i’m a lil too fucked to articulate it but there is a beautiful fic in the distance, a fic of harry showing up at a1mee and 1an’s wedding and having the most drunk messy happy warm weekend of his LIFE, wasted and laughing the entire time like he’s 18 again, groaning his way through hangover brekkies, taking naps on the massive sofas, stumbling on a long “rejuvenating” walk through the country as pixie jumps over logs and chatters about her album, busta scampering after them. he watches nick cry through his wedding toast, wide-eyed and blinking quickly and stammering like he never does on the radio, and he claps so hard after he nearly knocks over his wineglass, his eyes prickling hot. they dance - all of them and then just nick, going easily when harry half-jokingly pulls him in close, laughing at first and then quiet, soft, accepting the weight when harry has to drop his head to nick’s shoulder because his head starts spinning.
they sway until nick breathes “come to my room?” in harry’s ear and harry shivers out of the trance he was in and says dumbly, “yeah.”
everyone’s too drunk and happy to notice when they leave. the hallway by nick’s room has prickly velvet walls and a dusty painting of a lake that nick nearly knocks down when he shoves harry against the wall and kisses the breath out of him, floor creaking under their feet. harry forgets how good it is to kiss nick, how nick always seems lazy and intense in this way he never is in real life, taking it slow, sucking harry’s tongue til harry sways towards him, hands fisting in the back of nick’s tux.
“we should’ve done this earlier,” nick says hoarsely, after, when he’s peacefully smoking a fag, harry sprawled next to him, eyes closed, body still thrumming from it. “like, first thing upon arrival.”
“mm,” harry hums. he’s just happy they did it at all. it’s been a long fucking time. nice to know nick’s still among the best sex harry’s ever had. “yeah.”
nick reaches over and runs his hand through harry’s hair, damp with sweat and probably smelling of cake icing and spilled champagne. “gonna cut it all off, huh?”
harry shrugs, mouth curving up. “might.”
“send me a bit when you do, i wanna sell it on ebay,” nick says, and harry chokes a sleepy laugh.
“so it was you who was selling my vomit,” he mumbles.
“you caught me.” nick laughs, traces his fingers along one of harry’s laurels, over his hip. his face goes solemn and his hand pauses, just his thumb rubbing gently back and forth. “thanks for coming, styles. didn’t think you’d show.”
harry doesn’t know what to say to that, so he pretends he’s fallen asleep.
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