Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

(Harry’s POV)

‘Fuck this shit,’ Harry muttered angrily to himself, throwing down yet another tie and switching it out for one that suited his current clothing choice better.

He was at home, having spent the better part of the day convincing himself to go to the Sidemen’s 13^th anniversary party that evening, and he’d spent his last few hours deciding on an outfit. He settled upon black dress trousers, proper shoes (black ones, freshly polished), and a blue shirt (no buttons, of course) that Freezy had once mentioned ‘goes really well with your eyes, mate.’

Harry remembered it being one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him before.

With a heavy sigh, Harry fixed his new tie, a black one to match his trousers, and tugged on his shirt sleeves, tugged on the collar, hating the way it felt too tight, too suffocating.

He was dressed, his hair styled in the way he liked it (the windswept effect, yet also smart), and stared at himself in the mirror, trying to force himself to smile… only all he could do was scowl and deliberate all of his life’s choices, annoyed about what was going to happen when he turned up for the party.

He despised social situations, especially around lots of people, and especially around people he didn’t know or care for, and therefore Harry had always hated the anniversary parties (or the massive parties they hosted in general for birthdays) because he wasn’t around when the Sidemen was founded all those years ago.

Harry Lewis was the only non-founding member of the Sidemen and it made him feel insignificant, like he wasn’t important and like he didn’t hold any real weight with the decisions that were made – especially when his suggestions were never listened to anyway, and his ideas always mocked and laughed at because he was so young, ‘a baby,’ as JJ had once so nicely called him, and his thoughts out-voted 6-1.

His parents, upon hearing Harry’s offer from the Sidemen, had initially frowned upon on it. ‘What does a group of men in the twenties want with a teenager like you?’ But Harry had taken the offer with both hands, the best offer he knew he’d get, and moved into London a week later, sharing a flat with some of the Sidemen’s friends, Freezy and Lux (his parents didn’t know about his downward spiral with some other YouTubers, didn’t know about the hole he was about to dig himself into, didn’t know that the Sidemen had all but saved him).

Despite being older than Harry, the Sidemen looked out for him, and did their best to keep him on track, trying to steer him away from a bad path in life, and Harry thanked them in his head every day because of it, because of their patience and their generosity when it came to Harry Lewis – the strange kid from Guernsey that had blown up on YouTube overnight and was now a part of the famous Sidemen.

He struggled with that a lot, always feeling like the outsider even if they were his best friends, even if they were his family, however not once in Harry’s duration of the Sidemen did they ever celebrate Harry’s anniversary of joining the group. Never. Not once. And they never brought it up, either, like it had been forgotten, like it wasn’t important.

Like Harry himself had been forgotten.

Harry had brought it up after his first anniversary of being in the Sidemen, eighteen years old and about to turn nineteen (he’d moved out of the shared flat with Lux and Freezy and bought a place of his own), brightly asking if there was going to be a party or a celebration, but it had been glossed over and the subject changed and after that Harry hadn’t brought it up again.

But every year he hoped.

Every year he hoped it would be different.

It never was.

So, whenever those parties happened, Harry showed his face, avoided the drinks because he didn’t know what would slip out of his mouth if he got drunk, and the moment he got overwhelmed he left the venue to head home, feeling a crushing sadness residing in the spaces between his hollowed-out ribs (especially when no one called to check in. Especially when no one called to check where he was).

All his friends ever did was joke about his lack of a social capacity, about his awkwardness, about his ‘undiagnosed autism.’

Harry drank on the quiet instead, late at night, alone, a shot to stop his stomach from twisting, a glass of wine before a recording session to warm his insides. Multiple bottles of spirits during a drunk video so he wasn’t questioned about his lack of drinking.

He didn’t know what to do about it.

He didn’t know how else to cope.

Harry couldn’t help but think, did I make a mistake in coming here?

Did I make a mistake by joining the Sidemen?

***

By the time Harry arrived at the venue, he was already regretting coming.

Four floors. Loud music that Harry despised. Far too much money spent on something so stupid, so unnecessary.

The moment he stepped foot inside, he recognised no one, and for the first time, fear gripped him with its sharp claws, overwhelmed him, and he found himself at the bar ordering a drink before he’d even said hello to anyone to try to settle his nerves.

He downed it. He ordered another. He downed that one too.

There. A bit of liquid courage.

He turned around, finally feeling brave, his hands no longer shaking, feeling okay enough to talk to a stranger and introduce himself… only he was alone in the room now, no one in the room but him and the bartender.

‘Cheers, mate,’ Harry called.

The bartender waved in farewell while he resumed polishing glasses.

Harry ventured into another room, only to find himself lost amidst more strangers. He thought he saw Chris MD in the distance, a friend from back home, probably the only person in the venue anywhere remotely close to him in age (that’s what happened when you moved overseas to join a group of older YouTubers – all of their friends were older too, leaving Harry alone as the random ‘kid’ in the circle), yet by the time he’d fought his way through the hordes of people, the flashing lights, and the over stimulatingly loud music, Chris was gone.

Muttering in frustration, Harry pushed his way into another room. More strangers. More music. A few vaguely familiar faces from a Netflix show Ethan had suggested Harry watch – high profile guests due to the success of Inside.

(But Harry didn’t watch Netflix. He didn’t watch anything, really. He’d rather be outside exploring or spending quality time with his friends).

He ended up at another bar ordering himself more drinks. Harry nodded to a few people, acknowledging them, offering them smiles, however no one engaged in conversation, and the few people he did make eye contact with looked him up and down in distain and moved on.

They don’t know who I am, he realised suddenly.

They don’t know I’m one of the Sidemen.

Every time Harry so much as opened his mouth, his greetings got stuck in his throat and he couldn’t talk.

So he drank.

He drank.

He drank a lot, and Harry got pissed for the first time at an event, despite knowing his friends would be disappointed, despite knowing that he was never going to be able to live it down; the young lad with a drinking problem that the Sidemen babysat.

Still, Harry recognised no one. Still, no one had come up to speak to him.

And still no one had coming looking for him.

He was invisible.

So he drank.

He was in the middle of a massive party hosted by his best friends, yet he felt so incredibly alone.

When the first waves of alcohol coursed through his veins, Harry drunkenly stumbled through the party, through the multiple rooms and nearly fell climbing up multiple flights of stairs, a half-empty bottle of wine in his hand, swigging from it every time he remembered.

I’m not important.

I’m not wanted here.

I should never have come.

No one batted an eyelid at his behaviour. None of the strangers he stumbled past, or brushed past, batted an eyelid. It was like he was invisible, like he was a fucking ghost or something.

And then he found the rest of the Sidemen (and all of their close friends. Not Harry’s close friends. Their close friends) in one of the rooms upstairs, in the midst of having a group photo taken… a group photo that Harry wasn’t in, that Harry wasn’t invited to, and the realisation made unease and fucking grief settle heavy at the bottom of his stomach, the emotions waiting for the bay doors to open and throw them down into the pit that resided there.

The Sidemen smiled and joked and laughed, having the best time of their lives with all of their friends… without Harry.

I’m not important, am I?

I’m the young one.

I’m forgettable.

Stood in the dark, in the corner of the room, Harry brought the bottle of wine to his lips and downed what was left inside. He hung around, ambled closer to a few people (Reeve, Chris MD and Lux to name a few), waiting for someone to see him, for them to acknowledge him, for them to invite him over and to say, ‘Harry! We’ve been looking everywhere for you, mate!’

It never happened.

They never do.

The photos ended, and Josh did a speech. Simon did a speech immediately after. Everyone cheered.

And no one cared that Harry was missing from the event.

No one remembered Harry, full stop.

Harry turned tail and left the room on unsteady legs, his vision blurring, though he didn’t know if was from tears or from the sheer amount of alcohol he’d consumed since arriving, and hid himself in one of the many toilets situated on the top floor of the party. He locked the stall door, and dropped to his knees in front of the toilet, too drunk to register any pain at the moment, his stomach twisting beneath his skin.

He gagged twice before he threw up, dropping the empty bottle of wine to the floor. It rolled away, peeking into the stall next door. He threw up again, and Harry held onto the toilet bowl, his knuckles and his hands white with the effort, his entire body shuddering, slowly but surely shutting down.

I’m useless.

I’m not important.

He passed out on the bathroom floor with vomit drying on his chin, thinking, Why did I ever think that I could be important?

Chapter Text

(Harry’s POV)

He woke up to a series of loud knocks on a door.

Harry shifted with a groan, his head throbbing, his body aching from passing out on the bathroom floor slumped over the toilet seat.

God, I’m going to ache for days after this.

‘Hey, are you okay in there?’ a deep voice asked, a voice Harry didn’t recognise.

He let out a pathetic moan, unable to say anything, unable to even think about what to say to a stranger in his current state. Tears burned in his eyes and they rolled down his cheeks before he could stop them.

The boys haven’t noticed I’m missing.

No one cares that they haven’t seen me.

I really am invisible, aren’t I?

‘Is there someone I can get for you?’ the deep voice asked again, discomfort evident in their words.

Harry’s stomach rolled. He heaved into the toilet, throwing up again, choking on the vomit that got stuck in his throat. He groaned once it was all out, sniffling, and spat out what saliva remained in his bitter-tasting mouth.

‘I’m going to get someone,’ the voice decided out loud.

They left, and Harry groaned once more, hugging the toilet seat like it was his only friend.

It is. No one cares.

Another set of footsteps returned shortly after, tapping loudly on the hard floor.

‘Hello?’ a familiar voice called. Tobi. ‘Are you okay in there?’

Harry wanted to fucking die. Sure, he might have drank himself into a stupor again, however he didn’t want any of the boys to see – it was why he normally avoided the drinks and went home early during a party.

(These days, it was rare that Harry even made it to the end of a party. Normally, he’d leave after an hour or two and drink himself to death alone in his flat, high as a kite on whatever drug he could get his hands on at short notice).

Someone knocked on his stall door. ‘You okay in there?’ Tobi repeated. ‘Do you need any help?’

Harry let out a pitiful whine.

He threw up again.

I don’t want anyone to see me like this, let alone the boys.

‘Okay, I’m gonna come in.’

Harry braced himself, squeezing his eyes shut as the door creaked open.

A beat of silence.

‘Harry?’

The Guernsey man clutched tighter to the toilet seat, his vison spinning.

‘Harry? Harry, what on Earth are you doing up here?’

He let out a moan, his head pounding, his skull throbbing like someone had taken a hammer to it repeatedly.

Tobi knelt beside him, and Harry cringed away, turning his head; he had vomit stuck to his chin, and he knew he’d gotten some stuck to his nice, blue shirt.

He’d made an effort tonight.

He swore he tried his best.

I just know when I’m not wanted.

A hand held the back of Harry’s head. Tears streamed down his cheeks at the tender touch; Harry didn’t remember the last time someone had touched him so delicately, like they cared about him.

No one cares about me, do they?

‘Hey, you’re okay, mate,’ Tobi said softly. ‘How long have you been up here?’

‘D’know,’ Harry slurred, his head spinning. The bright lights on the ceiling bared down hard upon him, so hard they burned his eyes. ‘Ages.’

‘I thought you were still downstairs with us,’ Tobi said. ‘You weren’t drunk then… how did this happen?’

Harry went to shake his head. Nausea churned in his gut, so fast it was like a herd of wild horses thundering past. ‘No,’ Harry managed to get out, clenching his jaw.

I won’t be sick again.

I won’t.

‘Huh?’

‘No,’ Harry insisted. ‘No.’

‘I don’t know what that means.’

‘Wasn’t with you,’ Harry slurred. It was an effort to think and to get his mouth to work in tandem. ‘Never with you.’

‘Yeah, you were,’ Tobi said. ‘You’ve been with us the whole time… though evidently not for the last however long judging by the state you’re in,’ he joked.

‘No,’ Harry ground out, clutching the toilet seat tight with white, hot rage. ‘Wasn’t there.’

‘What do you mean you weren’t there?’ Tobi asked, incredulous. Harry wanted nothing more than to shake some sense into the older man… only Harry could barely see straight. ‘You were with us when we did the photos. You were there when we did the speeches. We all were.’

Harry shook his head miserably, his eyes hot and puffy, and vomited violently into the toilet.

Tobi reached for his phone, scrolling through something, determined… and his face dropped in guilt, into sadness, and understanding dawned within his body, shining like a beacon from his irises.

‘Harry…’ Tobi began, his voice wavering. He slid his phone back into his trouser pocket before he settled a hand on Harry’s back. ‘Harry, I’m so sorry. I could have sworn you were with us.’

Harry just shook his head again. His foot nudged the empty wine bottle that had slowly rolled into the stall next door, sending it flying across the floor.

It caught Tobi’s attention like a lightning strike.

‘You drank all that?’ he pressed, his hand sliding up and resuming its previous position on the back of Harry’s head.

‘Earlier,’ Harry drunkenly mumbled, the alcohol still buzzing through his veins. ‘Had more earlier, too. Shots. Shots. Lots of shots.’

‘You’ve drunk too much again, haven’t you?’

Harry wiped at his eyes with a shirt sleeve, wiping his mouth and his chin… it came away disgusting and stinking of vomit and Harry wished the ground would just swallow him up.

‘That’s a silly question, of course you’ve drunk too much again. Look at the state of you.’

Tobi’s words? Yeah, they cut deep. They cut so deep that Harry felt the pain all the way inside his bones. He flinched away a little, his eyes downcast, his stomach rolling and flipping like a gymnast in the middle of an Olympic routine.

‘You’re a right sorry sight, mate,’ Tobi continued.

Harry shut his eyes, forcing himself to hold his tears back.

It’s your fault, Tobi. It’s all of your faults.

None of you understand.

‘Did… did you drink because of that? Because of us?’

It’s not the only reason, but yes.

Harry nodded his head, breathing in through his mouth so he didn’t have to smell the vomit, or the wine, that he’d brought back up into the toilet along with his dinner from earlier.

‘Oh, Harry,’ Tobi said gently. He stroked Harry’s hair away from his eyes, watching the younger man with a guarded expression on his face.

Then he got up to leave, walking away, and Harry whined, a pathetic sound, like a dog abandoned by its owners for too long.

‘I’m still here, Harry,’ Tobi called, of sight. ‘Just getting something to clean you up.’

Why don’t I believe you?

Why do I think you’re going to leave me here to rot?

But Tobi came back with wet paper towels, knelt down once more, and began to dab at Harry’s mouth, his chin, and wiped away at his shirt. ‘There we go,’ Tobi murmured, disposing of the paper towels in the bin beside the toilet.

Harry couldn’t find the words to say thank you. He was still upset and angry… but it was Tobi. He couldn’t stay angry at Tobi for long.

It was impossible.

‘Let’s get you home, yeah?’ Tobi suggested. ‘I don’t think you’re in a state to talk right now – we can do that in the morning, hmm? We can talk about whatever’s bothering you.’

Harry didn’t fight it.

He never fought it.

He just let it happen because it was easier than causing a fuss.

People like me more when I do as I’m told.

Tobi hauled him to his feet. Harry had no energy to hold himself up, and if it hadn’t been for Tobi’s strength Harry would have ended up on the floor.

All he felt was sadness.

All he felt was invisible.

No one came looking for me.

No one even noticed I was missing.

It was only thanks to a fucking stranger that I was found.

How long would I have been in the toilet until someone found me?

Tobi grunted under his weight. ‘Fucking hell, Bog,’ Tobi wheezed. ‘You aren’t getting lighter, that’s for sure. I thought you were going on a diet, no?’

Harry let his tears fell, unbidden and unwanted. He didn’t care anymore who saw.

He didn’t fucking care.

‘You’re lucky I love you,’ Tobi joked again. ‘My little brother. My annoying little brother.’

Tobi’s words cut deep for a second time.

When Harry looked down, he was shocked to find his innards still intact inside of him, shocked to find his skin still in one piece; it felt like he’d been torn open and his innards yanked out at an alarming pace.

Tobi led him through the party, through rooms full of people and loud music and bright lights, and suddenly Harry Lewis was a spectacle. People filmed and laughed and pointed his way, calling his name like he was some sort of celebrity.

Everyone Harry had ever known in the YouTube scene was right there, watching the scene unfold.

I’m only visible because Tobi’s here. I’m only visible because Tobi’s touching me, like a live link keeping me in place.

Ethan turned up, taking Harry’s other side despite Harry’s weak attempts to slap him away, despite Harry’s drunken murmurs, and helped Tobi take Harry down multiple flights of stairs.

‘Where’ve you been, Bog?’ Ethan asked. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’

No you haven’t.

And besides, it’s too little, too late.

‘Some guy found him passed out in the toilets,’ Tobi said a little stiffly, still leading Harry away, only now that Ethan was there they moved a lot faster.

‘Huh?’

‘He was passed out on the floor, completely plastered,’ Tobi said. ‘He’s had too much to drink and needs to go home.’

Again was left unsaid. He’s had too much to drink again.

‘Why would he do that?’ Ethan asked, disbelief in his tone. He barked out a laugh. ‘Christ, you’re a right state, Bog. Fucking look at you.’

Harry let out a miserable moan, Ethan’s comment cutting away at his heartstrings, one by one, and he let his head fall, his chin jutting into his chest.

‘Because none of us fucking noticed that he wasn’t with us earlier – he missed the photos, the speeches… the fucking cake!’ Tobi shouted, hysterical. ‘And not one of us realised he wasn’t there. Not a single person in that fucking room noticed he wasn’t with us!’

Ethan fell silent. His arm around Harry tightened.

‘I’ll look after him,’ Ethan said loudly over the music. ‘I’ve looked after him like this before. I know how to handle him.’

Handle me? Like I’m a wild animal? Like I’m dangerous?

And yet Harry let Ethan take him home, let Ethan talk nonsense to Harry while he walked, and while he sat in the back of the taxi in silence, completely out of it, alcohol making his vision swim and making his blood feel like a thick, viscous fluid.

Harry didn’t think a single word Ethan said registered in his brain, but it didn’t stop Ethan from talking, didn’t stop Ethan from telling stories and jokes that, on a normal day, would have made Harry laugh until he cried.

No, Harry wanted to cry for an entirely different reason.

I’m a mess.

No one wants me.

I don’t know what to do about it.

‘Harry?’ Ethan’s voice rang louder, breaking through the fog in Harry’s head. ‘Harry, can you hear me?’

Harry let out a quiet groan, curling in on himself in the backseat of the taxi.

‘We’re almost at your place, Bog,’ Ethan said, a hand on Harry’s leg, stroking gently. ‘Then you can rest.’

Rest sounded good right about now.

‘You’re alright, Harry,’ Ethan continued, in a voice that he used whenever Olive was hurt or upset. The realisation brought tears to Harry’s eyes, forged a lump at the back of his throat. ‘You’re okay. I’ve got you.’

But you didn’t.

None of you did.

Chapter Text

(Harry’s POV)

Had Harry not been pissed out of his mind (and exhausted) he would have been embarrassed by how long it took Ethan to help him upstairs to his flat, and he most definitely would have been embarrassed by how Ethan had to brush his teeth for him: Harry had tried, but he’d ended up with toothpaste smeared over his cheek, and kept stabbing at the corners of his mouth.

However, despite what happened, Ethan Payne was Harry’s best friend and he took over the simple task without a fuss. He grabbed Harry’s chin with gentle fingers and tilted his head up. ‘Open your mouth for me, Bog,’ Ethan muttered.

He did so, and Ethan delicately brushed Harry’s teeth.

Harry circled his fingers around Ethan’s wrist, needing something solid, something warm, to hold onto while the whole world collapsed around him.

Ethan was brave enough to stand with him while it did, was brave enough to withstand the sheer weight of existence without so much as a word.

‘All done,’ Ethan said. ‘You can spit that out.’

While Ethan rinsed Harry’s toothbrush, Harry spat the foam into the sink, however he kept his fingers around Ethan’s wrist, refusing to so much as let go.

‘I need my hand back, Bog,’ Ethan said, gently tugging his wrist out of Harry’s reach. ‘I just need to clean your face a bit – you got toothpaste everywhere.’

Harry stood in silence while Ethan wiped at Harry’s lips, his cheek, with a cold, wet flannel, swaying on the spot… and when he listed a little too far over, Ethan’s hand was on Harry’s arm, holding him steady.

And Harry didn’t understand.

Why’s he being so kind to me?

I’m just the baby of the group.

Why is he here?

‘I think I’m drunk,’ Harry stated, blinking up at Ethan with spots in his vision.

‘I know, mate,’ Ethan laughed. He peered into Harry’s gaze with a thoughtful expression on his face. ‘You go and strip and I’ll run you a bubble bath,’ Ethan said.

‘Why?’

Ethan’s hand on Harry’s arm squeezed before he let go, a shadow falling across his face, bruising the undersides of his eyes. ‘Because I want to take care of you tonight. And every night after.’

Slowly, when Ethan’s words made their way into Harry’s brain where the signals were delayed and the circuits were fried, Harry nodded in agreement. ‘I like baths,’ Harry said simply.

‘I know you do.’

‘I think I drank too much again, Behz.’

Ethan’s eyes turned sad. ‘I know.’

‘I don’t like drinking too much.’ Harry shuffled away from Ethan and wobbled back over to the sink where he grabbed the basin with both hands. ‘I didn’t know what else to do so I drank.’

‘I know, Harry,’ Ethan said, squirting the bubble bath into the bottom of the bathtub. ‘It’s okay.’

Harry’s hands clenched so tight around the sink that he thought he heard it creak and groan under the pressure. ‘I just wanted to forget.’

On his knees next to the bath, Ethan let out a moan that, again, had Harry been sober, he would have realised how despondent it was, how guilty. ‘I know, Bog. I know, and I’m sorry. Now strip, yeah?’

Harry giggled, joy bursting from within the confines of his ribcage. ‘Just wanna see me naked, Behz, don’t you?’

‘Believe me, that’s the farthest thing on my mind right now,’ the older man said hoarsely, fixing Harry with such an intense, heartbroken stare that even Harry paused.

‘You look sad,’ Harry decided out loud. He shook his head a little, trying to blink away the spots that refused to fade out.

Ethan nodded. He rolled up his shirt sleeves, his top button a little undone, and turned on the taps. Water blasted out. ‘That’s because I am.’

‘Why are you sad?’

‘Because you’re sad.’

Harry pulled a face, confused. ‘Why am I sad?’

Ethan sighed to himself. ‘We’ve reached this point, have we?’

‘What point?’

‘The point where you forget everything and anything that’s been said in the past however long.’

‘Probably.’

The beginnings of a smile began to grow on Ethan’s face, but his eyes were still so dark and miserable and Harry didn’t know what to do about it.

Ethan shouldn’t be sad.

He’s happy now.

He has his own family.

He’s so much happier than he used to be… but why does he look so sad right now?

‘Strip,’ Ethan commanded for the third time. ‘It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, but the bubbles will give you a bit of privacy.’

Sat on his knees, running a bubble bath, Ethan looked so much like a dad that Harry’s soul hurt. He looked so at ease with his role in life, and that drunken realisation formed a lump in Harry’s throat.

I don’t know what my role is.

I’m terrified that I’m never going to know.

Harry nodded wordlessly, glad that the movement no longer made him feel sick. He made short work of stripping off, and when his dirty clothes were in a pile at his feet, Harry reached for the towel and wrapped it around his shoulders to protect his modesty while the tub filled.

With shaky fingers he shut the toilet lid and perched on it, watching the water flow out of the tap, watching the bubbles grow, watching the steam rise.

‘Olive loves a bubble bath,’ Ethan said.

But I’m not your kid, Behz. I’m not Olive.

Even if sometimes I want to be.

‘I see you in her all the time,’ Ethan continued, swirling the water around with his fingers, mixing the hot and the cold. ‘In her mannerisms. In the way she sees the world. In the way she talks sometimes. There are moments when I’m talking to her and it’s like I’m talking to you.’

A chill crept into the room. Harry shivered when it made contact with his skin, so cold in places that Harry thought he’d find bruises there later from invisible fingers.

‘Come on, mate,’ Ethan said, reaching for Harry. ‘It should be warm enough now. Let’s get you in, yeah?’

So Harry stood, shamelessly let the towel drop from around his shoulders and, with Ethan’s help, with Ethan’s sturdy form, climbed into the bathtub. He was greeted by warm water and Harry hurried to sit down, sloshing the water up and down the sides... and all over Ethan.

His friend cried out in disbelief, shielding his face with his hands. ‘Harry!’ he exclaimed. Then he laughed. ‘You’re fucking impossible, you are.’

The cold came back immediately, settling itself into the crevices of Harry’s heart, into the areas of the organ that no longer function as it should.

I’m just a nuisance, aren’t I?

Even after everything Ethan’s done tonight, I’m still a fucking nuisance.

‘Is it too hot?’ Ethan asked, turning the taps off. Only the sounds of breathing and water gently rising and falling could be heard.

‘Perfect,’ Harry muttered, lying back and making himself as comfortable as he could.

Ethan’s giving up his evening for me.

He’s taking care of me because I’m the idiot who got too drunk again.

‘Good.’

A peaceful silence filled the empty space between them, and Harry sort of… floated. He allowed himself to fall into the water, to relax into it, allowed the silence to fill him up and drown out his thoughts.

And then a warm hand covered Harry’s eyes and water slowly poured over his hair.

‘What’re you doing?’ Harry slurred, still too drunk to push Ethan’s hand away, too relaxed to even try and get up, just letting it happen.

‘Washing your hair, you mong,’ Ethan said affectionately. ‘Now stay still, unless you want me to waterboard you.’

No one has washed my hair since I was a baby, not since when my parents used to wash it for me until they decided I was old enough to do it myself.

An emotion Harry didn’t recognise wrapped a cold hand around his throat and squeezed.

He loves me, doesn’t he?

He must do if he’d willingly wash my hair for me.

Under Ethan’s tender ministrations, Harry fell into a trance-like state; Ethan tilted Harry’s head back just enough to submerge the back of his head; Ethan made sure Harry’s hair was wet through before he massaged shampoo through the strands with assured fingers, carding through his hair and scratching his nails along Harry’s scalp.

A hand covered Harry’s eyes again, and more water cascaded over Harry’s head.

‘Just washing out the shampoo,’ Ethan muttered.

Harry hummed under his breath.

Ethan even went so far as to wash Harry’s upper body when it became apparent that Harry wasn’t going to be any help in that regard, although he refused to go any lower. ‘I might love you to pieces, mate, but I ain’t touching your cock.’

‘Missing out,’ Harry muttered, the floaty feeling still in place, grinning up in the direction of where he assumed Ethan was.

‘I highly doubt that,’ Ethan retorted playfully. Harry blinked his eyes open and forced himself to focus; Ethan was drying his hands on the tea towel. He climbed to his feet with a loud groan. ‘I’ll leave you to it for a bit, then. Give you a bit of privacy to finish up.’

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving.

He’s leaving me again.

Harry shot a hand out of the water and grabbed Ethan’s wrist. ‘Stay,’ Harry croaked. ‘Please.’ He stared up at Ethan, desperate, able to see without spots in his vision for the first time in hours. ‘Please,’ he repeated.

Ethan’s face softened into putty. ‘Yeah, of course,’ he said. He knelt back on the floor beside the bathtub, unable to hide his wince. ‘I’ll stay right here. For as long as you need.’

Forever. I need you here forever.

It hurts because I know you can’t stay.

And so Ethan stayed, kneeling diligently beside the bathtub like a loyal guard dog, waiting while Harry fumbled to clean his lower half. When he was finished, Ethan helped Harry up and out without a word (Ethan had seen him naked before, had rescued him from the toilets of a bar once when he was new to drinking and the Sidemen were showing him the ropes), wrapped a towel around Harry’s shoulders and helped the lad to get dry. Harry clumsily pulled on a pair of joggers, and before he knew it the two of them were collapsing into Harry’s bed.

Ethan clambered beneath the covers beside him, though it was nothing they hadn’t done before, sharing a bed. They did it all the time when Harry was younger, when he’d first started drinking and taking drugs. Ethan was always with him the whole time, just in case, and he never let Harry out of his sight – however as Harry had gotten older, as Ethan had gotten older too, Ethan had backed off and Harry was left to his own devices most days and most nights.

And while Harry’s friends settled down, while they got married and had kids and reached milestone after milestone, Harry was snorting coke off of his kitchen counter at 2am in an attempt to feel something other than the sheer weight of his isolation from everyone around him.

‘What’s going on, Bog?’ Ethan asked quietly, the bed covers rustling. ‘What’s going on with you lately?’

‘Huh?’

‘You’ve been pulling away from us,’ Ethan said. ‘You’ve been pulling away from all of us.’

‘Oh.’

‘Did we do something?’

‘It’s more about what you didn’t do, really,’ Harry said, miserable, the words falling out of him like a bowl with a leak.

Ethan stiffened in the bed beside him. ‘How do you mean?’

Harry stared up at the ceiling in silence, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

He’s gonna hate me.

He’s gonna leave if I say anything.

‘No, you can tell me,’ Ethan soothed. ‘You can tell me anything. I swear I won’t be angry.’

(And Harry realised he’d said it out loud).

‘No one listens to me,’ Harry said. ‘No one ever listens.’

‘We do. I swear we do.’

‘No you don’t.’ Harry pulled his covers tighter. ‘I’m forgettable, and I’ve never felt so alone.’

‘Harry, you’re not alone,’ Ethan said.

‘Even now you’re not listening,’ Harry mumbled, sighing, closing his eyes.

‘Okay,’ Ethan said. ‘Okay, I’m listening.’

‘It’s not my anniversary,’ Harry explained, the words tasing sour on his tongue. ‘It’s you’re anniversary, and I’m just there. Not important. Forgettable. And people never listen to me.’

‘Oh, Harry,’ Ethan said, his voice breaking. ‘Oh, Bog, I’m –‘

‘I’m just... I’m just the weird kid that you guys took pity on,’ Harry said, slurring horribly, struggling to make his thoughts coherent. ‘I just… I don’t fit with you. I’m too young. You’re too old.’

‘You aren’t weird, Bog,’ Ethan said. ‘And we never took pity on you. We liked you. We still like you – that’s why we offered you a place with us, in the Sidemen.’

‘I’m too young,’ Harry bemoaned.

‘You’re our little brother,’ Ethan corrected. He carded a hand through Harry’s damp hair. ‘Now go to sleep – we can talk about this in the morning, yeah?’

In place of an answer, Harry reached for Ethan’s middle and cuddled against him, intertwining their legs like a woven basket.

‘Like a koala bear, aren’t you?’ Ethan murmured sleepily.

Harry’s heart twisted. ‘Sorry,’ he said, making to pull away, to put some distance between them – only Ethan’s arms held Harry in place, preventing Harry from moving.

‘No, stay,’ Ethan said, now sounding much more awake. ‘You’re allowed to be held, Harry. No matter how old you get.’

Harry burrowed further into Ethan’s chest, his face pressed against Ethan’s ribcage.

‘Olive does this too, you know?’ Ethan said, his words dripping with fondness, like warm honey on a summer’s day. It was enough for Harry’s heart to fall into the pit of his stomach. ‘I’ll hold you for as long as you need.’

Harry allowed himself a few moments of peace before he said, ‘What if I don’t want you to stop?’

‘Then we’ll stay here forever,’ Ethan promised. ‘Just me and you.’

For the first time that day, Harry smiled.

He didn’t remember falling asleep.

Chapter Text

(Harry’s POV)

Ethan hovered while Harry threw up in the toilet, over and over again, his head pounding, and Harry remembered why he stopped getting hammered every night, remembered why he switched to drugs in the first place; the drugs took the edge off better than alcohol ever had, and its effects lasted even longer too.

It reminded Harry of the first time he’d gone out drinking – Ethan had taken care of an eighteen-year-old Harry because he’d drank too much too fast, because he wanted to catch up with the others because they were all in their late twenties and had done it all.

Harry had been behind.

Harry would always be behind when it came to his friends.

‘Some things never change,’ Ethan mused out loud, a hand on Harry’s back, his fingers tapping along the divots of Harry’s spine.

‘You read my mind,’ Harry said with a groan, an arm tight around his stomach. ‘Christ.’

‘He ain’t gonna help you, mate,’ Ethan said, laughing to himself. ‘And besides, I thought you would have learned by now.’

‘Last night wasn’t… it wasn’t for fun, you know?’ Harry said, getting to his feet. He flushed the chain and wiped his mouth with his hand. ‘It wasn’t for fun.’

Ethan caught Harry’s gaze in the mirror while he brushed his teeth, while he brushed the taste of vomit from his mouth. Ethan looked sad again. Guilty. Like he hadn’t slept much. ‘I know,’ Ethan said softly. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

Wiping his face with a cold cloth, Harry left the bathroom to get dressed, and he did so without embarrassing himself further. At least he could function now. At least Ethan didn’t have to brush Harry’s teeth for him again. At least Harry could wash his own face.

The memories of Ethan helping Harry bathe last night set his skin alight. He hadn’t felt quite so cared for in years, even if his toes curled up in disgust at the fact that Ethan had practically babied him last night, that Ethan had done the one thing Harry had pushed all the others away for doing over the years.

While Harry changed, he could hear the other man clattering and banging around in his kitchen, so when Harry was decent he followed the sound, and as he got closer, he followed the smell too.

Ethan Payne stood in front of the oven, a spatula in hand, humming a tune under his breath.

‘What are you doing?’ Harry asked, even though it was pretty obvious what Ethan was doing.

‘Making you breakfast.’

‘But why?’

‘It’s the beginnings of my apology,’ Ethan admitted, watching the bacon closely while it sizzled away in the pan. ‘I… I promised I’d look after you, Harry. I failed.’

Oh, fuck.

This is why I didn’t tell anyone.

‘No, you didn’t fail,’ Harry said. He walked over to Ethan and leaned on the counter, facing Ethan, his arms crossed. ‘You didn’t fail.’

‘My actions upset you. We all upset you.’

‘It, it, I-I…’ Harry trailed off. His words failed him, not for the first time.

My words always fail me, sooner or later. My acute stutter is a hinderance, even amongst friends, and even around my family.

‘See?’ Ethan said miserably. ‘You can’t even deny it. You can’t deny it because it’s true.’

Harry looked to the floor.

If he’d been looking Ethan’s way, Harry would have seen the tears in the older man’s eyes, would have seen the older blinking furiously at the bacon.

‘Maybe it is true,’ Harry finally said, looking up, his heart sinking at the emotional wreck of the man before him. ‘Maybe you did all upset me – but I never said anything to make you aware of it.’

I’m making excuses for them again.

I’m protecting their feelings again, aren’t I?

‘But you did! Every year you said something, and every year we laughed it off like it wasn’t important…’ Ethan shook his head. ‘If it’s important to you, then it’s important to me, too. I’m sorry I lost sight of that.’

‘Behz,’ Harry said sadly. He shuffled closer and pressed his face against Ethan’s shoulder.

Ethan flipped the bacon over, though he slipped an arm around Harry’s waist. It was a nice weight, a nice warmth – something that made Harry feel probably visible, like he was a real person and just a ghost haunting in the afterlife.

‘You’re important to me, Harry. You’re important in the same way Faith and Olive are important to me. My little brother, yeah?’

‘Uncle Harry,’ Harry said quietly, his heart warming with his fondness for Ethan’s daughter. He loved that kid. She always had a knack for making him laugh, even when he didn’t feel like he could. She’d giggle, and Harry wouldn’t be able to resist joining in.

‘Yeah, Uncle Harry.’ Ethan paused. ‘You deserve better than us. You deserve better than all of us.’

‘I don’t want better than you,’ Harry insisted. ‘I want you. I want all of you… there’s no one else in the world I’d rather have than all of you.’

‘Even though we treated you terribly?’

Harry snorted out a laugh. ‘Sure.’

Ethan laughed then, a loud, obnoxious noise that made Harry grin like an idiot.

We’re fine now, I think.

I think he understands, more so than he did before.

The bacon finished cooking, and Harry helped Ethan made bacon sandwiches for the pair of them. They devoured them at the kitchen table, joking and laughing and reminiscing on stories from trips they’d been on for the Sidemen.

‘Let’s clean up, then we can decide what to do for the day,’ Ethan said, taking charge.

‘Yes, Dad,’ Harry laughed, raising his hand in a salute.

‘Fucking idiot,’ Ethan said affectionately, rolling his eyes. He set his plate on the side, glanced a little over to the right, and his face dropped, staring hard at something.

‘Behz?’ Harry asked. He followed Ethan’s gaze… and Harry cringed, berating himself for being so stupid.

On the kitchen counter, on the space Harry rarely used, out of the way and out of sight, were the remnants of Harry’s… endeavours, from the other night; his drug scale, blatantly used, out in the open, and dustings of cocaine littered the space around it like a fine snow.

‘Ethan, I can –‘

‘You’re still taking drugs?’ Ethan asked softly.

‘It helps,’ Harry defended.

‘It’s not healthy, Bog.’ He turned to look at Harry, disappointment sweltering in his irises. ‘You promised me you’d stop.’

‘And you promised you’d look after me!’ Harry snapped, his cheeks burning.

Ethan flinched. Guilt flowed through Harry in waves. He ran a hand through his hair tugging on the ends, not hard, but enough to send pinpricks of pain shooting down his scalp. ‘Fuck,’ Harry muttered. He closed the distance and buried his face in the older man’s shoulder again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Harry said quietly. ‘I didn’t mean that.’

‘I think you did, Harry,’ Ethan said. His arm slid around Harry’s middle. ‘I really think you did.’

They separated, and Harry wiped down the counter and packed away the drug scale, his face red and his hands jittery, while Ethan did the minimal washing up. They worked in tandem, in silence.

I hate the silence when it comes to Ethan.

I never know how volatile he’s going to be.

‘How often?’ Ethan asked, drying his hands on the tea towel. ‘How often are you using?’

‘Every couple of days,’ Harry said. ‘Sometimes more.’

And always when I can’t sleep.

Ethan groaned in dismay, rubbing his forehead.

‘I’m fine,’ Harry said.

‘You won’t be one day,’ Ethan retorted, slamming the tea towel onto the counter. He took a breath, his hands on his hips… and Harry was shocked to find his eyes sparkling with unshed tears. That’s twice this morning. That’s twice now. ‘This… you need help, Harry.’

‘I don’t.’

‘You’re an addict!’

‘I’m not!’

‘Please don’t fight me on this,’ Ethan sobbed. He aggressively rubbed at his eyes and fixed Harry with a stern look; his tearstained cheeks rather ruined the angry image, making him appear more desperate than anything. ‘You’re an alcoholic. You’re a drug addict.’

‘I’m not!’ Harry yelled, panic clawing away at his ribcage.

‘You are!’ Ethan cried out. ‘And I… and I let it happen. We all let it happen.’

They stood in Harry’s kitchen staring at each other, both of them in tears, both of them angry, when Harry’s front door opened.

The rest of the Sidemen walked in, looking rather like they hadn’t slept.

They paused in the entry way, glancing between Ethan and Harry with varying degrees of concern on their faces.

‘You guys okay?’ Simon asked, the first to break the silence.

‘Yeah,’ Ethan said, clearing his throat. He ruffled Harry’s hair. His hand lingered. Harry shut his eyes and leaned into the touch.

‘We can come back,’ Vik said. ‘We’ve interrupted something, I can tell.’

‘No,’ Ethan said, shaking his head. ‘No, it’s fine.’ Ethan’s hand fell from Harry’s head and squeezed Harry’s arm. ‘I’m gonna go have a shower,’ Ethan said.

Harry wrenched his eyes open. ‘But –‘

Ethan forced Harry to look at him. ‘Just tell them what you told me, yeah?’ he said. ‘About the parties.’

What Ethan didn’t say was this: I’ll keep the rest a secret. I swear. Until you’re ready to share it.

Harry nodded, wiping a stray tear away with a trembling hand. ‘Okay.’

Ethan left the room, and a shortly after the shower turned on.

Harry swallowed nervously, stood in the centre of the room while the others all piled onto his sofa, watching him, sharing secretive glances every now and then.

And Harry couldn’t bear it.

‘Well?’ Harry demanded, doing what he always did and hiding his panic behind a crumbling wall of anger. ‘What do you want?’

It was Josh who talked first. It was Josh who took the lead.

‘Ethan said you had something to tell us,’ Josh said evenly, not at all fazed by Harry’s abrasiveness. I suppose I get that from Ethan. ‘Something important.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t call it that,’ Harry said, rolling his eyes, feigning confidence.

I’m panicking. Ethan knows more than I ever wanted him to.

I’m fucking panicking.

‘It is. You are,’ Josh said. He sighed. ‘I’m sorry if we ever made you feel like you weren’t.’

Harry frowned, glancing along the line of Sidemen with his eyebrows furrowed. ‘Like I’m not what?’

‘Important,’ Josh stressed. ‘You’re important to me… to us.’

‘You’ve always been important to us,’ Tobi added on.

And Harry felt… confused. Lost. Inadequate.

‘Oh.’

Why are you only telling me this now?

Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?

Simon’s face fell. Josh’s swiftly followed.

Vik leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. ‘Talk to us, Harry.’

‘What was it you wanted to tell us,’ JJ asked. ‘You don’t have to be scared.’

‘I’m not scared,’ Harry defended, crossing his arms, like he was protecting his ribcage from exploding.

‘We never said you were,’ Simon said carefully. He watched Harry closely. ‘But you are, aren’t you? You’re scared to tell us… whatever it is.’

Harry made a frustrated noise, his nose twitching in discomfort. I need a hit. He stared at the floor.

‘C’mon, Boggo,’ Tobi implored. ‘Talk to us. Please.’

And all of the anger Harry had pushed down over the years came flying out.

‘You forgot me!’ Harry exploded. ‘You forgot me again!’

The Sidemen flinched away at his sudden outburst. After all, Harry wasn’t normally one to cause a scene.

‘You didn’t wait for me! You didn’t even look for me! You…’ Harry’s voice broke off, and tears filled his eyes again. ‘You didn’t invite me over last night. You didn’t invite me into the group.’

‘What?’ Tobi whispered, shock written plainly across his face.

‘The group photos, the speeches, the cake,’ Harry listed off, spitting his words like an angry viper. ‘You didn’t invite me!’

‘You don’t need an invitation to join us,’ Josh stressed to Harry, the younger lad breathing heavily, blinking furiously to stop his angry tears from falling. ‘You’ve never needed an invitation to join us.’

‘Sometimes it feels like I do,’ Harry said bitterly. He uncrossed his arms and clenched his fists in a repetitive motion. ‘Sometimes I feel like I don’t fit.’

The Sidemen exchanged guilty, sad looks.

‘I’m just the weird, little kid that you guys took under your wing, right?’ he spat out. ‘I’m just the… the… the freak.’

Because no matter what Ethan had told him earlier, and no matter what the boys told him now, Harry would always believe it. Harry would always believe it because it was what he’d always believed since he was a kid.

‘No, never,’ Vik said, firmly. ‘You’ve always been Harry. Our little brother.’

‘Did you… is that what you thought?’ JJ asked, a puzzled look on his face. ‘Did you think we didn’t care?’

Harry fixed him with a levelled gaze. ‘Have you ever expressed to me otherwise?’

‘Harry…’ Tobi took a breath, getting to his feet. ‘Harry, we’ve always cared. We care so much.’

At Tobi’s frantic approach Harry backed away, a defence mechanism.

Tobi stopped in his tracks, his hands falling uselessly to his sides.

‘Then why don’t you ever listen to me?’ Harry asked.

‘Huh?’

Harry threw his hands in the air with a scoff. ‘About the parties. About the massive events you all insist on throwing all the time.’

‘I don’t follow,’ Josh said, his head tilting to the side like a curious dog.

‘It was your anniversary party,’ Harry explained. ‘It’s always your anniversary party… it’s never mine.’

Simon’s face twisted into something thoughtful, into something confused. ‘What do you mean by that?’

‘You all made the Sidemen. This is your anniversary. Not mine. I didn’t make the Sidemen. I just joined after. YEARS after. The weird kid that nobody wanted to be friends with. The fucking… the fucking afterthought.’

Their eyes widened, and understanding slowly dawned on them.

‘I was the youngest person in that building,’ Harry continued. ‘I think you guys forget how much older you are than I am… and I think you forget how much older your friends are than I am, too. I’m isolated from everything and everyone by being with you, though I know deep down that you never intended for me to feel like this.’

Josh sat with his head in his hands, muttering to himself.

Vik looked like he was going to be sick.

‘I guess we never saw it like that before,’ JJ said honestly, cutting through the tension in the room.

‘Now you do,’ Harry said tightly.

Ethan came back into the room, freshly showered with damp hair, and stuck to Harry’s side like glue, his eyes red-rimmed and glossy.

Everyone knew he’d been crying.

‘Right, lads,’ Ethan said, fixing everyone with an angry stare. ‘How are we going to fix this?’

***

Harry hadn’t drunk anything in months. Neither had he taken drugs.

At Ethan’s request, Harry joined an AA meeting outside of London. It was Ethan who dropped him off to every session, and it was Ethan who picked him up after. Somehow, it had been rather easy to stop. Harry thought it would have been harder… and Ethan did too.

Harry supposed that, now he had the support and understanding from his friends, he didn’t need to rely on substances anymore.

It made sense. It also didn’t.

Then, on Harry’s anniversary of joining the Sidemen, they celebrated for the first time. They had a small gathering, just the seven of them, with a massive cake at JJ’s absurdly large flat. They played games (board games as well as online games), had a few drinks (though Harry stubbornly stuck to apple juice), and enjoyed an evening spent together.

And Harry was happy.

The Sidemen understood.

Finally.

When the battle for the monopoly win between Josh and Vik got too much, Harry quietly slipped out of JJ’s flat and onto his balcony that overlooked the city of London. He relished in the cold, night air that brushed against his skin.

The door opened and closed behind him a few minutes later.

‘Hey,’ Simon said.

‘Hey,’ Harry said.

They stood in silence, side by side, staring up at the night sky in all its glory.

‘I’m sorry we didn’t understand,’ Simon told him quietly. ‘I don’t think we were really listening to you when you were trying to tell us before.’

‘It’s fine,’ Harry said with a shrug.

‘It’s not. You told us year after year and not a single one of us listened.’

‘I was outvoted.’

‘No, Harry, you were bullied,’ Simon corrected. ‘You were bullied by your best friends. We took you from one bad situation and placed you directly into the middle of another, and I’m sorry for that.’

‘It’s fine,’ Harry repeated.

‘Harry, it’s not fine,’ Simon repeated too. ‘We’ve all been terrible friends to not notice – I didn’t realise how bad the drinking had gotten. Or the drugs.’ Harry’s eyes widened, panic threatening to send him over the edge of the balcony, his blood roaring like a wildfire. ‘Ethan told me, told us,’ Simon carried on gently, settling a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He squeezed. ‘It’s okay. We’re not angry.’

‘Whatever,’ Harry eventually said. ‘It’s not a big deal.’

‘It is if you were drinking and taking drugs to cope with how we were treating you.’

When Harry stayed quiet, Simon let out a despondent noise.

‘You’re too forgiving for your own good, you know?’ Simon said. ‘Not a single one of us deserve it, yet you’ve offered it to us anyway.’

‘So take it before I change my mind,’ Harry said, staring straight ahead… a ghost of a smile on his lips.

And Simon laughed, disbelieving. He pulled Harry in for a hug. ‘I’m sorry, Harry,’ Simon whispered. ‘I’m so fucking sorry.’

And for the first time in years, Harry allowed himself to accept the apology for what it was.

‘Thank you,’ Harry said back. ‘Thank you for apologising.’

‘I’ll keep apologising for the rest of my life because of what we did to you, because of our negligence.’

‘I forgave you all weeks ago – it’s about time you forgave yourself too.’

‘But you hated us. For years.’

‘Hate’s a strong word,’ Harry said playfully. He sighed. ‘Frustrated, then. I was frustrated.’

‘You have a big heart, Harry,’ Simon said mournfully. ‘Don’t ever let us break it again. Don’t ever let anyone break it again.’

‘I won’t,’ Harry said. ‘I’ve… I’ve grown up a bit, since coming to London. Joining the Sidemen. I think I finally know how to respect myself. I think I finally know when to speak up.’

Simon’s faced glowed with fondness, with pride.

It was also shadowed by sadness.

‘You’re not seventeen anymore,’ Simon said quietly, running a hand up and down Harry’s back.

‘No,’ Harry said, nuzzling closer. ‘No, I’m not.’

Sometimes it feels like I am, and for the first time, I wouldn’t have it any other way.