There's a creeping sensation, on the back of his neck that he had come to associate with being in a room with Harry Styles. It was usually accompanied by a full body tingle and a rush of blood to the head. Or it used to be.

The trouble was, Nick hadn't felt that in ages. He cast his mind back, over different jobs and stages and awkward fashions. God, it hadn't been ages, it had been literal years. There was a time when, in their circles of influence, you couldn't hear Harry's name without his. But then, well Harry moved on, or burned out, hid out, and Nick, well Nick just kept being himself.

He kept getting up at the arse end of the morning and talking on radio and hanging out with his friends, who had once been Harry's friends, and going to fashion shows and walking his dog.

They'd gotten one dog together. Or Nick liked to think so. Harry had called the pup a pig after they'd gone to the shelter to get her, and it had stuck.

It didn't hurt to say it anymore, hadn't for a long while. Though the memory of Harry's dancing green eyes and laughing mouth, "What a little piggy pig!" He'd pet the dog's head and gotten a nip on his hand for interrupting the ravenous beasts meal. "I'm not to eat!" He'd huffed at their new dog.

Nick had emphatically disagreed later.

They hadn't been living together. They'd just started fucking then, but they had been intimate for ages, and they may as well have been. Nick was sure they'd been in love from the first time Adele had dragged Nick to one of Harry's poetry readings. Nick was at least.

He didn't even know poets still could be famous, least ones that weren't songwriters.

But Harry had been causing a stir in the literary world, big enough to where Adele wanted to use a piece for her liner notes.

Nick's hair had stood up when he'd walked into that room. They'd been late, and Nick had been characteristically nonchalant while his friend was embarrassed, hissing. "If he says no because you couldn't get your ass in line and missed your train, I will kill you! I know you're hungover Nick, don't even lie."

He'd laughed it off, she'd clapped her hand over Nick's mouth to keep him quiet.

He would have hushed anyway. There was an awed silence about the room. Except for a single voice.

Low and throaty, with a tender rasp like a rake over hot coals. Warm and glowing too. Nick could almost see the words, that orange red, coming from the speaker's raspberry mouth.

And then, for possibly the first time in his life, he didn't talk for an hour and listened. It may have been that every hair on his body stood up to shout Him! - He's the one! Or it might have been that Adele would've have killed him if he talked, but it was something.

Adele was already a name, a voice herself on the radio, just more dulcet, less funny than Nick's, and she took him with her when she went up after Harry had finished to schmooze the poetic dynamo, Nick thought he had calmed down. But those green eyes up close sent his heart into a-fib and he knew he was impersonating a guppy too.

And Harry had stared back. Not like there was something on his face, but like there was something in his face.

Harry said yes to Adele, to the liner notes, to writing with her, and to the drink she proposed when she saw the desperation on Nick's face for just a little while longer in Harry's orbit.

A while longer was their motto as a couple. They started as friends. Nick knew that was wasting the precious time they both craved now, but then. Well, Harry was a boy wonder, barely 20 when they met. Probably why he was getting so much attention. All that talent in one so young. His face didn't hurt.

If Nick thought he was mowed down by Harry's face, it was nothing to how looking at his face up close affected him. It wasn't the goosebumps, though his skin did get excited looking at Harry, but it was more of a flush. His heart rate got crazy and his eyes got wide, it felt like he was wearing his heart on the outside.

It happened every time. Nick was atrocious at relationships though, making moves. He didn't know many gay boys who were great at it unless the context meant it was a sure thing. He was great at being a friend though. So they'd been friends, for months before, before Harry, little upstart crow that he was, kissed Nick on the neck and Nick, well, he just couldn't fucking help himself, and his neck had slanted and his lips had wrapped around those bubble gum coloured barriers to Harry's mouth.

They hadn't stopped kissing for a long time.

Just a little while longer.

When they were friends, before they sequestered themselves away to explore the two were inseparable long before their tongues or cocks touched. They enjoyed each other so much, most of the time it was just them. Couldn't be bothered to make it out. They didn't do anything, missed so many meetups and hangouts.

When they did make it out they weren't much fun, least according to Adele, the only one brave enough to say anything.

"Are you two arseholes just going to sit in the corner again and smile and giggle in each other's faces? I invited you out to celebrate me, not to watch your bromance thrive!" But she had been smiling.

She'd asked Nick, not so long after when she had guilted him into coming to brunch just the two of them. "So, how is it? Having a boyfriend?"

They'd grown up together, she'd been the first person he told, but he wasn't really 'out' until he moved to London. He'd started hooking up, and Adele had been his wingwoman and cheerleader. Always chill to share a taxi, or disappear. Whatever Nick needed.

"What boyfriend?" Nick had laughed, and stuffed his face with beans and eggs.

"What do you mean what boyfriend? The young poet who has essentially moved into your flat and lives in your heart!" She'd slapped his arm. He'd spilled beans.

"Do you mean Harry?" He'd been genuinely confused.

"Of fucking course I mean Harry you nit!" She gaped at him. "Who the fuck else would I mean?"

"Harry's not gay." Well, Nick had never grown the balls to ask, not even when the backs of their hands had been pressed together and he'd felt Harry's pulse increase when they watched Brokeback Mountain. For a second, Nick had wondered if it was for the same reason his heart had started galloping. The hotness, the representation, the emotion. Then the fear had set in, and Nick couldn't hear Harry's heart for his own.

Harry's heart was probably beating so hard because he was sitting, alright cuddling, with a gay man during a gay love scene and he didn't want to give Nick the wrong idea, was grossed out that Nick might ever do that to him.

This was a common problem since he'd kissed a boy, the first one at a party, who had hugged him and nuzzled and leaned in. So Nick had kissed him. His drunk self thought the signs were clear enough. "What are you on, mate, retch!" And the boy had walked away. Nick had never seen him again, but he'd heard him every time he liked a guy. It's why he always went to gay clubs to pull, or waited, forever sometimes, for a partner to make the first move. "Least, I'm not sure what he is, or if he even knows. He's a baby, really young."

"You knew that young, didn't you Nick? And he's not so young. It's a couple years. Make a move. If you haven't already and you're hiding it?" She watched his face, laughed. "Okay, you've not made a move. But, have you thought about it?"

Had he thought about it? Sometimes it was all he thought about; When he said, "byee!" at night because Harry always gave him the explosive laugh that warmed his heart. When they finished each other's sentences and smiled the secret smile they reserved for each other, when he woke up hard on the force of the dream he had about what would happen if he did make a move on Harry.

"I'm gonna take that as a yes. If you bite your lip or blush any harder, you may actually bleed, Nicky!" Adele was laughing and he couldn't help but chuckle at himself with her.

He ate some cold eggs with tomato and frowned. They talked about the holiday Adele was planning and her upcoming tour. He couldn't help but laugh about how much she was unnerved.

"That's sorta your job, singing in front of people, who love you enough to pay obscene amounts of money to hear you."

She'd thrown a piece of waffle at him.

"That was sticky!" He'd protested.

"I know!" She'd laughed and went to pay the check.

While they were walking out the door, he found his courage. "Do you think he likes me?" He grabbed her hand just before she scooted off to her car. She couldn't do the tube right now, too busy, it'd make a scene. Nick had no such problems.

Adele had laughed. Then sobered at his face. "You're serious?" He could feel her sussing out every emotion in his heart right now. "No Nick, I don't think he likes you." His heart stopped. "I think he loves you, idiot." She gently kissed Nick's cheek and slipped into her black chauffeured beast.

Nick stood on the pavement for a long time.

Looking back, had he just taken Adele's words as the wisdom they were, he may have had more time with Harry. More precious moments to horde like dragon's gold. He guarded them zealously, never shared them with anyone. Their future had been stolen, he wouldn't let their past go.

Their past, god. He could see the modern day Harry out the corner of his eye. He looked grown up now. It had been literal years. Nick watched him smile and was transported to years ago.

Years and only a moment.

After that conversation with Adele, he was unbelievably awkward with Harry. Instead of just making the move that he was desperate to make, because Adele had given him hope, he was just paralysed, and so he was a shit friend even.

When they'd sit on the couch, he was rigid, and kept inches between them, so he wasn't tempted to ask if they could interlock, ya know, like forever.

After a week of waves over hugs, space on the couch, and being sure not to imbibe alcohol near Harry, they both went for the salt at Aimee's dinner party, the rest of the crew had moved to just drinking, they were getting the karaoke up in the living room, but him and Harry had been late. There had been a joke somewhere about them being together.

Did everybody think the same as Adele? That they were secret lovers?

Nick was even more awkward then, and ripped his hand back like Harry's was a hot stove when the both went for the kitschy boob she kept her salt in, the one with two nipples, one for pepper.

"That ones competing with me!" Harry had grinned, "the sets one nipple short! Ha!" Nick of course knew he had four nipples, caught it right off when he realised early on that Harry liked to be naked.

Not that he stared, often. Or memorised his tattoos and such.

"Hahaha." He knew the laughter sounded nothing like his usual, but he was so tense. Stop talking about your nipples!

"Hey Nick?" Harry of course waited for eye contact. So green. "Is your detox making you feel unwell?"

"My detox?" Nick didn't follow him round that bend.

"Yeah," he gestured with a hopeful brow at Nick's fizzy water. "I noticed you haven't been drinking. Figured you were on a health kick."

Only Harry would think that, he was the only person Nick knew that got on those. And Nick sometimes mentioned joining, but never did. It was a convenient lie.

"Yeah, maybe. I didn't know I was acting different, I thought I was hiding it okay." Wow, that lie went out alabaster. "Sorry mate."

"At first I thought you were genuinely sick, you seemed to be trying to not give me germs!" Harry smiled. Nick wanted to give him so much more than germs.

"No, just, off, mate." He shrugged to embroider his web of lies. "Sorry."

"Okay! Yeah, maybe your blood sugar is low. Eat up! Maybe avoid the cheese with the wine!" Harry ate a square of Gouda. "Next week for me. I'll join you. Maybe a juice fast?"

"Um yeah!" That sounded miserable.

"Hurry up," Harry gestured at Nick's plate. Why did he have so many peas? "Get your five a day, and we can sing."

"Oh no, my poor ears!" Nick tried to fall into their banter.

"Oh yeah, your ears!" Harry volleyed back. They both needed a bucket for any tune.

And that night was better, and they got back to some semblance of normal. The easy intimacy, laying on the couch watching movies. Playing with the ends of Harry's hair, all of that was gone still. Nick avoided it. Would have worn a plague mask if it would help. That may be too obvious.

He wasn't sure what would be scarier: if Harry rejected him, or if Adele was right.

What would he do with returned affection? Nick had hookups, not boyfriends. Harry hooked up with girls. And they were great friends. Would it be worth it, if Harry liked him back, the risk?

Harry had seen Nick naked, late night skinny dipping at Aimee's after many, many drinks. Even though most of the night was blurry, so was the fact that Nick knew about Harry's thigh crease tattoos. And Harry definitely saw his dick. Nick saw him look.

The idea of telling Harry was way more scary, more bare than that drunken good time.

So Nick kept his distance, for a month, or more. Wasted, barren time.

He didn't need to have been scared. They could have had that time too, he found out later, after. Because Harry wasn't the coward.

"What're you doing?"

It was nearly 9 on a weeknight, and Nick had his show at the normal ungodly hour, but Harry had been with his mum. Nick missed him.

"Nothing." He responded immediately, zero cool. Then realised that wasn't clear. "Watching the footie on tv."

"You aren't watching footie." Harry responded.

"How would you know?" Nick should be offended, he glanced at the screen. It was a rom com.

"So 'Wedding Date' or something new and exciting, like 'Set it Up?" Harry had asked casually. "And is there room in front of you on the couch for me?"

Nick rolled on to his back. "It's the Notebook- thank you very much!"

"Ah, apologies for the bad guesses, in the bell jar tonight, Nicky?" Only Adele called him that. Harry called him Nick, or Grimmy, or even babe. He didn't like it, felt wrong on those pink lips. "Room?"

"Forgiven," he tuned to the side. Harry would fit. "And yes, there's room."

"You're not gonna be weird? You'll cuddle me, yes? Cuz I miss you."

Nick felt the air fill up with all the possibilities as he croaked, "Yeah."

"K, I'm nearly there." Then Nick clued on to the sound of his indicator.

"You were already coming?" He was so happy.

"Like you were going to deny me, babe."

Nick felt awkward, but didn't have time to bathe in it, anoint himself with his fear like essential oils. Harry was there, with a tub of ice cream and insisting on watching The Notebook. He insisted on spoon feeding Nick both running commentary with nibbles, as though he'd never seen the movie or eaten sweets before. Harry did it all snuggled up against Nick on the couch. He was distracting.

"I've never had sundae ice cream. Where did you find it?" Nick said between bites, watching the spoon they were sharing disappear into Harry's mouth. His tongue was thick when he watched Harry lick the cream that slipped out of his mouth. Thicker when Harry caught the dribble he had on his chin when Nick didn't open up as fast as the spoon came at him. It nearly went down his throat when Harry licked his thumb and moaned an "mmmm." He was fairly certain he was staring at Harry slack jawed after that, and the ice cream was empty.

"Marks and Spencer's. C'mon." Nick was incapable of protest when Harry sat the empty container on the table and the sticky spoon beside it. He didn't even call him a mess. Because he himself was one. The next second, Harry was pulling him to lay on the couch, and pressing himself back against Nick's front.

He hardened pretty quick and nearly apologised, until Harry pressed back into him. Against HIM.

The rain scene didn't help, though them in the house was a little closer to home, maybe sharing a bathroom with Harry would make him less alluring, Nick wondered. He was always leaving Nick's place like a tornado had gone through. That proved true. It was a thing Nick found annoying when they were together and would give anything to have again. During the morning after painting scene, Nick was trying to ignore the romance when Harry rolled onto his back and bopped Nick's nose, then cupped his jaw.

If you had asked him before that moment Nick would have thought you couldn't simultaneously say, "I'm a bottom" and make a power move. He would have called it impossible, but Harry pulled it off. The gorgeous green eyed star of Nick's every fantasy put a cherry on top of what Nick figured was his actual cherry by saying. "I missed you, Nicholas."

Oh, they were serious then. "I missed you too." His voice only shook a little

"But, for longer than the week. Where you been babe?"

Nick got brave. "Scared."

"Don't be. I've got you!" And Harry came up just enough to connect to the lips he was pulling down to himself.

Nick was almost watching it, rather than feeling it.

Until Harry licked into his mouth."You taste like dessert!" Nick couldn't remember who said it

The rest of the night was taste, and sound, and touch. And it was a cherry on top.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After that, all those things people assumed about Nick and Harry became true.

They were together. They were in love.

They stayed in, to love each other up, and they went out to celebrate the singularity of their feelings with their friends.

The first party they went to, at Aimee's, it was Adele that met them at the door. She always gave them "the look" but her eyebrows were even higher, maybe because Harry's arms were around Nick's shoulder.

"Hiya, gentlemen."

Nick made a big show of looking around. "What gentlemen do you see, I see a rogue, a baby faced young man, and you. Something new, love." He pointed at himself, Harry, and her crotch in turn.

"You're a laugh. Stop making your eyebrows dance! You need to pluck them."

"I don't pluck my own eyebrows!" He was scandalised.

"Oh does Harry do it for you? After showers."

"Not yet," Harry piped up. "But we got time." He leaned in and kissed Nick, on the mouth, and scooted off. "I'll get us some drinks."

Nick was smiling on the force of the kiss. But Adele's face, slack jawed and pleased around the edges made him swallow the canary.

"Surprise!" He flashed his hands and hefted the coats he held. He'd bent down to get Harry's. His mother had clearly spoilt him. Leaving his coat wherever when he was a guest.

"You said you hadn't made a move?" She cocked her neck back.

"I hadn't, but Harry has."

"Had he then, you absolute liar!"

"Not yet, but I guess I'm irresistible and it was not long after brunch." Nick shrugged like it wasn't a big deal.

Though Adele knew it was the biggest deal in his life. "You're not irresistible, you're an idiot and he got tired of waiting, I'll bet."

"Semantics!" Nick saw Harry snaking towards them, "Now shut up. He's coming."

"Oy, you two got awfully quiet." Harry dimpled. "Talking about me?"

"No, we were talking about my other boyfriend, he has a bigger dick."

Harry snorted, "Unlikely." He pulled Nick along, his scandalised face mirrored on Adele's.

"Harry! You can't just say things like that!" Nick squealed.

After that first party, well, everybody was smiling into fists and had they been American, he was sure they'd be high fiving. As it was, Aimee won the pool.

Life went on, and they fell deeper into love. But Nick talked Harry out of giving up his flat.

And then he talked him out of naming him explicitly on his dedication in his second book of poems.

"Told you it would be loved, how could it not? It's all about you!" Harry had said when his sophomore set of poems was a big hit. "Aren't you sorry your name's not in it?" He was so joyful, glowing and naive in love.

"Ta, I don't want a bunch of poets after me to be their muse. I've already got my hands full with you!"

And Harry had given him his pleased smile, the one that lit up the jewel tone in his eyes. And Nick felt safe, like he dodged the bullet.

Nick especially ducked and dove to talk Harry out of meeting the parents. Harry had met his mum, of course on one of her trips south to the big smoke. But it was when they were friends, or pretending to be if his mum's smile was anything to go by.

But Harry's parents, they were, well, old fashioned. His dad was a vicar for Christ's sake. Nick almost crossed himself like he'd seen in movies on that thought. Harry had revealed himself, one sad drunken night, Nick had learned to not let him choose whiskey, it didn't bode well. Harry had talked about what a disappointment he was.

"Not to mum, ya know. But mums love you no matter what. But to my da. He wanted me to, I dunno, do something else, not write. Womanly he thinks. Even worse I'm a poet." He'd slurred with his head on the toilet seat while he puked his guts out.

"What happened today, Harry?" Nick had to ask, they hadn't been out together. Harry had been 1.5 sheets in the breeze when he got to Nick's after a text that must have come when he was around the corner. An after thought on his head long rush to Nick's liquor cabinet. He'd gone straight for the amber liquids.

"I called, to share my news, about the fellowship with Oxford. Da answered. Let's say he dampened my flame." And then he'd shook his head and kept drinking.

Nick didn't think, from all the things he'd gleaned from Harry about his relationship with his father, that finding out about Nick, about Harry's fluidity would help. He was old school, working class, and if poetry was a disappointment he needed to bad talk...

Nick wanted to protect Harry. From parental disappointment and public disappointment and homophobia and all the things that he had trouble with in his life.

Trouble was, Nick realised too little too late, that he also protected him out of his truth.

And everything came out anyway. In a much harsher, soul shattering way. It left both Nick and Harry reeling.

Harry kept pushing and Nick kept pulling. It was the only tension on the ties that bound them.

Nick knew now, he was right.

He was also wrong.

Because when it came out, in a way that scandalised Harry's parents, at some reading at the University of Manchester, where Harry's father was aware of it, their community, his congregation was aware of it, they couldn't escape it, and it was more shocking, it was worse than any uncomfortable conversation.

Harry was terribly excited. He'd wanted all his life to go to uni there. His mother's brother had been the first, and he had a big house and his life seemed idyllic to Harry.

Oddly, Harry had skipped uni entirely, and been published before his first term as he was wrapping up college. And then, well he was touring his poems, and living down in London, then basically living in Nick's flat.

They were giving him an honorary degree, after he finished presenting his hometown tales, poetry accessible to all, but a private treat for Mancunian's. Like Harry. And Nick.

It wasn't a big deal, or maybe shouldn't have been. But, as they were going in, they were photographed. Together, hand in hand.

It was sad really. The picture was one of Nick's favourite of the two of them. They looked so happy. Nick was talking. He was always talking, wasn't he, usually shite. And Harry, Harry was laughing. It was so funny. It could be assumed, wrongly, that the poet in a relationship, would be the wordy fucker. But he wasn't. When he was supremely comfortable, Harry was witty and lovely. But talking, in most settings was a chore. Though his publicist made him do it. And readings. He got through his poetry readings, as he did that night at the university. Got through the semi-uncomfortable dinner where Nick was introduced as his "friend" and his vicar dad may as well been wearing his collar for all the censure he was sending. Sat at the head of table as if it was his pulpit.

But they'd done it. And Harry was floating, so Nick enjoyed it.

But then the picture, the one that caused all the trouble, beginning of the end really. Was just them, being them.

Harry had been quiet. Nick would have known he was nervous, even in the dark, though it was broad day in the image still. So he'd told some joke, an off hand comment about their chip lunch, "I genuinely think they might kick you out of Manchester, and I know I have to kick you out of our bed. No vinegar! And you call yourself a Northerner!"

Harry had grabbed his hand, and honestly the picture could have been so much worse. The one published of them hand in hand and gazing adorably at each other just before their kiss.

The kiss, it was out of doors and away from London and decidedly unfriendly.

Unwise too.

Though it was good that there was not a published picture of that. Nick guessed that newspapermen were occasionally still good. Kind enough not to publish the more scandalous picture. Not that anybody was looking at page 8 or whatever page he and Harry had wound up on.

In the university events, if he remembered.

It had been years.

But Harry's dad, and his parishioners, who'd had the recognition announced to them, were looking.

They weren't kissing, but the caption was, "Local wonderkid poet Harry Styles pictured with boyfriend before his reading and the conferment of his honorary degree."

His boyfriend. That was fair. They were definitely involved. Beyond love, which they had definitely confessed, there was no label upon them. But that one sat like the perfect hat on top of an outfit.

None they had spoke, but the newspaper had given them one. Boyfriends, worse, for Harry's dad. The implied one, gay.

That wasn't the word Nick heard through the glass while he waited outside. It was uglier than gay.

Struck deeper, was hurled like a weapon at him when he was younger. Though the wielder in those scenarios was some twat from school, or a stranger in the high street, never a father.

Harry's face was red when he came out. Like a beet, and he looked broken. Nick had known then, but tried to move over it, like a bump in the road. It was more of a cliff he knew now.

They'd gone over, and had moved on from the sweetness of their love, maybe past the meat, to the vegetables. A meal too dry to swallow.

It stuck in their throats. It was the words they never said. Maybe if they had.

Well, maybe if they had said, how painful it was. Or how upset Harry's father was, or forlorn his mother when she kept to the vicar's rule about disowning Harry, they may have made it.

A joke, Nick recalled, he'd made a joke. "Disowned you? What is this 1987?" Harry had laughed along with him, with tears in his eyes. And they hadn't talked more about it, or the tears.

They were often in his eyes, and Nick, with his jokes and distractions couldn't dry them. He was trying to keep living their ice cream life, when they needed something more fortified.

It was some months later, when Harry, again, didn't want to come out. Was going to bed early, though he'd scarcely gotten up that day.

"You may as well be in a relationship with that bed instead of me, you seem to be so in love with it!" He'd said it like he was teasing but Nick was fed up. In hindsight, Harry was depressed, needed help. Harry needed more than distraction, but Nick wasn't strong enough to offer a therapeutic ear, his own, or a professional.

He didn't want to hear it, then, those years ago, he was too immature to realise that being with him wasn't enough. That love didn't save.

Maybe a part of him was scared that actually, his love was Harry's doom.

Just as quickly as they'd become inseparable, they were over.

Nick had come home from the party that night well, early morning, to an empty bed. And an empty life.

Harry wouldn't return his messages for days, until they became frantic threatening to show up at his parents. And he just got- "I'm okay, leave me alone Nick."

Nick was very much not okay, then, for a long while.

If he thought Harry had made a job of marrying his bed, he did him one better and had a honeymoon there. A miserable one, where you realise you've ruined your life. And feel pathetic about it. At least Harry's sadness was over a big life change, Nick's was over losing Harry.

And lose him he did.

The world did. The book came out, and did well, but not so well as it could have, as Harry, the charming compelling face and slow enchanting reading voice, had opted out of the tour. He was the draw, him and his poems and their performance. All of it together. The poems were good, he was better.

Nick knew he hadn't gone home, though he called, looked there, and he didn't stay in London. Least not then.

He was in London now. Nick's prickled hairs told him, their relationship life flashed before His eyes.

The end felt like a dropped ice cream.

Three years. He'd left Nick's bed and life with a long face three years ago. At Nick's urging almost, his immaturity. Nick deserved to be left.

Left London, the planet, maybe gone to the moon.

The rest of the world was punished for Nick's sweet tooth.

But now he was back. And in the same room.

Nick broke out in a cold sweat. The man at his side, a friend who was a bit more than a friend, but also so much less than a boyfriend, they'd discussed it, caught his elbow.

"You okay, Nicky?" Colin yelped the next part, and Nick felt like every sound was loud, like a gong. "Look like you've seen a ghost!"

Ghost wasn't right. But something not altogether of this world. His angel maybe? He was terrified, like he had seen an angel, like the Bible described, not the chubby baby faces in paintings. He swiped a hand over his upper lip and downed his drink.

He was of two minds, should he go over and say hello, it's nice to see you, please forgive me, not supporting you was the stupidest thing I've ever done, love me still, or should he run out of here, bury his head in a bottle and hope to move on.

"Shit!"

Colin stared at him like he was crazy. Nick could feel he was literally hand wringing. Jesus, he was a hand wringer.

"I'm not sure what is wrong with you right now, mate, but I'm going to make myself scarce, because a very attractive man is coming your way." Colin flashed his eyebrows and was gone.

Great, that was the last thing he needed. Now he'd have to awkwardly reject and then avoid somebody, as well as deal with Harry being here.

"Fuck me!" Nick muttered.

"Well," a honey sweet voice tickled Nick's ear slow. "I think that's jumping into things. Can we start with some ice cream?"