anobrain // narry au

we

chapter thirty. how to die for nothing — part i.

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The pair of blue eyes that meet my similar pair cause me to grumble. Grumble melodramatically to my distress. To see my father sitting on the couch, in the lounge, watching television everyday for the past week, is beyond irritating. Only because I'm scheduled for a movie evening with Louis and Harry momentarily.

I tell my dad, he exhales a tired sigh. "Why do you have so much hate towards me?" My dad's arms flail up in exasperation. A triggered look upon his face, that causes me to feel a bit guilty. Just a tad bit.

That is until I think about the many reasons why I act the way I do when my dad's presence surfaces. The same dad that abandoned his original family for an artificial family. The new "normal" society has listed and stated a new example for. And my family isn't it — to my dad, we're not the trend he's looking to set and experiment with.

I get angry. Abruptly agitated, and I'm sure my face turns a maddening, reddening colour. So easily foreseeable. This is the anger that's been building and building and building for years now; decades. Like a teapot, so close to boiling over, I easily explode.

"You left me, our family, to fly across the country to have an affair with one of mums bosses! You're horrible!" my voice cracks. I crack as my anger dissipates into hurt, disappointment.

"Niall," my dad whispers, taken aback from my outburst. An outburst that's been waiting for an appearance for many many years. "Me and Michael – Michael and I are engaged. We have been for a months time."

Even more displeased, with a mass amount of thoughts flowing through the dense barriers known as my head, I say nothing further. But my exit says more than any words I could've put into words — actions speak louder than words, in general.

NICOTINE FLOWS INTO MY system. It fills and files through my bloodstream and I don't mind. Because I'm letting loose, releasing some longterm steam with a person who knows close to what a deadbeat father is. Harry has knowledge; He has a clue about someone he isn't allowed to speak of around his family. A bloke that helped bring Harry into the world, yet he's more shunned than Lord Voldemort.

Harry inhales the stale taste of our shared cigarette. We've been chain smoking on the roof of an abandoned house for the past hour already. An abandoned house with two abandoned, adolescent boys with no idea on what father figures precisely are.

Since my father only comes around when he wants, basically. Abrupt and rare. Just as rare as my sister's and mother's arrivals from their complex yet desired jobs in the fashion world. They have reasons on why they disappear for days, for weeks, for months: to support and finance our family as one whole. My dad has no reason. He never did.

I let out a bitter laugh at that. My eyes stare at the concrete below me. I envy its stability — why can't I be that stable physically and psychologically? A broad arm pulls me into a muscular chest instantaneously. Soft pink lips kiss my forehead, yet I unacknowledged it. Letting the silence enclose us like asylum white coloured walls on a habitual day for a patient.

"Where do I go from here?" my thoughts ask hypothetically. There were more questions I really want to ask but my mouth could barely form anymore words than I just did.

Harry still sighs. "I don't know, Niall," he answers. "Neither of us do." And he couldn't be anymore correct — that's the thing about life. You don't actually know your next move until the scene plays out right before your eyes. You never plan to muster up courage or to explode like a ticking time bomb, because life is abrupt.

Abrupt – things appear quickly as they depart swiftly. Which would support the meaning of living life on the edge by doing risky things.

I stand to my feet before Harry, he frowns at me confusingly. "We – I. I need to get away," I say with a confidence I've never acquired before. With outcomes and possibilities in no mind, I'm absolutely sure I can't go back to the house tonight knowing my father is stationed there.

As if Harry's reading my thoughts he nods understandingly. His hand reaches for mine, not that I deprive Harry from holding onto my hand. His skin is so soft like warm blankets from the laundry dryer. Like a hot washcloth on a winters day kind of soft. His hand in mine simmers my hostility down three notches, thankfully.

We walk out of the building to the car. Hands swinging together in a rhythmic pattern that reminds me of a naive primary student on their first day of schooling, though myself and Harry are kind of similar. Living in this unrealistic utopia when we're in each other's presences. Though, I don't seem to mind it.

"What are you thinking about?" Harry's bright eyes look down at me as we carefully walk down the crooked stairwell leading us to an exit. The gloomy surroundings still don't take the light from behind Harry's naturalistic coloured eyes.

Casually and honestly I answer, "Leaving." Because I am, currently, thinking about leaving the Manchester town. A town I've grown up in for quite a while. "To like, London."

"London?" there's hesitance in Harry's bright eyes as we both abruptly stop in front of his car. "Why would you want to leave to London?"

Subconsciously I shrug. My eyes meet Harry's in such a natural manner. His eyes scan every inch of my face, Harry's hands tighten around my shoulders as he eyes me up and around and around casually. I don't bother to utter a word because there's not much to say. There's nothing I can express how I feel in words, anyways.

It's like I'm tongue-tied. Like I'm standing in front of millions and millions of people, waiting for me to give a simple speech about a form of technology I've created on my own. Or as if I'm about to break into song. One that the entire crowd is genuinely besotted with, but I can't. Because I'm stage-frightened about the overpopulation of people coming to see me. Me and my entertainment. Yet it isn't, it shouldn't be like this with Harry.

I'm standing before my best friend. My kind-of-sort-of-maybe-soon-hopefully boyfriend. A guy I've known for way too many years. We started as friend before everything between us, as of recently, escalated. It shouldn't feel unnatural to vent my inner thoughts to him. It shouldn't be this complex .. but it is.

With a soft sigh I say, "Lets go." Harry's eyes widen responsively, and I struggle underneath his hard gaze. "Or just me," I counter with a faint murmur.

Those bright green with a naturalistic brown continue to gaze and scan me like I'm this document Harry's been typing for days and weeks now. It feels like years before his throats clears and he says, "Okay, let's go."

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Niall's song is so good, i cry. Do you guys like it?

Because I'm no good, physically, with humans, I'm turning down a class trip scheduled on Thursday. Why am i like this? lolol.