Work Text:
Liam never really understood sunsets before Harry. She’d thought they were pretty, is all. The kind of thing you glance up at once in a while. The kind of thing that exists for backdrops in cheesy movies, or to use as a metaphor in the type of novels she’d read for GCSE English. She hadn’t thought that they were for real people.
Then again, sometimes she’s not quite sure that Harry is a real person.
Harry has an alarm set on her phone to go off in this dreamy sort of tune a couple of minutes before the sun is scheduled to set. She checks the forecast for it every morning between sips of tea, when they’re both bleary eyed and quiet, before either of them have really opened up to the thought of a new day. Harry is already making sure she doesn’t miss the close of it.
They’re not posh enough to have a real view. Mostly it’s just of the neighbour’s dustbins, and Roofcat, their black tabby from the flat opposite that never seems to go back inside, always wanders lazily along the tiled edge of the roof opposite them. Above that, though, they’ve got a sliver of sky cut with two power lines. Liam can always find Harry here as the day draws to a close, chin tilted up, eyes wide and trained on the changing sky.
This evening, Liam joins Harry with steaming mugs of tea. She arrives just as the clouds start to stain the softest orange at the edges. The concrete floor is rough where she settles down, cold through the thin fabric of her panama bottoms. Harry’s got her long legs all tangled, chin resting on her knees, fingertips absently tracing the tattoos across her ankles. Her forehead pressed to the robust iron railings. Their tea sits quietly beside.
“What are you doing?” says Liam, quietly. She can’t help the smile when Harry turns to blink at her like she’s been caught midway through an intense train of thought.
“Oh,” says Harry, a little smile starting at the sight of Liam’s. Liam likes that, that they can make each other happy so easily. “If you put your forehead right in the middle of the railing, you can see the whole sky without anything in the way.”
Liam laughs, scooting a little closer to the edge of the balcony to press her forehead to the railing, looking up to witness the water-colour stain of pink lighting the strip of sky between the dark lines of the two buildings. “You’re right,” says Liam, “you’re so smart.” It should sound like a joke. Half the time Harry is too ridiculous for anything you say to her not to be a joke. It never comes out quite right for Liam, though.
Liam glances over to see Harry smiling at her again, dimples appearing. Harry’s got her hair up in two haphazard space buns, and all the little flyways look unfairly pretty in the evening light, even though she’s got spot cream on her chin. Harry reaches over and pokes Liam’s thigh in lieu of saying anything, and then turns back to watch the sky, fingers curling around her mug to take a slow sip.
Harry watches the sky, and Liam watches Harry.
———
“You owe me six pounds for this,” says Harry, shaking the box of hair dye in front of Zayn’s face. Liam sits on the floor beside the chair they’d forced through the small bathroom door earlier, her back against the frosted glass of the shower, a packet of crisps in her lap.
In the reflection of the mirror, Liam can see Zayn roll her eyes. “We’ll see about you getting paid once I see the dye job.”
Harry frowns.
“That’s fair,” says Liam easily, just so see Harry pout.
“Stop being so mean,” says Harry, pulling on the gloves. She forgets to hold a grudge the moment she opens the box - “Are you sure you’re sure about this?”
“You were the one who talked me into it,” says Zayn, shifting to eye Harry over her shoulder. Their bathroom is quite small, there’s not much room for manoeuvring properly.
“I know,” says Harry, looking so worried that Liam thinks about suggesting they call the whole thing off.
“You said you’ve done this before,” says Zayn, eyebrows raised.
“I have, sometimes it doesn’t go very well!”
There’s a quiet kind of panic settling in Zayn’s eyes.
“Alright,” Liam says finally, pushing the crisps off her lap and standing up. She reaches above Harry to prop open the skylight, and then rests a steadying hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Has that got any instructions in it?”
Harry pulls them out and hands them over, still looking a bit worried. Liam wants to brush her thumb over the furrows in her brow. She doesn’t - Zayn is watching them nervously in the mirror’s reflection.
“So,” says Liam, “I’ll read these, so all Harry has to worry about is being careful with your hair.” Liam peers down at the instructions. “First, put the gloves on.”
Harry does as she’s told, pinching one of Zayn’s cheeks quickly once they’re on to make Zayn squawk. “Be serious, please,” says Liam mildly. Harry smiles at her, endlessly distracting, until Liam realises that they’re both waiting for the next instruction. “Oh,” she says, looking down at the booklet, “You’ve got to be careful, yeah? ‘Cause you’re only doing a bit of her hair. You’ve got to section it off.”
“Where do you want it, Zayn?” says Harry gamely, running her gloved fingers through the ends of Zayn’s hair. “I think here would look nice.” She sections off a piece of hair just a little ways back from where the ends of Zayn’s blunt cut frame her face.
Zayn tilts forward a bit, brows furrowed like she’s trying to imagine it, fingers coming up to fuss with the strands in that nervous way she has when she’s thinking too much.
“It’s going to look too naff, isn’t it,” Zayn says, eyes shifting between them.
“No, it’s not,” says Harry.
“If you really don’t want to, Zee-“ starts Liam, but Harry cuts her off with an arm around Liam’s shoulders and a hand over her mouth. Liam quiets, content to let them talk it out.
“Zayn,” says Harry, quite seriously, “Look me in my eyes.”
Zayn’s mouth is pinched, and she untangles her hair from Harry’s fingers. “Haz-“
“Malik, are you looking in my eyes?” Harry doesn’t look threatening in the way she might like to think she does. Instead, Liam can see the way Zayn relaxes, smile softening at the corners of her eyes. Liam skates her fingertips over Harry’s wrist until Harry’s hand slips from her mouth and her arm rests comfortably around Liam’s shoulders. Liam threads their fingers together, rubbing her thumb over the powdery rubber gloves.
“I’m looking,” says Zayn, with a reluctant little sigh, which means she’s already given over to Harry’s way of thinking.
“This will not be a mistake,” says Harry seriously. Zayn doesn’t look completely convinced, but she looks like she doesn’t mind either way anymore, content to just let Harry be Harry, and do what she wants with Zayn’s hair. Harry is not satisfied. “Say it.”
“This won’t be a mistake,” says Zayn, managing to make it sound contrary.
“Liam?” says Harry, looking at her expectantly. Liam winds her arm around Harry’s waist, letting herself fit to the warmth of Harry’s side.
“You’ll be fine,” says Liam. “You’ll look gorgeous anyway, even if it does end up looking like you’ve got a banana hanging from your scalp.” It sounds like she’s joking, but she’s actually not.
Harry nods, looking serious. Zayn groans.
“You lot are no help,” says Zayn, “stop cuddling and do my hair.”
Liam smiles, nosing softly at Harry’s shoulder for a moment, Harry’s hand fingertips brushing her hip as they pull apart.
“You’re singlehandedly going to make the blonde streak relevant again,” says Harry, determination showing in the set of her jaw.
“It was never relevant,” Zayn sighs, settling into the chair, but not before demanding that Liam pass her the crisps. “Moral support,” Zayn declares, settling them on her lap.
“I thought that’s what I was here for,” says Liam.
“I don’t feel very morally supported,” says Zayn, stuffing a handful of crisps into her mouth.
“That’s alright,” says Harry, stuffing her mouth full of bobby pin ends while she concentrates on carefully pinning Zayn’s hair, “you can be mine.”
“Alright,” says Liam, “I’ll be yours, then.” She ducks her head to read over the instructions again, hopes no one glances up to see the blush rising in her cheeks.
———
“Liam!” shouts Harry into the phone. Liam has to hold it away from her ear for a moment.
“Hello, Harry,” she replies, in a normal tone of voice. She’s already smiling, cheeks warming from Harry’s excitement alone. Christ, she’s gone for her.
“Guess what,” says Harry. She sounds a bit breathless, like she’s been running.
Liam sits up a little more from where she’d been curled up on the couch with her laptop on her stomach, watching youtube videos. “You got the job?”
There’s some incomprehensible yelling from Harry’s end, which sounds more excited than a call for help - or at least that’s what Liam tells herself. “Harry?”
There’s some more noises, and then the call ends abruptly.
A few seconds later, there’s the sound of the elevator arriving at the landing, and the furious jingle of keys as someone tries to open the door. Harry comes bursting in, phone in one hand, a bottle of wine in the other. A ring of keys dangles from her mouth, and she makes a muffled sound through her keyring that might be words. Liam marvels sometimes at the way Harry can look endlessly glamorous, and then do things like this.
Harry lets the keys drop from her mouth, where they land at her feet. “Forgot there’s no signal in the elevator.” She follows Liam’s gaze down to the dropped keys. “Sorry,” she says, “I’ll pick them up.”
“You can pay people to do that now, I think.”
Harry laughs, loud and beautiful, and Liam’s breath catches quietly for a second. A moment later, she’s got a lapful of Harry Styles, and is breathless for a different reason - namely an elbow to the stomach. Liam gathers her up into a hug, and Harry giggles, curling against her, bottle of wine clutched to her chest.
“What’s that for, then,” says Liam.
Harry shifts to settle against Liam properly, but they’re tangled up wrong. “Celebrating,” says Harry. She shifts off Liam, and arranges both their limbs until they can fit together comfortably. Harry lets out a little sigh of contentment.
“I’ve got a job,” she says, running her hands over Liam’s bare legs on either side of her. Liam winds her arms around Harry’s waist and rests her chin on Harry’s shoulder.
“You’re proper responsible,” says Liam. “An upstanding citizen.”
Harry grins. Liam can see the curl of her smile in profile. She kisses Harry’s cheek and Harry laughs. God, Liam loves her quite a lot. She smells like that expensive perfume she used to always steal off Zayn before Zayn just bought it for her for Christmas. She’s got her hair in two french braids that Liam had done for her this morning, sharing a piece of toast with Harry, bite by bite, trying to make Harry stay still long enough to finish putting the hairbands in.
“I’m proud of you, babe,” says Liam. Harry drops a kiss on Liam’s cheek in return.
“Thanks,” she says, and then wiggles forward to grab the bottle of wine from where she’d put it on the table. “Now I have a steady flow of income, you don’t ever have to worry about me turning down the heating again.”
“I knew that was you,” says Liam, “you’re such a twat.”
“Liam!” says Harry, turning in her lap to face her.
“The landlord, my arse! You’ve been bloody sneaking around, turning down the heating so you don’t have to pay the bill,” Liam says, pulling Harry closer. Even if she’s a bit miffed about having to wear thick jumpers around the flat for the last few months, she can’t help but miss Harry when she doesn’t get to touch her.
“I did it for us,” Harry insists, but she’s giggling.
“You’re a terror,” says Liam, lacing their fingers together.
Harry ignores her with a smile, fitting the bottle of wine between her thighs and popping open the top.
“Harry, its four in the afternoon.” says Liam.
“Five o’clock somewhere,” says Harry, which is largely redundant, because its 5pm the next timezone over. “We don’t have to drink the whole thing. It’s screw top.”
“Oh that’s all right then,” Liam says, “if it’s a screw top.”
“You’re a screw top,” says Harry.
Liam pouts until Harry apologises, passing her the bottle of wine.
“You can have the first sip.”
Liam sighs, and accepts the offered bottle.
“Alright,” she says, “just this once.” They both know she’s lying.
*
A few hours later, they’re bundled up in the soft blanket Harry usually has draped over her bed, sitting out on their balcony. Liam had gone to sit in a separate chair, like a normal person, but Harry had pouted until Liam came to squish in beside her, too many elbows and knees tucked up under the thick purple blanket.
“I’m so lucky,” Harry says quietly. Opposite, Roofcat lazes in the weak light of a London evening in the late autumn.
“It’s not luck,” says Liam. Her nose is cold, but Harry’s radiates warmth in the same way she seems to radiate light: with an effortlessness that should be intimidating, but it’s just soft - sweet, familiar. Liam tucks her nose against Harry’s neck. “You deserve this job, yeah? You’re perfect for it.”
Under the blanket, Harry’s fingers find their way under Liam’s top, curling into the softness at Liam’s hips. Harry’s cheek presses against hers and it feels like a quiet thank you.
“I mean,” says Harry, “I love home, obviously, but it’s not London, you know?” Harry talks even slower with alcohol in her veins. Liam knows that other people get annoyed by it, but Liam’s always appreciated Harry’s approach to life. There’s no hurry. They’re here. Liam never wants to be anywhere else.
“Yeah,” says Liam quietly. They sky is gathering slowly, clouds moving across the space between the two roofs above with a purpose, pushed by the wind. They’re sheltered here, in the lee of the breeze. In the block of flats across from them, someone’s TV is on. There’s washing put out to dry on the balcony opposite.
“I just get a bit of both, I suppose. I get to work towards my dream job, get to have a home in Cheshire, and a home here.” Harry pauses, looking up at their line of sky. “Get to have you.” It sounds like a question, so Liam hums an affirmation against Harry’s skin. “Lucky,” says Harry.
Harry always gets romantic after half a bottle of red wine. She means it, Liam knows. Harry is in love with life, in love with love. In love with the sunset, and beautiful things, and Liam’s friendship.
The blanket starts to slip, and Harry’s hands leave Liam’s hips to curl around the edge of it. She taps the cross tattoo at the curve of the inside of her thumb. “Feels like too much, almost.”
Liam feels too warm from the wine and the steady weight of Harry’s body curled against hers in the chair. She can smell the deep warmth of wine on Harry’s exhales when Harry talks: “I’ve been thinking about the nights I used to lie awake and think about what kind of future I would have. I’d try to plan it. Wanted to sing, or have famous friends, you know? Wanted to be someone.”
Liam thinks about how ridiculously cliche it would be to say ‘you are someone’. She is neither as drunk or a sober as she wishes she was.
“I’m the happiest I’ve ever been, though, Li,” says Harry, nudging her nose against Liam’s cheek. For a blinding moment, Liam thinks Harry might kiss her, but it passes.
“Such a sap,” says Liam, softly. Harrys quiet phone alarm goes off just as light starts to gather, pink, around the dark outline of the roof opposite. Dimly, Liam can still hear Harry’s Britney playlist going on in the background, left on from when they had a bit of a celebratory dance around the kitchen.
They sit quietly and watch the sunset. Liam watches Harry, too. Watches the changing light play over the dip and curve of her chin, the line of her brow bone.
They stay there for an age - long past the fade of sunlight, until Liam knows that there must be stars hidden beyond the dark layer of light pollution from the buzz of London streets. She finds eventually, that Harry has fallen asleep on her shoulder.
Liam nudges Harry awake carefully. “Bed?” she suggests, strangely wide awake, despite the fact that it feels so late. Harry hums her consent, content to let Liam rearrange her limbs and pull her inside, into the warmth of their flat. “Isn’t life better with the heat on?” says Liam, cheeky. Harry grunts, pressing herself to Liam’s back with her arms looped around Liam’s shoulders so that they have to waddle together towards Harry’s room.
“Carry me,” mumbles Harry.
“Can’t,” says Liam, not unkindly. “You’re a giraffe.”
Harry looks sleepily affronted. “We’re the same height.” She lifts her leg to wind it awkwardly around Liam’s waist, letting more of her weight drop onto Liam’s hips, her shoulders.
“Hazza,” sighs Liam, fingers pulling without much conviction at Harry’s wrists.
“Liam” whines Harry. They’re about ten steps away from Harry’s bedroom.
“C’mon then, you great lump,” huffs Liam. Harry laughs, subdued from the edge of sleep in her voice, and jumps onto Liam, clinging to her like a koala, leaning her head on Liam’s shoulder. It takes a moment for them both to get sorted, Liam’s arm coming to support the tight grip of Harry’s thighs around her waist. She stumbles a bit, but gets her balance enough to make her way through the door to Harry’s bedroom, and deposit her in an undignified heap on the bed.
Harry sprawls out, eyes closed as she fumbles for the button on her jeans. Lifts her hips to push them down around her thighs. “Liam,” she pouts, and Liam giggles, fingertips grazing the stubble on Harry’s thighs to tug her jeans down, almost falling on her arse when they come off Harry’s feet. Liam pulls Harry’s socks off too as Harry tugs of her top, rolling onto her tummy to present Liam with her bra clasp.
“Lazy,” remarks Liam. Harry hums in agreement, tugging her bra off and throwing it across the room when Liam’s done. She’s sprawled half on the bed, fading tan washed out under the soft gaze of the moon through the blinds. The line of her back is so lovely. Liam catches herself halfway through reaching out to run her fingertips down Harry’s spine.
“Are you staying?” mumbles Harry, eyes still closed, cheek smudged against the sheets.
Liam thinks of her empty bed, feels a bit sad at the thought of cold sheets and no company. No Harry.
“Yeah, go on,” says Liam, “let me get you a top.”
Harry groans. Liam catches the shift in her shoulders as Harry starts to turn around, and she pulls her eyes to Harry’s dresser, tugs out one of her own tops from last year’s volleyball team. She doesn’t make a comment about Harry adopting her top, because it’s nothing Liam herself hasn’t done before. She chucks it at Harry without looking, and pulls off her own jeans to the sound of Harry’s obnoxious whistle. Liam glances down at her pants, to find that they’re a lacy black pair. She rolls her eyes, feels her cheeks heat, and shakes her arse a bit as she rummages through Harry’s drawers for another top, just to hear Harry’s delighted laugh.
Harry continues to make noises of appreciation as Liam gets undressed, pulling on one of Harry’s tops. “Shut it,” says Liam, smiling. She tugs the hairband out of her hair, runs her fingers through her braid to loosen it. She knows Harry hasn’t put on the top yet.
“Liam,” says Harry, suddenly quieter. Liam doesn’t turn. “Liam.”
“What,” says Liam, heat rolling in the depths of her stomach. Her heart thumps disconcertingly in her chest. Christ, Liam thinks, Christ.
“Turn around,” Harry says, in that same tone. Liam doesn’t know what it means. She runs her fingers through her hair again, turns. Harry’s lying up against the pillows with the rumpled top just covering her chest. Liam was right, she hasn’t put it on yet, and the the wings of the birds tattooed across her ribs are just visible. Her pants cling to the softness at her hips, and her legs are long and ridiculous, toes curled into the bedspread, dimpled grin on her face as she takes Liam in. “Are we gonna shag?” she says abruptly.
It startles Liam into laughter, and she takes a little running jump onto the bed, landing next to Harry with a huff, and digs her fingers into Harry’s sides until Harry shrieks and squirms away, laughter in her voice.
They lie there for a few moments, once Harry has recovered. They’re grinning at each other, sharing the same wide pillow. Harry has ridiculous pillows. Huge, and soft and enough to disappear into.
Harry breaks the silence. “Are we gonna shag now?”
Liam lets out another laugh, shifting properly onto her back to look away from Harry. “Tart,” she accuses with a smile, glancing over to see Harry’s answering one.
“You didn’t wear these for me?” says Harry, fingertips skating the exposed skin of Liam’s tummy, above the edge of Liam’s pants. Liam suddenly feels hot all over, but she curls her fingers into the pillowcase, eyes on Harry, smiling like it’s a joke. Maybe it is. It doesn’t quite feel like one.
“No,” says Liam lightly. Harry’s hand falls to the mattress between them. Her smile turns soft.
“Shame,” she says.
Liam hums, and then shifts onto her side, away from Harry. “Night,” she says, reaching behind her blindly to pinch Harry’s still-bare tummy to hear her squawk. “Put your top on.”
She hears Harry’s huff, and then the rustle of her doing as she’s told. There’s a few moments of silence, and then Harry pokes her sharply in the back.
“Cuddle me,” Harry demands, voice rough with the pull of sleep, and Liam couldn’t say no even if she wanted to. A little smile curls at her mouth and she turns to wind her arms around Harry’s waist, happy to have Harry settle back against her. Her fingers spread over Harry’s stomach, holding her through the soft cotton of her top.
“Congrats on the job, babe,” says Liam, nose pressed between Harry’s shoulder blades, just below the nape of her neck.
“Thanks, Li,” says Harry, fingertips tracing the back of Liam’s hand. There’s a soft pause. “Night.” There’s a smile hidden in drag of her voice.
“Night, Haz,” says Liam, dropping a light kiss to the skin just above the scooped neck of the top. It feels all at once too vulnerable, and too safe. Harry exhales a sweet little sigh, and settles further into the pillow, finds her place in Liam’s arms.
They fall asleep like that, legs tangled, moon quiet behind the open slats of the blinds.
———
The next morning, Liam stops abruptly on the way to the laundromat, and has a small crisis on a street corner.
She pulls out her phone, and presses Zayn’s name with cold fingers. It rings four or five times before Zayn finally picks up.
“What,” says Zayn, when she answers. She’s still annoyed about the disaster Harry made of dying her hair. Somehow that annoyance extends to Liam, who hadn’t even touched the hair dye, thank you very much.
“Hi,” says Liam, feet shifting on the pavement as she accidentally catches the eyes of someone walking by. She ducks her head, and toes at a piece of gum, blackened and melded into the concrete.
There must be something in her voice - maybe it’s the blind panic - but Zayn softens. “What’s up, babe?”
“Where are you?” says Liam, worrying her bottom lip.
“Hairdresser,” says Zayn, flat, but not unkind.
“Oh,” says Liam, “sorry.”
“S’alright,” says Zayn, “are you okay?”
Liam sighs, trying to sort it all out in her head before she can make an awful mess of it out loud. She thinks she’s got it all organised, but she just says: “I’m in love with Harry.”
Zayn hums in agreement.
“Zayn.”
“We both knew that already, babe,” says Zayn, the hint of a smile in her voice.
Liam huffs, leaning back against the grotty wall of a building. “It’s quite bad,” she says finally, “it’s a bit of a mess.”
“What happened?” says Zayn patiently. There’s a voice in the background, and then Zayn says: “Sorry babe, d’you mind if I put you on speaker? I’ve got someone trying to do my hair.”
“Sorry,” says Liam again, sounding a bit miserable, “yeah, go on, might as well.”
“This is my hairdresser,” says Zayn, apologetically.
“Hello,” comes a second, brighter voice. “I’m Niall.” Liam feels a bit hectic.
“Hello, Niall,” says Liam. She can’t decide if she wants to break down, or laugh at the situation she’s got herself into now.
“You’ve made a bit of a mess of Zayn’s hair, haven’t you,” says Niall cheerfully.
“That was my friend, actually,” says Liam, regretful as she adjusts her scarf, fingers looping through the knot nervously.
“Harry,” clarifies Zayn.
“Ah,” says Niall, “go on then.”
“I just-“ Liam starts, frustrated, “I don’t know if she knows or not. I feel like she must. She must, yeah? I’m not exactly - Christ, I’m not exactly good at hiding it, am I?”
Zayn says nothing, which means she agrees. Liam barrels on, regardless. “She keeps - you know, she keeps saying these things yeah, and sometimes I’m all caught up in her, and I’ll think it’s just me, and then she’ll do something, and I’ll think, you know, well maybe it’s not?” She lets out a huff of air. “Maybe it’s not just me? But maybe it is? Fuck.” She presses her hand against her forehead like it will help her get her thoughts in order. “Last night we shared a bottle of wine, ‘cause she got that job at the gallery she was after,” says Liam.
“Good on her,” says Zayn, she sounds just as proud as Liam has been feeling.
“Yeah,” says Liam. “She’s brilliant.”
There’s a pause, and then Liam groans. “See?” she says, “completely bloody gone on her.”
Zayn lets out a soft laugh, which makes Liam feel a bit better.
“So last night,” continues Liam, “we were out watching the sunset, an’ that.”
“Romantic,” says Niall.
Liam presses her fingers to the furrow in her brow.
“Only a bit,” she can hear Zayn say, “it’s a Harry thing.”
“Exactly!” says Liam. A woman gives her an odd glance as she passes by. Liam can’t find it in herself to feel embarrassed beyond what’s happening already. “Well, except she said she’s the happiest she’s ever been.”
Liam pauses to let that sink in.
“Because of you, or the job?” says Zayn.
“I don’t know!” says Liam, exasperated. “Both, probably, but I’m a significant factor!”
“Li, babe,” says Zayn, “calm down a bit, yeah?” Liam takes a steadying breath. “Is that it? You’re a little worked up, love.”
Liam glares at the sidewalk. She acknowledges that she’s probably a bit dramatic over this.
“She’s so-“ says Liam, and then can’t come up with a single word to describe her.
“Ridiculous?” offers Zayn.
Liam lets out a breath, smile working it’s way reluctantly onto her face. “Yeah.” There’s another pause. “She also suggested we have sex.”
“What?” says Zayn sharply. She hears another noise, which might have been a gasp from Niall. “You are getting way too into this, mate,” Zayn admonishes.
“Who, me?” says Liam.
“Nah, meant Niall.”
“Sorry,” says Niall, but Liam can hear the accompanying smile. “This is better than Made in Chelsea.”
“Is not,” says Zayn, who watches the show religiously with her flatmate, Louis.
“Can you lot just-“ Liam huffs, “she asked if I wanted to shag, and she wasn’t serious. I don’t think.”
“You never can tell, with Harry, if I’m honest,” says Zayn.
“That’s the thing,” says Liam, despairing. “I don’t think she meant it, but believe me, if I thought she did, I would have in a second.”
Zayn sighs. “I just don’t know, babe. Maybe-” she hesitates, “maybe you should just tell her?”
Panic crawls settles over the back of Liam’s tongue, and she makes an embarrassing little noise deep in her throat.
“I know,” says Zayn. Just the tone of her voice is enough to calm Liam down a bit. “Harry loves you either way, yeah? It’s either that, or tell her you need some space.
Liam’s shaking her head before Zayn even finishes the thought. “That would be a disaster.”
“For both of you, yeah,” says Zayn. “You’ve got to tell her, babe.”
Liam swallows. She’s standing on a street corner with a bag of laundry in one hand, looking like a loon.
“Yeah,” she says. She thinks she might have come to that conclusion already, before she’d even called Zayn. “You’re right. You’re always right, Zee.”
Zayn lets out a pleased little laugh. “Love you, Li.”
“Love you, too,” says Liam. It comes out far too earnest, but then again, it always has.
“Bye Liam,” says Niall. “Good luck.”
“Thanks,” says Liam, her smile nervous, but genuine. “It was nice meeting you.”
Niall lets out a pleased laugh. “You, too.”
Liam hangs up, and bites her lip when she realises her hands are shaking a bit. “God,” she says, taking a deep breath, and then she both ways, and crosses the road to the laundromat.
———
Liam’s phone vibrates loudly in her bag for the fifth time during the lecture. The speaker pauses pointedly for a moment, before continuing, and Liam’s face burns. She shifts her bag into her lap as quietly as she can, rummaging for her phone.
Four missed calls from Harry, and another coming through now. Liam’s stomach plummets. She glances around. There’s a boy looking at her curiously over her shoulder, and the girl next to her pauses in the midst of her intricately drawn doodles to look up and make slightly awkward eye contact. Liam raises her eyebrows in an expression that she hopes comes across as a wordless, polite ‘excuse me, but this is really urgent’ look. The girl blinks, and moves her bags out of the way for Liam to get by. Liam mutters a thank you as she passes.
The moment she’s out into the hallway, she calls Harry back, shifting her bag onto her shoulder and pushing the door to the courtyard outside open, so she can settle on one of the benches. Harry answers almost immediately.
“Liam,” she says, all in a rush that sounds too much like relief.
“Are you alright, what’s happened?” says Liam, her voice sounds too urgent.
“Why didn’t you call me back?” sniffs Harry. It sounds like she’s crying.
“I was in a lecture, I’m so sorry, Haz. Tell me what’s happened?”
“I’m sorry, of course you were,” says Harry, miserably, “wasn’t thinking. Can you FaceTime?”
“Oh, babe,” says Liam “I’ll call you back, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
Harry’s face appears on Liam’s phone screen, face red, makeup smudged from tears. She sniffs again, wiping at the tear tracks on her cheeks, mascara smudging. She looks down at the black smeared across her knuckles. “I didn’t wear my waterproof,” she says, looking so deeply sad about it, that Liam’s heart breaks. “I didn’t think it would be so shit.”
Harry looks to be in a loo stall. Liam can’t quite make out the bit of graffiti behind her head, but she can make out that Harry is curled up on a toilet lid, crying her eyes out.
“Babe,” says Liam, “Hazza, talk to me, love.”
“My boss is a bitch,” says Harry vehemently, and Liam bites her lip. It’s not like Harry to be awful about someone. “She’s so mean.” Harry’s voice wavers, and Liam wants so badly to hug her.
“God, I’m sorry, Harry,” says Liam. “Wish I could give you a cuddle.”
Harry gives a watery smile. “You look pretty,” she says. “I like your top.”
Liam looks down at her outfit to see that she’s borrowed one of Harry’s. She lets out a little laugh. “Thanks, love,” she says.
“God,” whines Harry, “why can’t you just be here?”
“In a toilet with you?” says Liam, smiling despite the situation.
“Yes,” pouts Harry.
“Wish I could, too,” says Liam. The urge to hug Harry settles like an ache in her chest. “What time do you get off work?”
“Seven,” says Harry, and then her chin wobbles like that’s going to set her off again.
“That’s only…” Liam checks her phone screen, “four more hours.” It’s the best she can do. Harry doesn’t look reassured.
“I don’t know if I can do this, Li,” she says, voice small. “I thought this was going to be fun. I was so excited, I feel like an idiot.”
The thing about Harry, is that she gets a bit lost sometimes in her own emotions. “It’s only your first day,” says Liam gently. “You haven’t mucked it up yet.”
Harry wipes her eyes. “Yeah, not yet.” She smiles to show Liam that she’s not completely done with it all. “I’m just- it shocked me, you know? She doesn’t have to be so bloody rude.”
“I thought she was nice, you said after the interview that she was.” Liam tugs at her ponytail; it’s a nervous habit, one that Harry always tries to curb by curling her fingers around Liam’s wrist and linking their fingers together.
“That was Maggie,” says Harry, “she’s lovely, but she only does the interviews.”
“See,” says Liam, “at least one nice person works there.”
Harry smiles, and it’s so fond that Liam feels a bit ridiculous. “Yeah,” says Harry, “you’re right.”
“Just- maybe you can show her that you don’t have to be rude to get things done,” says Liam.
Harry sighs, her face doing something complicated. “You’re so noble, Liam,” she says finally.
“I- what?”
“No one says things like that in real life,” says Harry, smiling helplessly. Then she says: “I love you.”
For a moment Liam’s sure she loses control of her face, and then she pulls herself together. “You, too, Haz,” she says. “Fix up your mascara, yeah? And then get back out there.”
Harry’s smile is a little softer around the corners, smaller. “Yeah, alright.” She sniffs. “Does it look like I’ve been crying?”
“Yeah,” Liam can’t lie. “A bit. It’s alright, though, you look fine.”
“Fine?” prompts Harry.
“Fit,” supplies Liam dutifully, “amazing, gorgeous, goddess-like.”
Harry laughs - the real kind, with her head thrown back and her eyes squeezed shut.
“I’ll come get you,” says Liam, idea only just forming in her head. “At seven, when you’re off. I’ll pick you up, yeah?”
“Yeah, alright,” says Harry. “I love you,” she says again.
“You, too,” says Liam, and then hangs up too quickly. She stares down at her home screen for a moment, feeling like a twat until a text from Harry pops up: see you at 7 with a row of smiley faces behind it. Liam takes a deep breath, and only then notices that it’s far too cold to be sitting around outside without a jacket.
She picks up her bag, and thumbs the phone app open to make another call as she heads back inside.
*
Harry almost vaults into the car when Liam pulls up, throwing herself across the gear shift to press her chin into Liam’s shoulder and cling to her shoulders in a hug.
“Hey Haz,” says Liam softly, pressing her face into Harry’s neck and curling an arm around the small of her back. They pull back after a bit, but Harry laces their fingers together, squeezing Liam’s hand in a quiet thank you. “How was it?”
Harry sighs. “You’re right,” she says, “it’s a huge step towards my dream job, and the gallery is beautiful, and I’ve met lots of nice people. Just because my boss is terrible, doesn’t mean I’m going to give up this opportunity.” Her jaw is locked with the kind of vulnerable determination that makes Liam want so badly to kiss her.
“I never said any of those things,” points out Liam, instead.
“No,” says Harry, “but it’s what you would have said, if you’d known everything, so.” She smiles at Liam, leaning over again to kiss her cheek. Liam flushes all the way down to her chest, she can feel it.
“Maybe,” she says. “I’m proud of you.”
“I’m proud of me, too,” says Harry with a gorgeous flash of a smile, squeezing Liam’s hand again before pulling away to check her makeup in the mirror. She thumbs at a smudge on the glass. “Whose car is this?”
“Zayn’s flatmate.”
“Louis?” says Harry, “he let you borrow his car?” She looks incredulous, Liam can understand.
“It’s important,” says Liam. “Zayn talked him into it.”
Harry’s brow wrinkles. “Where are we going?”
“There’s this amazing spot,” says Liam as she pulls out of the parking spot, “to watch the sun set.”
Liam almost crashes the car when Harry shouts her name. It’s more joyful than anything, but it’s still a little much.
“What,” says Liam, recovering from a near heart attack.
“Liam,” says Harry again, much calmer this time, and when Liam looks over to her, she looks absolutely devastated in the best way possible when she smiles. “I love you,” says Harry. Liam’s tummy dips and she can’t decide if the sensation is good or not.
“There’s pizza in the back,” says Liam, because she can’t work out what else to say.
Harry takes a peek between them where she sees the Dominos box in the back seat. She groans obnoxiously loudly, and throws her arms out wide. “You, Liam Payne” she says, grinning, “are perfect.”
Liam would die for that smile, she swears.
*
It’s alright, until the traffic hits.
“Sorry,” says Liam, like she can clear up the endless stretch of cars on the road in front of them. “I’m really sorry, Haz.”
“It’s okay,” says Harry. It almost fools Liam, but not quite. “It’s really not your fault. It’s probably me, bringing along all the bad luck.”
“That’s silly,” says Liam. On the radio, someone’s talking about an accident about a mile up the road from where they are. The lanes of cars they’re stuck in haven’t moved for the past fifteen minutes. A man opens the door of one of the cars adjacent to them, and gets out to stretch. Liam turns the engine off with a frown. “I’m not giving up,” she warns, “it’s just that I’m paying his petrol.”
“It’s alright,” Harry says again, “Liam, it’s okay. We can just watch it from here.”
Liam bites her lip. “I feel terrible. You’ve had a shit day, and now you’re having a shit time in a traffic jam. Christ, you’re going to miss your sunset.”
“I’m not having a shit time,” says Harry defiantly, “you’re here, aren’t you?”
“Yeah,” Liam concedes, “and we have Dominos in the back.”
“Perfect,” says Harry, “we can eat that now, while we wait.” She takes in the expression on Liam’s face, and hesitates.
“Or,” says Harry, “we could wait, and eat it at wherever it is we’re going.”
Liam immediately feels guilty for whatever was showing on her face that made Harry change her mind. “We should eat it now,” she says.
“No,” says Harry, with a soft smile. “I’d much rather we eat it later, actually. Do it properly.”
“Okay,” says Liam, “if you’re sure.”
“I am,” says Harry, propping her feet up against the windshield, worn boots against the faded blue of the sky.
They pass the time singing along to the radio, and Liam watches the tension seep away from Harry’s shoulders, watches the curl of her smile become easier, softer.
“I love you,” says Harry again as the clock reaches 7:24 pm. She says it effortlessly.
Liam wishes she could accept it with the same ease, but something about it is different, somehow. Different enough for there to be a question on her face when Harry says it for the sixth time that evening alone.
“What?” says Harry. Something stubborn flashes across her expression.
“Nothing,” says Liam. Orange is seeping into the edges of the clouds above, but it’s gone mottled where the windscreen is tinted blue.
In Harry’s pocket the dreamy sound of her alarm goes off. Liam’s stomach sinks. She’d still been holding onto a bit of hope.
“Here is fine, Li,” says Harry, “it’s nice.”
It’s not, particularly, but Liam doesn’t want to kick up a fuss and ruin everything further. She tilts her head back for a moment, only because she thinks she might cry. Instead, she blinks at the ceiling of the car. “Hang on,” she says, and unbuckles, crouching awkwardly to open she skylight at the top of the car. With a bit of effort, it slides away until there’s a whole new chunk of sky above their heads.
She looks to Harry, a bit proud of her discovery, but Harry still has the twist of a frown in her expression. Liam’s not entirely sure what she’s done wrong.
“Go on, then,” says Liam. Harry unbuckles, and kneels up, twisting until she can get a good enough angle to pop her head up through the open section of the roof. It’s a bit odd, having just her legs in the car. Liam almost gets kicked in the face as Harry gets enough leverage to swing herself up and sit on the edge of it, long legs dangling.
“Sorry,” says Harry, smiling down at Liam, a bit sheepish, “did I kick you?”
“No,” says Liam, “you’re alright.”
“Come up,” says Harry, insistent. “C’mon, Li, its so pretty.” There’s that little bit of dreamy wonder in her tone at the spread of the sunset in front of them.
Liam gets jabbed by Harry’s bony knees a couple times as she tries to wiggle her way up through the skylight. She finally manages to sit up opposite Harry, their knees pressed together, palms on the cool roof of the car. “It’s cold up here,” says Liam.
“Beautiful, though,” says Harry, eyes on Liam.
Liam looks up at the wild colours of the sunset streaking across the sky. “Yeah,” says Liam, “it’s amazing.” She can feel that wonder curl into her own voice, settle there like it has in Harry’s. “Wow.”
“Liam,” says Harry.
Liam’s attention is called back from the sky, to see that Harry’s still looking at her. Liam glances up again to check that the colours are all still there. She’s never seen Harry look away from a sunset.
“Alright?” says Liam, tentatively.
“Not really,” says Harry. “You haven’t said it back yet.”
“Um,” says Liam, “said what?” Harry’s eyeliner is still a bit smudged under one eye.
“That you love me.”
The whole sky is spread beyond Harry over the tops of the cars and the dark outlines of the trees that line the side of the road. Pink sweeps into deep red, traces of blue still flashing at the corners. Liam becomes aware that Harry must be able to see the sky behind her, too.
“Oh,” says Liam, “oh.” She wets her lips, suddenly wildly nervous. “I was going to take you on a date. I was trying to do it properly.”
A smile brightens Harry’s face. “Of course you were,” says Harry. “I love you.”
“Wait,” says Liam, “just- one moment.” She tilts forward over the space between them. She puts her hand on Harry’s thigh, wide eyes taking in the evidence of a blush on Harry’s cheeks before she nudges forward just slightly to bring their lips together. She can feel the hot breath Harry lets out just before their lips meet, a pleased little sigh.
They kiss like they’ve been waiting. Liam’s fingers curl into Harry’s thigh when Harry leans into her, responsive and sweet. They barely manage to pull apart, resting their foreheads together.
Liam keeps her eyes shut for a moment, the memory of the sunset around them imprinted on her eyelids, all tangled up in the memory of Harry’s kiss. “I love you,” she says.
She can feel Harry’s smile, can taste it, which is lovely. When she opens her eyes, Harry is smiling so brightly that she looks like she could float away from happiness - or maybe that’s just what’s in Liam’s own chest.
“We missed a bit of it,” says Liam. The sky is fading from a blushing pink to the softness of a twilight.
“That’s alright,” she doesn’t look the least bit worried. “There’ll be thousands more. I could see it, anyway. When I kissed you.”
“Yeah?” says Liam.
“Yeah,” says Harry.
Liam blinks up at the curve of the universe above them. Out here, they might be able to really watch the stars. “Thousands more?”
Harry reaches for Liam’s hand, where it’s still settled on her thigh. She tangles their fingers together. “Millions.”
“Millions,” says Liam. She knows she looks soft, knows everything about her says she’s in love - her posture, the tilt of her head, the curl of her smile. She knows because Harry’s looking back at her in exactly the same way, radiating the emotion beautifully, like she does everything else. “If you say so.”
“I do,” says Harry.
They kiss again, the entire sky behind their eyelids.