a goal, having something to focus on will help take his mind off Louis and stop worrying about everything.
He stretches his body, sitting up in bed, sighing at the pleasant ache of it. Determinedly he throws the covers off himself, the air-conditioned air making goose bumps appear all over him as he leaves behind the warm cocoon he’d created in bed. He wanders into the bathroom, happy that they don’t have to share one for all four of them. He drops his pants on the way, running a hand through his curls as he blinks, trying to wake up properly. He should really do something about his sleep schedule, he’s getting too old to be able to get by on little to no sleep. Also, he needs a vacation soon, needs to go somewhere he can just relax, sleep in, no responsibilities, just good food and sun. He’s got to get his PA to look into booking him some tickets to somewhere – anywhere, really – soon. Maybe somewhere like the Caribbean, or Bali, or the Maldives would be nice. Hopefully somewhere secluded and warm. Just thinking about it already makes him start relaxing. That’s probably another sign that a vacation should be scheduled in the near future.
He steps into the shower, the water already steaming up the room. It does wonders at loosening the last remaining kinks in his back and also at chasing away the remnants of sleep. He takes his time rubbing shampoo into his curls, runs his soapy hands down his own torso, passing tattoos both old and new. He considers having a quick wank to loosen up, his dick appearing half-interested as he runs his hand over his left hip bone. Ultimately, though, he decides not to. He’ll sound positively ancient if he says that he doesn’t have the energy to, but nevertheless the fact is that he just can’t be bothered. These days he prefers to take his time, make a proper job of it. He rarely wanks just to wank anymore, and he doesn’t see much reason to do so now. Guess that’s what it’s like not being a teenager anymore.
He stands in the shower longer than necessary, letting the water cascade around him as though it could potentially wash away the weariness that he’s feeling. He does everything slowly once he gets out of the shower too, takes his time towelling himself dry, before tying the towel around his waist and blow-drying his hair. The curls do better when allowed to air dry, less frizzy he’s found, but today he hasn’t got the time. Despite the shower, he feels kind of sluggish, as though one glass of wine might just knock him out. It probably could. He’s gotta get a solid meal before he starts in on the heavy stuff, otherwise he’ll never even make it ‘till midnight. He feels weary all the way into his bones, and now that he’s out of it – possibly influenced by the steamed-filled and quite hot bathroom – he feels as though the shower simultaneously woke him up and made him even sleepier. He sighs, stretching his arms over his head before dropping the towel from around his waist.
He walks through the hotel room naked, the breeze from the air-conditioning making goose bumps appear on his skin once again. He’s gotta fix the setting on it, he’s never appreciated a too cool room – more times than not it ends up giving him a sore throat. He stops in front of his bag, hefting it up onto the bed to better be able to look through it. Picking an outfit ought to be easy. There’s not much to choose from after all, and he already had somewhat of an idea when he was packing. He stares at the different options of shirts for a few minutes, contemplating what to do. It’s really only the other boys he’s dressing up for, so it shouldn’t matter how he looks or what he wears – they’ve all seen him at his best, and his worst; his most eccentric and exotic; at his most effort and his least, after all. But somehow it does matter. It does matter because he hasn’t seen Louis and Liam in such a long time. It’s maybe not rational, but just… he doesn’t want them to get the wrong idea about the kind of man he’s become, even if that doesn’t make much sense and even if his sense of style hasn’t changed that much over the last seven years – if anything he’s gone in circles, circling through the same phases and styles over the years. He’s more nervous than anything, nervous as though he’s meeting someone for the first time. Somehow he just wants their acceptance. He wants to show them that even through the glam and glamour and the Harry StylesTM from tabloids, interviews, and marketing, he’s still the same down to earth boy he’s always been. He’s still the Harry they remember.
God, he’s pathetic. It’s really a special kind of pathetic, when you’re so pathetic you can even see it yourself. It’s Liam and Louis for god’s sake. Liam’s gonna like him no matter what and if Louis is still hung up on their going-on decade old dislike for each other, then what Harry wears isn’t going to make any difference either way. So.
Harry’s gone through so many styles since he became famous, always quirky, always ready to explore and have fun. He can’t help but appreciate the irony of how fashion trends of the current time have brought him back to essentially the same wardrobe as he left behind in his One Direction days - mixed in with a little bit of everything from his previous eras. He still likes the loose fitting trousers that were a clear marker of his solo days, still loves wild patterns and knits that he’s certain his grandfather could have worn in his young days too. There are some things that he has divided into a pre and post band world, though. Like his short hair. It had a kind of symbolism to it, cutting off his hair after One Direction was over, however much that had also been spurred on by Dunkirk. He sometimes wonders whether he would have cut it if the movie hadn’t been a factor. It’s been a while since his last role in a film, his hair steadily growing back to its former One Direction glory – both fitting and ironic rolled into one. It reaches past his shoulders these days, long enough to be tied into a bun, though not quite the length he had when he grew it out before donating it.
His nowadays more quiet song writing pastime has been marked once more with long curls, buns and quite often also skinny jeans. It’s not that he doesn’t like getting into one of his more or less eccentric touring suits, or that he can’t find comfort in the loose fitting style of trousers, but he squeezed himself back into a pair of skinny jeans six months ago and hasn’t really looked back since - not too often, anyway.
So, yeah, he can appreciate the irony of how today, when reuniting with the band for the first time since the split, he looks more like his One Direction self than he has in seven years.
He reaches for a pair of pants first, figuring that’s as good a start as any. After them follows a pair of tight, black jeans. They’re a bit of a challenge to get into with his still damp legs, but Harry’s done it enough times by now that he should be able to add Skinny Jeans Connoisseur to his CV. Picking the shirt is the hardest part. He’d purposely brought more than he knew he’d need, so he’d have something to choose from depending on what he felt like. He spreads his choices out on the bed, options ranging from a sheer black shirt to a baby blue silk one to one with a loud white and pink floral pattern. He picks up the blue shirt, something about the colour seeming almost soothing. Soft. He pulls it over his naked shoulders and can’t help but smile a bit as the fabric glides over his skin, soft, and smooth, and most of all comfortable. The fit is rather large, but somehow that makes the feeling of wearing it even better. He buttons it up halfway, letting half of his tanned chest peek out. Then he goes on to rummage through one of the inside pockets of his bag for a variety of necklaces and rings. Once he’s donned those he seems fit, he takes a look in the mirror to assess how he looks.
Expensive is the first word that comes to mind when seeing his ensemble. He looks expensive. He also looks good, mind you, but expensive nonetheless. He wonders for a moment what to do with his hair, whether to leave it down or put it up. He tries pulling it back into a bun but quickly shakes it down again when he finds that it doesn’t quite work with the clothes. Then he tries to pull just half of it into a bun, letting the rest of it still fall past his shoulders. He ties a hairband around it, pulling a few strands loose here and there before surveying the result in the mirror. It looks good, he thinks, smiling slightly to himself. At the very least he’ll look good and feel comfortable. It’s a double win; two states of being that don’t always go hand in hand though they very much should.
He finishes the outfit off by coating his lips in a slightly rosy-tinted lip balm and pushing a pair of tortoise sunglasses into his hair. He checks the time on his phone, finding that it’s already a minute past seven, so he hurriedly sprays on a bit of perfume, grabs his wallet and his phone, pushes his feet into a pair of brown, suede Chelsea boots, and hurries out of his room and into their shared common room.
He closes the door behind him and turns around, finding that the three others are there already, apparently only waiting for him. Oops.
“Oh,” he says, startling slightly. He hadn’t thought he was running that late. “Sorry, guess I lost track of time. Didn’t mean to keep you guys waiting.”
“Not at all,” Liam shakes his head, his face splitting into a massive smile. “I only just stumbled out of my room a minute ago.” He shakes his head and takes a step towards Harry, which makes Harry realise that he’s been standing there rooted in front of the door like a loon rather than moving to greet Liam properly. “Bugger that anyway, Harry, come here! I haven’t seen you in ages.”
They meet each other halfway in a tight hug, Harry clutching Liam against him as though he’s trying to make up for all the time they haven’t hugged. “Missed you,” he murmurs into Liam’s neck as he finds that he’s kind of reluctant to let go again. Hugging Liam now only confirms to Harry that he’s probably missed the other man even more than he’d allowed himself to believe.
“Missed you too, man,” Liam says, seeming just as reluctant to let go as Harry is. “Let’s not go so long without seeing each other again, please?”
“No,” Harry agrees, shaking his head slightly. “No, let’s never.”
Liam pulls back and smiles, squeezing Harry’s upper arms once before letting go. Harry’s almost embarrassed to find that the corners of his eyes are slightly damp, but really he shouldn’t have expected anything else.
“Oi, lads,” Niall interrupts them, pretending to wipe away a tear as they turn their attention back to him. “That was beautiful, touched my soul and all. But, really, I’m starving. Can we save the waterworks for after dinner?” He gestures towards the door, and Liam laughs, making his way back towards the other two.
“Please,” Louis says teasingly, drawing Harry’s attention to him, though Louis’ attention is entirely focused on Niall, whom he’s giving a teasing smile. His blue, so, so familiar, eyes are crinkling more than ever at the corners, “After dinner he says. Like you aren’t going to shed a tear over the beauty of your steak the minute the waiter places it in front of you, Neil.”
“I won’t even dignify that with an answer, Tomlinson,” Niall says with a mock sniff, raising his head slightly. He holds the pose for a second before cracking up, throwing his arm around Louis in a one-armed hug, squeezing once before letting go. The complete lack of awkwardness or hesitation only confirms what Harry already knew even without the confirmation – he and Niall haven’t talked about it at all, after all – that Niall and Louis have definitely spent way more time together over the last seven years than Harry and Liam have. But then again, it’s not like Harry expected Niall’s behaviour to be dictated by the rift in the band that Harry and Louis created. He never expected Niall or Liam to pick a side – to be entirely fair, Harry’s lack of contact with Liam is probably more down to himself than to Liam. It had felt weird for him to be with someone who was so openly close to Louis, someone that sometimes – though he’s hardly proud of it – Harry couldn’t help but resent a little for getting the kind of relationship with Louis that was and always will be a pipe dream for Harry.
The sight of Louis and Niall’s interaction so very like one that could have taken place seven years ago does something funny to Harry’s heart.
It’s not until then that Harry gets the opportunity to properly take in Louis. He somehow simultaneously looks exactly the same and so, so different. He’s clearly older than the last time Harry saw him, the crinkles by his eyes slightly deeper and there’s just something about his very being that seems older in the very best way, more settled, more mature. Calm. A kind of calm that he’d never really been able to achieve back when they were still in the band, too energetic, always bubbling, plotting their next act of mischief. There’s not much of the manic energy that used to ooze out of him left. He’s dressed in skinny jeans much like Harry’s apart from the fact that his are dark blue. They’re rolled up, revealing a pair of tanned ankles leading into a pair of black Oxfords. His chest is covered by a nice, thin, fitted black jumper, nearly see-through, and it hits Harry once again how much Louis’ style is exactly the same. PR-image aside, though, Harry knows that Louis’ style has always also had a sense of versatility to it, he’d been up for trying out most things, finding his comfort in jerseys, sports and casual wear, as well as soft jumpers and knits. But then there are also the band t-shirts, the polos, the designer items. Louis’ style is fascinating, and sometimes when Harry's been feeling particularly reminiscent, perhaps halfway into a bottle of red, he’d google Louis just to see what the newest thing he’d come up with was.
It’s strange seeing Louis like this, up close, though. No matter how much like himself Louis looks, no matter how much Harry looks at him and can see him at 18, at 20, at 22, he’s still different from the last time Harry really properly saw him five years ago. The fact that Louis is different, older, probably shouldn’t have come as a surprise seeing as so many years have passed by, and yet…
His hair is swooped back into a lazy quiff, and it’s longer than Harry would have expected it to be, the ends of his hair nearly touching the nape of his neck. He looks so good. Even when Harry doesn’t know where they stand, he can appreciate that Louis looks good, looks gorgeous, looks positively breathtaking. But then again, Louis has always been handsome regardless of whether he was donned out in sweats or dressed to the nines. Sometimes the two had even seemed to be synonymous, his style during the many pap pics when he did his stint as an X Factor judge case in point. Age has clearly only made him better, like he is his very own personal brand of fine wine.
Their eyes finally meet, and Harry desperately hopes Louis was too distracted by Niall to notice how Harry was taking him in. He thinks so, because he doesn’t recognise anything in Louis’ eyes that might indicate that he’d caught Harry – for the lack of a better term – checking him out.
Prior to this moment, Harry hadn’t known what to expect from this first encounter with Louis; should they shake hands, should they hug, should they completely ignore each other? What could he expect to see in Louis’ eyes? Hate? Anger? Indifference? Kindness? He still doesn’t quite know how he’s supposed to react, but he does realise that his emotional reunion with Liam is probably only going to make this one with Louis all the more awkward.
“Come on,” Niall’s voice interrupts Harry’s thoughts once again. “A good steak waits for no one, Harold, better move those legs and come along with us.”
Harry chuckles, can’t do anything but, and finally moves properly towards the others, breaking his focus on Louis who is turning his back to Harry as he makes his way out of the room after Liam. Harry can’t quite figure out whether he should be relieved that whatever showdown was about to happen between him and Louis got postponed or sad that they didn’t just get to rip off the plaster, so to speak, and get it over with. He’s probably going to keep building it up in his head to this massive confrontation until it finally happens, and the longer he gets to ponder it, the more anxious he’s gonna get.
They haven’t even actually greeted each other, which is… weird. He feels simultaneously grateful to Niall for cutting the awkwardness short and slightly annoyed for not helping Harry just get it over with.
He follows the others diligently out of the room and into the lift. He doesn’t know where they’re going for dinner, but he knows that Niall considers himself quite the food connoisseur, so he’ll have prided himself on pre-picking only the best places for them to eat. Wherever it is, it’s bound to be delicious.
Once they’re all in the lift, Harry finds himself somehow having ended up standing next to Louis. Liam and Niall are deep in conversation and Harry steels himself for what will undoubtedly be some very awkward minutes. He very decidedly does not look at Louis.
“Did you fly in from LA?” Louis asks, and for two seconds Harry just keeps staring straight ahead until he realises that Louis is talking to him.
What.
“LA?” he questions dumbly until he fully registers Louis’ question. “Oh, yeah. Yeah, I did.”
“That’s nice,” Louis says, and when Harry chances a look sideways at him, he’s smiling slightly, looking back at Harry. Seems that Louis, too, is in on the ‘let’s-make-this-a-great-weekend-for-Niall-and-be-civil’ plan, though it is kind of odd, Harry has to admit. “No jet lag, then, right?”
“Uh, no,” Harry answers. “I guess not. I’m pretty knackered still, though? Did you, uh, did you fly in from London?”
“No,” Louis says, “Actually, I came in from New York, so the jetlag isn’t too bad for me either, though probably still worse than from LA. It’s nothing I can’t handle after what we went through in the band, though. And I was here early enough to get in a good, long kip.”
“That’s nice,” Harry says, still kind of flabbergasted that they’re even having this conversation right now. Louis hums in reply just as the lift announces their arrival to the main hall with a ping.
They all exit the lift and Harry makes sure to move up next to Niall, slinging his arm around his shoulder. There’s only so much of this weirdness with Louis that he can take. He’s perfectly aware of the fact that he’s being terribly immature, that Louis is clearly making quite the effort in being civil and Harry can’t even handle it. It’s just… it’s so weird? It’s so weird after what’s practically seven or eight years without proper, friendly interaction, and Harry isn’t quite sure he can do it. He isn’t sure he can just pretend like there’s no history between them, like none of it ever happened, and on the other hand this is neither the time nor the place for a heart to heart. He should probably just get his shit together and put in some effort like Louis is clearly doing. It’s only a weekend, he can definitely be friendly towards Louis without some big heart-to-heart for a few days.
“So, Niall, where are you taking us?” he asks, wanting to distract himself from his own thoughts for a moment.
“I am taking you to get the best steak in the entire state of Nevada.” Niall announces grandly, throwing his own arm around Harry. “Chicken and fish, too,” he adds then, “And lots of vegetables, I checked.”
“Yum,” Harry grins. “I’m starving.”
“They’ve got the best béarnaise in town, mate, I swear.”
“Oh, yeah?” Louis interrupts them from the other side of Niall, clearly having overheard their conversation. “You sampled every béarnaise in Las Vegas?”
Niall sticks out his tongue at Louis and says, “So what if I have.” This makes both Harry, Louis and Liam laugh, and Harry can’t quite believe how easy this is yet, how natural it is being back together with the four of them.
Maybe this weekend won’t be so bad after all.
>>>><<<<
The steak, as it happens, is phenomenal, and Harry definitely has no trouble believing that the béarnaise is the best in Las Vegas. Or America, really. Maybe even the world. Harry makes a pretty good one himself, but it can’t quite reach the level of this one. He figures that’s alright though, he isn’t a chef with a Michelin star under his belt, after all. He very rarely eats meat these days, but sometimes he makes an exception, and more than anything this seems like the time to do it – even if Niall had been kind enough to ensure alternatives.
Conversation has been going surprisingly well, much to Harry’s relief. There’s never a dull moment with Niall, and it’s been great catching up with Liam, hearing first hand what the other man has been up to lately. Harry had ended up seated between Liam and Niall at the restaurant, which had given him ample opportunity to catch up with both. He grilled Niall about wedding plans, and Liam about how Bear’s doing, and his once again on/off relationship with Sophia. Apparently, it’s been very much on for the past year, and Harry figures they probably aren’t far off from an engagement either, not with the way Liam is talking. Huh. Harry still remembers right around the time they’d started their hiatus, when the break up between Liam and Sophia was still fresh, and Liam had confessed to him, drunk off his arse, that he still thought Sophia was it for him. It’s strange to think about the fact that in between then and now, there’s a relationship with Cheryl Cole as well as a son in Liam’s history, but, well, Harry’s happy to know that Liam had been right after all. Maybe it really is true that when you know, you just know. Harry’s already looking forward to seeing her again at the wedding. And Bear, of course – though that probably won’t be at the wedding. The thought that Liam was to end the first dad in One Direction would probably have surprised 2015 Harry more than it should have - ironically, though, it probably wouldn’t have surprised 2011 Harry all that much. He tries not to think about how little of Bear he’s seen since his birth. He can’t help but find it sad, it sure isn’t how he’d imagined his relationship with the other boys’ kids would be. But then again, Louis is Bear’s godfather, and Harry had never really felt like a large amount of involvement was his place considering that. Especially not when he saw so little of Liam as it was. However, like a clichéd estranged family member, he made sure to send Bear the most brilliant gifts he could think of every year for Christmas and his birthday. And who knew, maybe after this trip, if Liam was truly serious about seeing Harry more, Harry could become a bigger part of his pseudo-nephew’s life. He has a growing feeling that Louis wouldn’t mind.
With the steak and béarnaise devoured along with more bottles of red wine than Harry has the conscience to count (nor, currently, the concentration or mathematical prowess considering how his mind is already swimming), they’ve moved on to a bar that Niall ensures them has the best tequila in town (Harry’s starting to sense a theme of this weekend Niall has planned). He’s ended up seated between Niall and Louis this time, but he’s had no direct interaction with Louis since their brief conversation in the lift. It has left him in an odd state, constantly knowing that at any time Louis could technically speak to him, that they’re not not speaking. It’s like a constant limbo, really, and if this is how it’s going to continue for the rest of the weekend, Harry’s gonna wind up with a massive headache that he can’t just blame on the booze.
“You know,” Louis says, and it takes Harry several moments to understand that Louis is talking to him, that Niall and Liam are otherwise occupied arguing over god knows what with each other, that he’s the only one in their general vicinity that Louis actually could be talking to. “I always figured that you’d be the first one to get married.”
Harry’s not proud of it, but he kind of splutters at Louis’ words, because just… “What?!” he asks, taken aback both by the fact that Louis still seems like he has no trouble talking to Harry like it’s perfectly normal for them to speak, like they’ve done nothing but for the last seven years and not literally the exact opposite. And, also, of course, taken aback by the fact that Louis thought Harry’d be getting married first. Harry. Harry, who has never even been able to make anyone interested in him enough to actually stick around. Harry, who has barely even reached the one-month mark with anyone, whose longest relationship lasted all of three months, most of which were spent on two different continents. Harry, who everyone seems to want a bit of on the surface, but when it comes down to it, no one actually wants him. What an absolute joke.
Louis looks kind of shocked at Harry’s reaction, which, well, Harry supposes that does make sense. “Erhm,” Louis says, offering a tiny shrug and a timid smile. “I said that I’d always imagined that yours would be the first wedding we attended.”
“ Why?” Harry can’t help but ask, completely flabbergasted. He doesn’t have a clue what in their seven year estrangement could possibly have given Louis the idea that Harry was going to get married anytime this century – that Harry was going to get married ever, really.
“Well,” Louis starts, a small frown etched into his features. He looks around a bit as though he’s finally come to regret having engaged Harry in conversation. Harry supposes that with the way he’s contributed to their conversations so far, it isn’t really all that odd for Louis to feel a bit put out. It’s typical Harry, really, even when Louis is taking the high road, making an effort, actually choosing to let bygones be bygones probably for the sake of Niall, Harry can’t even engage in polite conversation. He’s the biggest idiot, really. The absolute biggest.
Louis clears his throat. “I don’t know,” he says, slightly helplessly. “You just always wanted the whole family, wedding, happily ever after thing. And, like, you always wanted it early. So I guess I just always assumed that as soon as you were out, marriage, and a husband, and a family wouldn’t be far off.”
Harry snorts, though not unkindly. It’s just an automatic reaction because, well, Louis is right. Harry always did want a family early, did want the happily ever after. Apparently that’s just not meant to be. “I wish,” he tells Louis self-deprecatingly. “But as the tabloids love to report on, Harry Styles isn’t someone people want to settle down with.”
Louis’ frown deepens. “I always thought those were just like… I don’t know, cover stories? I guess I always assumed you had a serious boyfriend but you just preferred to keep your love life out of the spotlight or something.”
Harry shakes his head. “Nah, turns out ‘I don’t comment on my love life’ doesn’t have to be code for ‘I’m in a serious relationship’. It can also just mean ‘I’ve been miserably single for my entire life, I’d prefer not to discuss it, thanks’.” Harry says wryly. He’s become an ace at making jokes at his own expense. It’s a true and special talent, that is.
Louis doesn’t laugh though, not like Harry had expected him to. It’s another reminder that they really don’t know each other at all. “I don’t—“ Louis starts, but Harry interrupts him.
“I guess I’m just not marriage material,” he says, suddenly desperate to end this trail of conversation. He knows all of these things perfectly well without Louis having to remind him that he’s alone and lonely when literally the whole world expected him to have a partner by now. Somehow it hurts even more that Louis expected him to have found someone by now and that Harry’s proven himself to be so wholly inadequate at that too. “What about—“ he starts, wanting to deflect from himself when Niall suddenly interrupts.
“Who’s not marriage material?” He asks curiously.
“You, Nialler,” Louis answers with a laugh before Harry can even open his mouth. He chances a look at Louis, but the other man isn’t looking his way, rather he’s laughing at Niall’s incredulous face.
“Oi!” Niall says, scrounging his face up. He doesn’t seem half as offended as he’s pretending to be, though. “That’s not very nice, Tommo. For that you definitely owe me a pint tonight.”
“I’ll pay for all your pints tonight, Niall,” Louis says with a laugh. “You can consider that my wedding present for you.”
“Don’t think Sara’s gonna like that present much, mate,” Liam says with a grin. “Might want to come up with something for her too then.”
“I’ll finance all her drinking at her hen do too, then,” Louis says, as though that’s a perfectly normal wedding gift. The corners of his eyes are crinkling though, so Harry suspects that even after all this time that still means that Louis is joking. Seems that some things don’t change, despite everything.
“Whoa, Liam,” Niall says, mock-serious, “Don’t knock a good gift of beer, thanks. Don’t think you need to be Irish to appreciate that. What do you say, Harry? Wouldn’t you love to get an unlimited night of Guinness as a wedding present?”
“Can’t think of anything I’d rather have, actually.” Harry says dryly, the corners of his lips turning up.
“See there, Payno,” Louis says haughtily. “Even Harry agrees that my gift is vastly superior to whatever blender you might give Niall and Sara.”
Harry tunes out the argument that ensues between Liam and Louis when Liam loudly proclaims that he’s definitely not getting Niall and Sara a blender. He’s still a bit thrown over his conversation with Louis. A little thrown that they’ve even spoken, really. Half of him pretty much expected that they would just mutually ignore that the other was there all weekend, a sort of joint symbiotic agreement of disregarding the other. That Louis has already broken that twice is throwing Harry a bit for a loop, if he’s completely honest. The rest of this weekend suddenly feels as though it’s on even more shaky ground. Do they pretend to be friends now? Do they just ignore the last seven plus years of silence and bad blood? Louis isn’t the type to just forgive and forget, so why’s he suddenly talking to Harry like it’s 2012 and they’re still best friends?
Okay, maybe that’s a hyperbole; really Louis was just making polite conversation. It is probably for Niall’s sake anyway, like Louis is just being a grown-up. Harry doesn’t want to ruin Niall’s weekend either, so it was really quite decent of him. Still, it leaves Harry feeling unsettled, unsure. If there’s anything he’s felt confident about these past seven years, it’s the fact that Louis Tomlinson had little love left over for Harry, however sad that made him. However much he tried (and failed in equal amounts) to convince himself that it was reciprocated from him.
Niall’s foot nudges Harry’s, bringing him out of his reverie. Harry looks over at him, answering Niall’s concerned raise of his eyebrows with a smile of his own. He’s okay. Really, he is. He just needs to learn not to let Louis have so much power over him. However Louis treats him – good, or bad, or just plain weird – Harry vows not to let it impact the way he’ll act on this trip, he just needs to stop thinking about it so much, needs to stop reading so much into every single twitch of Louis’ eyebrows. He wants to make this the best weekend possible for Niall, he really, really does. Maybe, somehow, he can also bury the hatchet with Louis sometime during this weekend. As utopic as it sounds, he finds himself thinking that that, too, would be very, very nice.
“Alright, lads,” Louis says, putting a tray in the middle of the table. Harry hadn’t even noticed that Louis had gone up to the bar. He takes in the items on the tray; a big bottle of gold tequila, a bowl topped high with slices of both lemon and lime and a saltshaker. Harry supposes that means that the night is truly beginning. He’s never had the biggest tolerance for tequila, nor liked the taste of it all that much, but he supposes that if there was ever a time where a hangover would be okay the next day, it’s after a stag do in Vegas.
“YES!” Niall says, doing a theatrical fist pump much to the others’ amusement. “Let’s get this party started.” Niall grabs the salt shaker then, readying himself for his first tequila shot before handing it to Harry.
Harry accepts it, licking a small patch on his hand and pouring salt on it before setting it next to Louis on his right. Louis is in the midst of pouring four shots of the amber liquid. Harry accepts the bowl of citrus from Niall then, taking a moment to contemplate whether he’d like the sourness of the lemon or the bitterness of the lime, before deciding on a slice of lemon and passing it on to Louis too in return for one of the now filled shot glasses.
“Okay,” Louis says, raising his shot glass in mock salute. “I wanna say a few words before we throw this one back and get the night properly started. I wanna…” Louis pauses for a moment, a mischievous smile taking over his face before continuing, “I wanna take a moment.” He pauses theatrically. “I wanna talk about memory. No– better yet, I wanna talk about selective memory.”
“Tommo!” Niall interrupts with a laugh, shaking his head. He seems to have gotten it moments before it dims for Harry. Of course Niall would get it first. Louis smirks at Niall as only someone who’s memorised most of Bradley Cooper’s speech from The Hangover would. Harry supposes it’s fitting enough all in all.
“You see,” Louis continues grandly, ignoring Niall’s outburst. “Whatever happens here tonight may as well never have happened at all. Because this circle is about as far as it’s gonna go. In other words: forget everything,” he tips his shots glass at them, raising it in a toast, smiling slightly as they parrot him. “To a night we’ll never remember,” he announces grandly. “But the four of us will never forget.”
Harry licks the salt off his hand, knocks back the shot of tequila and finishes off by biting into the slice of lemon. He slams back his shot glass onto the table in harmony with the other four boys.
“One more,” Niall shouts, and Louis is already obliging, reaching out for each of their shot glasses.
If Harry had known that come morning he’d remember nothing of the night from here onwards, he’d probably have stopped after that first shot. Hell, he’d probably not even have had that. But reality is, he knocks back another one, and then another, and another, and another…