Harry's hands are shaking during his science practical at school that day. It's a simple task of changing the colour of the flame on the Bunsen burner using different chemicals, only he can barely hold his hands straight without them jolting all over the place.
And for once, it actually has nothing to do with the fact that Will is his lab partner, the two of them standing close together around the flame. In fact, the two of them have been talking quite a lot lately, just as friends of course (though Harry really wishes it could be more than that; he's even stopped telling Hannah and Max to shut up when they talk about his 'crush' because denying it seems pointless), and so he's lost a lot of his nerves whenever he's with the other boy.
The reason for his shaky hands happens to be because he's running a little low and there's still forty minutes until lunch.
Will seems to notice as well, which makes him feel embarrassed, cheeks warming up the second he mentions it when Harry can't even hold the wooden stick still over the yellow flame.
"Do you want me to do it?" He asks, not unkindly but in a way that tells Harry he really just wants to help.
He nods, face warming a little more when the other eleven year old takes the stick from him and holds it over the flame steadily, their fingers brushing over each other's. He wrings his fingers together, smiling bashfully when Will looks at him.
"Are you okay?" He asks softly, and Harry gives another quick nod.
"Oh, um, yeah. My hands just get a little shaky when my sugars are low," he explains, and Will hesitates before realisation sets in and he raises his eyebrows.
"I forgot about that. Um, diabetes, right?" He says, and Harry gives a polite nod.
He still hates talking about his disease. It makes him feel small and stupid, like he's lacking something that everyone else takes for granted. But it's much easier for him to cope with than it had once been.
"My Aunty has that. She always has to carry sweets with her for when she gets all shaky too," he says, then seems to remember something because he grins. "Oh, I have sweets in my pocket from break. Will that help?" He asks.
Harry smiles, nodding, because he honestly doesn't think he'll make it to lunch with how jittery he already feels. "Um, yeah. But it's okay, you don't have to -"
"No, it's okay," he says, jabbing out the small flame on the stick using the safety mat before setting it down and reaching into his pocket, pulling out a handful of starbursts. "There," he says, taking Harry's hand and dropping the sweets into his palm.
Harry feels his face heat up a little, taking them gratefully and discretely unwrapping one, eating it before the teacher can notice. "Thank you."
Will just shrugs. "S'okay. Do you feel better straight away or does it take a minute?" He asks, and Harry swallows the sweet, making the most of the sugary taste because it isn't often he's allowed to have sweets.
He gives a small nod, feeling the shakes start to subside already. He lifts a hand for Will to see. "Getting better already, see," he says, and Will grins.
"Cool."
And it's a reaction that Harry's never gotten before, one that doesn't make him feel small and helpless. He grins back, nodding.
"Yeah. Cool."
He pauses for a moment then, his confidence growing a little in the moment. He makes up his mind before he can change it, blurring out the words quickly.
"Will? Would you maybe...wanna go out with me?" He asks quietly, worried about people overhearing.
Will freezes, turning to look at Harry in surprise before he looks apologetic and his stomach drops. "Oh. Um. I mean, you're cool Haz, but I think...I like you as a friend. And I kinda like Lilly," he says, glancing over his shoulder at one of the popular girls in the class who catches his eye with a smile.
Harry's heart is still thudding in his chest at the prospect of even having said the words to begin with. And now he's gone and ruined it - fears confirmed, Will doesn't like boys and now he's going to tell everyone and -
"Oh. Yeah, that's okay. Lilly's really pretty so," he trails off with a shrug, ignoring the mass of thoughts bombarding his mind.
Will gives him a small smile. "Yeah. But you're really cool Haz. I, uh, didn't know you..."
Harry just shrugs, trying to stop his cheeks from heating up when the boy says he's cool. He doesn't like you, he tells himself.
"I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to," Will tells him, and he glances up in surprise, heart slowing a little.
"You won't?"
Will just smiles and nudges him. "Course not. You're my friend, Haz."
And even though the words are meant to be kind, they actually kind of hurt because he doesn't want to be just a friend. But he holds it in and smiles right on back.
He doesn't mention it to anyone until he gets home from school that day. Niall dives on him the moment he steps in through the door, grinning. "Haz! I got a school trip tomorrow, we're goin' to the museum, and I'm gonna sit by Danny on the bus," the eight year old rambles, and Harry manages a smile at his little brother.
He's much taller than the younger boy now, because he's had a growth spurt recently whilst Niall is still really small, and so when his brother jumps on him, he manages to keep him in his arms, hugging him for a moment because he's a softy, and after the huge let down with Will at school today, he really just craves physical contact more than usual.
"That's awesome, Ni," he says, and Niall hugs him back temporarily before he's jumping back onto the floor again and bouncing on the heels of his feet with the energy that never seems to dull.
"Uh-huh. Daddy's givin' me a pound for the gift shop, so m'gonna buy you a present," he says, and Harry smiles, glad that his little brother is always so good at cheering him up.
He drops his school bag on the floor before kneeling down in front of the eight year old. "You don't need to get me anything Ni. Just buy yourself something," he says, and the blond shakes his head stubbornly, crossing his hands over his chest.
"Nope! I wanna buy you some special cookies with no sugar so you can eat 'em all yourself," he says. Harry grins.
"If you insist then." He watches as his little brother runs off, and it hits him again that he's really lucky that their Dad and Papa came and met them that day in Merrywell. He doesn't know how he would survive if he had been separated from Niall.
Papa steps into the room at that moment, ruffling Niall's hair as he walks past the couch where the eight year old has settled down to watch cartoons. He looks a little surprised when he sees Harry, smiling.
"Hey Curly. What're you doing down there?" He asks, because Harry's still kneeling on the floor.
He just shrugs, letting the man take him by his hands and pull him up from the floor. Before the conversation can continue, he throws his arms around his Papa's middle, hugging him tightly.
The man seems taken aback, taking a moment before he hugs him back, one hand tangling into the curls at the back of his head. "Hey, bud. What's wrong?" He asks, and Harry just shakes his head against his chest.
"Nothing," he mumbles, the words muffled by the man's shirt. Then he pulls away, heart stammering because even though it's been a rubbish day at school, he always has his family to talk to. "Actually, um, can - can I talk to you and Dad? Please?" He asks, and Papa looks down at him with a worried expression.
"Sure. Dad's in the kitchen," he says, taking Harry by the hand like when he was little, leading him through to the kitchen and closing the door behind them.
Dad turns to face them from his place by the counter, sorting all of Niall's work and letters from his school bag. He grins when he sees Harry. "Hey sweetie. How was school?" He asks.
Harry takes a deep breath and answers honestly. "Um. Not - not very good," he says, and the man blinks in surprise, gaze flitting up to Papa, who fills him in.
"Haz wants to talk to us," he says, and Dad nods instantly, already pulling out a stool at the kitchen counter, Papa taking another so that he's standing in front of them.
"Of course, sweetheart. What's going on? Is someone being mean? Because I can get that sorted with a phone call so you don't need to -"
"I like boys," Harry blurts quickly, pressing his lips together straight after, twisting his fingers together nervously. And he doesn't expect a huge reaction, because it's just like Hannah said - he's got two dads and it isn't a big deal. He just wants them to be there because he's all confused and it's difficult to figure out who likes boys and who doesn't, and he's scared he's never going to be able to figure it out, and he's terrified of what people at school will think once they know -
And his Dad and Papa seem to understand instantly, both of them glancing at each other before smiling softly at him. "Buddy, that's okay. You know that's okay. I mean, look at us," Papa says with a small chuckle.
Harry manages a wet laugh back, eyes growing a little watery at the relief of having it out in the open. Even if he had known his parents would be fine with it (obviously), it had still been a weight on his shoulders keeping it inside.
"I know. I - I didn't even know till a few months ago, and I was just - I don't know. I'm scared people won't like me anymore. At school, I mean," he murmurs, and his Dad is out of his seat in an instant, pulling him into his arms.
"Harry Malik, you are perfect exactly as you are, and if anyone decides not to like you anymore just because of a small part of you - then it's their loss, okay?" He says, and Harry feels a few tears fall at the statement, wrapping his arms tightly around the man in return, basking in the comfort of the man's fingers carding through his hair.
He sniffles, pulling away with a shaky breath as Papa gives him a small smile. "Did something happen at school today to make it not very good?" He asks, and Harry hesitates then gives a small nod, still leaning against his Dad slightly.
"Um. I liked a boy and I told him, but he said he likes someone else. And he was really nice about it but I don't know..."
Papa reaches out to rest a hand on his shoulder. "It still hurts a lot though, huh?"
He nods at that, lifting a hand to try and dry his cheeks.
Dad hugs him again, Papa squeezes his hands, and he feels a little bit better.
"You know, I was about your age when I knew. There was a boy called Marty that I had a huge crush on, and it turned out he wasn't into guys. Told everyone, and news got to my Dad. And you know I've told you that my old man wasn't nice," Papa says, and Harry nods sympathetically. "And I remember thinking after that that it wasn't okay for me to be me. It messed with me for a long time, right up until I met your Dad. And I don't ever want you to feel the same way, okay? Not ever, so you can come to us about anything - any questions or advice or just for cuddles because you know you're still our baby," he adds, and Harry feels his face heat up in a blush.
"But I'm in high school now," he whines, making both men chuckle at his expense.
"And you're eleven," Dad counteracts, before leaning down to press a kiss to the top of his head. "But seriously, Curly. You can come to us no matter how small or silly you think something is, or embarrassing. I loved my parents, but they were never very good when it came to talking about things, and it isn't easy trying to handle all the confusing bits of growing up by yourself. Just...know that we're here, okay? Through anything."
Harry just smiles at that, nodding and hugging them back.
He feels a little less worried already. A little less lost.
A little more sure that no matter what, he's got people at home who love him.
.
Liam, meanwhile, doesn't bother leaving his room at all that night. He takes his dinner upstairs with him despite his parents complaints, then begrudgingly climbs into bed when they knock on his door at eleven and tell him to get some sleep. He waits until he hears their bedroom door close for the night before getting back up and studying for a while longer.
Because he feels like he's getting nowhere. He managed to get out of doing the remainder of his mock exams after what had happened with maths, but now he's got to study for the real things just four months down the line at the end of spring and he finds himself having to fight off constant bouts of anxiety.
To top it all off, he snapped at Emily at school that day because she would leave him be with all her 'you need to take a break from school stuff' and so on, and now she isn't answering his messages so he's pretty sure he's messed that up too.
So he throws himself in even more so than before, doing past paper after past paper in the hopes that it'll ease the exam stress if he's more prepared.
He wakes up to his alarm blaring at six the next morning, hunched over his desk with the imprint of his ink smudged over his left arm where his head had been rested.
It doesn't make for a good start to the day.
By the time he's had a wash, gotten into his uniform and packed a bag, there isn't even time for breakfast or a coffee, and he's so tired that all he really wants to do is go back to bed. But then he'll miss lessons, and that means catching up in his own time - except all of his own time is filled with studying and he really doesn't have room to shift his whole schedule around.
So he just sits in the last step of the stairs waiting for Emily's brother to come and pick him up before he realises that he probably isn't going to show up, and then he decides to just make himself a coffee anyway since he'll be late no matter what.
But the kitchen turns out to not be the best place for him with his current mood, because it's loud and that's the opposite of what he wants in that moment.
(He wants quiet, and peace, and some sleep for once.)
Niall pounces on him the moment he walks in, grabbing his hand and tugging him over to the table.
"Ni, I don't have time -" he starts to say, but then a leaflet for some dumb museum is shoved in his hands and the eight year old beams up at him the same way he used to at three.
"I'm goin' there today! Isn't it cool? M'gonna buy Harry cookies from the gift shop!" He says excitedly, extra talkative and energetic.
Liam just puts the leaflet on the table dismissively. "Yeah. Cool."
Niall doesn't seem too bothered, still clutching Liam's hand with both of his as he jumps up and down. "I can get you a present too - but I prolly don't have enough money...you can have one of Harry's cookies if he lets you!" He tells him in a loud voice that makes the fifteen year olds head ache a little more.
He yanks his hand out of his youngest brothers grip a little abruptly, making him stumble a little. "Just stop yelling, would you? God," he mutters, crossing over to the kettle and setting it to boil.
Papa and Dad both look up at that; Papa from his place beside Harry at the table, helping him with last minute homework, Dad making Niall's packed lunch. Niall looks upset, frowning.
"Liam, there's no need to be harsh with him. He's just excited," Dad says sternly, holding out his arms to Niall who shuffles over and leans against the man with a pout.
Liam just rolls his eyes, making his coffee. "Yeah. He's always excited," he mutters.
"You're mean," Niall states, and Liam bites back, mood growing worse by the minute.
"Sometimes I really wish you would just stop talking so everyone else can actually think for a second," he says spitefully, taking his coffee and leaving the room before his parents can yell at him.
He doesn't even bother drinking it in the end. He just sets it on the table as he walks by and grabs his bag and jacket, storming out of the house before he even has either on and making sure to slam the door extra hard to make sure everyone knows he's mad.
And the worst part is, he isn't even sure what he's mad at. It definitely isn't Ni, the poor kid had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, but Liam is still to angry to feel guilt. If anything, his anger only grows as he gets closer to school, and he realises that it all comes down to his stupid exams and all the stupid stress that comes with them.
He doesn't want to go in at all. But it's like he said, he can't miss school because it'll only make it harder in the long run.
And he doesn't want to fail.
He wants to pass his exams, to prove a point to his parents or himself or whoever, he doesn't care.
He just doesn't want to disappoint anyone.