anobrain // narry au

again

chapter twenty-five. harry is my annabel.

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THE WALLS OF THE library engulf me. Enclose me into a sempiternal maze that I block out everyone around me — near and far from where I'm sitting in the corner of the Edgar Allen Poe section. (Mainly the poetry section, but I'm only familiar with Poe's work).

Intentionally setting separation from my friends and classmates and absolute strangers too with some reading. Some dark reading, by the famous American author Edgar Allen Poe.

My fingertips trail over the dark words as if they have a bitter material I'm fond of touching. Like the three out of five senses; I enjoy seeing the words. Touching them. Hearing the beautiful stories he tells his readers. And they're all imaginative. Each story has a creation that symbolises, maybe, two different meanings to I and Edgar:

"For the moon never beans, without bringing me dreams of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And the star never rise, but I feel the bright eyes of the beautiful Annabel Lee,
And all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling – my darling – my life and my bride –"

My eyes gaze into the print. My thoughts ramble uncontrollably – of Harry. Harry. And some more of Harry. We haven't spoken since the Friday night movie night misfortune at my house. When I discovered Liam and Harry in my bedroom. When time found the possibility to stand still for more than one minute.

I departed to catch some air too like Louis and Zayn earlier the same night. When they both departed in such a simultaneous way -- past my front door.

The same way my heart pummelled and my chest does the usual cave/drop when Harry's in my peripheral sight — it all felt the same when I practically ran out of my own bedroom. Heart stinging and ears ringing as my thoughts arose apprehension. Nothing couldn't have felt worse, I thought, until I looked back to not find Harry run after me. His best friend, his boyfriend. Then I encountered an absolute all time low.

"I knew you'd be here," the familiar thud of heavy boots sound only to stop in front of me. My eyes look up to Zayn automatically — I feel the cold draft he brought into the poetry section along with him.

I responsively scoff. Zayn and I haven't been the best of friends lately. Our friendship isn't the way it started nor developed more into nowadays. And that's both of our faults, truthfully.

I can't help but feel that burn of disappointment within me every-time I even glance Zayn's way. But I can't help that — the one friend that always taught me the meaning of honesty and nonchalance growing up. The one who taught me the meaning of mannerism; right from the wrong, makes Zayn hypocritical at this point.

"I know you're disappointed with me, and we haven't been on the same page as of recently," Zayn says softly before sitting on the library floor beside me. He grabs the collection of Edgar Allen Poe's stories and poems from my hand then turns through some printed pages, until he abruptly stops on the beginning page of another poem.

My eyes land and stay on Zayn when his rough voice reads: "They loved her for her wealth — And they hated her for her pride — But she grew in feeble health, And they love her — that she died."

A smile curves his pink coloured lips. "I always loved that poem growing up," he muses. "A Pæan." I stare at my kind of friend speechlessly with no effort to form responsive words. There's nothing to precisely say to him, Zayn.

Then this block of courage courses through me, almost instantly. "Why are you even here?" I ask, my voice comes out faintly. Zayn and I's eyes lock as he searches for an answer.

I've been cautious enough to not intermix with neither Liam, Zayn, Louis, and definitely Harry outside of school and during it. Even with Louis and I taking Physics together. And working alongside each other. But everyone in my group of friends are on shite terms — since I've witnessed Harry cheat on me. In my bedroom. Since Zayn cheated on Louis with Liam. Since Liam met Harry — it's all been different.

My fingers plays with the rim of my reading glasses. Zayn shrugs confidently. "I want to be your friend," he murmurs. "Friends support friends. They help each other through thick and thin, right?"

I already begin to stand to my feet with the only answer flashing through my mind: depart now.

And, I do.

Kindly ignoring the continuous calls of my name from Zayn's rough and low voice. And it sucks that everything is happening the way it is. All of my friends were nothing but amiable, though nothing can stay good for long. Gold can eventually rust. I'm seeing that in the moment. In reality, my reality —

My chest bumps into a solid body. It's unknowing. A familiar, heart-crushing voice says my name in that soft tone that causes my chest to contract painfully along with my heart — this feeling is severe, and it hurts.

I don't even bother to spare Harry a glance once I immediately push past him in the schools hall. That doesn't go on at an accord because he grabs ahold of my forearm. His eyes burn holes into the skin of my cheek. I, then, try my best not to make eye contact with my best friend, past boyfriend.

Fortunately it works.

"Niall," his voice pleads. I try my hardest not to look at Harry as I shove him away from the forceful hold he has on me. "Let me explain. Please." the tone of his voice sounds muffled, but I hear him coherently because of our distance and current stance.

It's in that moment I have the decision to insert myself into a bullock explanation from Harry or just to walk away, and depart. To feel the tightness of my chest enclosing my lungs, or to hope for it to heal and mend over the time because of separation. I have the choice to clear the remainder of my mind or shove and ruffle it with some more toxic thoughts my body doesn't have the urge to hold. And .. And ..

I inwardly choose to walk away. I walk away from Harry. From my childhood friend. From another person I assumed was my best friend. My once, in the past, boyfriend. Deliberately ignoring the continuation of pleads and of my name coming from Harry's plumped, pink coloured lips.

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short but important chapter. little details are the most important ::)). I literally just wrote five chapters straight .. I've never felt so accomplished!!, WIWIFI.

Guys. Guys. Guys. I really miss the 1975 man. I was looking through the videos I took of them at my concert and I was sobbing. Because Matty was singing Anobrain guys, my inspiration for this book. Plus he's so beautiful .. and so is Narry.

— here's a photo.

Have I told you all how much I love Louis Tomlinson. His existence just regularly makes me so content. I just love his voice and his laugh and his eyes and his smile and his style and his child and his personality and the way he swears and him. I just rambled. And plus, i love zouis .. and ziam.

Chapters are habitually unedited so.,