Last night I had a dream, where Gem Harvest ended up being about Lapis and Peridot fusing for the first time, and I remembered all that stuff about Peridot missing Quartz soldiers or something like that (things that lead us to think it would be a Jasper episode -or at the very least see her-), so at the end of my dream there was Jasper, teary eyed and frustrated, yelling at their happy, healthy fusion: “Seriously, what tHE F U C K?!”. And I woke up. Thank you for your attention.
This is because I miss Narry and I’m pretty sure Harry misses Niall even though it looked like he had a ton of fun.
Harry waits, phone pressed to his ear as he leans back against the back wall of the restaurant. It’s going on one o’clock in the morning now and he can still hear the music from inside but the party is the least of his worries right now. Because there’s a boy on the other side of the word and a text message on his phone — and Harry just wants to hear his voice.
The ringing stops, Harry’s breath catches in his throat and then there’s a voice, deep and rough and distinctly Irish, coming through the phone.
“Where are you?” Harry slurs immediately. He’ll say ‘hi’ later.
There’s a pause and then some rustling and — “What?”
“You’re not here. Where are you?”
“‘m in Australia, Harry,” Niall mutters tiredly. “You know that.”
Harry pouts, as though Niall can see him. “I want you to be here.”
Niall sighs. “Haz-“
“‘s my birthday, Niall. I want you for m’ birthday.”
“I know, Harry,” Niall murmurs softly. “But we-“
“Liam and Louis are both here,” Harry says, pushing himself away from the wall. The world tilts a little bit and he stumbles before catching himself with a hand against the bricks.
“Why didn’t you come? Out of everyone, I expected you to be the one to-“
“Harry,” Niall groans — and Harry can see him pinching the bridge of his nose. “We agreed not to do this.”
The brunette nods, runs a hand through his hair. “I jus’ wanna know why you didn’t wanna come.”
“You know it’s not b’cause I didn’t want to come,” Niall tells him. “We talked about it. We agreed to keep our distance until the tour started.”
Harry groans as he leans back once more against the brick wall. “Why the hell would we agree to do that?”
Niall snorts. “Fangirls,” he says. “They’re catching on, remember?”
“Yeah — but Louis’ here, Niall,” Harry points out. Because that’s something, right? “And that’s-“
“Yeah and you should see the things they’re saying on Twitter,” Niall scoffs.
Harry frowns. He knows what happens every time he and Louis do something even remotely similar. He knows what they think, what they say online. And he knows it gets Niall — even if the blond pretends it doesn’t; even if none of it true. Especially because they’ve got it wrong. “‘m sorry-“
“Don’t, Haz,” Niall whispers — and Harry can imagine Niall shaking his head, grabbing Harry’s hand. “It’s not your fault. It’s just…it’s easier for us to slow things down now so it doesn’t spiral out of control before we’re ready. Right? That’s what we decided.”
“You think this is easy?”
“No, that’s not- This is hard for me too, you know.”
Harry rolls his head, let’s his head fall back against the wall. “Says the boy who’s spent the last two days watching tennis with his laddies.”
“Says the boy currently partying it up with some of Hollywood’s Royalty.”
“Yeah, well, I’m currently missing one Royal in particular right now,” Harry slurs.
Niall hums, like he’s smiling on the other side of the world. “Miss you too, yeah,” he whispers.
Harry licks his lips, bites back the three little words he really wants to say.
An easy, comfortable silence falls between them. It doesn’t happen very often, silence between them, but when it does it’s sort of refreshing; over the phone, being thousands of miles away, it’s almost necessary. It’s like having his head against Niall’s chest and listening to him breathe.
“You should get back to your party,” Niall says, breaking the silence. “Someone’ll go looking for you eventually. Don’t want to be caught acting like a mope at your own birthday party.”
“Yeah,” Harry mutters.
“Hey, c’mon - we’ll go out next weekend; I’ll make it extra special,” the blond promises.
Harry smirks. “You better.”
“Happy Birthday, H-.”
Niall’s cut off, then, by multiple shouts of “HARRY! Shots!” from inside.
Harry winces slightly as he pushes himself away from the wall. The door next to him flies open and then Jeff’s stumbling through the doorway. He asks, silently, who’s on the phone and Harry mouths Niall before ushering him back inside. “Sorry, I have to-“
“Go,” Niall insists. “Have fun.”
Harry groans, scratches the back of his head as he makes his way through the front hall towards the door. His bare feet slap against the marble floor. His house is empty again, save for himself and Jeff, and they’d only just finished cleaning up the red cups and dishes from watching the Super Bowl. Jeff’s already asleep, he’s sure, in one of the spare rooms and Harry had been about to retire to his own bedroom when the doorbell rang — at 2:30 in the morning.
His breath catches in his throat and the butterflies in his stomach come to life when he sees the distorted version of the figure on the other side of the door through the blurry, textured glass panes. Short, shaggy blond hair is the first thing he sees — and then it’s all broad shoulders and skinny legs; a silhouette he would recognize anywhere. Still, he thinks he’s seeing things when he pulls the door open.
He blinks in confusion as his gaze focuses on the boy standing in front of him. The boy, who, just 24 hours ago was a whole world away from him. On his birthday. “N-Niall?” he stutters dumbly.
The blond smiles shyly — all pretty pink lips and pearly white teeth at him. “Hi.”
“What are you - you’re here,” Harry breathes, leaning his shoulder against the door. “What are you doing here?”
“What do you think I’m doing here?” Niall asks, raising his left eyebrow as he tilts his head to the side curiously.
“You - you’re late. You’re, like, a whole day late.”
“I could leave, if you’d rather?” Niall suggests, hooking his thumb over his shoulder to point at the black car in the driveway behind him. Cal is sitting in the driver’s seat, a shit-eating grin on his face as he waves through the passenger window at Harry. “I mean, I only just flew 14 hours to get here — not to mention the fact that I’m basically a whole day in the past now. But I could just get poor Cal to take me back to the airport and-“
Harry grabs the collar of Niall’s jumper and pulls, hard. Niall laughs as he stumbles forward whilst Harry waves Cal away with the other hand. He closes the door the moment he gets Niall safely inside and then presses him back against it. He rests his forehead against Niall’s, presses their mouths together in a hard, close-mouthed kiss and only pulls back to look at him; he drinks Niall in like a man who’s gone thirsty, a man who hasn’t seen his boyfriend in about two months. “Hi,” he whispers, bringing one hand up to cup one side of Niall’s face whilst he uses the other to lock the door.
“Hi,” Niall giggles, carding his fingers through Harry’s hair. “Happy Birthday.”
Harry closes his eyes, hums as he pushes his head against Niall’s hand. “You didn’t have to come,” he murmurs. “This is going to mess with your sleeping cycle by the time we get back there.”
Niall cocks his head to the side and smirks. “Take me to bed right now and maybe it won’t be so bad, birthday boy.”
When I heard about the show, that fact that it was “kinda gay” was one of the things that caught my eye. But I expected it to be queer like most media is: one or two characters heavily coded as queer, or some will-they-or-won’t-they nonsense, maybe a tragic death or something. And when Carlos was introduced (especially the introduction Cecil gives) I thought, oh no.
Because here’s the plot I was expecting: a secondary character, never given voice, running from the “hilarious” affections of the oblivious main character.
And now here we are, fifty episodes or so away from One Year Later, and these two nerds live together, negotiate, make mistakes and make up and are so adorable I can’t stand it.
On a similar note, Carlos’ earlier characterization was sort of universally admired; even Cecil Baldwin apparently assumed Carlos generated some kind of field that made everyone adore him, because the responses to his character are almost exclusively positive. But Carlos is not cool in the sense that traditional media creates cool characters: he’s enthusiastic, and dedicated to his field, and everything about him in canon screams giant nerd–and this is all a good thing. He hasn’t lost any social capital in Night Vale as he’s relaxed into his enthusiastic, bright, cheerful self.
He’s allowed to have a romantic relationship that’s dedicated and deeply felt, but doesn’t derail everything else he’s interested in. He’s allowed to be devoted to his field, to have a high level of interest in things without this being treated as socially undesirable for having these interests. So I guess what I like most about Carlos is that he’s allowed to love.