In From The Cold

Saturday 1/3

Saturday

The streets of Ennis are decked out in even more banners of blue and white, their slogans proclaiming Cead míle fáilte! and Sláinte agus táinte! In the market square, stalls cluster selling hot beverages and pasties, and they spill down the street towards the Town Hall, turning from food into wares of all kinds – jewellery and candles, tin whistles, snow globes.

Harry lags behind their group a little, listening to Niall and Liam discuss football scores while Louis tells Zayn about surfing in Australia. They’d closed the inn reception for the day, since all their guests were out and about anyway, and it seemed a shame to waste an opportunity like this.

The snow had stopped falling sometime in the early morning hours, but it had left a thin layer of white across the rooves and awnings of the town, dusting over parked cars and sprinkling the pavement with glittering flakes. It has yet to turn to slush, and Ennis looks like a photo from a postcard.

His thoughts keep returning to the morning, though not in the heated way he would possibly prefer. Instead, the flashbacks bring a kind of hollowness, as if he’d had something and let it slip away. As if he’d made a huge mistake by not grabbing Louis, throwing him down on the bed and not letting him leave until the two of them were thoroughly sated and exhausted.

He just feels… drained, of all things. Maybe because El and Perrie had thrown a grenade into their lives, and Zayn and Liam are impossibly, hopelessly useless at love, and Harry can’t do anything. He can’t do anything, and he can’t even take comfort in a bit of mutual nudity with an attractive travel writer who is literally on his doorstep.

Yeah, he’s going to put it down to that. He’s only known Louis for a few days, it can’t possibly be anything more.

He lengthens his stride to catch up to Niall and Liam.

“…his art. I kept telling him to set up a stall and sell it, but he doesn’t listen,” Liam is saying, and Niall is smiling sideways at him in a way that Liam doesn’t seem to notice. “Zayn’s impossible sometimes.”

“I’m sure he’s just doing what makes him happy, Li,” Niall replies, reaching over to pinch Liam on the cheek.

“Why would you do that?” Liam yelps, flapping his hand at Niall to get him away, and Niall laughs.

“Because you’re adorable sometimes,” he says. “Isn’t that correct, young Harry?”

“Extremely correct,” Harry confirms, falling into step with them. “But your concern for Zayn and his artistic hobbies is not adorable at all. It is manly. Very manly.”

“And noble,” Niall adds, and Harry grins.

“And rugged.”

“Both of you be quiet,” Liam hisses, speeding up so that he joins Zayn and Louis’ conversation instead, leaving Harry and Niall laughing in his wake.

“What are we going to do about them?” Harry sighs, watching as Liam falls into step with Zayn, their legs impossibly in sync as though it was as natural as breathing.

“We can do nothing, Harry. You don’t have to fix them you know,” Niall says pointedly, and Harry turns to meet his sceptical expression.

“I’m not fixing anything,” Harry says, holding his hands up to chest-height, the picture of innocence. But Niall just rolls his eyes.

“You’re all idiots. Come on, I want fairy floss.”

“Did I hear fairy floss?” Zayn asks over his shoulder, and Niall grins.