this // narry au

08. #thuglife

a/n: i felt that I tortured you enough by not updating

8 - #ThugLife (or as i call it, "I didn't choose the thug life, the thug life chose me")

Wrong article.

It had to be. Because Niall is nice and has a nice laugh and is a nice person and he just can't be a criminal.

But the picture on the side is of Niall's mugshot-- him with a sly face and kinda proud looking, and hair was blonde; and it's obvious my denial is useless.

(He is a cute blonde though).

My eyes scan over all the charges Niall had been placed under. There were so many that I had to go to bed; then continue to read the next day.

Stealing. Shooting. Stabbing. Drug dealing. Robbery. Theft. Assault.

You name it, and I read it about Niall.

The only thing he hadn't done was murder (from what I knew).

It was actually depressing to read; seeing that I was locked in a store with a criminal for a couple hours and the most badass thing he had done was ram into my leg with that freakin' ugly pink disney bike.

I mumble a few swear words under my breath and click the pictures.

All of them were pictures of Niall with his blonde hair, except for the one picture that was Niall exiting the store we were trapped in with his lilac hair from a week ago.

He probably didn't even really dye his hair on accident.

Motherfu--

"Harry," Zayn sing-songs, popping his head into my bedroom the next morning. "There's a guy outside our door that says he wants to talk to you."

"Tell him to go away." I mutter, typing more about Niall onto my laptop.

I'm not creepy. Just cautious.

"But he says he's a police investigator..." Zayn trails off and my head shoots up.

"The police are here?" I whisper, even through there was a close to nothing chance anybody was listening.

"Yeah." Zayn replies. "Good luck, you gangster. After he's gone you can tell me all about the thug life."

I roll my eyes and walk out of my bedroom and open the front door.

"Hello Mr. Harry Styles!" The investigator grins. "How are you?"

The man that looked like he had taken so much Botox to look younger that his smile looked superficial, along with his blindingly white teeth.

"I'm fine." I don't even open the door all the way. "What do you need?"

"We need to talk about Niall Horan."

"Niall? Horan? Nope, never heard of the bloke." I attempt to slam my door shut but the investigator pushes past it.

"I know what happened last night Harry. You were trapped hostage in a store with a most wanted criminal. It's okay; I know it must have been extremely traumatizing." The man attempts to console me as he steps inside my house. "I'm here to talk things out."

I accidentally scoff; but he sounded like my school's guidance councillor when they figured out I was depressed.

"He didn't seem like a bad person for the few hours I knew him."

"He stabbed one of our officers last week to steal some beer from a liquor store."

So that's who he stabbed? A police officer? What kind of shit police officer would let him get close enough to stab him in the first place?