I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter Thirty Five

Harry is practically bouncing in his seat, fingers drumming against his thigh as the stewardess goes to close the plane's doors. It's December 29th, a day that Harry couldn't have asked to come quicker because he's wanted nothing more than to see his friends since the day they left for the United States. It's a much tighter fit than the private jet they flew in, curtesy of the record label, but Harry didn't really mind it. It feels much cozier, in a sense, and kind of exciting. It's like an adventure, except you're buckling into a tin can with a few hundred strangers, soon to be hurdling through the air at speeds that could mean a death sentence for any bird that flies into its path. Still, Harry can't help but to beam with happiness.

Niall, on the other hand, is a completely different story. Harry glances over to him and sees an annoyed look masking his tired features, teetering towards the edge of absolute misery as passengers squeeze by with their luggage. They brush past in a rush, not bothering to apologize when they roughly knock their bags against Niall's arm. He's seething at this point, so Harry quickly reaches down to grab his hand, quietly hoping that the gesture makes the whole ordeal at least bearable.

"The shit I do for ya," Niall huffs hotly under his breath, side-eyeing Harry who doesn't even bat an eye at the comment. Because he knows, deep down underneath Niall's hard, rough exterior, there's a special place in his heart for his friends, and of course Harry, too. He would do anything for them, including a hellish ten-hour plane ride.

"At least they've got those Biscoff cookies you like," Harry replies, "You can even have mine, if it'll keep you from jumping out of the emergency exit."

Niall snorts, his face cracking into a small smile.

"I'll need about ten packets of 'em then, especially with this little fucker behind me."

As if on cue, Niall feels a forceful kick to the back of his seat, followed by the voice of a mother scolding her child.

". . . Make that eleven."

***

It's nearly four in the afternoon when they land at Heathrow Airport, and Niall's excitement level finally matches Harry's, but only at the thought of getting out of the damned plane. He almost even kisses the ground, though not intentionally, his legs to blame with how numb they are.

They wait inside the airport's hallway for their carry-on luggage, Niall making sure to text Louis that they landed so he can be ready to pick them up. It's nearly a forty-minute drive to and from London, but waiting on Louis doesn't seem to be a concern with the way their luggage has still yet to arrive.

"Excuse me, sir?"

Both Niall and Harry lose their train of thought at the small voice they hear behind them, so soft that they almost didn't catch it. They turn around and see a little girl peering up at them, big brown eyes almost doe-like. She starts fidgeting under their gaze, tugging at the end of her dress anxiously until her mother places a hand on her shoulder.

"It's okay, honey. Go ahead," she says warmly, smiling at Harry and then at Niall.

"I . . . I was just wondering if you color in those pictures every day. Doesn't that take a long time? 'cause when I color my coloring book I have to try reeeeal hard to stay in the lines."

Niall's utterly perplexed at first, but then he follows her line of sight and realizes she's staring pointedly at his tattoos. He tries to stifle his laughter at that, quickly squatting down so that he's at her level.

"Have you ever used a permanent marker before?"

The little girl fervently shakes her head, eyes going wider at the mere thought of it. "Mommy says I can't because it never comes off, so I only use the other kind of markers."