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Liam doesn’t really notice the depth of detail Harry's put into his Barbara costume until Harry drops the suitcase and reaches forward to pick it up. There's a glint of pink at his fingertips, a little brighter than usual, and Liam is so startled that the "Oh, Barbara" slips out before he can stop himself.
His words make it into the final cut. The fact that Harry painted his nails does not.
"Haz," he says, later that day, when they're all at Zayn's new house with Geordie Shore playing in the background. He takes Harry's hand up in his and strokes a nail, so very lightly. Harry shivers. "This is new."
"Just thought I'd pay respect to the character," Harry says, but he's not meeting Liam's eyes. Liam considers pressing the issue, but Niall cries out about something on screen and Harry's attention drifts and really, it's not worth the questions.
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"Is it the colour?" he asks, quietly, when Lou has stepped out to wrangle Niall back into the room from where he's followed Zayn and Louis in the search for fizzy drinks for all of them. "Is that what it is?"
Harry looks startled, and for a moment Liam thinks he isn't going to respond, but then: "That's part of it."
"Okay," Liam says. He has so many questions, but he doesn't want to make Harry uncomfortable, because they've reached this great equilibrium in their relationship and he doesn't want to upset that.
"Okay," Harry echoes, looking a bit surprised by it all.
Eventually, he adds: "It's also the feeling."
"Of the varnish?" Liam asks before he can help it.
"Of wearing it, yeah," Harry says. He's looking steadily into the mirror, so Liam considers for a second and rests a palm heavily on Harry's shoulder in silent support before mussing Harry's hair up. Lou will be mad, but the smile on Harry's face is worth it.
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Next time Ruth is in town, Liam asks her to pick up a bottle for him.
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Harry takes the bottle of varnish Liam hands him. Ruth said it was a great brand, and the colour is fantastic – a deep green that reminds Liam of Harry's eyes. It doesn't look glittery, which Liam assumes is a good thing, but then again, he knows next to nothing about nail varnish.
"It's so dark," Harry says, quietly, and his eyes are wide and almost scared.
"Oh no," says Liam, frowning. "I didn't think about that. I suppose you won't want to wear it out in public."
"I've never worn anything this dark before," Harry says.
Liam pauses for a long, long minute. "Do you have any of that remover stuff left?" he asks, finally. "You could just wear it tonight."
Harry bites his lip, frowns as he cracks eggs into a bowl and starts beating them – he's making a frittata or some such – and then looks up when he reaches for his pepper grinder. "Yeah, okay," he says, and pauses. "Do you want to put it on me?"
"What?" Liam asks, thoroughly shocked, but he wants to be a supportive friend, so: "Okay."
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Next time he goes over to Harry's he brings a pale nail varnish. Lilac, the bottle says.
Liam is better at applying it this time, and his breath catches in his throat when Harry holds his hands up playfully, because he's never realised before how pretty Harry is.
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Because not only do Harry's nails actually look good painted, but when they're done up, Harry looks – happier, maybe. More settled. He doesn’t show his nails off – the internet would go mad if he did – but when they're coloured, the corners of his mouth twist up naturally and he relaxes better into chairs.
But when Liam paints Harry's nails, it's always such a private and lovely ritual. They do it in their houses, and in hotel rooms, and in green rooms and moving cars, but never, ever when anyone else is around. Harry will wash his hands first, and clean out under his nails with a little file thing like Ruth and Nicola and Danielle have all used in front of Liam before, and then he'll trim away any snags and come and sit in front of Liam.
They never use base coat or top coat, even though the cosmetics blogs Liam sometimes reads to try and learn more tricks to making nails look good tell him he should use it, because Harry always wipes the colour off with bits of cotton wool soaked in his sharp-smelling varnish remover before it's been on for longer than a day or two, so it's not like they're ever painted long enough for Harry to need help, keeping the colour from chipping.
Liam just bends over Harry's hands, lifting each one up in turn with his left hand. He feels the callouses on Harry's palms from where he's gripped microphones too hard for two and a half years, the way that the pads of Harry's fingers dig into Liam's palm a little bit whenever Liam goes outside the lines of Harry's nails with the varnish, which he does less frequently, now.
Harry doesn't talk when Liam is painting his nails, he just lets his eyes close and he smiles.
Liam never wants to interrupt the silence, even with the litany of words he's got building on the back of his tongue, about how lovely Harry is, about how soft is face is when his eyes are closed, calm and happy, like this. About how nice his nails look even when they don't have colour on them now, clean and shiny and strong.
About how Liam doesn't understand this at all, this need Harry has to have colourful nails, but it doesn't matter whether he understands it or not so long as Harry is happy.
Instead of saying any of these words, though, Liam just paints on, coat after coat until Harry's nails look lovely and solidly coloured. In time, they learn that if Harry washes his hands in warm water after Liam is done, it doesn't matter so much if he goes outside the lines. They learn that Harry is getting more comfortable with darker shades as time goes by, and the collection of varnishes Harry keeps in a shoebox in his suitcase grows, from pale, nearly sheer pinks and purples to darker oranges and reds. Harry never buys them himself, but every time Liam brings him a new bottle, he grins so, so big and beautiful and says, "Cheers, Liam, you're a true friend."
By the time Harry's birthday rolls around, Liam feels confident in buying Harry a full-on collection of different colours, dark and light, sheer and opaque. He also buys Harry's first glittery shade.
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They don't say anything else, though, and Liam is grateful, because this is Harry's thing, but it's also his and Harry's thing, and he likes sharing it between just the two of them.
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When tour starts, Harry takes off the varnish every day before their performance, unless it's pale or sheer and not noticeable from the audience. And every night, in his hotel room, Liam paints on a new colour.
Harry always sings stronger the nights that he keeps the varnish on. He laughs harder and smiles wider and his hair even seems a little bouncier. They take to Liam painting Harry's toes a new colour every week, because no one ever sees that, so Harry can keep it on always, no matter how dark or glittery the varnish is.
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"Here to do me up in my next colour?" Harry asks, going for the box of varnish that he's got stowed away.
"Yeah," Liam says, and takes the dark shimmery orange that Harry hands him. They go through to the free couch in the bus and sit, cross-legged, on the cushions. Liam shakes the bottle and Harry holds out his hand, rests it on Liam's knee. It's always how they do it in the bus; Liam holds the varnish in one hand to keep it from spilling and Harry keeps his hand on Liam's knee so that it's close enough to reach easily. Today Harry's hand feels like a brand, even through Liam's jeans.
Liam is feeling less emboldened by the pressure of Harry's hand on his knee and more like he's going to crawl out of his skin when he finally blurts, "Hey, Haz?"
"Mmmm," Harry says, because Liam's started in on his thumb already and his eyes are closed and he's leaning back in his seat.
"Why?" Liam asks, trying not to squirm in his seat. "I mean, why nail varnish? Do you ever want to put on other makeup? Lipstick, maybe?"
Harry opens his eyes. "Not really," he says, slowly. "Dunno what it is. I suppose I feel more like me when my nails are painted."
"Okay," Liam says, and he knows he's frowning but he can't help it; he's still a little confused.
"It's like," Harry says, and he's quiet for a long moment, thinking. "It's sort of like a tattoo, because I'm changing something about me, yeah? But it's not like a tattoo because it changes so much." He pauses again. "I don't think it's a girly thing. It's just. You know."
"I don't," Liam confesses.
"It's hard to explain," says Harry, finally. "I like the way that it feels, basically."
"Okay," Liam says. He can accept that. He can even identify with it – he can't really explain why he likes to see Harry wearing the nail varnish, but he likes the way it looks. "I don't mind, obviously, I was just trying to figure it out."
"I'll let you know if I do," Harry says, and he lets his eyes fall shut again.
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"Of course," Liam says. "Two, in fact, as you’ve already asked me one."
"Ha," Harry says, clearly delighted with Liam's joke, but his face stays more or less serious. "Liam, why do you like painting my nails?"
Liam leans sideways, resting against the couch as he considers the question. "Dunno," he says, frowning. Images flash through his mind: how wide Harry's smile is, the way he shows his teeth like he's sharing his joy with the world. The way his nails looked as Harry raked his hair off his face the time Liam painted them alternating bright yellow and bright green. How deep his breaths are before he hits a really big note in one of their songs. The way he sometimes taps his fingers anxiously against the seam of his trouser leg when they're watching some dramatic television programme, glittery tips of his nails glinting in the light coming off the tv. The way his natural nail disappears under the coats of colour Liam carefully brushes on. The press of Harry's palm against his.
"I don't think it's because I'm like, treating you like I would a girlfriend," Liam says, because he never painted Danielle's nails when they were dating but now that he's got all this experience with Harry it seems like something he might do for some girl someday. Except now that he thinks about it, he's not entirely sure that he wants to paint some girl's nails, or even some other boy's. Just Harry's.
He glances at Harry, and Harry is starting to frown, and the pressure on Liam's knees is disappearing because Harry is starting to lift his hands up. Liam panics and grabs Harry's wrists.
"I don't mean it like that," he says, quickly.
"Like what?" Harry asks, brow furrowing.
"I know you're about to say something about gender and how me painting your nails isn't necessarily just something a boy does for his girlfriend," Liam says, promptly.
Harry laughs, startled. "I suppose I was," he says, but then he sobers a little. "You've learned me well." He pauses. "So how do you mean it?"
"I think," Liam says, and he bites his lip and thinks oh, fuck it, because in his experience, there's only way everything he's been feeling lately – the way he's hot all over when Harry is close, the unpleasant sensation in the pit of his stomach when the rest of the boys are playing around with Harry in a way that's more romantic than it is roughhousing, and, yes, the way he's been comparing painting Harry's nails to a girlfriend lately. "I like seeing you so comfortable," he says, and then shakes his head. "But also it's a little bit because I'm treating you like I would a girlfriend."
"What do you mean?" Harry asks, cautiously. He must lean forward, because there's a little extra pressure on Liam's knees, but it's not a very visible amount of leaning.
"Or," Liam corrects himself. He looks Harry in the eye, but through his lashes, because he's not entirely sure how Harry will take this information. "Maybe more like I would a boyfriend."
"Are you saying that –" Harry says, and trails off, probably thinking of all the implications of what Liam has just said.
"What I'm saying is," Liam says, and he discards words when he can't find the right ones to use. Instead, he leans forward and kisses Harry carefully on the mouth, hands still wrapped loosely around Harry's wrists until Harry jerks them free.
Liam is all set to apologise, but then Harry's wrapping his arms around Liam's neck and pulling him in closer and tilting his head to deepen the kiss, somewhat.
After, Liam finds smudges of Harry's nail varnish, which was still wet, in his hair, but he doesn't even mind a bit.
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He just figures that he doesn't have a hidden pleasure like Harry does. He's never been that interested in makeup, doesn't even like the clear mascara and foundation that Lou puts on them for performances and photoshoots.
And then one day Louis dares him to nick Lou's bright fuchsia lipstick and put it on. Liam glances at himself in the dressing-room mirror and does a double-take before catching Harry's eyes, also through the mirror. Harry lifts his eyebrows and steps closer.
"Have you found your nail polish, then?" he asks, quietly, pressing a quick kiss to Liam's brightly coloured lips and then moving a little bit back, just far enough to boop Liam's nose.
Liam twists a little to stare at himself in the mirror again. He feels lovely and, strangely, capable and powerful. He's not sure if this is precisely what Harry gets out of nail polish, but still. He turns to face Harry again. "I think I have."