anobrain // narry au

car

I don't know how weddings go or what ever happens before but work with me here.

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chapter fifty-two. chasing rainbows.

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IF THERE IS ONE thing I'm not fond of is when people are pulled from their comfort zone. In an extremely negative way and not with the intentions of encouragement. Like, my mum, who is, practically forcing me off to my father's wedding. A celebrated ceremony surrounded by family I have no interest in. Verbally attacked with vulnerable slurs my mother continuously throws at me.

"But Niall, he really wants you there."

"You may not think so, but your father really loves you."

"You're being irrational, unreasonable. You're going whether you like it, or not."

The many, many words drive me to video chat with my older sister Cara. Looking for a sense of empathy and support. Support because my mother and Harry desperately agree I should attend the ceremony. But Cara completely disagrees with them. Another sibling who has no interest in attending the upcoming ceremony. At here isn't a fight or discussion whether she decides to participate or not.

It's conflicting because I'd go if my other support system is standing at the left of me with the confidence I've always envied from him. But he's busy for a fitting. One from a very relevant designer the day before. Which leaves me to attend the ceremony alone. If I were to make an actual effort to go.

And I go.

I go, because my mother packs me a bag with a custom made suit. Designed and tailored to my exact nook and cranny. Grey coloured with a lavender dress shirt folded perfectly within a plastic baggy just for the elegant wedding ceremony. My suitcase is filled with other items I'll definitely need — undergarments, sleepwear, outwear, clothing — for the weekend.

A weekend with the Hoods and most Horans. A bash that makes me, continuously, want to bash myself in the head. That's because I'll be surrounded with people who only elicit discomfort and disinterest. Still I haven't a choice.

MY PLANE LANDS ACCORDINGLY. When I leave baggage claim I'm not met with my father but with David, his companion. He waves amiably at me— a friendly gesture I don't bother to willingly return. My legs still continue onward to his standing figure. I grow mildly nervous.

Apprehensive since I've never been one-to-one with David. Just in the presence of each other, and as he leads me to an unfamiliar car our atmosphere grows cold and colder.

"I can take your suitcase—?" he offers, but coldly I shake my head. There's a prominent frown that flashes across David's face; solely hurt yet I choose to ignore it and him.

After placing my suitcase in between my legs whilst situating myself in the vehicle David pulls off. Not without giving me a sideward glance. "I understand you're angry, upset, or whatever —" he says softly. "But your attitude towards me is unreasonable."

I scoff as my arms go to fold themselves across my chest. "Beg to differ," the words leave my mouth as an uncertain murmur. Maybe because I am uncertain whether or not David should receive my intentional standoffish behaviour.

He doesn't press the accusation further. I don't say anything else for the rest of the car ride through Westmeath. Plugging my headphones into my ears to drown out a fatal reality whilst listening to Marina and the Diamond's Immortal.

MY ROOM IS SHARED with Calum. The arrangements only worsen when I have to sit between the two -- Calum and Callie -- during an engagement party. Watching my dad flaunt off his fiancé perpetually to some familiar and unfamiliar faces. Some family members that are recognisable to the ones I've never encountered before — most likely being David's family. Not that I so much care.

This weekend getaway wasn't in my agenda. Seeing my dad happy with a family that isn't mine wasn't in my agenda either. But falling in love happens so abruptly, and it can change everything. From your outlook on life to just unadjustable characteristics that can be adjusted.

In a room so suffocating— nearly arising discomfort with my chest and my lungs, I've never been so content for my phone to ring out loudly in this even louder atmosphere. It gives me the opportunity to step out. Possibly catch some air and talk to whomever is attempting to contact me.

My chest constricts and loosens when the raspy voice speaks into my ear through the speaker. It sings beautifully like a satisfied mother bird in the springtime. Singing to her children, and I'm one of the relieved children. Living in a reality with some sort of fantasy. My smile is brighter than the moonlight shining above my fatigued figure.

Still. Still I listen to Harry ramble proudly about London and what happened during his time there. Just proud I've encountered a break. A pause that pummels the consistent beat of my heart. Stops all time around me. And has me beaming wide and bright like a female in her pregnant glow.

Then Harry exhales this breath. This heavy, wholehearted breath. He tells me, "Turn around."

The instruction confuses me. "What?" And Harry repeats him again, "Turn around, Sweetheart."

This time I turn around obligingly. My breath automatically hitches when my eyes meet Harry's lanky figure. Brunet hair combed back and slicked down like the guys in one of those eighties movies. He's wearing tight black jeans with a fashionable rip at the left knee, and one of those peculiar designer shirts. An odd design that subconsciously shows he's a fashion trendsetter. And Chelsea boots the same black shade of his jeans.

Harry's beautiful. Handsomely beautiful, and my opinion will never change on his external beauty.

He's holding tightly onto white chrysanthemums. A bouquet of them in his hand as he smiles sheepishly at me. Free hand rubbing at his nape just as shyly.

I run to him swiftly. Arms wrap around Harry like they're scared to let go of him. Like Harry will fade through my hold on him and through my fingertips possibly. Into the windy, thin air.

When my hold on him let's up, Harry kisses my forehead softly. "I knew you couldn't face this weekend by yourself," he tells me. My stomach blossoms with chrysanthemums and roses and sunflowers and daisies at the knowledge one can have of me, myself. Someone who automatically can predict my limitations — strength and weaknesses. It only makes my
love for Harry grow fonder.

To have someone frequently and thoroughly observe you. Grow an interest, grow knowledge of you to their own accord, and have it revealed in your very perspective, your very eyes is an amazing feeling.

Instead of telling him that, my facade strengthens. "Seriously," I say. "You have to stop surprising me like this."

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look at me listening to fetus one direction albums. i hate that i'm like this.