anobrain // narry au

we

I've updated a lot this weekend and I couldn't be anymore proud of myself in this moment. No matter how shit of a writer I am.

Tell me what you're expecting towards the end of this story and why.

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chapter sixty. this is sempiternal.

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THE RING TWIRLS IN between my thumb and index finger continuously. Bright crystals blinding my own crystal eyes. The dark sky has two night lights along with the glistening moon. The transition from day-to-night and my day, my birthday, is still existent.

My eyes look to meet Harry's as he looks at me sceptically. "I'm not proposing. God, I'm only eighteen." He begins to explain.

The words make me laugh loudly. A wholehearted laugh I haven't experienced in the matter of sincere weeks. Because I'm only nineteen. I've only been nineteen for probably nineteen hours already today. At thought of a future — an everlasting, sempiternal future is beyond scary. Especially the different pages we're on right now, just nowhere near prepared.

For the now or the years to arrive.

"Yet," Harry adds cheekily. "It's a ring of promise." Those words elicit confusion since the both of us aren't together— not even close enough to genuinely make a promise, or at least the kind of promise Harry's searching for from me.

Do I even want to be with Harry at this point? The question is too complex to answer.

They say love is like a fire. The flames can console you; warm your heart up like receiving relaxing heat on a cold Christmas day. The kind of warmth from a burning fireplace. Or the flames can burn you fatally. Turn you and your heart into remainders of soot and ashes. I'm not too certain I want to get burned again by Harry's dangerously hot rays.

It's sort of sadistic that I wouldn't mind the metaphorical flames surrounding me, burning me constantly when I'm with Harry. In his presence. The Harry that makes consistent and subconscious mistakes, one wouldn't say they should be considered as. I've gotten accustomed to burning— the result of the aftermath.

"H–Harry," I stammer out unconfidently, confusingly. He automatically reaches for my hand. A pleading look in those jade coloured eyes of his, so unbelievably prominent.

"Not that we have to be together now," he clarifies. "But the promise we made months ago needed an official seal. I want you to wait–for us, for this. Our future and us."

That feeling of numbness — the photographic memory of the blond haired singer in those tabloids blurs out my surroundings and clouds my eyesight with a prominent image. The two together. The two of them vaguely canoodling without a centimetre of space between them. A sudden rush of anger makes its accustomed presence from within.

"You can't do that!" it's an outburst. "You can't go out with people every night and then expect some sort of commitment from me. When do I actually cross your mind, do I ever? When you're finished with one of your sexcapades in your hotel room late at night?"

Harry stares at me. A look that tells he's taken aback before the facade he's been recently wearing often builds up and his composure remains steady and stable. "Please, Niall," he pleads to me. An apologetic look upon his mistakenly beautiful face.

It only causes me to frown as I stand to my feet abruptly with hopes of a departure. Harry grabs onto my wrist closest to him to prevent my desire from happening. Immediately I jerk away from his tight hold only to walk a few steps away from the powerful radiance of Harry.

"I would wear that ring if you weren't in the tabloids with that blond. Or if you didn't cheat on me with Liam more than a handful of times. I would wear the ring if you weren't travelling or doing whatever you desire — thinking you can show up home, come back here and steal my heart like the times you've done before. You did them, Harry, and maybe it's time to move on."

Harry looks at me stunned. Gaping and nearly bewildered — an untold story in the eye.

That's how I decide to leave him, stunned and gaping. Instantaneously retrieving another cigarette from my pockets as I head down the street to my home. The physical one instead of that old, warming feeling I use to encounter amongst Harry and his simultaneous presence.

Love is a crazy thing— a deadly and entrancing feeling two people can feel, but it makes you delusional. Love is this kind of trance, this strong trance one has the upmost power to leave you within. You can't sense flaws, everything is beyond perfect, the person you're with is beyond perfect.

In this situation it isn't the practical case. Truth begins to surface from underneath a longterm facade ones been building up. That perfect vision you've once seen starts to depart away from the fog covering the actual picture. The fog that, once, clouded your brain. The trance of love deluding a person.

I was deluded. My entire birthday and beforehand left me in this sedated trance with unexplainable and indescribable feelings toward Harry. It may not be today or the next or its following but one day, I hope to encounter a trance of love with both the delusion and the actuality.

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Personally I thought this chapter was a little too dramatic for my usual nonchalance and pattern. But I guess a confrontation had to happen and unfold sooner or later, it still was soon to happen.

idk i'm just commonly unconfident. my english teacher gave me a writing assignment where i had to write a poem, fifteen lines, about everything i like and/or love about myself like some sort of list. and i didn't do it because i personally felt it was too narcissistic for my tasting.

it's not a good excuse but, still. hOW ARE YOU GUYS?! how's school going for you guys? no one talks to me anymore and it's beyond upsetting. in some form it's kind of my fault because i don't initiate anything but i'm not a mean person i promise.