#no08

It’s the morning of the twenty-eighth of December, Harry’s off work and back with his parents for a few days and he had not planned on being woken by his ringing phone at seven-thirty, if he’s honest. But his phone croons she’s got a boyfriend anway, Matty’s face lighting up on the screen. As a general rule when Matty calls, Harry picks up. Partially because he’s sort of the one signing Harry’s figurative paychecks, but mostly because Matty’s one of his closest friends. It’s a bit strange, probably, being such good friends with one of his older sister’s ex-boyfriends, but here they are anyway.

“Yeah?” Harry mumbles into the phone, rolling over onto his back, raking a hand through his hair. He doesn’t bother stifling a yawn. There’s quite the commotion on Matty’s side of the line and Harry flinches away from the sound instinctively. He’s not a waking up person. He can do it if he has to, no problems, but he’s not a fan of it.

“H! You’ve not got plans yet for New Year’s, right?” Matty asks.

“No? Gemma and I were thinking about going down to London, find a party.”

“Well, you’ve found one!”

“Can I bring Gemma?” Harry asks, before Matty can go into detail about it.

“Yeah, sure! The more the merrier! Grimmy said to bring friends.”

“Wait, Nick Grimshaw?”

“Yeah! I was just in on his show,” Matty says and Harry racks his brain, trying to remember if Matty had told him about working over Christmas. Usually there’s not much promo going on there, “and one of his mates is throwing this huge masquerade ball thing. I think Kate Moss maybe? Or Alexa Chung? Or both? Can’t remember. But it’s historical dress code and everything. He invited us!”

“I’m relatively certain Nick Grimshaw did not invite me and Gemma to a party thrown by a world class supermodel,” Harry snorts. He’s met Nick Grimshaw once at Glastonbury and they’d gotten on well enough but Harry seriously doubts he made a lasting impression.

“Well, no, but none of the boys can make it cause they’re all boring farts. But you’ll go with me, right, H?”

Gemma has always wanted to go to a masquerade ball. Harry’s not really all that tickled by the thought of spending an entire evening in historical get up with a mask over his face, but if he doesn’t go, Gemma won’t go and if he takes Gemma’s chance to go from her, he’ll feel bad, so…

“Yeah, sure. We’ll go,” Harry says.

“Aw, yes, mate. Thanks. It’ll be brilliant.”

Harry hums a noise in response and blinks at the dreary winter grey of the sky outside his bedroom window. He’s too awake now to go back to sleep. Maybe he’ll make some sort of porridge for breakfast to make up for it.

“D’you by any chance know where we can sort out costumes?” Harry asks.

“Er, no. Not yet. But I’ll look into it! I’m staying here till after New Year’s anyway.”

“Yeah, alright. Call me when you know anything and Gemma and I’ll come down to get that sorted.”

“Sure, yeah,” Matty says. “How is she doing, anyway?”

“Oh, you know her. Taking over the world, one day at a time,” Harry says, no small measure of pride in his voice. He might be the one on the road crew of an internationally famous band and touring the world with them, but he’s never stopped looking up to his older sister. Gemma has that effect on people.

Matty laughs.

“Sounds like her, yeah.”

Harry grins and stretches, but doesn’t bother with an answer. There’s not really anything to say to that. For a few moments they’re just quiet and on the phone together.

“Well,” Matty says then, “I’m getting on the tube now, so…”

“Yeah. Talk soon,” Harry says.

“Yeah. Bye.”

Harry taps his thumb on the screen to end the call and then pulls up his text messages, tapping into Gemma’s thread.

Want to go to a masquerade ball for New Year’s Eve? he types and sends. He’s not sure if she’ll be up yet and he’d rather not wake her if she isn’t. The shower in the bathroom next door comes on then, which means his mum or step-dad must be up. Since he is as well, he should probably join them for breakfast. Sitting up in bed he lets out a deep breath and then another yawn. Man, sleeping in is such an easy habit to fall back into. Maybe he should go for a run after breakfast, just to get his energy going.

Just as he’s contemplating it, his phone rings again, this time with Gemma’s face and ringtone.

“Morning,” he says as he picks up.

“Hi,” she says and barrels right on, “you’d better not be joking about New Year’s Eve.”

“Why would I?” he asks, still tired but grinning as well.

“We’re really going to a masquerade ball? How did you even find one?” Gemma asks, excitement clear in her voice.

“Matty just called. Said Nick Grimshaw invited him to one and to bring friends.”

“So what you’re saying is we’re going to a masquerade ball full of people who make more in a day than either of us in a month?”

Harry barks a laugh. Gemma has always had a firm grasp on the important things in life.

“Yep. That is exactly what I’m saying.”

“Perfect. Then I can finally realise my dream of marrying some dumb, rich pop star,” Gemma says.

“You could’ve just stayed with Matty if that’s what you wanted,” Harry teases. Gemma snorts none too delicately.

“He’s not that dumb. Or that rich,” she says. “I have standards, you know, baby brother?”

“Of course, of course”, Harry agrees, finally deciding to get up from the bed and stumbling over to his suit case, rooting around for a t-shirt and jumper to put on. “Listen, do you know a place in London where we could get costumes? Good ones? There’s a historical dress code, so we probably need, like, hoop skirts and powdered wigs or something.”

“I think you’ve got enough hair without a wig helping you out,” Gemma says with a grin audible in her voice. “But, yeah, I’ll look into it.”

“Great. Matty said he would, but I thought it’d probably be good if we did too.”

“Yeah. He’s a bit of a last minute guy sometimes, isn’t he.”

Harry hums his agreement and then wedges his phone between his shoulder and ear, sitting down on the floor and wiggling out of his boxer briefs to pull clean ones on.

“Alright. I’ll do a bit of googling. Call if we find anything?” Gemma says.

“Yeah. I’ll probably come back down tomorrow so we can take care of all of this then,” Harry says. Both of them are really not last minute kind of people.

“Okay. See you soon then, H,” Gemma says.

“Yeah, bye,” Harry says and lets his phone slip from his shoulder to the floor, trusting Gemma to hang up.

When he walks into the kitchen a few moments later, his mum is cooking porridge. Harry grins and steps up next to her, bending down to kiss her on the cheek.

“Gem says hi,” he says. Technically she didn’t, but it’s implied whenever one of them is with their parents.

“Have you already spoken today? I didn’t even expect you to be up,” his mum says.

Harry chuckles and turns to the kettle.

“Matty called. Woke me up. Invited us to a party for New Year’s Eve.”

“Oh, that’s nice. You’ll be going back to London then?”

“Yeah. Later today or tomorrow. It’s a historical masquerade thing so Gem and I need to sort out costumes.”

“Oh, she’s always wanted to go on one of those hasn’t she,” Anne laughs. “How sweet of him to think of her.”

“Yeah…” Harry says, trailing off. When he catches his mother’s eye, she winks at him and he rolls his eyes. No wonder both he and Gem turned out a bit mischievous.

“Are you having breakfast with us then, love? Robin will be right down,” she says, stirring in the pot still.

“Yeah, thanks. Think I’ll go for a run afterwards.”

“You do that. I’ll be done by two today, want to go grab some lunch then?”

“Yeah, sure,” he says, pulling out three cups from the cupboard when the kettle clicks and shuts itself off again. His mum grins and takes the pot off the stove. It’s a well practiced routine that makes Harry nostalgic every time.

  In the evening his London flat greets him with darkness and the cool staleness of air that hasn’t been moved in for a handful of days, but also the familiarity of coming home. No matter how nostalgic his childhood home makes him, it’s firmly that; his childhood home. His current home is the tiny flat he’s renting in Bermondsey, even though he’s not spent very much time here in the past year, courtesy of The 1975 touring the world. If it weren’t for that he’d probably get a cat to keep him company, but as it is he’s given up on plants even, instead settling for livening the place up with photographs and art prints.

He’s got three Tupperware containers full of ‘leftovers’ in his bag, but he’ll probably still need to make a quick grocery run tomorrow before he meets Gemma and Matty. She was, predictably, the first one out of the three of them too find a costume rental that would have what they needed and called earlier in the afternoon to ask if Harry could make it to London tomorrow. Apparently the rental works by appointment only and the only time Gemma could make time was tomorrow at four, after she got out of work.

Having stowed the boxes of food in the fridge he shoots his mum a quick text to assure her he’d made it safe and sound and then decides to call it an early night. It’s almost ten-thirty and the drive is always more exhausting than he remembers.

  At eight minutes to four in the afternoon of the following day he joins his sister on the pavement outside the costume rental, handing her a takeaway cup of tea she’d texted him to bring only half an hour ago.

“How did you even know I was going to pass by a coffeeshop?” he asks.

“You took the tube,” she says with a grin, “isn’t it some sort of law now that there is one at every Central London tube station?”

He snorts his amusement, but concedes her point. The odds were definitely in her favour. She sips at her tea delicately, leaving overlapping pale pink lip stick prints on the plastic lid as they make small talk while waiting for Matty. It’s only a bit past four when a cab pulls up next to them and he stumbles out, grinning at them both and pulling them both into short hugs. Harry’s really glad they’re not the sort of ex-couple that can’t stand each other now. It’d make his friendship with Matty even weirder.

Trying to find the right costumes for them turns out to be both more fun and more exhausting than Harry expected. Gemma’s relatively quick about hers, falling in love at first sight with a powder blue gown with white trims everywhere. There’s a light blue and silver butterfly mask that goes with it perfectly, so she spends most of her time pushing costumes on Harry and Matty, making them change what feels like a hundred times. Matty is frustrating her with his refusal to wear any kind of colour brighter than a dark grey, while Harry is simply not the best at decision making. The only thing he’s set on is a heavy, black brocade cape. It falls to below his knees and even has a hood attached. The dark grey silk threads woven into it in a typical palace wallpaper kind of pattern can only be seen when he moves and the light washes over it. He sort of wants to keep it.

The assistant shows him a royal blue and gold vest while Matty and Gemma bicker and he runs his fingers over the delicate silk reverently. Far as he’s been able to work out everything here belongs to some theatre company and he’s fascinated they’d just rent these pieces out.

“It’s a bit more Victorian than the dress your sister’s picked out, but it fits well with the cape,” the girl explains. Harry doesn’t care too much about historical accuracy in his costume and since Matty can’t recall having been given a more specific instruction that ‘historical dress’ he supposes it should be fine. Even if masquerades always make him think of Casanova.

“I’ll try it on, thanks,” he says and goes to do just that, figuring the sooner he can distract Gemma, the better. While Gemma and Matty don’t exactly hate each other now, no one has any illusions about them ever getting back together either. The girl hands him a shirt to wear underneath and when he’s put them on and pulls back the curtain, Gemma’s already by her side, waiting expectantly.

“What do you think?” he asks and does a little twirl. He actually quite likes it himself.

“Gorgeous,” Gemma says. The girl next to her nods encouragingly. Harry thinks it’s probably to do with the fact that they close in half an hour at least a little bit.

“I’ve got a jacket and trousers that go with it, if you want?” the assistant – Harry really should have remembered her name – says.

“Yeah, thanks.”

Harry vanishes back behind the curtain and when he steps back out and Gemma stretches onto her toes to perch a top hat on his head, he feels… a little silly but also quite dapper once he catches sight of his reflection in the floor length mirror.

Matty whistles obnoxiously.

“Belle of the ball, you’ll be,” he says. Harry and Gemma both roll their eyes.

“But really, H, you should go with this one. Suits you,” Gemma says.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, not used to seeing himself like this. Gemma nods and offers him a white mask with a long hooked nose and a high forehead. It’s edged in gold.

“Very attractive,” Harry deadpans, but ties it around his face anyway.

“It’s a classic,” Gemma says. “I figured you’d like it better than a butterfly.”

Harry has to concede her point. It does sort of round off the entire outfit.

“I feel like a really poncy Mr. Darcy,” he says, earning laughs from both Gemma and Matty.

“Perfect then,” Matty says and claps him on the shoulders. Harry can’t really dispute that.

Matty ends up signing all three of their ensembles out, not even letting them see how much he’s spending on them (provided they don’t stain the clothes more than is covered by the standard cleaning charge) and wishes them a happy Christmas when they try to protest.

“He is a pop star now,” Gemma reasons. “I reckon that means he should be paying for everything ever.”

Harry laughs and lets her sling her arm through his, carrying both their costumes slung over his other arm. Matty grins at them, not bothered.

“I’ve got band stuff to get to, but I’ll see you both Wednesday, yeah?” he says once they’ve stepped outside into the darkness.

“Yeah, absolutely,” Harry says.

“Thanks for the invite,” Gemma says, her small smile seemingly softening Matty’s own.

“Of course,” he says, gives them both a quick hug and gets in a cab Harry doesn’t remember having seen him call. Judging by the look on Gemma’s face, she didn’t either.

“Pop star magic,” Gemma says with a grin and then steers Harry towards her car, offering a lift home and inviting herself over for dinner in the same breath.

  Come Wednesday evening it only takes a little more than an hour for Harry to lose both Gemma and Matty to the partying masses. It’s alright though; there’s an open bar and honestly so many people willing to drink or talk or laugh or dance or snog that Harry’s not ever alone for long. The beak of his mask confines him to drinks that come with a straw, but he doesn’t mind.

Whichever one of Nick Grimshaw’s friends is hosting this party has rented out a lavish old-timey looking hotel ballroom. The back of the room is littered with tables and chairs for people to rest and have a bite at, while the rest has been turned into a dance floor where people both grind up against each other or try their luck at something like ballroom dancing. In a passing thought Harry wonders if celebrities always party like this.

He takes another distracted sip from his drink and turns his head to the side when he feels someone step up next to him. It’s a boy in a similar getup to his own, tight black trousers and frilly white shirt underneath a colourful vest. Only his vest is a rich red that matches the rounded mask covering the top half of his face. He’s not wearing a jacket like Harry is either and the sleeves of his shirt are folded up above his elbows. His hands are covered in white gloves and dark red ribbon is wound up around his forearms in a way that makes Harry think of ballet shoes. He thinks maybe the ribbon is meant to conceal the tattoos that litter his right forearm, but really it only draws attention. Harry feels like he should know those tattoos, but he can’t place them.

“I was going to ask you if you’re one of Cara’s, but you look a little lost, love,” the boy says. His voice isn’t what Harry was expecting, even if he’s not sure what he was expecting.

“Cara’s?” Harry asks.

“Cara’s model friends, I meant. It’s just you’ve got the legs for it and a frankly absurd amount of hair.”

“Cara Delevigne?” Harry asks, still trying to work out what’s happening here and at the same time feeling himself flush behind the mask. No one’s ever mistaken him for a model. Definitely not gorgeous boys at masquerade balls.

The boy laughs.

“You’re not really anyone’s, are you,” he says. “Who did you come with?”

“Um,” Harry says. “Doesn’t telling you that defeat the purpose of a masquerade?”

“I don’t think so. I know practically everyone on the guest list. You don’t have to point them out to me.”

That’s true, Harry supposes. Most of the people here are probably good enough friends that the masquerade doesn’t really do much to hide their identity.

“Matty Healy,” he says then, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s showing off.

“Oh, Matty made it? Lovely,” the boy says. “Are you one of his friends from up north then? You do sound well posh.”

“Yeah, um, I suppose?” Harry says. “I’m on their road crew and I do a bit of photography for them.”

“Roadie, really? You don’t look like your run of the mill roadie,” the boy says, interest heavy in his voice. Harry feels a bit giddy with it. Whoever this boy is under the mask, he’s sure he’d be at least mildly intimidating to Harry. It’s not that Harry is usually shy or bad at talking to strangers, but the masks remove that constant stream of ‘you’re actually real’ that sometimes runs through Harry’s head when Matty introduces him to various famous people.

“Am I not buff enough for your tastes?” Harry teases.

The boy laughs and moves one gloved hand to squeeze at Harry’s arm. His white teeth gleam in his wicked smile. Harry’s a bit enamoured.

“Nah, you’re alright.”

“I actually got to know him because he dated my sister for a while when she was still in uni,” Harry volunteers.

“You’re on your sister’s ex-boyfriend’s road crew?” the boy asks and then laughs again. “That’s a bit weird, mate.”

“They don’t hate each other or anything,” Harry says with a shrug. Explaining that he’d had a bit of a massive crush on Matty himself at the time and followed him around like a puppy until he’d been to enough gigs to actually start being useful was probably not going to lessen the weirdness factor.

“So why’d they break up?” the boy asks. Usually Harry would side-eye him for such blatant curiosity about things that are clearly not his business, but tonight, in this atmosphere, Harry feels like there’s no harm in the question.

“She can do better,” he says, making the boy guffaw a loud laugh.

“I like you, stranger,” the boy says. Harry grins.

“Likewise,” he says.

“So, just to be clear, you’re not… here with anyone?” the boy asks, angling his body a bit more into Harry’s. It’s obvious what he’s really asking and Harry feels it thrill down his spine.

“Completely unattached,” he says and hopes he doesn’t come across as too eager. “Yourself?”

“Hm,” the boy hums. “Likewise.”

Harry lets his eyes trail over the way the fitted waistcoat and snug trousers show off the boy’s lovely physique for a moment and is just about to ask him to dance when another boy with a mask like the phantom of the opera sidles up to them and throws an arm around Harry’s stranger’s shoulders.

“Can I steal you away for a second, babe?” the newcomer asks. His voice rings another bell somewhere in Harry’s head, but he’s too busy wondering if he’d just been lied to or if these boys call each other ‘babe’ the way Matty and he sometimes do to focus on it.

“If you must, I suppose,” Harry’s stranger says, sounding not too happy about the development before turning to Harry, tilting his head to the side and ducking up underneath the nose of his mask to kiss his cheeks. Or jaw, as it happens. They both chuckle a bit.

“Come find me at midnight,” the boy says and at Harry’s nod follows the other one into the throng of people.

Harry watches him enthusiastically hug a guy with brown hair and doesn’t notice Gemma has stepped up next to him until she addresses him and he jumps a metaphorical foot in the air and almost spills the remnants of his latest drink on himself.

“Having fun?” she asks, clearly teasing.

“Fuck!” Harry curses and whirles around to look at her, heart hammering away in his chest.

“You looked quite cosy,” she goes on as if nothing had happened.

“We were just chatting,” Harry says even though he hopes they weren’t just chatting.

“Hm,” Gemma says, in that tone of voice that means she doesn’t believe him. “So who is he?”

“It’s a masquerade, Gems, he didn’t introduce himself.”

“Well, the masks come off at midnight,” she says which is both news to Harry and also puts the boy’s request to come find him at midnight into a new light.

“Do they,” Harry says, trying to sound like he couldn’t care less. Judging by the way Gemma laughs at him she’s not buying it.

“Come dance,” she says, mercifully dropping the subject. In thanks, Harry supposes, he should go dance with her.

Matty comes back some time around eleven, bringing Nick Grimshaw with him, who does in fact remember Harry as ‘Matty’s quirky friend at Glastonbury’ and they do a few rounds of shots together before going back to jumping and swaying around on the dance floor, being swallowed up by a group of Nick’s friends. By half eleven Harry starts casting furtive glances around the room, but he can’t see the boy from before anywhere. Gemma notices of course, but instead of teasing him just looks around the room with him and shrugs with a sympathetic grimace on her face when she can’t find him either.

“Who are we looking for?” Matty asks, looking around the room as if anything might stand out to him.

“This boy Harry was flirting with earlier,” Gemma says.

“Oooh, get in, H,” Matty says with a laugh. “Who was it?”

“Didn’t give a name,” Harry says. “He wore a red vest and mask.”

“Well, that’s helpful,” Matty says. Harry’s pretty sure he’s rolling his eyes. There are indeed quite a few boys in red vests and or masks tonight. It’s a classic colour.

By the time the doors to the terrace and gardens have been thrown open and people start spilling outside to see the firework display, Harry feels his shoulders slump and decides to give up. He’s stood up on a chair even, but couldn’t find the boy.

“Come outside with us?” Gemma asks, hooking her arm through his again.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. “I’ll just go grab my cape real quick.”

“We’ll be off through the door at the far left,” Gemma says and then gets dragged off by a giggling girl Harry figures she must’ve talked to earlier.

Harry makes his way out of the room and down the hall to the cloak room. His heeled boots sound loud against the silence in the hall. It’s quite the abrupt change from the noise inside the ballroom. His ears are ringing a bit. The attendants behind the counter at the cloakroom all hide their champagne glasses behind their backs as he steps up but he just laughs and hands over his number.

“Just the cape please. I’ll bring it back after the fireworks,” he says.

“Sure, mate,” one of them says and goes to fetch it for him.

“Thanks,” Harry says as it’s handed to him, pocketing his number again. “Happy New Year.”

“Same to you,” the bloke who handed him his cape grins and then, as Harry takes a step back, turns back to his colleagues. Harry throws the cape over his shoulders, feeling delightfully dramatic and decides to make his way outside through one of the open doors right here in the hall. He’ll find Gemma and Matty like this as well.

He only makes it about twenty paces before someone grabs hold of his arm to stop him.

“There you are. I thought you might’ve left,” the boy from earlier says.

“I couldn’t find you,” Harry says immediately, smiling down at him. The boy laughs.

“Well we’re not all giants. But I’ve found you now so no need to fret.”

“’m glad you did,” Harry says, letting his voice drop into a more intimate register. It’s far more quiet out here, so there’s no need to raise his voice and he’s been told before his voice works in his favour when flirting.

“Yeah?” the boy asks, smile going gentle and a bit teasing. “Why’s that?”

“It’s almost midnight,” Harry says.

The boy chuckles. “Are you hoping for a kiss?”

“You’re the one who said to find you at midnight,” Harry points out.

“I just wanted to see your pretty face. It’s masks off at midnight, you know.”

“I could be horribly disfigured.”

“You could still be pretty,” the boy says, making Harry laugh. The boy laughs with him, a sound somewhere between a tinkling laugh and a cackle, but also shakes violently as a shiver racks through him. Well. It is the middle of winter and he’s not even got sleeves.

“Cold?” Harry asks, already undoing the clasp that keeps the cape shut.

“A bit,” the boy says with a shrug like he’s not particularly bothered. Harry takes off his cape and swings it around his shoulders anyway.

“Oh, no, you didn’t need to…”

“I’ve got on a shirt and jacket still. I’ll be fine,” Harry says, fastening the cape. The boy smiles at him and steps in a little closer.

“Proper gentleman you are,” he says, voice dropping a little. Harry ducks closer on instinct.

“I try,” he says and rubs his hands firmly up and down the other boy’s arms under the pretense of warming him up. He’s got really nice arms, though. The boy clearly sees through him, as he laughs and then steps the last remaining bit closer so he’s pressed up against Harry. Harry winds an arm around his back and holds him close with a hand on his shoulder. He’s not that much shorter than Harry, but like this he feels… small. Harry’d be lying if he said he’s not into it.

They nearby chanting alerts them that the new year is fast approaching and Harry feels a giddy warmth spread out from his belly through the rest of his body.

“Happy new year,” he says, not daring to turn his head lest he poke the boy in the face with the long nose of his mask.

“Happy new year to you too,” the boy says and then takes a step back, not out of Harry’s arm, just so he can look up at him. “Close your eyes.”

For a brief second Harry is worried the boy’s gonna play some sort of prank on him or simply run off, but then hands are reaching past his face to undo the bow that keeps the mask secure on his face and his lips twitch into a smile. The first fireworks explode over their heads as the mask is taken off his face carefully and Harry automatically flutters his eyes open.

“No, keep them closed,” the boy says, letting one hand come to rest on his cheek. Harry supposes he wants to keep the suspense going and does as he’s asked.

He can’t say he wasn’t expecting it a bit, but he’s still startled when lips settle over his anyway. He falters, but the lips only twitch a little, like maybe the boy’s laughing at him, but then Harry gets his bearings back, slides a hand to the back of the boy’s neck and kisses back. It’s soft and gentle, just a caress of lips for a good while as the fireworks continue to boom and crackle above their heads, lighting the blackness behind Harry’s lids up with occasional bursts of light.

The boy’s still wearing the mask; Harry can feel it press against the face. His eyes blink open automatically, but the other boy’s are closed behind his mask and Harry supposes there’s nothing to it and closes his own again as well. He’s not about to waste a good kiss on whatever reason this boy has to keep his face hidden. This doesn’t have to go anywhere, after all.

Still, somehow, when the boy hums pleasantly and then pulls back, smile on his face when Harry opens his eyes, the first thing out of his mouth is, “You’re still wearing your mask.”

The boy shrugs and pulls a face like he’s a little uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to take it off,” Harry says immediately, not ever wanting anyone to be uncomfortable around him.

“Um, no,” the boy says. “It’s my resolution actually. I just… wanted to kiss you first.”

Harry feels his brow furrow. It’s his resolution to take off his ma- oh. He’s not out yet.

“You don’t owe me anything,” Harry says. “You should only do this if you’re comfortable with it.”

The boy laughs then and hides his face – well, his mask – in his hands.

“You’re absurdly lovely for a random snog. I’ve gotten quite lucky,” he says and reaches up to untie his mask.

It’s Louis Tomlinson.

Harry thinks he’s probably staring, but he just was not expecting this. It explains why he thought the tattoos look familiar of course and why the boy who’d come to collect him earlier sounded familiar as well. It clicks in his head now that that was Zayn Malik. They’re two of the current biggest boy band the UK has to offer. They came fourth the year Harry couldn’t audition for X-Factor because the cutoff date was one day before his sixteenth birthday. He’s sure there were other kids who felt cheated because it was so close to their birthday but Harry had spent the entirety of that season religiously obsessed and in the worst strop. Around the time he’d turned seventeen that February Gemma had begun seeing Matty and he’d had a new thing to obsess over, but he’s kept a strangely watchful eye on The Rogue Four through their lackluster first album and the smashing success of their second one. A third’s been announced for February first. Harry has to hand it to the universe, everything about this band plays out with the biggest irony in relation to his own life.

“Um, please say something?” Louis says, startling Harry out of his stupor.

“Sorry, of course. Oh my god. I was just… not expecting this,” Harry says and then holds his hand out. “Hi, I’m Harry. It’s nice to meet you.”

Louis laughs, but takes and shakes his hand.

“Louis.”

“Yeah, I know,” Harry says, like a complete tit. Louis only grins.

“Fan?”

“Sort of. Almost auditioned your year so I’m weirdly… attached to you.”

“Why didn’t you?” Louis asks.

“Too young by a day.”

“Ouch,” Louis says with a sympathetic chuckle.

“Yeah,” Harry says. “Met Matty though, so I’m still sort of involved with music. And ended up with Ed Sheeran’s number in my phone anyway.”

Louis laughs. He’s good friends with Ed, of course. They’ve only released that lovely four song EP together last spring, causing a storm of split rumours. Then of course, The Rogue Four’s third album had been announced, quieting them a bit.

“He’s here if you want to say hello. In a brown wig. Brilliant move, really. Better than any mask for him, I reckon,” Louis says. Harry thinks back to the brunet he’d seen him hugging earlier.

“I’d rather kiss you some more, if you don’t mind,” he says.

Louis chuckles but steps closer and winds his arms around Harry’s neck, mask dangling from one of his hands against Harry’s back.

“I was hoping you’d say that, actually.”

“Glad I didn’t disappoint, then,” Harry murmurs, brushing his lips against Louis’.

“Not one bit,” Louis whispers and kisses him again.

This time the kiss doesn’t stay as chaste as it had been earlier. Louis takes his time with it, kisses Harry over and over, sucks at his bottom lip and scrapes his teeth over it, winds his arms around Harry more tightly and presses up against him. Harry’s hand slides down to rest over his spine, just beneath his shoulder blades, holding him close. Louis’ lips open deliberately to the prodding of Harry’s tongue, like he’s fully aware of what he’s allowing Harry to do by welcoming him into the slick heat of his mouth and meeting his tongue with his own.

Harry groans when Louis’ tongue sweeps into his mouth and Louis answers with a breathy little sound that pushes heat into his already flushed cheeks.

By the time he notices that the tips of his fingers have gone bitingly cold and the tips of his toes are starting to feel clammy and cold from standing in the snow for so long, his lips have started to buzz a bit from the scratch of Louis’s stubble against them. It’s only when the pain in his lips has started going from a dull ache to a sharp sting that makes kissing Louis less pleasant than not kissing Louis that Harry pulls back.

“Want to go back inside and grab a drink?” Louis asks.

“Yeah, sure,” Harry says. “Let me just return the cape to the cloak room?”

Louis waves at someone behind Harry and then grins at him.

“I’ll meet you at the bar?” he asks. Harry nods and grins to himself when Louis leans up to peck him on the lips again. “See you in a bit, then.”

Harry shuffles back inside, hands over his cape and thinks he should maybe find or at least text Gemma so she doesn’t worry about him.

Ran into the boy, tell you everything LATER he texts, before pocketing his phone and making his way back into the ballroom. He’d just snogged Louis Tomlinson. And he seemed interested in either snogging some more or even holding a conversation with Harry. Harry wasn’t sure if there could have been a better start to this year.

Louis’s not at the bar yet when he gets there, but Harry’s not worried. He probably has a few people to say ‘happy new year’ to here. Especially now that all the masks have come off and everyone is laughing at each other because they’d not recognized each other even though they’d been friends for a while. The music has turned from club hits into big band sound and Harry bobs his head along.

He’s got amazing patience, but when he hasn’t seen Louis anywhere by the time it turns two o’clock, he gives up. Gemma joined him at the bar about thirty minutes ago and the look on her face has gotten more and more pitying as the minutes dragged on. Frankly, Harry’s not in the mood for that or the rest of this party anymore. Matty bowed out with some girl on his arm a good time ago, so Gemma puts an hand on his arm and smiles gently.

“Want to leave?” she asks.

Harry sighs heavily and runs a hand through his hair.

“Yeah. I feel quite stupid.”

“Don’t. Maybe there’s a good reason. Or maybe he’s just an arse. Either way, you shouldn’t feel bad.”

“Thanks,” he mumbles and downs the rest of his champagne before offering her an arm. “Either way, I had a good evening and a good snog.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says and lets him lead her out of the room. They wave to Nick Grimshaw and his group of friends as they pass and both giggle when they catch each other’s eyes. Being around Matty is one thing, cause he’s been just Matty to them for years before he became anything else, but all these other people are usually just faces on the telly or voices on the radio. It’s a bit strange.

“Can I sleep over? Yours is closer,” Gemma asks as they get into the cab.

“Yeah, of course.”

Gemma falls asleep in the taxi and Harry shakes her awake to help her up to his flat. He lets her crash in his bed and decides to camp out on the pull out couch himself. His back’ll be fine for just one night. And anyway, it means she’ll owe him breakfast and Harry is absolutely not above planning ahead. But he’s a good brother as well and puts a glass of water and some ibuprofen on the nightstand.

  Three weeks later Harry’s well and truly back in the swing of either following Matty around to various press things and photo shoots for what Matty calls his ‘photography slash future popstar internship’ or helping out the other sound techs on tour, when his phone lights up with a text from Ed Sheeran.

Louis Tomlinson said you snogged at that New Year’s Even party and he’d like your number?

Harry’s heart skips a beat and then starts pounding in his chest. He’d figured Louis had decided not to bother with him after all and filed away their kiss under ‘strange but great experiences’ in his brain. This… did not seem like Louis didn’t bother with him.

Yeah he answers, because he’s not sure if ‘well, pass it on!!’ would be coming on a bit too strong.

And you didn’t say hello? Or share this turn of events? Holding out me, Styles!

Didn’t know you were there till after midnight, did I! We snogged. Thought there was nothing more to it.

Do you want me to pass your number on or not? Ed asks finally. Harry chews his lip a bit but then sighs. Who is he kidding.

Yes he sends.

Don’t say I never do anything for you ;) Ed sends back. They spend the next two hours texting on and off, about Ed’s tour, about The 1975’s tour, about Harry’s photography and occasional foray into songwriting and all the while Harry’s heart sits in his throat. Christ, is it going to be like that all the time until Louis texts? It could theoretically be hours. Days, even!

In the end it’s not days. After Harry berates himself for the way he startles at everyone of Ed’s new texts for the past two hours and calms himself down before he reaches for his phone, it’s finally there.

Hi Harry it’s Louis! I hope you remember me from New Year’s Eve. Ed gave me your number, I hope that’s alright? I’d quite like to see you again, if that’s alright. x

Harry does not squeal or flail like a fanboy and feels quite proud of his restraint. He does however, grin like a massive idiot as he sets about composing his reply. This year is shaping up to be really quite interesting.