Soft Hands, Fast Feet, Can't Lose

Chapter 6: Epilogue...which is actually a PrologueChapter Text

In the beginning...

"It's always the same people at every party, man," Harry said with his nose pressed against Liam's cotton-scented shoulder. "I'm starting to gross myself out with how many people in this room I've slept with. It's a big room, you know? Too many repeat bodily fluids. I swear, it's like they all get a group text and just show up at the same time. Mmm, you smell good tonight, Li."

Liam snorted and licked beer foam off his lips. "Uh, yeah. There's a big text notification sent out to, like, everyone. Doy."

"There is?"

"There is."

Harry tipped his head back to finish his Red Bull and vodka. He wiped the back of his hand over his lips, then burped. Someone poured something syrupy and clear with floating gold flecks into his cup, which he promptly downed as a shot. He pounded his chest with both fists and roared, "Fuck, yeah, cinnamon! I fucking love fall!"

Surrounding party guests chanted, "Hu-go! Hu-go! Hu-go!" over the Ke$ha song booming through the grand room, their voices almost drowning out the music. The members of the football team on the sofa laughed raucously as Harry fist pumped to the rhythm of their chant with his head down and his shoulders bobbing from side to side.

"Best fans in the world," Harry cackled with a sloppy, hazy-eyed grin. He kissed his fingers and pointed up at the ceiling. "God Bless America."

"Here, Hughie, have another," Liam said as he tipped the bottle of Goldschläger into Harry's cup. He giggled and arched away from Harry's lips blowing weak raspberries on his neck. "The gold standard for the golden boy."

"I need to speak to someone official about this text message chain," Harry slurred, straightening up. "I, personally, have never gotten a notification."

"You live here," Ryan said with a snort, smushing Harry's Packers hat over his eyes. Harry giggled and sank further into the sofa. "You're on the team, genius. Do you need a text inviting you to your own victory party in your own frat house?"

Ke$ha suddenly cut out. Boos echoed around the high ceilings. Harry turned his hat backwards and peered towards the stereo.

The barest hint of blue eyes cut through the crowd as the first strum of guitar sounded through the speakers. Those same blue eyes darted out of Harry's sight line, taking with them a head of tousled brown hair.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood up. He felt like he had a string attached to the center of his chest that lifted his torso higher, higher, higher. He scanned across the party.

"Who is that?" His lips felt like they were moving slower than usual. "Li?"

Liam looked in the direction of Harry's gaze. "What? Who?"

Harry's eyes locked with the mystery man and his breath caught in his chest. The man froze under Harry's stare, his wet, pink lips opening half an inch. He turned away, but was too slow to shield his small smile. His eyes teased over his shoulder one more time before he disappeared into the crowd.

Harry rose from the sofa with his cup pointed forward.

"That guy. In the black. I've never seen him here before."

He couldn't hear Liam's first few words over the music. Liam's breathy voice filtered into his ears as he babbled, "--omlinson. His, uh, roommate is named Zayn and he's, well, he's a really good artist. Like, amazing artist. He's really smart, too. Zayn, I mean. One time, Zayn asked me for a light—he's a smoker, you know?—but I didn't have one, and I said I'd bring a lighter to class the next time, but then—"