In From The Cold

End

December 24th.

“Harry, for the love of god, tell me you’re not watching it again.”

Harry starts, spinning on the couch to see Niall leaning in the doorway of the reading room. The little TV they keep in the corner has been turned towards the couch, and Niall is staring over Harry’s shoulder as on screen a man in black is pronounced dead.

“Harry,” Niall says exasperatedly, “You can’t – hang on, are you crying?”

“No,” Harry says stubbornly, blinking rapidly a few times to unsuccessfully clear his vision.

“Westley isn’t dead Harry. He wasn’t dead the first time you watched it, or the third, or the seventh.”

“He is dead!” Harry exclaims, and Niall makes a chiding noise.

“Alright, but he gets better, dork. You’ve got to stop watching this.”

“I don’t want to,” Harry murmurs, trying not to hear something more in Niall’s words. He glances at the clock on the wall. “It’s late Nialler, you’re not heading home?”

Niall lets a gust of air out of his lungs. “Da loved Christmas,” he says quietly. “I don’t know, I just didn’t want- ”

He falters, but Harry knows. Waking up to the empty house on Christmas Morning just seems wrong. Harry moves over, shuffling the DVD cover of The Princess Bride onto the floor and making room for Niall. Niall doesn’t say another word, just accepts the spot on the couch, snuggling into Harry’s side as Fezzik and Inigo take Westley’s body to Miracle Max.

“They filmed some of this at the Cliffs of Moher,” Harry says, “That’s really nearby. I should go.”

“You haven’t been?”

“I have. I mean, I should go again.” Harry shakes his head, listening to himself. “We’re a sad pair.”

“It’s ok to be sad though,” Niall replies, snuggling a little into Harry’s shoulder.

The movie plays on, but it’s only ten minutes before another interruption presents itself.

“Lads, I’ve finished the preparations for tomorrow, Liam and I are- what are you doing?” Zayn asks from behind them, and without turning Harry and Niall answer in unison,

“Princess Bride.”

“Again?” Liam’s voice chimes in, and when they don’t bother to answer, the sound of footsteps reaches the couch. Zayn flops into the armchair next to them without a word, Liam settling at his feet and leaning back against his legs. Harry thinks they’re a little like watchdogs, afraid to leave him and Niall alone with their mutual black cloud. It’s sweet though.

“I think this should be a Christmas Eve tradition,” Harry murmurs, and he feels Niall rumble with approval.

To their credit, Zayn and Liam watch the rest of the movie without comment, not even when Harry surreptitiously wipes a tear from his eyes when Westley and Buttercup kiss at the end of the movie, the greatest kiss of all time in the words of the narrator himself. Although Harry’s hope that they hadn’t noticed is dashed when Zayn gets up and moves to squash himself in on Harry’s other side, wrapping his arms around Harry and Niall. Liam shuffles across the floor, locking them in at their feet, and the group of them sink into each other as Harry feels his heavy heart begin to beat a more steady pattern.

“Harry,” Liam says gently, his voice muffled where his face is pressed against Zayn’s knee. “People like Louis, they’re hurricanes, you know?”