Forever & Always - (One Direction, Narry)

Chapter 20: Talks & Crushes

.:Niall:.

Harry and I had arrived back to the flat about an hour after we had dinner at Panera. Everything that's been going on recently has been a whirlwind; the paps have called us faggots, a girl we've never met before told us that we, of all people, changed her life, and we've been accused of lying to our fans.

No matter how much of an act I put on for Harry, I could never truly deny that those comments didn't hurt. I wanted to be known for my music and my ability to make someone smile, not my sexuality. Why does it even matter, anyway? I guess the media and the paps have their reasons, but I'll never understand. How is calling someone a fag satisfying? What does that earn you besides the knowledge that you're a cruel and heartless person?

I can definitely lie to Harry about it, though. I felt like I needed to be the strong one, for his sake. If he was upset and he saw me upset, he'd beat himself up about it every day for the rest of his life. I just couldn't let Harry see that those words actually got to me.

Pretty pathetic now that I think about it. I'm always the one in the interviews to say, "Be who you are," "Never change for anyone," and "Do what you love," so why can't I take my own advice?

Maybe because this is all a lie, I though. Or maybe it isn't.

Maybe because I like spending time with Harry.

Maybe because the way he smiles makes me happy and warm inside.

Maybe because his left dimple is deeper than his right dimple.

Maybe because his eyes are the perfect shade of playful, yet deep and alluring green.

Maybe because he cares about everyone on the planet more than himself.

Maybe because Harry Edward Styles has the ability to light up any room.

Maybe because I love him.

...or maybe I'm losing my mind.

Don't get me wrong, Harry means the world plus some to me, but I couldn't ever truly love him. This is all a lie, remember? We aren't gay; none of us are. This is all a publicity stunt, this isn't real love.

Or maybe it is.

"Niall? Is that you?" a Bradford accent called, literally seconds after I had opened the door and stepped into the warmth and safety of the flat.

I followed Harry into the sitting room, which was vacant except for the empty box of pizza and candy wrappers littered across the coffee table. The jacket that adorned my body slid down my arms and off my body; I carefully hung it on the coat rack, securing this material onto the hook.

"Yeah, it's me," I replied. Moments later, Zayn appeared from behind the kitchen door with only his head peeking out. His eyes were squinted at the ends, like they always were when he was happy or in deep thought. "Hiya."

"Enjoy yourself, mate?" Zayn asked, turning his attention towards Harry. The curly-headed lad didn't reply; I could only watch as he slipped off his boots, tugged off his jumper, and headed up to his room. "What's his deal?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing, we just...we ran into some paparazzi and they..."

"They what?" Zayn slipped through the door frame and came towards me. I guess he must've noticed that I was getting a bit choked up so he wrapped his tattoo-covered arm around my shoulders. "Niall, what'd they do?"

"They...they told us that we've been lying to our fans that we're...we're fags," I answered.

I felt Zayn's body stiffen up around mine and I could literally hear the sounds of his jaw clenching and his fist tightening. "Niall...you can't let that shit bother you, all right? That's all it is anyway; shit! You aren't a fag, you are one of the greatest guys I have ever met in my life!"