Amaryllis

21

"I've gotta say, mate, you look like absolute shite.”

Harry wakes up slowly. It's a little like swimming to the surface after being submerged in water for too long, a fog that cradles him and lifts him up – and disappears little by little, until he's laying on a hard concrete floor.

The first thing that fully registers is the pain – Harry hurts absolutely everywhere. He can already feel his body mending itself, cuts sealing and new skin growing over the scars, but his entire body is a bruise, and his shoulder feels twisted, dislocated. He's tired of everything, and wants to just lie there and wallow for a little while, but then he remembers the voice.

His eyes fly open immediately, a little too quickly perhaps, and there's a few seconds where all he can see is light. Painfully slowly, the empty garage takes shape around him, then the sunlight streaming in through the open door, and the figure crouching right in front of Harry like a guardian angel. He blinks furiously, just to make sure he's not hallucinating.

"Niall?"

And the smile, blinding white and stretching around his entire face, gives him away even in Harry's blurred vision. The next second, before his rational thinking can set in, Harry is ignoring the bleeding gash on his upper arm or his obvious nakedness, and throwing himself at the other boy with everything he has. He near misses, feels his hands almost hit the rough floor, but firm hands catch him and pull him in instead.

There's no mistaking Niall's scent, unchanged from the last time Harry had been this close; it's chocolate and beer and various food items, something comforting like freshly mowed grass, and the lingering scent of the house that none of them seem to be able to wash off. Harry wonders about his favourite place, hopes that life had gone on as normal without him; it's a bit of a shock to realise, in that split second, that all of the boys have been there, have existed in the same time and reality as him, have gone about their lives while Harry was stuck in a limbo.

"Hi," he mumbles into Niall's shoulder, doesn't question why he’s being held tight enough to bruise, why Niall is even here. He doesn't care, not now, possibly not ever, because Niall's hugs are the ultimate comfort, better than hot chocolate with marshmallows and fuzzy blankets all at once. Harry has missed him so badly, and he's not surprised at all when his throat closes and he starts crying without meaning to.

"Hey, you," Niall says quietly right into Harry's ear, sounding a little wobbly himself. He runs a careful hand over Harry's shoulder blades as he pulls him a little closer.

"What are you doing here?"

Niall chuckles and ruffles the hair on top of Harry's head with a gust of warm breath. "You're really loud, mate. Had to come see what you were up to." At that, Harry stills uncomfortably and pulls away.

"You heard me?"

"Nah," Niall grins, easy as breathing, "a friend of me dad's called, apparently heard a werewolf going crazy in here somewhere. I promised I'd go check it out."

Harry is suddenly quite self-conscious about his nakedness. Over in the corner, his clothes appear thankfully intact. The night is still coming back to him in disorganised flashes, but he does remember the howling and the anger, the way he attacked everything, and the tattered remains of a blanket tangled around his ankles only remind him.

"How did you know it was me?" he mumbles, looking down and rubbing his arms for warmth.

Niall gets up to bring Harry his clothes, all the while humming contemplatively under his breath. "Not that many werewolves left in town. Plus, I've heard you howl before. I've got a very good memory for that," he taps his temple.