Some may say, or none at all, that love begins with the fecundity of shared glances; how they most often lead to ignited butterflies and irrevocable words whispered only to that one person. Such love, embodied by Harry and Niall's constant oblivion to their feelings, which isn't their fault in the slightest, is coveted by those who have never known such a thing.
Several days or so passes, and the two boys wake up in the morning eager to see each other.
Harry had insisted that Niall move in to the guest room to his home, generously offering it to him because he knew the older boy had struggled to pay his rents.
Thanking him, Niall wrapped his arms around Harry's waist, the younger boy returning the hug as he buried his face into his nest of tangled blonde hair.
It had become a routinely thing, seeing each other and loving that they did. Harry decided that he should do his best as to not drift off on his own the way he did the last month, because now, he had a bright, blue eyed reason for waking up.
In those first couple of days, Harry and Niall took a familiar tour throughout Styles Building, going down hallways that Liam hadn't bothered to show Niall when he visited for his orientation.
The young CEO pointed out the various modern art paintings that hung evenly on the white walls, the sky reflecting against the glass of its frame. Niall only wrinkled his nose at them, making Harry snort at the way Niall was so expressive about his taste in art.
"I'm more of a post-Impressionist and Romanticist than a contemporary fan," Niall responded to Harry's feigned look of offence.
"I'm a romanticist," Harry smiles, his eyes blinking slowly as he looked down at Niall. His hands skate over Niall's forearm and the blonde smiled back with his own sky blues.
"Romanticist as in Théodore Géricault and Eugène Delacroix, the painters of The Raft of Medusa and Liberty Leading the People," Niall chuckled, "respectively."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and smiled away from Niall. He just loved hearing him talk; he loved learning from whatever he had to say, and even if it was just a comment about the artist, Harry would lean in a bit closer to catch every word.
"I love when you talk about art," Harry whispered in his ear. He ducked his head down and kissed the blonde on the side of his neck, though Niall slightly flinched because everything about what they'd fallen into felt a bit like hesitance.
But all rationality subsided when it came down to it, because it wasn't like Niall wanted it him to stop.
Soon enough, two weeks or so passes, and Liam is beginning to notice the two boys' growing friendship, or relationship of sorts.
The uneasiness and tentativeness had faded once Harry and Niall finally began to get comfortable with having each other as companions; not feeling that restraining hesitance anymore.
The older assistant hides his smile behind his folder every time he catches Harry sneaking up behind Niall to scare him just so he could shush him up with a kiss when he turned around.
Liam often times has to remind Harry that he is a corporate businessman who has to attend to the pile of work that he has, but he would always receive a nasally laugh by the childish brunette.
Though Liam really didn't mind at all, he'd much rather see his boss finally being happy after finding the light in his life than making him work away from Niall.
And it wasn't like they would get behind, because they were two very professional boys who have mastered the coursework in this specific field of career in uni, so Harry and Niall would always complete their tasks eventually; if the work got done, and the company ran smoothly, Liam was pleased.
