"Night, Sam." Tom whispered to Dougie's mum.
"Night, boys. I'll see you soon?" She smiled fondly at her son's friends.
"Course you will." Danny grinned.
"Sure you don't want a lift home?" Harry checked, and shook shook her head.
"The taxi's outside; I can take it to the train station." She pecked him on the cheek, standing on tiptoes to do it. Smiling brightly, (and tiredly) Danny let himself be lead upstairs by Tom to bed- it was half twelve, and they were all exhausted after the festivities. Tom murmured another farewell. "And by the way, Hazzer, you can bring Dougs up." He winked and dragged Danny up behind him, disappearing around the corner at the top of the stairs.
Sam smiled knowingly at Harry as he rolled his eyes- she, as a mother, could see past his acting when it came to Dougie- as it stood, Sam and Harry's mother were just waiting for Harry to kiss Dougie already (they knew Dougie never would.)
"Bye, Harry." As she stepped in to the night, she turned and said one last thing. "Make him happy."
Harry closed the door, wondering what she meant, and walked back to the living room, kicking balloons as he went.
Dougie was asleep, curled up like a kitten on one end of the sofa. Even unconscious, he was firmly clutching the helium balloon he'd received with one hand; it hovered above him, reflecting the film on the T.V- The Incredibles; Tom and Dougie's decision, needless to say. He briefly thought about flicking the light on, to find the remote and switch off the T.V, but decided against it.
He didn't want to wake up the sleeping boy.
As he sat down next to Dougie on the sofa, Harry allowed himself this moment to really see him. Harry never really saw Dougie; he blocked it out, tried looking at Dougie as he looked at Tom- merely a friend. At one point he tried looking at Dougie like he looked at Danny, which turned out to be a mistake.
Danny and Harry hadn't been on best terms since Harry had made a comment about a personal issue, a year after the band started- five months ago. They had always been at each other since then. It drove Tom mental. Anyway, seeing someone like you saw Danny was impossible. You loved him or you hated him- but with Dougie, there was that uncertainty. You couldn't hate Dougie, because he hardly ever did anything wrong- and when he did, he rarely realised he had.
So moments like these- Dougie daydreaming or sleeping; Harry watching him; no one else around- these moments were Harry's 'Dougie moments'.
He allowed himself to see how clear and perfect Dougie's skin was. How long and thick his eyelashes were. How pink his lips were; how messy his dirty blonde hair was, falling in to his eyes at any given moment and either being flicked out by it's owner or brushed out by Tom and Harry. That was the only thing that annoyed Harry about Tom- he was also paternal over Dougie. He'd also be there, ready to bandage up a cut knee, help him find a missing item, teach him how to play a guitar, write a song with him, comfort him when he had a nightmare and call Dougie's mum when Dougie was homesick.
Harry couldn't do all of that.
Harry couldn't sing or write with him- but he could interest Dougie in things Tom didn't want Dougie to do. He'd take Dougie with him in his car, speeding down highways, swerving around corners- risking both of their lives, just to hear the breathless laughter. He'd tickle him, then not stop until Dougie pleaded for mercy. He'd take him skateboarding down steep hills. He'd take him up to the top of high buildings and pretend to push him off, then catch him; he'd play knock knock run in rich estates. He'd even go as far as to take the piss out of Danny to watch Dougie smile, because Dougie didn't really know they didn't like each other- but sometimes Dougie wouldn't smile, sometimes he would just follow Danny out of the room after shooting wide eyed glances at Harry, and Harry would be left feeling guilty and alone.
But sometimes it was okay, because Tom also had Danny to deal with- sixteen year old Danny ("Nearly seventeen! I ain't a kid no more, Tom!")- who also cut his knees, who lost things and couldn't find them, who had nightmares, homesickness, who would write songs and play guitar with him.
So, Harry figured, brushing a finger across Dougie's empty hand and smiling as Dougie clutched it like a little monkey, really, Dougie was his- not Tom's- and some day, maybe soon, maybe later, Harry would tell Dougie how much he loved him.