i.
Harry needs to stop drinking.
He knows this, because he's about three whiskey and cokes in and not feeling as lightheaded as he should. A tolerance build is not good for a pop star to have, especially when there are movie premieres, interviews, red carpet events, solo records, and a reuniting of a band involved with said pop star. That's just begging for a downward spiral into the depths of kid tv star territory, and he's not looking for his mugshot posted on people for public indecency or something of the sort (all of the pressure is starting to really wear him thin though, when break isn't a break and his life is still planned out for him it makes him a little twitchy).
But he's fed up. With what, he isn't quite sure, just fed up in his own right. He's noticed he's been a proper diva to be around as of late so he's been trying to keep himself in and let it run itself out before going to meet people, but they keep asking and asking and he feels bad to say no so he goes. Harry goes and he parties and he drinks until he's drunk, and emotional, and someone has to take away his glass and direct him to his home or his hotel. Then he wakes up with a heavy head, takes two paracetamol and downs a glass of water before he even thinks about showering off the grime and sweat from the night before.
It's been the same shit again and again and again, the thought alone was starting to give him a headache, which is shit. What's the point of drinking if it's not fun?
So he was at another club that let him in through the back with some other people; the only difference between Harry and them is that they had an entourage and Harry only brought Niall. Intent on showing him a nice time because they hadn't seen one another in ages, but he was being a very shitty host. And Niall let him know it too, nudging Harry with his arm to draw his attention from the conversation he had paid no contribution to. "Oi, wha's wrong with you, huh? Down on your luck or summat?"
Harry's brows furrow, shaking his head, "Dunno' guess I'm just not feeling it tonight. Not feeling it any night, really, alcohol isn't doing what it used to for me as of late." He pouts, "Which stinks, when you think about it. Now my only option is t'a get high, and I'm shite at that."
Niall snorts because it's true – once upon a time they'd tried getting Harry to take a hit and he'd just coughed the smoke back into a disgruntled but too blown out of his mind to care Zayn's face. As a "sorry you can't get high" token, Liam and Niall took turns massaging his back which he guesses wasn't so bad. So anytime they were going to smoke, Harry tagged along if not for the high then for the knots to be worked out of his back free of charge.
"There's other outlets Mate, just depends on what you're needin'," he tells him, budding out a cigarette onto a silver dish (Niall was very much a social smoker, and by social Harry means Niall would smoke half so he had something to do with his hands until he ultimately got disgusted by the taste and put it out), "I found me one. Didn't know I was half this kinky for it though, but it's very stress relieving if that's what you're into."
"Hmm? Are you letting people put you in diapers, and whatnot, I heard that it –"
"Nope, stop right there," he waves Harry off, before scooting forward and lowering his voice, "Just being a dom for someone is all, I like it. I know your little sexcapades, you pro'lly gotten into something like it before, but I mean like full on, you go see the same person each time sorta thing. While we were on tour last time I got into it a bit, the whole world of it and whatnot 'cos I just wanted some sort of control y'know? And they were willing to give that to me." He tilts his head towards both of the glasses, "When I was doing it I hadn't had a sip to drink because of stress in like two months – my liver was very grateful."
