anobrain // narry au

just

today was so eventful. i didn't get much done.

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chapter thirty-one. i am not afraid to keep on living – part ii.

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THE WIND BLOWS THROUGH my fringe in the passenger seat. The sun made its continuation of darkening before mine and Harry's eyes, since he made a brief comment about the beautiful Manchester sunset. But my thoughts weren't about Manchester. They're about London — an almost four hour drive away from home. Away from the built-up tensions and trouble.

I just crave an escape. For one day or one hour or one minute. To be able to clear my mind from my father and his aura would be an interim pleasure I'm sure I deserve at the moment. And I'm glad Harry agrees with me. His opinion means so much – to share this paining similarity of missing a parental figure, his perspective on my domestic situation is highly relevant.

Harry is highly relevant. The way his mouth curls around the white wrapping paper of a new cigarette. Those pink, creamy lips. Harry can make the most unhealthiest thing look model, beauty-like. He continues to drive to my destiny, London. A place I have never had in interest in staying, nor visiting. I have no clue on why I chose London — a four hour drive — to throw my burdens on for the time being.

Time being, meaning, the upcoming weekend. Or until mum or Cara come back home. Or whenever my dad decides it's the perfect time to depart; once again.

I lay my head on the glass window beside me, letting Harry rub my thigh over my denim cladded jeans. I try my hardest not to jump out of my skin at the comfort and abruptness nature because it's Harry; my Harry.

He glances at me with frowned eyebrows. A confused look upon his face but he doesn't utter his questions nor concerns before turning back to the road before us, and fuck, we're driving to London. A large town. With lots of lights and lots of people. Almost like the New York City in the Americas. No one stops for anything.

Then Harry clears his throat, letting free a husky-sounding-like cough as he glances at me once again. He sighs, "You know we aren't driving to London, right?"

My chest tightens and a wave of frustration seeps through my bones like a beach wave crashing against the soft, tan sand on summers day.

"There's nothing in London for you, Niall," he continues. "Just a temporary escape, that deep breath you're trying to take, then, what happens next? You come right back to the same situation. You can't run away from your problems."

It hits me that Harry's beyond correct. If there's one thing in the world that every human-being has in common, it's the subconscious thought that you can run away from your problems. In most situations it isn't the right solution. In some situations, it only worsens the problem waiting to explode before your very eyes — like what I'm encountering with the unsaid words of my family. Harry's right. I hate it when he's, continuously, right.

With a tiresome sigh I counter, "I just need to get away from my dad while he's here." My thumb rubs against the skin covering my temple.

"Then, if you want to, you can stay the weekend at mine. If that's a kind of escape you're looking for."

I choose to remain quiet. The Neighbourhood's Cry Baby fills the silent void in Harry's confined car. The remainder of the car ride to Harry's is filled with the sound of Alex Turner's voice singing You're So Dark and Jesse Rutherford singing tracks off of the Wiped Out! album.

Harry pulls into the driveway of his home; the Cox-Styles' home. Jointed with his mother and him and sometimes Gemma since she's decided that independency was the best choice for her to depart. But her departure was only supported with good vibes and happy wishes for her to try her best on her own. The good lucks and good determination.

He grabs ahold of my hand before escorting the two of us down the pathway to his swarthy lounge. Meaning everyone, a party of one, is sound asleep through the late hours of dusk. Everyone except Harry and I. Which is a positive for me. I wouldn't want Anne to witness me in such a low state right now. In a massive downfall since she's usually high and positive with gleaming smiles. All wholehearted and beautiful, like Harry.

Seeing such a vulnerable teenager with red blotted eyes as the hands near closer to the zeroes on a twenty-four hour clock. Who'd know what she'd do or think.

I'm suffocating in the blue walls of Harry's bedroom. Surrounded by a variety of rock, pop, and metal banded posters. And although I can't identify that many of his interests, Harry's bedroom still feels comfortable. Like a home I've always desired. A home I've always wanted to experience.

He tosses me one of his practise jerseys from our first year of college. When Harry jointed together with the football team because Zayn didn't want to join on his own. Harry had, of course, felt bad and tried out. Unfortunately Harry had made the cuts whilst Zayn didn't. That's how Zayn discovered and realised his actual passion for the arts rather than sports. It's a good fit for a demeanour like Zayn's.

With the jersey covering my boxers and falling just above my knee, I fumble with my thumbs. The mattress is soft. Soft as a fluffy cloud and it's even softer when Harry settles next to me.

Time just about stands still, as it always does when I'm in the presence of Harry. He pulls me closer to him. So close that I'm laying on him though neither of us seem to mind it. The blue coloured walls continue to enclose the two of us, even in the stygian night. Just like the silence. Just like the rapid, internal thoughts. Just like the little things about Harry that make an implant in my photographic memory.

"Are you hungry?" Harry asks. Responsively I shake my head, hoping Harry can see me through the dark.

"Thirsty?" Once again I shake my head.

"Do you want to talk?" he tries once more.

With another shake of my head. "I just want to sleep," I say softly. It almost sounds like a murmur. Harry still nods understandingly though he exhales a faint sigh that still connects to my hearing. He pulls the duvet over the two of us as I settle on the left side of Harry.

I go to comfort myself. Just about to wrap my arms around myself, until I feel Harry's warmth enclose me willingly. Those muscular arms circle around my waist and the scent of coconuts with an amber waft to my nose; someone's changed their soap/shampoo recently. It's still a comforting smell, however.

Warmth runs through every aspect of my body like the sun shining on you in the early morning through blinds or a soft curtain. The moon kisses the sun in the evening when they transition routinely, though they've never came face to face. There's still a tenderly love.

My eyes close to night. That's all I choose to remember as those emotional waves within set themselves to deliberately drown me.

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Also I apologise for all of the indirect and unintentional song references in this unedited chapter.