Chapter Text
-
The first angel rubs her hands together against the cold. It is 11:30 on New Year’s Eve and she is standing in the car park of a miserable looking service station just off the M1. She checks her watch and sighs. He’s late again. She rolls her eyes and plunges her hands into her pockets. Typical male ego, never any respect. She wishes she could have a smoke, but she’d given up the year before and wasn’t about to go through the nonsense of quitting all over again.
“Sorry I’m late.” She looks up. The second angel is walking towards her, dark blonde hair swept back from his tanned face.
“About time. Come on, while we’re still young.” She says this with no hint of irony.
He raises his eyebrows slightly, but doesn’t comment. They walk into the service station in silence and enter the first coffee shop they come to. She orders something sweet and foamy.
“I’ll have an iced tea.” He says, flashing perfect white teeth at the cashier, who practically combusts. The two angels take a seat together.
“So,” he begins. “What’s the big emergency?”
“No emergency, I’ve just got places to be.”
“Ooh, hot date? Don’t want to get stuck kissing me at midnight? You wound me Clara.”
“Ha ha, very funny.” She says, face utterly devoid of emotion.
“Sorry, sorry. Please, do tell.”
“We are required.” She says solemnly. There is a thin moustache of foam above her upper lip. “Fate has got a little tangled.”
“Ugh, not again.” He rolls his eyes. “I spend enough of my time sorting out Fate’s little mishaps as it is. Can’t she deal with this herself?”
“No, she’s busy.”
“Busy?” He asks, incredulous.
“Yes. She’s on a cruise around Orion’s belt. Anyway, that’s not the point, it is what it is, and this one’s important. True love and all that. Are you going to help or not?”
He pouts at her moodily, and then sighs.
“Well, alright. But only if I absolutely have to.”
“Thankyou, Archie. Ever so gracious of you. Now- the facts are these…”
CH1:The One Where Almost Meeting Isn’t Quite Enough
The 5:36 train from Edinburgh to Manchester is, predictably, pretty empty. Harry Styles slides his ticket into is back pocket as he boards, one bag on his back, one over each shoulder and a hefty holdall in his arms.
He makes a beeline for a table seat and spreads his bags out around him. He has been homeless for 19 minutes and he’s already feeling pretty sorry for himself.
He fumbles in the holdall for a few moments before extracting a breakfast bar with a flourish. It was all he had been able to grab from his shared kitchen in Halls before he had to run (rather awkwardly, considering his considerable luggage) for the train. He trusts that Jenny won’t mind. After all she had told him on the first day of term “what’s mine is yours”.
Well, that’s what he thinks she’d said anyway, she’d had a mouthful of granola at the time.
To Jenny, he thinks, raising the Nuts N’ Crunch bar into the air in salute before tearing the wrapper off and stuffing it into his mouth. It’s no fry up sure, but it’s better than nothing. Well, more or less.
As the train departs and gathers speed Harry stares out of the window at the city, dimly lit and cloaked in morning mist.
This is the kind of shit that poets write about, he thinks, well, that and pretentious musicians.
-
220 miles away a pretentious musician has his head in his hands.
Zayn Malik has no mist hanging at his window like spiders webs, no rain beating against his roof. All he has is a pitiful view of a car park and the sound of two cats either fighting or having sex. Either way it’s not ideal.
I bet Bowie never had to put up with this shit.
He pushes his hands against his eyes to try and wipe the fatigue away and then rubs them together. It’s been January for just over two weeks and every morning feels more frozen than the last. He’d even spent his 24th birthday wrapped up in bed with with the flu and nothing for company but a pink fluffy hot water bottle.
The red alarm clock in the corner reads 5:40am. It’s a funky Ikea piece and stands out like a sore thumb in his moody, antique filled bedroom. Usually he wouldn’t stand for such reproduced nonsense, but since it was a flat warming present from Louis he was obliged to compliment it thoroughly, and find it a place in his room. It’s currently balanced precariously on a stack of Led Zepellin records by his bed.
Right now he wants to find it a place in the skip underneath his balcony. Smug little bastard.
He pulls on a black jumper over his black t-shirt and takes his black mood into the kitchen to boil the kettle. Writer’s block is a bitch.
There is a card propped against the toaster and he picks it up and reads it again, a reluctant grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. Good luck tonight ZAYNY. Don’t forget my support when you hit the big time. Just buy me a car and we’ll call it quits. And remember…WESTSIDE. All my love, Lou Bear. xxx
Zayn grins. For all of Louis’ faults, he really is a fantastic friend. He casts his mind back to the day they met, 8 years before at college orientation. He’d nervously looked around the room for a spare seat, eventually spotting one next to a shy looking guy in a beanie and a grey cardigan. ‘Shy’ turned out to be a terrible miscalculation.
Within five minutes Zayn had learnt everything that the boy had eaten in the last 24 hours as well as his opinion on every class on their shared syllabus. He had also learnt not to judge people by appearances.
He pours the boiling water over his coffee grounds and stirs, the smell rousing him, and turns his mind to last night’s performance.
Even he had to admit it had been the best of his life and when he staggered offstage after his final song the audience had roared for an encore. And Zayn was nothing if not a crowd pleaser. The feeling of being onstage in front of people screaming your name…it was almost better than sex. And that was coming from the man who hadn’t been laid in 5 months.
But best of all, he had seen him again. The mysterious fan that had been at almost every single show he’d ever played.
He sips his coffee as delicious memories of long eyelashes, dark eyes and tanned skin rush back to him. Lazily he wanders back into his bedroom, sets his mug down and picks up his pen, inspiration sparking.
He begins to write a song about love and fate and eyes meeting across a crowded room. He lets the words flow from pen to paper until two pages of the notebook are filled with his messy scrawl and doodles of hearts and stars and he’s finally finished. He clambers into bed, his coffee forgotten, eyes suddenly heavy. He falls asleep, his new lyrics running through his brain.
On his desk is the first draft of a song for his mystery admirer.
And it’s truly truly terrible.
-
Marimba.
Suddenly Louis’ least favourite sound in all the world.
He fumbles for his phone which has somehow slipped down the side of his bed and is making horrible chirping sounds at him. He makes a ghastly choking sound in response. He feels like something has crawled into his mouth and died. And then come back to life, and then died again. The light from his phone is blinding.
He hasn’t woken up feeling quite this bad since his and Zayn’s University years when most days were spent sleeping until noon and eating leftover pizza and nursing hangovers until the evening came and it was time to go out and do it all over again.
But now he’s a real proper adult with a real proper adult job at the most prestigious Performing Arts school in the city. And he’s going to be late unless he gets a move on. Louis Tomlinson is many things, but he is never, ever late. Well, not since his disciplinary hearing.
He scrambles out of bed, grabbing his toothbrush on his way into the shower.
He barely has time to wash and style his hair before it’s suddenly 9 o’clock and he’s rushing out the door, without time for even a sip of Yorkshire tea. Outrageous.
He checks his phone in the lift down from his flat, and shakes his head with amusement when he sees his new background; a picture of Niall with his arms round a bouncer and his shirt tied around his neck like a cape.
He’d been drinking at least two drinks for every one Louis and Zayn had, and with a wicked grin he wonders how he’s feeling this morning.
-
In fact Niall Horan has never felt better.
Whether it’s the luck of the Irish or just damn good genes, he’d woken up with the birds at 7:30, well rested and ready for the day. He’d even had time for a jog around the block before showering and dressing for work. And now even his hair looks fantastic, though he’ll have to ask Louis to touch up his roots in a couple of weeks.
God has favourites, and the Irishman is definitely one of them.
As he sips his tea and munches on peanut butter toast he casts his mind back to the night before. Great night out with the lads. Absolute classic. Memories come flooding back of Zayn insisting he buy Niall a chicken kebab, and then serenading him with Robbie Williams on a park bench. He knows that Zayn will deny it until his very last breath, but Niall will cherish the memory nonetheless.
(‘So when I'm lying in my bed, thoughts running through my head, and I feel that love is dead, I'm lovin-‘ Shit Niall. Niall! No get down from there, take that- take that cape off. Don’t fall down or Louis’ll kill me, LOUIS LOUIS where’s Louis Niall we’ve lost Louis. ‘I’M LOVIN ANGELS INSTEAD.’ What do you mean I’m sitting in your kebab?)
Louis had disappeared early again of course, far too drunk on far too little and waxing lyrical about his cold heart and how he’d never find love.
Niall shakes his head, drains his mug and looks at his watch. About time to go. He checks himself in the bathroom mirror as he brushes his teeth and it occurs to him how bloody old he looks in his shirt and smart trousers. (He'd begged his boss to let him wear jeans and high tops, but to no avail).
There are some days when he gets home from a day at the school and a double shift at the pub when he feels as though 10 years has passed since he and Harry were 16 year old kids messing about at school, cutting lessons and sitting in woodland circles getting giddy on cans of cider.
How things change, how they stay the same. He shakes himself out of his reverie and spits his toothpaste into the sink. Getting nostalgic in your old age, Horan? Pull it together. He vows to put the past where it belongs as he grabs his keys, swings open the door and collides headfirst with history.
-
Harry gets lost three times before he finally finds Niall’s building. He had hopped off the train at Picadilly and walked confidently down the street before stopping and realising that he had no idea which direction he should be going in.
He’s out of breath by the time he arrives, knowing that he needs to catch Niall before work or he’ll be stuck out in the cold all day with all of his bags. Plus he really needs a wee. He walks quickly, luckily managing to slip in behind someone as they are leaving the building. He rides the lift up to the 5th floor with an excited tingling in his stomach as he wonders just how excited Niall will be to see him.
-
“Jesus Christ Harry! What the fuck?”
“I’ve quit Uni. I’m back.”
“Yeah I can see that, Jesus, come in.” He steps back to let Harry shuffle in and drop his bags to the floor with a thud.
“You got the kitchen sink in there somewhere too?” He gestures to Harry’s luggage. The joke is strained, something’s off and Harry knows it. He tries to force a laugh but it dies on his lips.
“Sorry I know I should have called but it was all a bit sudden. And I was booking a ticket and I just thought of you and us and your tiny box room that nobody wants to rent and I thought…I thought you’d be pleased to see me.”
They stare at each other for a few seconds, the door open and Harry playing with his fingers nervously. Niall blinks a few times to check that Harry is not an illusion brought on by a dodgy chicken kebab. Then he steps towards him and gathers him up into a tight hug.
“Course I’m pleased to see you ya moron, just fucking surprised that’s all. Last I heard from you was the end of term and you just seemed so psyched to be up there.”
Harry remembers the voicemail. It was 2 in the morning and he was standing alone outside of a club in the centre of town, and he was gushing about his friends and his flat and his course and how this was definitely, finally the right decision for him. He’d hung up the phone with a promise to call again and wandered the city alone until he felt as empty as its streets.
“What happened Harry?” Concern laces his voice and Harry realises that his face has dropped. He forces a smile.
“It’s a long story. I’m fine, just tired.”
“Well get in here and make yourself at home. Listen man, I’ve got to get to Cole’s or I’ll get an absolute bollocking but you can meet me later alright, and we can chat then. I’m working at Simon’s part time, you know the place? I start at 6:30.” He takes a few steps out of the door before turning back to Harry, who looks so fragile and lost standing in his tiny kitchen.
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you, man.”
And with those words Harry smiles properly for the first time in days.
-
It’s 9:23 by the time Louis manages to find a place to park his car at work. The familiar red and gold ‘Cole Institute’ sign looms above him as he locks his old green mini.
He’s worked here since he graduated 4 years before and has never once doubted his decision to stay. Each day is busy and loud and full of tantrums from both staff and students and he never finishes on time. But that’s what he loves about the place, the life and passion that echoes through every hallway. And it’s no different today.
He’s been inside his office for less than five minutes when there is a frantic knocking on the door.
“Come in.” He’s barely said the words before a girl with fierce red hair is tumbling through the doorway and into the room.
“Sabine’s locked in the sound booth Tommo and I can’t find anyone.” She’s out of breath and her chest is heaving.
“Alright calm down, calm down. I’m on my way. Just let me grab my keys. Calm Rebecca, calm.”
She nods and scrambles back out of the door. Just a normal day then.
-
Zayn’s phone is ringing. Zayn’s phone is ringing and he’s not very happy about it. He groans and reaches under his pillow for the offending object. LOU BEAR CALLING. He grits his teeth and hits answer.
“Wha dya wah?”
“And lovely to hear your voice too Zayn darling.”
Zayn groans and repeats his question, enunciating a little better this time and adding a few choice swear words.
“What? Can’t I call my best friend on my break with no ulterior motive? Just wanted to see how you were feeling after your show and remind you that it’s the showcase tomorrow and if you forget then I will personally see to it that you never sing in this town again. Message received?”
He gets a string of expletives and the dial tone as an answer. Charming.
-
There’s not a lot to do in Niall’s flat, as Harry finds out pretty quickly. After showering in Niall’s tiny bathroom and necking a cup of coffee he’s far too wired to take a nap as planned. He wanders aimlessly from one end of the flat to the other before deciding to at least do something productive.
He finishes hoovering at 11, the dusting’s done at noon and by the time 6 o’clock rolls around he’s tidied every inch of the flat, colour coded Niall’s wardrobe and even organised the fridge.
Idle work makes the devils hands do something or something he says to himself. 4 cups of coffee in and he’s feeling decidedly peculiar.
“Shit.” He hasn’t checked the clock in hours and he realises that Niall’s shift starts in an hour. He looks down at himself, covered in dust and debris from the floor, and decides another shower is in order. He eyes the kettle warily.
And maybe just one more cup.
-
Louis is finally almost done at work.
He grabs a prop sword and a pirate hat and stuffs it into the box he’s carrying under his arm, wondering whose bright idea it was to teach the Junior class about improvisation when he was nursing a colossal hangover.
Ah yes, it was my bright idea.
He always forgets how bloody noisy 14 year olds can be. And where had all that energy come from? Then he remembers himself at 14, practically bouncing off the walls, and decides to cut them a little slack.
He unlocks the odds and ends cupboard at the far end of the hall, holding the door open with his foot whilst he replaces the box on a shelf. He’d been delighted to find an empty space to commandeer when he’d first started his job at the school after graduating, though this delight was slightly hampered by the fact that the door locked from the outside whenever it was shut.
He’d found that one out the hard way.
He gives the hall a quick once over before turning out the lights and walking back to his office, thinking of a hot shower and bed.
He swears loudly when he realises that the choir arrangements for tomorrow’s showcase are still on his desk and not with Niall where they should be.
Shit.
And it’s his morning off tomorrow.
Balls.
-
It’s almost seven when Louis pulls up outside Simon’s.
The old pub has been here for as long as anyone can remember and it hasn’t changed once since Louis moved to Manchester. He likes that about it.
Since he befriended Niall the year before he’s been a regular, and he and Zayn have spent many drunken nights hunched over their drinks in the corner, crying with laughter at Niall’s impressions of the various punters in front of them.
He pulls his denim jacket tighter around him as he locks his car. The sky is clear and dark and there is a bitter chill in the air. His breath fogs in front of his face in the carpark and he walks quickly inside. The noise and warmth greet him immediately.
He spots Niall straight away behind the bar, cleaning a glass and talking animatedly to an elderly man in a sagging and stained Christmas jumper. Louis smiles. Niall always chooses the most interesting and unusual person in the bar to talk to.
In other words the drunkest and most unhinged.
Louis spots Old Nelson sitting in the corner and nods his head. Nelson nods back and salutes. He’ll never forget the New Year’s Eve he spent trapped in a corner with the old guy whilst Zayn sang drunken Karaoke. Nelson had spent almost 2 hours explaining to him that the moon landing was actually filmed in a storage space in Hackney, and that anyone saying otherwise was bloody clueless.
Never again.
Niall smiles widely and raises a hand to Louis when he sees him crossing the pub floor towards him. Louis returns his smile and holds up the small stack of paper in his hands and watches realisation flood across Niall’s face.
“Shit man I totally forgot I had all that to do as well. Thanks for bringing these.” He looks a little tired, Louis thinks. It can’t be easy working all these hours, not that he would ever complain about anything. The world is a wonderful sparkling place for people like Niall, and Louis wouldn’t have it any other way. He hands them across the bar and Niall stashes them under the till.
“What can I get you? On the house of course.”
He throws Louis a dramatic wink and laughs. Louis takes a seat next to the man at the bar and pulls off his scarf.
“Just an orange juice cheers.”
“One vodka and orange coming up.”
“No vodka, just the orange.”
Niall’s brow knits together in confusion.
“Just the orange? Alright then, if you’re sure…”
He pulls a glass up and as he walks over to the fridge at the other end of the bar Louis hears him muttering something about bloody Englishmen. Louis chuckles and looks around the pub. Not a single guy under the age of 45. He’s glad he didn’t bother going home to change. He turns to the man next to him and compliments him on his wonderful jumper.
A mile and a half away Harry Styles puts on his coat, checks himself once in the mirror and leaves the building.
-
The streets feel the same, though they’ve changed so much since Harry had last walked them. He enjoys the familiar symmetry of the estates and the wide roads full of traffic. Tall trees in front of streetlights cast long shadows across the pavement and as he walks he thinks of his and Niall’s first summer in Manchester, fresh out of school and eager to live.
They’d slept on friend’s sofas before Niall found them both a job in a shop warehouse and they’d been able to rent a tiny place on the outskirts of town. It had been the best summer of his life. They’d been to house parties that spread out across the streets, and danced in basements until the sun cracked the sky in half and they had to go home. He’d kissed anyone he wanted without a single fear or concern in his head. He had felt invincible and his heart was full of light. But then September had arrived and with it responsibility. Niall’s application to the Cole Institute had been successful. Harry’s still lay under a pile of magazines in his room.
Outwardly he’d been ecstatic for Niall, and of course he was, but inside somewhere he felt empty and numb, and for the next few months he could only watch as his best friend’s life moved forwards and his stood still. He stayed for as long as he could stand it, but as the weather got colder he did too and one night he wrote a note and left.
His life for the past two years had been failed attempts, part time jobs, one way tickets and then this summer a panicked application to University.
And now you’ve fucked that up too, haven’t you.
He lifts the collar of his jacket and shoves his hands deeper into his pockets against the cold. He takes a left and sees Simon’s up ahead.
-
“Matt please, I can’t go through this again.”
Louis is sitting on a table out the back of the pub, legs drawn up and his phone pressed to his ear. He’s been dreading this call for weeks and he’d groaned when he saw the name on the caller ID. But he couldn’t ignore it, it wasn’t in his nature, so he’s picked up his orange juice, excused himself and taken the call out back.
He and his latest boyfriend Matt had broken up at the end of October. He’d gone through the usual post break-up routine; crying, eating ice-cream, watching depressing films about sinking ships. But after a week of this he'd had to admit he hadn’t felt so much as a twinge of regret. Not that Matt hadn’t been great. He was funny, smart, good looking. They shared the same taste in everything. He was perfect on paper, but he didn’t make Louis’ heart beat fast. Nobody did.
Louis had dated every kind of guy- older, younger. He’d experimented with lawyers and bankers, men with money who wanted to take care of him. He’d had flings with friends of Zayn, musicians with emotional problems who sang about heartache and pain. But they never made him feel a thing and he wonders if he’s just not meant to fall in love.
“I just didn’t feel the same, Matt.” He says into the phone, and he braces himself for tears from the other end of the line.
-
Harry pushes open the door to the pub and the familiar smell fills his heart with a feeling of home. Growing up he’d spent countless afternoons sitting in the corner of his local with Gemma, with colouring books and crayons and as many glasses of Fanta and Coke as they could chug back before they felt sick and dizzy with sugar.
Pubs weren’t quite the same since the smoking ban, but they still held that sense of nostalgia that managed to take Harry’s breath away even now. He crosses the room and sits at the bar, all the while scanning for Niall.
He sees a barmaid stop in front of him out of the corner of his eye. He turns. She grins. He doesn’t smile back.
“JD and coke please.”
“Double?”
“Single.”
She flicks her hair and turns to get the bottle of whiskey down from the top shelf, stretching a little more than necessary, Harry thinks. She hands him the drink and takes the change he scrapes from the bottom of his pocket.
She continues to beam at him until a customer calls for a drink from the other side of the bar. He takes a sip. She’s poured him a double.
“Harold!” Harry turns just as Niall claps a hand on his back and squeezes. “Sorry mate, just got off my break, you been here long?”
“No not long.”
“I’ll get you a drink.”
“No, Ni, I’ve just…” But Niall is already pouring generous amounts of brown liquid into a glass.
“On the house” he says, and his smile is the brightest thing in the room.
It doesn’t take long for Harry to feel it. He’s hardly eaten today and his drink feels sweet and heavy in his mouth and makes his head feels light.
Niall manages to start a heated discussion about football with the man sitting next to Harry, who is wearing a heavy overcoat and is missing most of his teeth. Harry sips his drink and lets his mind drifts to the last time he'd played football in Barcelona over the summer. He had laughed with the boys on his team, rolled around breathless in celebration. Afterwards he had sat on the beach alone and as he watched the waves roll over the shore he had wandered what it would be like to fall in love. Then he had scolded himself for being so pathetic, found the nearest bar and ordered tequila.
“You’re having a laugh!”
Niall’s raised voice brings him back to the now and he looks up just as his friend’s outstretched arm knock over a pint of bitter right in Harry’s general direction. Cold liquid spreads down his front.
“Bugger it all to hell, I’m sorry man. Coulda sworn it weren't that close.”
Harry waves his apologies away and smiles. It’s not the first time Niall’s enthusiasm and clumsiness had gotten him into a sticky situation. He shrugs his jacket off and hangs it over his barstool.
“Back in a sec.” He wanders a little shakily away from the bar towards the back of the pub in search of the toilets. He pushes one door open and finds another ahead.
He barely has time to read the RESTRICTED sign on it before someone comes charging through and for the second time in as many minutes, Harry is covered in someone else’s beverage.
-
“Shit. Shit I’m so sorry.” Louis is fumbling for his words, mortified that he’s just poured half a glass of orange juice over a stranger. A tall stranger. A tall curly haired stranger. A tall curly haired laughing stranger.
“Honestly my fault, I’m not meant to be back here, I was looking for the loos actually. Guessing they’re back the other way.”
He sees Louis’ knitted brow and it wounds him unexpectedly. Drunk and soppy as usual.
“Honestly don’t worry. Someone just spilled their drink on me- someone else I mean. Before you.” Harry adds this when the man’s face falls further. "I think the universe is trying to tell me something about this shirt."
“I should have been looking, I’m such an idiot.” Louis’ face is hot and red and for some reason he can’t bring himself to look up past the chest in front of him.
“Hey” Louis feels a hand on his shoulder. “I really don’t mind. It’ll be a funny story.”
Harry squeezes Louis’ shoulder and for the first time he looks up. The boy in front of him is smiling, a real genuine honest smile that reaches to his eyes from his mouth. And what a mouth it is. Even in the gloom of the corridor he can see the deep pink of the stranger’s lips, the impossible plumpness of them that sends a shiver straight down his spine.
He realises that he needs to say something soon or else he’ll end up looking even more ridiculous than he already does.
“Orange juice.”
Nailed it.
“Orange juice.” The stranger agrees and his smile remains, though Louis has no idea why.
“It was really nice meeting you.” He says, and Louis wants to return the compliment but for some reason his head and glass are as empty as each other. And then all too quickly the hand is gone from his shoulder and Louis is standing alone in the short corridor, trying desperately to remember how to move his legs.
-
“You’re wrong about Delaney, he’s a solid addition. He may be a bit older but- Hey Louis, Louis you’re not going are you mate? You haven’t met my friend Harry!” The toothless man beside Niall grins up at Louis in apparent recognition. But Louis can’t meet Harry now, can’t meet any of Niall’s ridiculous customer friends, not today.
He has to go and drive through the dark before any of the memory burns away. He manages a weak smile before pushing through the doors and out in the cold night, thinking only of pink lips and flashing green eyes.
“What’s his problem…anyway, like I was saying. Delaney-”
And when Harry returns to the bar a few moments later Niall is so deep in conversation that he barely notices when he takes his seat again, which is fine with Harry.
He glances several times around the bar, but there is no sign of a man with his hair swept across his forehead and the most perfect cheekbones Harry has ever seen. He takes a sip from the fresh drink Niall places in front of him and keeps drinking until there are no clear thoughts in his head at all and Niall has to loop his arms around him to get him into the lift and back into his flat.
He sits him on the arm of the sofa whilst he fills a pint glass with water at the sink.
“There’s a bed in the box room, spare duvet in the airing cupboard and pillows under the bed.”
Harry nods sagely before falling backwards onto the sofa.
“Or alternatively you can sleep right there.”
Niall grabs the throw and places it over Harry, who has repositioned himself clumsily across the sofa. “I’m up for work at 8 so I’m heading to bed now. Oh and Harry-”
Niall crouches down beside his friend.
“-rent’s due the first Monday of every month. Welcome home.” He plants a kiss on Harry’s temple before switching the light off and going to bed.
Harry smiles as he drifts off, swimming down through drunken dreams of toothless men and footballers and the most vivid blue eyes that he has ever seen.