anobrain // narry au

edge

Devastating news about the passing of Louis's mother. Condolences to him and the rest of the Tomlinson family. I can't begin to imagine what he's going through.

I'm sorry I've been inactive the past weeks. I've been rather busy and I'm a huge procrastinator.

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chapter fifty-five. hnscc.

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THERE IS A ONE hour time difference between England and Florence, Italy — Possibly the whole of Italy also—. Where I'm stationed with my mother for the time being. Observing her do her job as a travelling fashion designer whilst Harry is still in London for his scouting job too.

I made sure to tell Harry all about the proposal and myself agreeing to accompany my mother to all of the beautiful countries interested in the newest contemporary fashion. He sounded nothing but delighted over the phone at my story which only made me more excited to go along with my mum. Disregarding the amount of months I won't be able to see Harry as I do.

So I lay in my hotel room on the silk material known as sheets. Rich in fibres and comfortability. My phone held tightly in my hand as I video chat with Harry because it's one of those weeks where there is a necessity to catch-up with one another. He tells me about the encounters during his work hours and I ramble about the beautiful, vintage, aesthetic Italy somehow carries. And the originality of Italian food. Good and mighty.

Since the last time I was in Italy it wasn't the greatest experience. Harry and I argued most of the time, leaving no room for a positive adventure around the country. It must have, also, been a terrible eighteenth birthday for Harry too. I don't mention my thoughts over the video call fortunately, for the two of us. There isn't a need for confrontation.

Harry speaks about the time he earned the privilege to see his mother, Anne. I speak about witnessing the fashion world behind the scenes alongside my mother. It's haunting to see what others cannot. The pressure, the screaming, the aggressiveness of agents on these high fashion models.

It gradually leads to snide and cheeky remarks from Harry. One, that, leads to peculiar sexual talk. The one that ignites your bones, elicits lukewarm chills down your spine. Speeds up the constant pace and beat of your heart. At fault it's the excitement, that high dosage of adrenaline pumping throughout the body. To have not experienced this in a while —

It is frustrating. Utterly frustrating. Mentally, emotionally, sexually, psychologically frustrating. In the interim moment, minute, it all diminishes. The promising words from Harry leaves hair dishevelled and tousled. Lips red and swollen. Illuminated eyes and this growing pit in my lower abdomen bubbling proudly.

The sound of virtual groaning crumbled my ribcage like a kind of thin soot. Everything erupts into severe flames as my high over clouds all — the foreign feeling all so familiar at its moment.

Harry's eyes stay on me as I attempt to catch my breath steadily. "I love you, Niall," he tells me through an uttered whisper.

"I love you, too, Harry,"

OVER THE NEXT FEW days consist of scissors and sewing and cutting and sewing. And by now I'm certainly uninterested. Whether it's with the sassy attitudes or the despairing coffee everyone seems to drink. I've already, internally concluded, this occupation isn't a fit for me. It makes me wonder how and what causes my mother to genuinely love it.

From afar I watch my mother yell at a petite lady who's nearly close to tears, all concerning. Yet I turn away to pay attention to my phone, answering a few text messages then scrolling through social networks and medias. A professional picture — possibly taken at a photo shoot — of Harry appears on my newsfeed. Caption-less but adoring as usual. They give off this mysterious perspective, all the same curiosity.

"Niall!" the voice of my mothers calls from across the room. My eyes automatically lock with her and her petite figure. "Can you grab that silky white fabric, please? Take the stairs down one level, and bring Lucas to accompany you."

My eyes meet with blond hair and bright eyes. He nods his head at me before the two of us simultaneously stand to our feet.

"Lucas, but you can call me Luke," he holds out his hand for me to shake. I take ahold of it. "Niall," I tell him responsively as the two of us go to comply my mum's order.

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All of these fillers..

Sorry again for the disappearance. For some assurance, I've been quietly active on wattpad writing my third and possibly final story titled dream. I haven't found the time to get around to Anobrain and I sincerely apologize for that, honestly.