A Piece of His Heart / larry uni AU

chapter eighteen

"Harry!" He yells, his voice echoing down the long, narrow hallway.

He's dealing with a steaming cuppa in each hand, sweat dampening his chiseled brow, and at least twenty of their finals-ridden neighbours that he's just disturbed—all at once.

Niall is completely unfazed.

Because it's been nearly a week since he jetted off to Ireland and Harry headed out for a wedding (with who was Niall's mate first, mind you), and maybe Niall can't remember the last time he was away from Harry for this long. He's beginning to have Harry-withdrawals.

So, he's just gotten in from the airport, warm Arch tea in-hand, and he'll be dammed if he doesn't call for his best mate like a husband returning from war.

"Harry!" He bounds up to the door of Harry's dorm, the weight of his holdall nearly shoving him into the slab of wood, "Sweetheart!" some of the piping-hot liquid sloshes onto the carpet and he rubs it in with his foot.

A good ten seconds pass.

Niall is slightly fazed.

"Harry?" He doesn't hear a thing. Not hushed chatter from the boy's laptop, or the rustling of course notes as he gets up, or the soft thumps of his socked feet when he pads towards the door to greet his beverage-bearing best mate.

Niall hears nothing. Nothing at all.

So, he tries again, the thin cardboard cups serving no purpose other than scalding his thoughtful fingers, "Harry, mon chéri," he sings, butchered French accent rolling off his tongue, "Answer the door!"

Again, not a thing.

Niall wedges his knee into the slab of wood, stabilizing himself as best as he can, before artfully tucking both cups into the juncture of his arm. This frees his left hand, in theory, so when he reaches down and grabs the doorknob, he can safely open the door and make his way inside mess-free.

It was a good theory.

He ends up stumbling through the doorway on a premature opening, sloshing some hot liquid onto his chest and yelping like a frightened child, but he's lucky to be alive and he absolutely deserves an award for it. He macgyvered the shite out of that task and no one can say otherwise.

That's when he sees it.

Or doesn't, for that matter.

The dorm is empty. He stands motionless in the makeshift foyer, feeling less like Harry's simply gone out and more like he's been cheated on, "Well," Niall scoffs, giving the room a full once-over, it doesn't look like it's been slept in for ages, "I see," he continues to talk to himself, slamming the door shut and spinning on his heels, "More for me, I guess."

He makes a beeline for his door, jamming one of the now lukewarm cuppas into the crook of his arm, fishing out his keys from his pocket. He unlatches the door, pushing it open a little more gracefully, and—there's music coming from somewhere inside his dorm.

Soft melodies, hushed and electronic, something Niall's never heard before.

Slowly, Niall cranes his neck around the closet and towards the source of the noise, feeling his chest fill with anticipation, and "Listen! I've got two steaming cuppas and I'm not afraid to—" he's met with the boy himself.

Harry's wrapped up in Niall's duvet, one knee strewn over the footboard and the other lying crookedly beneath it. His hair is matted across his forehead like he hasn't seen the sun in ages, jaw slack and chest calm. His iPod, the prime suspect in the matter, is lying on his chest. The earbuds are clearly plugged in but not nestled in the boy's ears; rather, they're leaking the melodies into the still air as his laptop sits on the ground, long forgotten, black screened, and presumably dead.