narry storan one shots.

"i believe you dropped this."

CREDITS TO Ao3.

Niall hands his guitar over; his smile along with it in a parting gesture to all the eyes that are on him as he exits the stage. The presence of his band is comforting behind him, a wall to support him in the face of the curious faces that meet him backstage, in hallways that still feel familiar. There are photos on the walls – framed memories of when the world's biggest stars have stopped by in the past. His own face is there, along with four others. His smile is wide and amazed at what the five of them were doing, of the ground that they were breaking.

A new hand is extended towards him; a new slip of paper to autograph and a waist to sling his arm around in kind agreement to be in another photo. A few contestants to sing-song good lucks to over his shoulder before he finally reaches his room, his solitude. A fortress for a little while, until responsibilities sharpen their claws and stab at him again.

There's a knight slouched on his temporary sofa, wearing yoga pants and a matching, black sweater. His hair's short, messy, disturbed by long fingers in countless runs through soft strands. Niall doesn't have to see it to know that it's true – doesn't have to doubt his knowledge because he's been saved before, by habits and kindness and everything else that Harry is armed with under soft fabrics and confidence. Armours of the unconventional kind. Something to be let into.

"Hi, pet," Niall says. Instincts curling in hands and corners of a mouth that stretches at the very sight before him, the familiarity of it and how it warms him up from the inside.

Harry smiles at his phone – blinks slowly at it through a pink wave of happiness before he tilts his face up, grinning through a response of, "Hi, sunshine."

Niall's surprised. Can't pretend that he isn't now that the instinctive greeting is over. He closes the door behind himself. Strides right in and pulls Harry up and into a hug. Breathes warmly against the curve of Harry's neck and shoulder and hums, "Fuck, I've missed you. What're you doing here?"

Harry huffs out a laugh against Niall's ear. Squeezes him even closer as he says, "What do you think I'm doing here? Wanted to see you before I go back to LA."

"When's that?"

"Tomorrow evening," is Harry's reply. His voice is the same as it's always been, deep and layered, offering comfort through its rise and fall over vowels. "Didn't know if you'd have time for me, took a chance."

"Chance," Niall repeats. Is careful with the pronunciation. Feels his entire body tremble at the sight of Harry cracking up at the unspoken joke; the recollection of what used to be. He doesn't even hesitate before he draws Harry back in for another hug, for another lungful of cologne and male heat. A savouring of lines of muscles in the lines of his own grateful palms that reluctantly let go of that protective sweater.

"Brought food," Harry offers. He's sinking down on the sofa again, setting his phone with its screen down on the table in front of him and brushes the back of his hand against a paper bag beside it. "I know there's catering, but I thought – I don't know, it could be nice?"

"Please," Niall finds himself groaning, sinking down right beside Harry and knocking their knees together. "I'm starving."

He's already pulling the bag closer with the curl of a finger around one of the handles, scanning the bag for a restaurant name as he goes. He doesn't expect Tupperware containers. Doesn't expect Harry's home cooked lasagne or the nostalgia that comes with its scent when he opens up the first box with frantic fingertips under an equally frantic gaze. There's so much to focus on, so much to take in. Questions to ask that he can't place upon his tongue, so he glances up at Harry's face again, just to assure himself of the fact that this is all real. Harry, and the food. These gifts that he's not sure his heart can afford in the long run.