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'I'm bored of it.' Harry had said in the interview. He was loud with it, his voice boisterous and his face holding a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. It unsettled Niall. They'd been having a good day so far, even with all the press and interviews they'd had. All the people were nice and funny, the questions varied a lot more than usual and he was alongside his best mate. He got to have it all, he got to live this amazing life with his his friends next him the whole way. Nothing could be better than that, in his opinion.
But no one seemed to care who Niall was shagging, or friends with, not like they cared about Harry. Even Gemma had gotten caught in the crossfire, noted in the Mirror and The Sun as "Harry's mysterious brunette". Years of this, of this "Womanizer Harry" story, this persona of a slag of a man, who didn't spare a second glance toward the women he's with the morning after.
But Niall knew better. They all did really. Harry couldn't be any sweeter, any more considerate. He was a good lad from Cheshire, not the cougar chasing, skirt pulling arsehole the rags labeled him as.
Harry was strong though; after the interview he thanked everyone who was there, smiling and wishing everyone well. Niall couldn't shake it though. He knew Harry. It wasn't fair that no one else seemed to want to.
"You alright, Nialler?" Harry's hand was on his shoulder, the crease in his brow an indication of his worry. Niall let his lips give a little grin. Of course Harry was concerned about him.
"Yeah mate. Just bored of it too, ya know?" Harry nodded, dropping his hand from Niall's shoulder and running it through his coif.
"Yeah. Gets a bit much sometimes." He smiled at Niall, seaform green meeting crystal blue and holding them. "I'm fine, though." Long as you know me."
Niall wanted to hug Harry for the next forever. How could anyone think that this lad, who went out of his way for others, who could barely stand on his own feet without falling over, who could sit on twitter reading hate mail for hours, working himself into an anxiety attack, was anything but lovely?
Harry deserved the world. Not just in the eyes of teenage girls and middle aged men, but in the arms of someone who loved him. Someone who knew him like Niall did.
"Hold me, Harry." The younger boy grinned, crooked like one side of his mouth moved slower than the rest, and opened his arms. Niall slipped into them quietly, breathed in the smell of coconut shampoo resting at the nape of Harry's neck. He nuzzled a bit, just to feel Harry giggle, and he shivered when careful fingers gently stroked his spine. There were lips at his forehead, feather-light, but it felt like someone had dropped a bag of bricks on his chest.
Yeah, whoever got to love Harry Styles was a lucky one.
Niall was content to keep him warm until then.