Harry P.O.V.

This small secluded café has become my safety. Kind of like a hiding place when the outside world gets to be too much. Nobody knows me here. Not as Harry Styles from One Direction. Not as Harry Styles solo artist. Not as Harry Styles the guy that married Blair Attwood. Not even as Harry Styles. Here I am just another regular guy coming for his coffee. No one special. Here I was free to be myself, because everyone else was too busy with their own lives to notice me. That’s why I had continued to come back time and time again for the last few months.

I slumped in the small wooden chair at the table that I always occupied on my visits. My coffee was brought over to me within minutes, being a regular was good, the owners knew your order. I thanked the older lady that brought it over and reached down next to me, grabbing my laptop and book from my bag. I was supposed to be writing lyrics for my new single, but every time I tried my mind went blank. I have considered getting someone else to write it for me, but I just can’t go through with it, it has to be me. As I waited for my laptop to fire up I opened the book I had brought with me today. I had found it in an old second hand bookstore when I was out the other week with Blair. She said she didn’t understand why I was so fascinated with it. But she doesn’t get it. Come to think of it, she doesn’t really get me a whole lot. Not like he did. No stop! I will not think of him. I have tried forgetting him for two years, but somehow he is always still there. Waiting at the edges of my thoughts, ready to break through and unravel my resolve. The book I had brought was a collection of poems written by a man named Rudyard Kipling. There is one poem in particular that struck me as magnificent. ‘If’. The poem about what it takes to be a man.

‘If you can dream – and not make dreams your master;
If you can think – and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same.’

There was a voice that was carried to my ears as I read one passage of the poem, my mind entrapped within the words that the author had written down on a scrap piece of paper so long ago. The voice sounded rough and over used, quite a contrast to the soft but raspy tone of mine. But this voice was still just as beautiful and entrapping. It caught my attention immediately and held me in place; I couldn’t escape it even if I wanted to. And I didn’t want to. I listened closely to the lyrics, they were apologizing to someone. Apologizing about something they had done in their past, they left someone behind, abandoned someone. They treated this person poorly. I folded the corner of the page and set the book down on the table. I recognized something in that voice. Something that I have been deprived of for over three years. Something that was taken from me, because of one boys reasoning that what he was doing was for everybody’s own good. A soft but sure tone that held so much confidence that it was often misplaced. It reminded me of Niall. But of course it couldn’t be Niall, because he fell off the grid three years ago, and it is unlikely that he would be in London of all places. This city held too many memories, knows too many secrets. But that voice was unmistakable.

Curiously I slowly began to turn in my seat, already mentally preparing myself for the disappointment I’ll feel when this turns out not to be Niall. I turned the full way around just as the song finished. I almost jumped out of my seat and ran up to him, but I didn’t. I had to show some kind of restraint, I haven’t seen or heard from him in over three years. He looked different, but it was him. Niall was sitting on the stage in front of me, staring right into my eyes just as I stared into his. His hair has grown slightly longer, but he still had it styled into the messy quiff. He has stopped beaching it, letting the natural dark brown colour show. It makes his piercing blue eyes stand out even more on his sharp, pale face. His still wears the same, baggy chinos and a tight fitting sweater. It is disappointing to see that he still holds the sad, longing look in his eyes. Have the years not been kind to him? I was about to finally get up and go over to him, when I had a thought. I’ve been coming here for over six months, he knows who I am, but yet he has never made any move to approach me. Obviously I mean little to him; he’s had his chance over and over again. So I stayed seated, keeping my face unreadable, careful not to give even the slightest hint that I recognize him. He gave a slight sigh, his shoulders slumping as he reached and packed up his stuff, before I knew it he was out the door and walking down the street. I watched him go.

I close my laptop down, having found no use for it. I sat staring blankly at my coffee that I have hardly touched. What am I doing? I roughly shove my chair back, receiving a few questioning stares from the other customers, leaving my stuff behind I race out the door. I look quickly down both ways of the street, spying a guy with a guitar slung across his back to my right. I take off running after him. The wind is freezing as it tears against my cheeks. I keep my eyes down, looking for cracks in the pavement that serve to trip me in the dimly lit street. I slow down as I near him, coming to a stop when he removed himself from my path. I stand, pulling my thick coat around me as I wait, willing Niall to turn around. My wish is granted as he stops and turns to face me, we stand less than two metres apart, and he is even more stunning this close up. He opens his mouth but the words get caught on his tongue. I take one step closer, looking him right in the eye; his stare is glued to my face.

“Niall?” I ask it as a question; even though I know one hundred percent that it was him.

His eyes widened slightly, but enough for me to recognize the change.

“H-Harry” he stutters, his voice is still thick with his Irish accent. I wasn’t sure where to go from here, did we hug or should I ask him how he’s been. I don’t want to risk scaring him off.

“Do you want to get out of the cold? Come back to my house or something?” I ask, cautiously.

“I’d like that,” he replies, letting a small smile grace his lips.

*

We make it back to mine and Blair’s flat within ten minutes, the walk was filled with a silence that was so awkward I had the thought a few times to just make up an excuse and leave. But I wasn’t a coward. We remove our coats, instantly sweating as the temperature changed from freezing to comfortably warm as we entered the flat.

“Did you want a drink or something?” I ask, walking into the large kitchen. Blair loves to cook, that is when she’s actually around.

“Vodka if you’ve got it,” he answered straight away; I can’t tell if he is kidding. But his face stayed completely blank, so to be on the safe side I grab two glasses, vodka and some soda water. No way was I drinking that shit straight.

I begin pouring the vodka, when I’m happy with the amount I grab the soda water. Niall’s hand shoots out grabbing the vodka bottle and pulling it towards him. He adds double the amount of vodka and gets up, walking over to the fridge and grabbing the tray of ice, placing 3 cubes into the vodka. I watch on with curiosity mid pour as he shot the whole glass back, placing the empty glass and ice on the bench.

“Jesus!” I state “so you’re still drinking then?”

“It helps me unwind. Now can I have some more please,” he says, sliding his glass towards me. I look down at it sceptically before filling it again. He brings the glass to his lips, this time taking a small sip, smirking as he sees me watching him.

“Thanks,”

I walk around the breakfast bar and take a seat next to night, placing my glass on the bench I look at him.

“What are you looking at, Harry?” he asks, clearly annoyed at my staring.

“Where have you been, Niall?” I ask.

“I’ve been here,” he states, as if it was all that obvious.

“You mean to tell me that all this time, for the last three years, you’ve been in London?” I ask, not buying it.

“Well not exactly the whole time. I spent some time travelling, I went back to Australia,” his eyes darken, his jaw clenching as he finishes the sentence.

“What is it?”

He turns, lifting his eyes to meet mine. Something in his eyes has changed, leaving them cold and distant. “Can I ask you something, Harry?”

“You can ask me anything, Niall. You know that,” I reply.

“No I don’t know that. But a lot has changed in three years. Do you see any of the boys much?” Why the sudden change in his mood?

“Not as often as I would like too. I probably see Louis the most, seeing as Zayn and Liam moved to America,” I reply. Though I still don’t see much of Louis, he has an extremely busy schedule. “Something tells me that that is not the question you wanted to ask me.”

He smiles a sad smile. “You’re very perceptive these days, Harry.”

I just look at him.

“Fine,” he sighs. “I know. How about we play a drinking game?”

“What kind of drinking game?” I ask worried what this might involve. I still can’t hold my liquor all that well.

He was thoughtful for a moment.

“I never.. Do you know how to play that, Harry?”

“Of course I know how to play it, Niall,”

“Alright, so you go first then,” he said, taking a quick sip of his drink.

I thought for a second. “I never, told Simon that I need to be excused from an interview because I had a hard on,” I smirk at him.

He almost spits out his drink remembering that day. “Hey, you’re the one who was running your hand all up and down my leg under the table.” He takes a large sip of his drink, it only made me laugh harder.

“Okay then, I never..”

*

We went back and forth, each bringing up embarrassing things from our time in One Direction. Until I got up to use the bathroom, both of us completely wasted.

“No worries mate. I’ll just wait here I suppose,” Niall said, refilling his glass.

I walk back into the kitchen 5 minutes later; to find Niall a lot drunker then I had left him. He slouched in the stool and his face was paler. Even in my drunken state I was concerned.

“Niall? Are you alright?”

“Let’s just ep goin’ with the game,” he slurred. “I’ll go. I never, told someone I loved them and then fucked it all up and completely ruined said person’s life,”

“What?” I ask, genuinely confused.

He looks at me as if I was stupid. “Alright then, I never, fucked some random slut,”

“Niall, what are you talking about?”

“Maybe I need to be a little bit clearer. I never, got married,” I could be mistaken but I swear his eyes watered, causing tears to fall down his cheeks. He swiped them away quickly, before I could ask questions.

“Niall,” I feel sorry for him, I never meant to hurt him like that. But he was gone. And from what I could tell then, he wasn’t coming back.

“Where is she Harry?” he asks, looking at me through red tinged eyes.

“She’s in America for the week, filming a movie or something,” I don’t even know these days. She could be fucking one of her co-stars for all I know.

“In that case - ” he didn’t finish the sentence, but he brought his lips up to meet mine. Wrapping his arms around my neck to hold me to him. My drunken mind told me this was the right thing to do, my sober mind knew that this was wrong, but it was the one thing that I had wanted, dreamed of for the last three years. So I didn’t pull away, I grabbed Niall’s cheeks in my palms and held him just as tightly.

“I’m sorry, Harry. I am so so so so sorry,” Niall said, after pulling back some.

I pull back all the way and grab his hand, leading him into the bedroom that I now share with my wife. I push anything of hers off the bed and shove it out of sight; I didn’t need the guilt tonight. I only needed Niall. He removes my shirt without hesitance. He places his hands on my chest, running his fingers over the tattoos that permanently mark my skin. I shiver at his touch. He kisses my neck, sucking slightly at the skin, creating red marks like a horny teenager. But that’s what we are, we haven’t seen each other in three years, and Niall left when we were just starting our relationship, we were teenagers, stupid, innocent teenagers. And now as grown men we are no different. He turns us around and pushes me onto the bed, quickly reattaching his lips to my skin, working his way down my torso. He unbuckles my belt and slides my jeans down my legs, throwing them to the side. He hooked his fingers into my briefs, pulling them off as well; he wasted no time taking me into his mouth, making me moan at the sudden contact. He was no longer shy and hesitant, he knew what he wanted, and he knew how to get it.

I push him off me, and swap our positions, now I hover over him, his eyes shine expectantly at me. I place my mouth on his, hooking my fingers into the bottom of his sweater and lifting it over his head. I was shocked by what I saw. My Niall who had always been too afraid of needles to get one tiny tattoo had gone and inked both of his arms. I studied them, not sure what any of the inking meant.

“They’re just tattoos, Harry,” he says, following my gaze.

“I know,” I say, before removing his chinos and briefs, taking him in my hand, continuing to pump my hand back and forth on his length, as I watched his back arch off the bed.

“Fuck, Harry!” he moans, making me smirk and move my hand faster. He came without warning onto my hand and his stomach, both our chests heaving hard as he came down from his high.

“Now you’re turn,” he startles me by saying, again swapping or position and taking me fully into his mouth. He swirls his tongue over the tip, making my hips buck up. He uses his hands and holds my hips down, only causing me to fight harder against them. I was a moaning mess, as I came my body shook as I lay back in exhaustion.

“Well shit,” he says, as he crawls up into the bed next to me. I wrap my arm around him, bringing him closer to me.

“I’ve missed this.”

Notes

enjoy my friends (:.

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