Security

Chapter 1

It is halfway through the video shoot, about ten minutes after Simon notices that Harry is getting antsy, that Harry is dragged away from where the rest of the group are gathered. He notices a couple odd looks from some of their newer crew members, which doesn't help his anxiety any. Makes it far worse, actually, therefore making Simon's job to calm him down that much harder.

Simon is never one to give up too easy, at least.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Simon asks as they edge further and further away from the others. Harry has to force himself to take a deep breath, his blinking purposely exaggerated. He can recognise the border, knows that if he's not careful he'll start absorbing Simon's voice more than his words.

"I'm doing okay," Harry says, his voice quieter than his thoughts will ever be. The statement isn't a blatant lie, but it definitely isn't the absolute truth, either. "I just need to get away for a bit."

If it was anyone else, Harry would flinch violently at the feeling of the shoulder that bumps his own in response, but he had been hoping for - waiting for - any form of touch from Simon. As a result, he doesn't so much as twitch.

"That's what I'm here for, eh?"

"Yeah, I s'pose so." Harry states, as if Simon isn't so much more to him than just his social relaxant.

"Fancy a game of pool?" Simon asks, as the two of them take the time to wander around the property, wishing to find a space away from everyone else for a little while. It's not a desperate need just yet, but it is for sure a want that will benefit them both. Will calm Harry as well as Simon, who himself wasn't feeling so comfortable back up at the main house.

"Go on, then. You're on, Minter."

The space, and the game, both turn out to be good ideas. Better than either of them had expected, to be honest. They provide time away from the chaotic social situation happening a little ways away, at some other point of the property, as well as a distraction and incentive for Harry to chill - to soothe his nerves a little. Even Simon gets a moment to socially recuperate, his fond eyes trained on Harry, gaze unfiltered now that they're finally alone together.

They use the chance to their full potential, their glass hindrances placed off to the side with a truce spoken into the air despite the unanimous trust they hold. Will forever and always hold for one another.

The precarious serenity takes a blow the moment JJ enters the room, but the older man must see something in Harry's eyes (or body language) as he follows Simon's demands first time, in the absence of questions. He lingers without complaint, his own glass also placed next to the other two.

"Woah, you're doing really well, Harry." He comments after eyeing the pool table, taking a seat with an unusual, but not unwelcome, calm demeanor.

"Th-thanks." A shrug, humble with an edge of rattled self-consciousness. "Minter's b-been kicking m-my arse th-though."

"That's 'cause Simon is such a fucking tryhard," There's a blatant, mocking inflection on the insult. It's one that has Simon expressing an accommodating chuckle and Harry puffing a nervous giggle, but it is by no means hilarious, undeserving of both laughs, in all honesty. Nor is it meant with any malicious intent. (Harry actually feels rather indignant over it, either way, but he can tell that JJ means well: he merely wants Harry to feel comfortable in his presence.)

If their temporary, self-developed utopia takes a hit when JJ enters, a nightmare is without a doubt created the second Lux's voice reaches their ears from outside. The man's body follows immediately after, barging his way past Vik and through the sliding glass door.

"What's going on in here then, huh lads?" The oldest man's voice is loud and boisterous, his eyes beady, and untrustworthy, to boot.

When a small huddle of cameramen follow along behind the two newcomers, Harry can barely stifle a groan. He realises he failed at doing so the moment Lux throws his head back with a cackle, believing it to be a disgruntled slight to himself.

"None of that now, Harry," his friend goads, fortunately abandoning his efforts to wind him up, after a quick wink, in favour of approaching JJ with an amusing swagger.

As well as Harry was doing before, all signs that he has ever played the game before quickly vanish. Simon absolutely destroys him in the most polite, friendly manner possible. The performance is more embarrassing than the loss, however the teasing the loss garners is severe enough to make Harry want to dig a six foot deep hole and bury himself in it; he'll leave himself to die there. (Simon will just have to make do without him.)

But, oh, "Good game, Haz," that smile is so beautiful on Simon's face, it complements his features so well. It lights his face up in a way that leaves Harry feeling dazed and inferior - he ought to worship the very ground Simon walks on, especially because of all he does for Harry. He makes Harry's life as carefree and comfortable as he physically can.

(Harry will never, ever, be able to leave Simon to live without him. Not willingly.)

"G-good gam-me? You didn't give me a b-bloody cha-chance!" The words aren't painful in Harry's throat, no, but they do sound it to the others' ears. His stutter on the last word resembles a gag, and he has to swallow hard and head for the glasses on the side before he makes the mistake of acknowledging the grimace he notices one of the cameramen make in response to it.

Harry's hand tingles as he pops open a can of water, trembles delicately as he pours the predetermined amount of water into his glass. He purposefully faces away from the gathered cluster of people, his eyes honed in on the trickling of water. It will be beyond room temperature, by now, since Simon's been carrying it around with him in his pocket for about an hour by now.

Simon stands opposite him, then, watching with knowing eyes as Harry tips his head back and gulps the water down quickly. Noting the shakiness, he takes the glass from him before Harry can drop it, saying, "I'll look after this for now, yeah?"

There's a burning in Harry's chest, a prickling heat to the tips of his ears, at the taller man's words. He pockets his hands in his hoodie pocket, clenches them into aggrieved fists.

Simon smirks, but his eyes are shiny with emotion. "But only if you look after my own. I don't do one-sided favours, Harry, you know that."

When Simon holds out his own glass, Harry snatches it up rashly, pocketing it harshly in an attempt to convey a disgruntled member of an opposing team. (Simon said the words before Harry himself could propose them... he's grateful Simon knows him so well.) He has to consciously force himself not to roll his eyes at that last part, though, as all Simon ever seems to do is one-sided favours for people.

"You b-bet-ter be caref-ful with my glass M-min-nter."

"AHH, GET BACK HERE!!" JJ screams suddenly, drawing Harry and Simon's attention away from each other, and back towards the rest of them.

"Ah, sorry, Harry," Simon simpers, his expression obsequious and his grin endearing. "Teammate duties, you know how it is."

Before Simon can leave, Harry clocks that the room is empty save for them: everyone else has already left, eager cameras closely following the rabble of Youtubers. JJ is still screaming, seemingly at Lux.

Harry's voice, as he speaks, is hush but exceedingly powerful. He channels the fortitude that Simon always inspires within him.

"Good game, Minter."

On his way out, Simon places a reassuring pat to his shoulder. It's not enough to get him through the rest of the day with restful ease, but it is enough for him to do so without intense grievance.