Ok, so basically, I have an English controlled assessment coming up in two days that I have not planned for AT ALL, so, as a kind of practice, I wrote this.
My assignment was to write a short story based off of the poem Poppies by Jane Weir. What my English teacher wants me to do is write about a mother sending her child off to war, and this is my attempt at "Narry-fying" that, I hope you like it and that you commmentttttttt :)) haha
“Harry! Come on babe, it’s time to leave!” Niall shouts up the stairs, tears filling his eyes as he thinks of what is to come.
“Coming Ni!” Harry tumbles down the stairs, straightening his formal blazer, yellow stitches woven onto the grey material.
Harry stands before Niall, reaching up to disrupt the tears that fall as he cries. Niall catches Harry’s wrist in his hand, the cold silver band on his fourth finger emblazoned on Harry’s warm skin.
“Don’t cry.” Harry pleads, blinking back his own tears because he has to stay strong, because if he doesn’t, Niall will surely break.
“Ok, Ok, Ok.” Niall sniffs loudly, forcing a smile as he turns away from his husband, regretfully taking the spasm red paper of a poppy into his hands.
With a deep breath in, he turns on his heel and pins the flower to the lapel of his darling’s blazer, reaching up to brush imaginary dust from his shoulders as he closes his eyes and feels Harry’s broad stature under his palms for what could be the last time.
“Harry, don’t” Niall insists as Harry scoops down and bundles Dusty in his arms, the cat purring contentedly as Harry nuzzles his nose into her fur.
Niall sighs as he leaves his husband by the door, standing on his tip toes to take the roll of sellotape from the top cupboard.
He can hear the boy cooing as he loops the tape around his hand, biting off the end with his teeth and retreating back to where Harry is standing, minus their black and white cat.
“I asked you not to.” Niall sighs as he palms over Harry’s clothes, removing the white cat hairs as they glue themselves to the tape wrapped around his fingers, before reaching up to Harry’s shirt collar and smoothing it down over the striped tie.
“I had to say goodbye.” Harry excuses, not realising the affect his has on his husband until his presence is no longer there.
Harry can hear the clanging of pots in the kitchen and he follows after Niall, sighing as he sees him washing the utensils from their romantic dinner last night.
“Niall.” Harry breathes, wrapping his arm around his sweetheart from behind and tucking his nose into the crook of the blonde’s neck.
Harry feels as Niall grips the sink with his hands, muscles tightening as his knuckles turn white.
He turns in his spouse’s arms and even with soapy hands, his fingers cannot evade the blackthorns of Harry’s hair, reminiscent of the curls once in their place.
Niall’s eyes slip closed as Harry’s nose knocks against his own, nudging his head to the side so he can press his lips against Niall’s.
“Stay with me.” Niall whispers one last time, smiling as his husband’s chuckles sound through the small kitchen area.
“It’s the last time, they promised.” Harry repeats, only leaving the comfort of the other’s arms when he hears timid footsteps on the stairs.
“Blake?” Harry calls, leaning back into Niall’s chest as their daughter rounds the corner.
“You’re leaving?” She asks; her 15 year-old mind wise beyond its years.
Harry nods solemnly.
“How long for this time?” She blinks back tears as their kitten bushes against her legs.
“Just for the weekend.” Harry smiles, opening his arms for the teenager to fall into.
Niall leaves the pair alone as they embrace one another, empathising with their daughter who has had to say goodbye almost as many times as he has.
Niall can hear the honking of the horn outside and he opens his door, sending a small wave to Captain Tomlinson who smiles from behind the wheel.
He turns around to see Harry kissing Blake’s forehead before she retreats back up the stairs with a final wave to her hero.
Harry kicks the door closed and Niall is bewildered for a second before he can feel the cold wood against his back, contrasting with the fire burning beneath his skin as Harry kisses him passionately.
Niall manages to break through the barricade of Harry’s hair and ruses it before his husband is pulling back leaving him with swollen lips, red cheeks and bruised collarbones.
“I love you Ni.” Harry whispers, his poppy dishevelled and his collar upturned once again.
“I love you more my military man.” Niall chuckles, fixing Harry’s appearance before opening the door once again, leaning on it as Harry surprises him with another peck before bounding out to the jeep and throwing his bag in the back. He hauls himself into the passenger side, standing up and professing his love for his man and his daughter as Louis barrels down the street.
When Blake returns to Niall, later that day, they spend the evening speaking of how proud they are of the man who has saved more lives than he would care to admit.
And when their daughter falls asleep in his arms, Niall dutifully carries her back to her room and settles her under the covers, just like every other time when Harry has been called away, their girl growing a little bigger every time.
The next day, when Niall receives a phone call from Harry, he laughs at the jokes his husband tells, putting him at ease. And when he hands the phone over to Blake, he takes pride in the way her eyes light up as he tells her of the giraffes and lions they drove past on the way to the base camp.
They fall asleep, curled up together on the sofa and pictures of Harry and Niall’s wedding scattered on the floor, reminiscent of times been and gone.
When Niall doesn’t hear from Harry the next day, he doesn’t mind, because he knows his husband is safe and secure, he said so himself only mere hours ago.
Blake begins to get suspicious on Sunday, when there is still no word from her father, but she hopes for the best because Harry has always returned home safe before.
When Monday rolls around and Tuesday has been and gone, and when Wednesday has attacked and withdrawn and Thursday morning breaks, Niall is no longer hopeful because it has been a week. A week with no contact from his adoring spouse.
A week when it was only supposed to be a weekend.
When there is a knock at the door on Saturday morning, Niall is the first to leap up and fling the obstruction open, his face falling as he looks into Captain Tomlinson’s eyes and sees only sorrow.
Niall is numb when Louis hand him the yellow sheath of paper, thanking God that Blake had been invited over to a thoughtful parent of a friend, an attempt distract her from the worry of where her father could be.
When Niall reads the words ‘Missing In Action’ for the fourteenth time, his tears have dried and his soul is broken.
Blake returns later that evening to find her dad surrounded by empty bottles of liquor and broken crockery. Upon seeing the torn up sheet of paper, she loops an arm around her father’s waist and supports his weight on her shoulder, up the stairs and into her bedroom, knowing his own would be too painful for her father’s broken heart to handle.
When Niall is in rehab for alcohol abuse and Blake is residing at her grandmother’s house, several months later, the door to an empty home clicks open and a broken man calls out the name of his best friend.
