Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The five of them are crowded around the ratty table, white paint chipping at the corner. They’re still missing a chair, but Louis insists Harry’s lap makes for a perfectly good seat. It’s where he’s perched right now, looking expectantly at Niall, his fingers tracing the burned spot from when Zayn had placed a pot straight off the stove.

“Ready?” Niall demands, rattling his snapback.

“Me first,” Louis insists.

“Rules!” Niall pulls the snapback toward his chest, cradling it.

Zayn rolls his eyes, leaning back in his chair. His arm bumps against Liam’s, making Liam's skin hypersensitive where they touched. “We know the rules.”

Niall ignores him. “You’re not allowed to spend more than ten quid on the gift, you have until Friday, and if you get your name –“

“Put it back in,” Harry interrupts. “This isn’t the first time we’ve done Secret Santa.”

“And yet who spent double the amount on a gift last year?” Niall narrows his eyes.

“Not like you were complaining,” Liam looks pointedly at the Derby snapback in Niall’s hands.

“I wasn’t going to make him return the gift. What kind of person do you think I am?” Niall looks scandalised.

“You’re taking too long,” Louis groans. “Why must you always drag this part out? It’s the least fun bit.”

“Just for that, you go last.” Niall thrusts his hat under Zayn’s nose.

They each pick a piece of paper, sneaking a quick glance at the name they’ve drawn. Niall breaks off into a manic grin when he sees who he’s gotten. It leaves Liam a bit uneasy, but he’s got more important things to do. Like figure out what he’s going to get Louis.

---

He’s been around the mall at least five times and the mission seems to be getting harder. It doesn’t help that everyone in the city seems to be doing their shopping today. Liam’s already tripped over two toddlers who ran amok, their parents screeching after them. He’s been hit in the shins by at least fifteen shopping bags. He’s certain that gifts have gotten a lot harder since when he was a kid. What happened to buying soft toys and even softer jumpers as Christmas gifts?

“Watch where you’re going,” a teenager snaps, her handbag catching on Liam’s leg.

That’s it. He’s done.

He ducks into the closest shop, escaping the press of the crowds. When he stops to breathe and take in his surroundings, he breaks out into a wide smile. He’s surrounded by art and art supplies. Rows and rows of paint and colour pencils, sketchbooks with thick, creamy paper, and a rainbow of coloured sheets. The melange of art supplies smells so much like Zayn’s room, the stress instantly melts off Liam. His shoulders sag, the noise of the rest of the mall fading and he loses himself in the shop.

He’s got a bag in his hand when he returns home. Unfortunately, it doesn’t hold a gift for Louis.

---

“Three more days,” Niall sings, scrambling eggs in his white pants. “Who’s got their gifts? Because I have!” He wiggles his bum in some sort of happy dance.

“Shut up, Niall,” Harry grumbles. At least someone else is having a tough time with their Secret Santa gifts.

“Poor Hazza,” Niall coos, setting a plate of eggs in front of Harry and Liam.

“Where are the sausages?” Liam asks, looking pitifully at the runny eggs.

“Zayn and Louis ate them.” Specks of egg fly from Niall’s mouth, and Liam closes his eyes. It’s too early for this. “They have exams today. Needed it more than you.” They eat in silence for a few minutes before Niall sighs. “Who needs help brainstorming gift ideas? Talk to Uncle Niall.”   

Liam and Harry share a look before getting up and finishing their breakfast on the sofa.

---

“Tomorrow!” Niall shrieks, skidding down the hall in his socks.

Liam shuts his door on him. He opens his notebook up again, running through the list of potential items he’d created for Louis.

Skateboard stickers

Studs – Lou’s wanted to pierce his ears for aaages

Shirt – football/ music theme?

Beer

He’ll deal with this after his exam. He’s got an exam tomorrow.

---

“Gather round, minions,” Niall instructs. He’s donned a bright green sweater with actual Christmas bobbles attached to it. He makes for a very passable elf. The fact that he’s handing out presents just completes the image. They take a seat on the floor, forming a little circle. Frankly, where Liam is concerned, they let Niall get away with too much. Probably because they're so fond of him. 

“Hey,” Zayn whispers, his mouth tickling Liam’s ear. Liam suppresses a shiver, turning toward Zayn. They’re so close, he can count the flecks of gold in Zayn’s eyes.

“Hi,” Liam whispers back. It’s been a hell of a week, studying for finals. They’ve barely had time to talk.

“I like your jumper,” Zayn smiles. Liam looks down at his jumper, Rudolph’s red nosed pompom sticking out over his belly button. He’s worn it every year, for the past two years that they’ve all lived together and exchanged Secret Santa gifts. “It’s cute.”

Because they’ve done this for the past two years, Liam expects it when Zayn reaches out to squeeze Rudolph’s nose. He still giggles and blushes. There’s tradition to be upheld, okay?

Niall sighs very loudly, breaking their spell. “Louis, sit down.”

“Fuck off, Neil. Can’t you see I’m plaiting Harry’s hair?”

“It’s okay, Lou,” Harry tilts his head back to look at Louis, effectively loosening the plaits.

“H!” Louis whines. He negates it by taking a seat next to Harry and leans into his side, a small smile gracing his features.

Niall clears his throat and places a candle before him. It casts a glow over his features, backlighting his face. Combined with his deep voice, he’s coming off as rather scary. Perhaps Niall got his holiday’s confused. “Welcome, to the annual Unit 1D Secret Santa. This is officially our third and last year-“

“Who said it’s the last year?” Zayn demands.

“We’re graduating next year, and we can’t continue living together.”

“Why?” Harry joins in. He crosses his arms only to open them and pull Louis into him.

“Well,” Niall flounders. “I just figured…”

“We can continue our tradition even if we don’t live together,” Liam placates. He reaches behind Niall and pulls out a gift to hand to him. “Come on, I want to see what I got.”

Niall seems satisfied for now. He abandons his speech to hand out the wrapped presents. Following tradition, Louis, being the oldest, opens his gift first. He eagerly rips at the newspaper Liam haphazardly threw around the gift. As Louis’ excitement mounts, Liam shrinks, ashamed that he never had enough time to buy Louis an actual gift and had to resort to –

“Colour pencils?” Louis furrows a brow at his unwrapped gift.

“Siick, bro!” Zayn crawls over to Louis, plucking the gift from his hand. “Are these the new Faber-Castell ones? I’ve been meaning to get them for ages.” He hands Louis back his gift after a thorough inspection, parting with it rather mournfully.

“Zayn,” Niall deposits a rectangular box into Zayn’s lap.

Zayn picks up the box, carefully wrapped in green, shiny paper. “To Zaynner, love Louis,” Zayn reads. “Thanks, bro.”

“Open it first,” Louis chuckles lamely, scuffing at the back of his neck.

Zayn rips at the paper, though with less fervor than Louis. He comes away with a set of –

“Nail polish,” Harry breathes, eyes lighting up.

“Uh, these are kinda cool. Thanks, Lou,” Zayn tries. And fails. Beside him, Liam hides a groan.

Niall drops a large flat square on Liam, chuckling to himself. Liam shoots him a glance, suspicious. Niall’s enjoying this too much. Especially considering the awkwardness that’s settling over the others. For now, Liam focuses on opening his gift, covered in sparkling, night blue paper. As more paper is pulled away, it’s clear that a record lies under. Liam bites his lip to stop the frown. He doesn’t own a record player.

“It’s an original Green Day record!” Harry says brightly. His eyes are wide and his grin over exaggerated. “I know you’ll love it!”

Harry’s a horrible liar. Liam doesn’t know why he’s even bothering. “Thanks, Haz. I, uh, love their music.” So maybe Liam’s a horrible liar as well. Beside Harry, Louis keeps darting his eyes toward the record. Liam sighs, handing it over to Louis who accepts it with eager hands.

“Haz,” Niall’s full out cackling at this point, tossing a flimsy gift at Harry.

“You’re older than me,” Harry protests. It’s futile. Every year he tries to point out that Niall should open his gift before Harry, and every year Niall points out that as the organiser, he deserves to go last.

This year is no different.

“Careful,” Zayn warns, stopping Harry just in time before he rips at the paper. They all watch expectantly, the gift falling onto the floor. Niall’s laughter completely drowns out Liam’s gasp.

It’s the fucking new Batman comic book. He’d been searching for it for ages and it was sold out everywhere. And now Harry is sitting right there holding a copy with his grubby fingers. Liam sits on his hands to stop himself from snatching Harry’s gift away.

“Thanks, Z.”

“Yeah, no problem.” Zayn replies.

There’s a beat of silence where the four of them stare forlornly at the gifts in their hands. Of course, it’s interrupted by Niall.

“My turn!”

“Wait a minute,” Louis begins, only to stop short when Niall shakes out an extremely soft looking Derby County jumper.

“That is more than ten quid,” Zayn frowns.

“I’m a man of fine tastes,” Niall shrugs, pulling off his Christmas jumper and exchanging it for his new gift. “Isn’t it wonderful?”

“Is no one else concerned that he pulled out his own name?” Louis explodes.

Harry pouts, clutching the comic book to his chest. “You broke the rules.”

“My game, my rules,” Niall crows. “Besides, you should be thanking me.”

“Fat chance,” Louis crosses his arms.

“You got great gifts,” Niall shrugs. “I don’t see the problem.”

Zayn snorts. Liam kicks him.

“Oh, for fucks sake. Trade gifts,” Niall orders.

“What?” Liam and Harry say in unison.

“Obviously I’m dealing with a bunch of idiots, so please, just trade gifts.”

The other four look at each other sheepishly. Then they burst into a flurry of activity. Harry comes away with the nail polish, smiling beatifically at Louis who’s holding the Green Day album. Zayn’s got the Faber-Castell colour pencils. And Liam, Liam has the new Batman comic book.  

Maybe Niall had a point.

“One last present,” Niall breaks their bubbles. He looks evil, the candle still glowing eerily. Liam grows wary. “Ready?”

Niall pulls out two long sticks and raises them out, so that one is held above Louis and Harry, and the other above Liam and Zayn.

“Is that…” Zayn trails off, eyes fixed on the sprig of green hanging from the end of each stick.

“Mistletoe,” Niall smirks.

Three years ago, when Liam first met Niall, he had a gut instinct to be cautious of the Irish blonde. Now he knows why.

“I don’t get it,” Harry laughs nervously, turning a bottle of nail polish in his hands. He glances furtively at Louis and quickly looks away.

Niall lets out a suffering sigh. He stands up, so he’s looming above the other four. Definitely¸ don’t trust the Irish blonde. “For three years, I’ve watched you lot fall in love and do nothing. It gets frustrating. And soon we’re going to be moving out and I can’t wait for that long. My hair’s turning gray.”

“Impossible,” Louis mutters. “You’ve bought out all the bleach in the country.”

Niall bats him with the mistletoe. “Kiss Harry.”

“You can’t just make me kiss him,” Louis protests.

“Try me,” Niall glowers.

Perhaps it’s the fact that Niall is scary. Or that Louis believes in Christmas tradition. Or he’s in love with Harry. Maybe it’s all three. Either way, he grabs onto Harry’s red jumper and kisses the lad soundly. They’re cute, Harry’s squeak of surprise making Zayn chuckle. Then tongues get involved and Liam has to look away.

He ends up looking at Zayn instead. Oh.

“Hey,” Zayn smiles, tongue poking out between his teeth. Fuck, Liam wants to kiss him. Has wanted to for ages. “I love the gift.”

“Got it for you,” Liam admits. “I can’t wait to read this.”

“We can read it together?” Zayn offers. Liam wants nothing more. Other than to kiss Zayn.

“Getting old here,” Niall singsongs behind them, knocking the mistletoe into Zayn’s hair.

“Shall we?” Liam asks, inching closer to Zayn.

Zayn licks his lips, “It’s tradition right?”

“I swear to-“

“Shut up Niall,” Zayn mumbles against Liam’s lips. It sucks that the last words he heard before being kissed by Zayn was Niall’s name, but Liam supposes he can let that go, given that Zayn’s kissing him. Finally.

“Captain Niall strikes again,” Niall crows over the sounds of lips smacking. “Merry Christmas bitches!”

Chapter Text

The thing with being a fire fighter, that little Liam never knew, is that it involves a lot of waiting around. The waiting is often followed by a call, followed by guilt. It’s a confusing pairing of emotions: a rush of endorphins at facing a fire and guilt that someone is out there, hurt and in harm. In an ideal world, there would be no fires, no lives lost, no property damaged. But that’s a world that would leave Liam jobless and well… bored.

Hence the guilt and the warring emotions.

The other thing of being a fire fighter, is the job is emotionally and physically draining.

It’s gone half one in the night when he pulls up to his flat, the windows an inky black to match the sky overhead. The harsh wind nips at his exposed ears, causing him to scurry from his car and into the building. He’s exhausted but sated, mind still playing the image of the little girl he’d pulled from a car wreck a few hours ago. It had been one of the good calls, a damaged vehicle but all lives saved. He’s ready to crawl into bed and sleep for an eternity.

The hallways are deserted, a deep silence lingering in the air. It muffles his steps on the carpeted corridor, a shuffle only he’s able to hear if he strains to listen. He passes by a few stockings and wreathes perched on the front doors of flats, some jollier than the others, all carrying a festive air. Normally, the small decorations are a source of comfort, a reminder that Christmas is around the corner, and he’ll soon be in Wolverhampton to celebrate with his parents and sisters. Today – really all season – they inject that familiar sense of bitterness, a reminder that his family is leaving him to spend Christmas in Florida. He’s tried to join them, but being a junior member of the fire hall meant he didn’t get to pick the days he got off. He’d been a good sport about it, reassuring his parents and sisters that it’s alright that they spend the holidays without him. Though in private he’d voiced his thoughts to Zayn, admitting the hurt and the reluctance to celebrate because it just wouldn’t be the same.

Zayn. Who’s probably asleep on the sofa despite Liam’s insistence that he stop staying up for Liam to return home.

Liam reaches their door, plain wood and bereft of any decorations. They’d just moved into a new flat, One with two bedrooms so they each had a room, but it meant limited cash to spend on something as unnecessary as Christmas decorations. It made the season even more of a wispy notion, unreal and far out of their reach. Zayn hadn’t been bothered, because in a few days, he’d be with his family at his grandparents, celebrating the holiday.

It’s fine. Fine. Saving people from burning buildings and cars is much more rewarding than Christmas decorations.

Except Liam’s exhausted, and all he really wants is the warmth that comes with twinkling lights and a gathering of his loved ones.

It’s fine.

He’s careful unlocking the door, loathe to wake up Zayn. He shuts it with a quiet click, toeing off his boots with practiced ease despite the blackness surrounding him. He counts the steps in his head to make sure he doesn’t bang into the wall before he rounds the corner and – he freezes.

Shining through the darkness is small, white Christmas tree, its lights twinkling merrily. It sparkles like no tree has before, the painted on frosting glittering like real snow, light beaming through the icicles. Liam walks toward it with his mouth hanging open, thinking it’s a Christmas miracle.

He’s got a finger caressing a very realistic pine needle, when his ears alight on the shuffling behind him. He can’t bear to turn away from the tree, eyes still drinking in its beauty.

“Did you do this?”

“No,” Zayn mumbles, his voice laced with sleep. “Santa must have got it.”

“Idiot,” Liam smiles, unable to hide the fond. “It’s not yet the twenty-fifth.”

Zayn’s chuckles intertwine with the softness of the night. “I tried to tell him. He wouldn’t listen.”

Liam turns around then. In the subdued light of the tree, Zayn manages to shine brighter. He’s wrapped in a blanket, a pillow crease pressed into the side of his face, eyes droopy and hair mussed. He’s beautiful.

Maybe it’s the spell of the tree, maybe it’s his exhaustion. Either way, Liam doesn’t avert his eyes like he normally would, daring instead to keep looking at Zayn and drink his fill.

“Thank you.”

A smile leisurely stretches across Zayn’s face. “I was at the shops and it was on sale.”

“You didn’t have to,” Liam murmurs, staying fixed where he is when Zayn nudges closer and throws the blanket around Liam’s shoulders. Instantly, the warmth that had filled his heart, spreads to the rest of his body. They’re standing shoulder to shoulder now, the tree back in Liam’s vision.

He feels Zayn shrug beside him. “I wanted to.” Then, after a beat of silence, “How was the call?”

Liam relaxes against Zayn’s chest, the tiredness of the day draining from his body piece by piece. “A good one. Saved a five year old girl from a car crash.”

“My hero,” Zayn whispers in his ear, his warm breath running down Liam’s back followed by a shiver. Liam closes his eyes, the twinkling lights dancing against his dark lids, magnifying his body’s reaction. Just like before, he doesn’t pull away like he normally would.

Maybe this is what Christmas magic is.

They’re silent for a while longer, their cocoon expanding with each passing second until Liam’s convinced he’ll be able to fall asleep like this, leaning against Zayn and lulled into slumber by white lights.

“I’ve packed a bag for you.”

“Zayn,” Liam drags out. He finds the fight has left him.

“There’s no use,” Zayn’s fingers dance along Liam’s back before they rest on his hip, pulling him closer. “Mum’s insisting you join us. Everyone is.”

Of course they are. Ever since they became friends in secondary, the Maliks have always welcomed Liam into their family like their own. It’s just… this is Christmas. It’s meant for real family, not pseudo members who’ve been abandoned by their own family. He’d tried to explain this to Zayn before, multiple times, but each one resulted in an exasperated eye roll.

“Okay,” Liam acquiesces, his voice so quiet, it’s nearly lost in the night.

“Really?” Zayn asks, his tone breaching the low volumes they’d set. He pulls at Liam’s hip, so they’re facing each other. His smile is large, eyes somehow reflecting the tree despite how scrunched they are from crinkling. “What changed?”

Liam shrugs. He doesn’t actually know, and if he did, he isn’t sure he could articulate it.

“Is it the tree?” Zayn grins. He’s more awake now, an excitement and delight coursing through his words. “I knew it would work.”

Liam can’t help but laugh. He suspects it has more to do with how he’s unable to deny Zayn anything for too long, a pattern long played out over the past ten years. Or it could be the tree.

“You always do the nicest things for me,” Liam finds himself saying. Since he turned around, his back isn’t covered and he’s cold. He steps further into Zayn’s warmth, hands resting on Zayn’s chest to steal some heat. “Why?”

“Liam,” Zayn whispers, managing to sound both exasperated and fond. His eyes are more golden tonight, his scent stronger from having been wrapped in a blanket. He doesn’t elaborate further than Liam’s name. Just when Liam gives up on an answer and is about to nestle back into Zayn, is about to suggest they go to sleep, Zayn darts his eyes toward the tree. His face changes slightly, the laxity in his muscles giving way to a determination. When Zayn’s eyes return back to Liam’s, the warmth from before is now a burning intensity. “Because I love you.”

Maybe it’s the exhaustion. It’s probably because of the white Christmas tree. Either way, Liam fists his hands into Zayn’s shirt and kisses him.

Chapter Text

It’s all white hot pleasure, careening toward the edge –

“So,” Louis slurps off, Harry’s cock red and flushed, wet with Louis’ spit. “Will we be exchanging Christmas gifts?”

“Huh?” Harry says eloquently. His mind is stuck in a foggy haze, and he can’t be blamed for not understanding Louis’ question. Particularly when it’s so inopportunely timed.

“Christmas presents,” Louis repeats, licking at some precum, seemingly unfazed. Like it’s perfectly normal to stop a blow job to discuss Christmas presents.

“Sure, yes, fine,” Harry groans, running his hands through Louis’ hair. “Just please, Lou.”  

Perhaps Louis knew exactly what he was doing, because he gives Harry a devilish smirk, licking his lips tantalizingly and saying, “Just so you know, my birthday is on Christmas eve.” And then he swoops back down, sending Harry to an early grave.

---

“I don’t know what to get him!” Harry wails. For the tenth time in as many minutes. His dismay is very valid. What is one supposed to get somebody you’re shagging solely for the well – shagging bit. That was the whole purpose of the arrangement they’d fallen into that fateful night at the pub six months ago: orgasms without the unnecessary burdens of relationships. Like buying presents.

“I won some anal beads at the pub quiz,” Niall offers helpfully. “Unused and ready to go. That’s good for a friends with benefits right?”

“Niall,” Harry flops dramatically onto the sofa. “You are being very unhelpful.” His head lands in Zayn’s lap so he looks at him expectantly.

“Just tell him you’re madly in love with him and want to have his babies,” Zayn offers.

Zayn thinks he’s so smart, doing his PhD in Physiology. He’s not. He should write to Zayn's professor to fire him from the lab. 

“That’s not how the human body works,” Harry sniffs. He would get up, put some distance between him and Zayn, but Zayn’s carding his fingers through Harry’s hair and it’s quite comforting. Still, Zayn’s wrong. Just because he and Liam are boning with feelings and official relationship status, he thinks he’s wise to the ways of the heart.

He’s wrong.

“Zayn’s right,” Liam jumps in. Of course. Liam will agree to anything Zayn says. “Just tell Louis you love him.”

“You’re wrong.”

“Oh Haz,” Niall grabs onto his foot. “Your excuse that you didn’t want to put down roots because you weren’t sure where you’d be for you PhD is no longer viable.”

“Stop saying words like ‘viable,’” Harry grumbles. He hates it when everyone gangs up on him. Then he thinks of Louis’ sparkling eyes, his mischievous smile, and how he brings out Harry’s duck quack-witch cackle laugh. He thinks of waking up with Louis, cooking him dinners, and watching telly late at night. Of having sex without scheduling it first.

So maybe the others have a point. Maybe he might be a little in love with Louis. Or a lot.

It still doesn’t solve his dilemma.

---

They were supposed to exchange gifts before the sex, but Louis showed up at his door with a Santa hat on his head, a bow around his neck, and a ribbon that read ‘kiss me it’s my birthday,’ and really, Harry couldn’t be blamed for not being able to control himself. It’s not a problem, they’ll just exchange gifts now. When they’re both naked and unable to run away and hide.

Brilliant.

“Me first,” Louis demands, making grabby hands for his gift. “It’s my birthday.”

Harry can’t argue with that. He also can’t stop the uneasy nerves that settle in his body. He hands Louis a plain white envelope. Louis accepts it, frowning at the broken seal. He grins nevertheless.

“Tickets to concerts come in envelopes. Or footy matches,” he guesses excitedly. Harry holds back a groan. This was a bad idea. “Or money!” Louis’ face morphs into an appalled gasp. “Harold! Are you paying me for all the shagging we’ve done?”

“Just open the fucking thing,” Harry groans. This is the last time he ever listens to the boys.

“Can’t,” Louis looks pitifully at the envelope. “It’s already opened.”

“Louis,” Harry warns. It’s sets off Louis’ signature cackles but he happily pulls out the paper from the envelope. Harry’s read it enough of times to know exactly what Louis is reading based on his facial expressions: confusion, to more confusion, to even more confusion.

“H?” Louis asks, finally looking up. “Congratulations?”

“Thanks,” Harry replies automatically.

“And you’re giving me this because…” Louis prompts.

“There’s more,” Harry says, reaching behind him and offering Louis a gift bag. Louis pulls out a yam, then a turnip, and a carrot. He stops when he comes away with an onion even though there’s garlic and some beets still in the bag.

“If this is another dig at my diet,” Louis warns.

“No, no,” Harry rushes to explain. Why is Louis being so thick right now? The intent is so obvious, and that too with a pun. “I’ve been accepted to do my PhD here,” Harry begins.

“I know,” Louis cuts him off, waving the letter. “I read this.”

“I’ll be in the university for another three years. In the city.”

“Okay…”

“Three years is a long time, Lou. Longer than a year. I can put down some,” Harry points at the vegetables, “roots. Get it?”

Louis’ mouth twitches imperceptibly, before he catches the traitorous tell. “You are the worst, Harold. Why are you telling me this?”

Right. In for a penny, in for a pound. “If I’m putting down roots, my excuses to not date, when we first started…”

“Fucking,” Louis supplies.

“That. My excuses no longer stand.” He’s so nervous, the backs of he’s knees are sweating.

“So you want to start dating?” Louis asks, his voice oddly high. He starts dropping the vegetables into the gift bag, “Put down roots.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Louis asks, shoving the bag out of the way and onto the floor, so the root vegetables tumble out. Harry catches the onion rolling under Louis’ bed. He makes a mental note to pick it up later, but he promptly forgets it when Louis’ straddles his lap. “I hear Mrs. Cunningham is ready to date again. Billy at the pub just broke up with his girlfriend. And I’m sure Zayn and Liam would be down for some polygamy.” He stops with his lips a hairsbreadth away from Harry’s, a happy smile stretched across his face.

“How will I ever choose?” Harry whispers, his heart light and head floaty. He grabs two handfuls of Louis’ bum and he sighs in delight.   

“They’re horrible options,” Louis murmurs. “You should pick me.”

“I already did.”

And then they’re kissing, tongues and teeth and naked bodies. It is different. Kissing your boyfriend as opposed to your fuck buddy.

Louis draws away, his lips a sinful pink. “Babe, if we’re to last, you really need to improve your gift giving. Since it’s Christmas tomorrow, I’ll give you another chance.”

Harry shuts him up with a kiss.

Chapter Text

The end of the year is special. It’s a time to reminisce about the past year, moments and memories. To reflect on the events that dragged you down, only for you to come out stronger. Wiser. Older. It’s the time where people gather together to look forward to the new year, a clean beginning, a fresh slate. It’s all that, but to these five boys, it’s even more.

It’s a blissful week where they’re just them. No work obligations, no pap pictures to be taken, no wardrobe already picked out, no product to sell.

The absolute leisure is embodied in the lethargic way they’re sprawled about, a muted rerun of a footie match in the background. Debris of beer bottles and wine glasses litter the coffee table and carpet, an empty pizza box with faded grease marks perched on the edge of the sofa. It embodies the sleep sinking into their bones, the box swaying every so often, but never falling off. Niall’s electric fire is burning merrily, the flames flickering in a warm glow over Harry who’s lying before it, feet wrapped in a fuzzy pink socks. He’s got his head pillowed on Liam’s lap, nudging him whenever Liam slows in petting Harry’s hair. Liam’s leaning on the sofa, his other arm splayed over Louis who’s colouring in Liam’s tattoos. It’s impossible to tell where Louis ends and Zayn begins, their intertwined legs hidden under a soft, cashmere blanket. From this angle, his head sharing the same pillow as Zayn’s, body stretched in the opposite direction, Niall can't tell if Zayn’s awake or not.

Seven years ago, when they first started this tradition, it looked different. It felt different. The night was filled with a thrum of excitement, fresh faces eager to take on anything the future threw at them. Harry and Louis weren’t able to stop touching, seeking reassurance that their brilliant luck of finding each other wasn’t going to dissolve when the clock struck twelve, their hands begging for contact. The other three had sought solace in each other, still discovering how they fit into the group. It was new, exciting but nerve-wracking; a fresh coat of paint that hadn’t yet set, final shade of colour still to be determined.

It had changed over the years. Excitement gave way to nostalgia of earlier, easier days. Bright eyes traded for dark circles. Young love replaced with a tense desperation. Coaxing Zayn that he still belonged two years ago, unable to stop their tears last year, unable to let go of each other. They’d been through a lot these boys, more than many ever experience in a life time. And through it all, it was always came back to them.

The five of them together.

“Are we starting?” Louis looks away from Liam’s arm. “If we wait any longer, Zayn’s going to fall asleep.” Zayn kicks him in retaliation, his hair tickling Niall’s cheek when he turns his head. He smiles at Niall, a pout almost, sleep pulling at his lips. His eyes are cloudy when he blinks, their heads so close that Niall can see the sleep leave his features. Zayn catches him looking and places a kiss to Niall’s forehead.

“I’ll go,” Harry offers around a yawn, turning his head in Liam’s lap so he’s facing the others. It sets off Zayn, who lets out an even bigger yawn, struggling as he crawls into a seated position. He looks uncomfortable, his legs still under the blanket with Louis’, but the newly made lap provides a spot for Niall’s head. He shuffles up the sofa, depositing his head into Zayn’s lap, pleased when Zayn automatically runs his hand through Niall’s hair. They’re lucky the five of them, if only for the fact that they’re all equally tactile.

“What are you thankful for, H?” Liam prods.

Even though Harry volunteered to go first, he still takes his time, twisting the rose ring on his finger. It’s the only one he’s got on, having left his others at home. Zayn had returned the rose to him when they’d gotten to Niall’s, some Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants agreement between the two of them. Niall’s not sure exactly what went down, but one day, Niall stopped seeing the ring on Zayn’s finger and instead on Harry’s. It’s much too complicated, the lot of them sentimental fools, tattooing their love for each other on their bodies, exchanging jewellery like is going out of style.

Niall closes his eyes, sighing happily when Zayn scratches behind his ear. Harry’s obviously going to say his solo album. He’d kept it so close to his heart, lost himself in his music, away from the rest of the world. He’d resurface every few days to gush about the process, only to disappear again.

“Dunkirk,” Harry finally says.

“What?” the others turn toward him in unison. Louis swears under his breath when the pen draws outside of the border of Liam’s feather.

“Thought you’d say your album,” Zayn voices what Niall was thinking.

Harry scrunches his nose in thought. “The music was great, but…” He trails off, biting his lip. His eyes dart toward Louis who smiles softly at him. “It got overshadowed by the rest – the interviews, the gossip, the image. Everything came down to the image. Fuck, I started to hate the suits eventually. Missed jeans and loose shirts.”

“Everyone missed your nipples,” Liam says solemnly, tweaking one them.

Harry bats his hand away. “’M not ungrateful for the music. There were so many good things. Breaking records, touring smaller venues. I loved the band. But like, they kept pushing, trying to get a Grammy, making sure I was the next best thing. Besides,” he rubs his nose into Liam’s sweats, “touring solo gets a little lonely.”

Niall blinks at that, the words settling deep into his chest. He remembers the sheer delight at seeing Harry at the shared concerts, of desperately wishing he could run out on stage with him. The frustration at not being able to interact with Harry publically. He remembers the quiet comfort of sharing rooms with Liam on the Jingle Ball tours, of how a private dinner with Zayn and Louis would keep him going for the next few weeks. He understands exactly what Harry means.

“Dunkirk was different. Different promotional strategy, different team. I wasn’t meant to stand out, wasn’t meant to be famous. I was part of a team again.” He shuffles onto his back again. “I liked the acting too. It was cool.”  

It was. Dunkirk was fucking fantastic. Niall had seen it five times, pointing out Harry every time he was on the screen. He even managed to annoy Louis, the second time they saw it together, who got Niall to shut up by saying, “I think I know the face of the man I’ve been fucking for the past seven years, Neil. Even did it while he was wearing the Dunkirk costume.” That was also the last time Niall had watched the film.

“Lime?” Louis prompts, sensing that Harry’s done.

Liam smirks. “That the chain didn’t become a part of my image. Despite you two trying your hardest.” It sets them laughing, easing some of the seriousness.

“The Payne Chain,” Harry snorts, and they’re rolling around, Niall stubbing his toe as he falls off the sofa.

“Seriously though,” Liam says after the noise has died down to a few chuckles. “I’m just glad that my promo became more about me and the music.”

Louis squeezes his hand sympathetically, the two in a similar boat. Niall feels the need to comfort them, despite them having long learned how to deal with the crappy situations. He crawls from where he’s fallen over to Liam, snuggling into his side, breathing in his scent. It's warmer here on the floor, closer to the fire. Zayn tosses an empty chocolate wrapper at Niall for abandoning him, smiling smugly when it bounces off Niall and hits Harry in between the eyes.

“Zaynner?” Louis asks before Niall and Harry can retaliate. Which is probably a good thing. They might be in their mid-twenties, calmer and more subdued in their skin, but it doesn’t take much to bring out the restless, frenetic energy of their teens.

Zayn smiles softly, before it grows into a full blown smirk. “Liam’s abs.”

“No,” Louis stops him.

“You can’t just reject what he’s thankful for!” Liam protests.

“He was going to go into detail!”

“Harry went into detail,” Zayn pouts.

“About his emotions. Not about how Liam’s abs make him horny.”

“But Lou,” Zayn grins, climbing over Louis. “Are you sure you don’t want to know how I licked –“ His words are cut off by Louis covering his mouth and shoving his face away.

“I want to hear!” Harry says. “What were you licking?” Liam leans down to whisper into Harry’s ear, and Niall chokes on his beer when Harry’s face morphs into pure delight.

“I have another one,” Zayn speaks from where he’s now wormed his way between Louis and the sofa, the blanket rearranged to cover them both.

“Is it clean?” Louis asks.

“Don’t be a prude.” Niall gets a flick on his ear for his efforts.

“I got on the Dean’s List.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Niall, Harry, and Louis erupt, shouting adulations at Zayn, who burrows himself deeper into Louis. Last September, when Zayn had told them he was going to study English and Political Sciences from NYU, it hadn’t come as a surprise to any of them. Other than Harry asking why not one of the British schools, they didn’t have any other questions. It had been a long time coming, Zayn’s disenchantment with the industry after being forced to leave, how he had wanted to lose himself and stay away from the slander of celebrity. He’d been working on his music quietly while studying about the world and deepening his love for the written word. He’d been doubtful of his success academically, had confided in Niall when they’d met up for lunch one day, that he wasn’t as smart as the other’s in his class.

Clearly, he was wrong.

“I’m so fucking proud of you,” Harry finally leaves the comfort of the fire and Liam to smack a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. When he pulls away, Zayn’s beaming. He’s the happiest he’s been in two years, and fuck, if he doesn’t look smarter.

“Lou?” Zayn says soon enough, never comfortable with too much attention, even if it’s only them.

Louis’ long abandoned the pen, fingers playing restlessly with the sleeve of Zayn’s shirt. He’s had an interesting year, releasing solo music that he never thought he would, exceeding expectations despite his shitty promo, rivalled only by Zayn’s. “I’m focusing on just the music,” he’d told Niall early in the year, when they’d discussed their careers after the first time they watched Dunkirk together. “The rest of it, it’s not worth my effort.” Niall had frowned, had argued that Louis should fight for his image, for the recognition he deserves, like he’d fought for the boys when they were still together. Louis had shaken his head. “You eventually have to choose which battles to fight. Look at Zayn, he’s content going to school, and making music he’s proud of. If I just go with whatever they’re still throwing my way instead of trying to fight this, it’s less consuming. It gives me more time with the girls and Ernie. I’d do a hundred pap walks, hold whoever’s hand they ask me to, as long as I can get one more day with my family. Hug them in the mornings, kiss them at night.” And then, as if to prove his point, Harry had come trotting in, with a twin perched on each arm to give Louis a good night kiss.

“That I got to spend most of the year with my family.”

Niall wipes his eyes on Liam’s shoulder, the waver in Louis’ voice setting off the tears. He reaches up to the sofa behind him for Louis’ hand, only to find that Zayn’s already got it.

“And you?” Liam nudges his shoulder, lifting Niall’s head.

Niall thinks of the year, of the records he’d broken, the awards he’d won. Touring at venues he could have only dreamed about, with a band he now considers family. How he’d started the year with a broken heart and a fresh perspective, and all the opportunities at love since. But most of all, he thinks of how through it all, there was these boys. Midnight drunken calls with Harry from opposite ends of the world, cooking fiascos with Louis, arguing over the appropriate use of a comma with Zayn, trying out nicotine patches with Liam. The five way Skype sessions that would inevitably fail because someone had crappy internet, how their group chat wouldn’t last a week without Harry contributing a stupid joke and the others ignoring him for it. He thinks of no matter how far apart they are, how different their lives look, what they have together can never be replaced, never be broken.   

He looks at his boys, who’re looking back at him expectantly, their faces knowing. And he says what he has said every year, for seven years in a row. “Us.”