anobrain // narry au

before

this is going to be a rather short chapter. maybe because it lacks detail and it's a continuation from last chapter, and the next chapter is a continuation of this chapter lol.

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chapter eight. three words, eight letters.

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If there's one good quality a friend can have, it should be a simple trait of detection. Not special victims unit detection, but the trait to easily notice if something or even anything is wrong with their friend without bothering asking. To me, that is how a stronger bond is established.

DOING SOMETHING AFTER WORK meant a movie night in my habitually empty home with mum in Sydney and Cara currently packing for a week in London for a Topshop photo shoot. Even though Cara's presence is physically here in the house, it really is just myself and Harry sitting in the lounge for the past hour in silence.

Because Harry doesn't want to speak, he doesn't want to discuss anything. Not Gemma nor his family life anymore. That I don't blame him for, so I pop in a film closest to the television: The Parent Trap. It's been vaguely playing just the minute we've arrived here. With the multiple scenes of two different characters played by one actress with a moral plan to get their parents back together. And --

"Can we play scrabble? Do you still have the set I left here three years ago?"

It's an abrupt but subtle question that throws me off. Nonetheless I stand from the couch to walk to one of the closets in the hall, stored with junk and junk papers and clothing from Cara and I's younger years. It's hard to confess, but us Delevingne–Horan's have a mild case of hoarding just about everything from then and now.

I see the scrabble box looking intently at me. Red boxed and colorfully worded as my fingertips grab for the game before rushing back into the lounge. Harry had moved from the plush couch onto the floor. Sitting behind the wood filled with pop bottles and chips that may have been there before Harry and I possibly arrived.

But he doesn't seem to mind it. Grinning when I drop the scrabble box in front of him pridefully. I couldn't understand this sudden burst of pride since I always get slaughtered in Scrabble by every opponent that's ever challenged me, but if Harry desires to create words used in the everyday world, then so be it.

I'm only capable of forming single words with no adjectives nor verbs. The word 'on' preferably. While Harry forms the common adjectives, making double-plays and such with: hurt and suck too easily. He laughs at my attempt to form the word 'no,' earning a playful shove.

Harry forms the word lust when it's his turn again, and I find myself concerned. Possibly because it hits more close to home than not. "You're sure you're alright, Harry?" I ask curiously.

Harry sonorously sighs, not saying a word as his focus remains on the Scrabble board. Unintentionally skipping my turn when he adds the letters 'ove' beside the letter L in the four letter word lust.

I softly grab hold of his wrist. Getting his attention to focus on my strong gaze instead of on the board nearly filled with a mixture of pronouns, nouns, adjectives, and verbs. Harry doesn't follow my gaze. Instead, he intentionally avoids it and me until I'm practically pleading for him to look directly at me through a soft murmur of words.

And Harry looks bottled up. Like a soda just waiting to erupt with a severe amount of acid and carbonated fizz.

Almost like an endothermic reaction in chemistry. A reaction that absorbs a large amount of heat. Just maybe, unbeknownst to me, Harry's absorbing a mass amount of emotions affiliated with Liam, his family, and more activities in his life. It's unhealthy.

Unhealthy to take and hold and store everything in like this. Letting it all build, build, and build until he explodes like magma and igneous rock in a volcano.

Or the strong force of an earthquake although Harry wouldn't be the earthquake. More like the tsunami that appears after the high magnitude of the disappearing earthquake. Ready to wipe an entire city out, but the city he's prepared to wipe out is his mental health if he keeps all of this high magnitude bottled within him.

"And, y'know," I murmur however confidently so Harry can hear me. "You can tell me anything because I'm here for you. So is Zayn and Louis and even Liam. We're all here for you." It's an assurance — Harry needs all of the assurance he can get to keep himself sane if he's searching for that. It's what he always does.

He shakes his head. "No," he boldly says. "Not Liam—he hates me so much." his eyes finally look to mine.

"No he's doesn't," I croon sympathetically. Not sure whether Harry's telling the entire truth or if I'm telling him an entire lie. Either or, he shouldn't have to burden himself with Liam and negativity.

"But he does," Harry whines like an immature child whom doesn't get his way before they're scolded.

In this interim moment where Harry's green eyes -- mixed with a bright shade of brown that constantly reminds me of nature -- stands still. He scans and eyes me up grandiosely while sighing deeply. "Liam hates me," he boldly says.

"And why would you say that?" I question curiously with strong eyes gazing at Harry's as he stares into my own. A look I've never seen on Harry's face before prominently appears—a face of regret.

"Because Liam told me he loves me," he answers.

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Before anyone says this is confusing, the next chapter -- which should be published soon -- will make more sense. And plus, Harry hasn't finished his sentence yet.

...ooh ooh. Liam loves Harry.

Thanks to everyone who commented last chapter and those very nice compliments to me. They honestly mean the world to me. Especially when you're very unconfident in certain areas within life.