Lily of the Valley

2. Moving In

" 'Arry put ya back into it!"
"You're the one who's dragging it and scratching the hardwo—NiALL!"

    So. Moving into a place on your own isn't as easy as meets the eye. And one would think the process would be made easier with two people... that was not the case. They were only on the first item and they had already broken the bookcase's shelf. After shattering the second cabinet's glass pane, they convinced themselves that, a: it will look better if they trash all of the glass on it and b: they could attempt to carry it to the side yard and use a hammer to get rid of their moving stress and—yeah. Maybe they should just hire professionals who actually know how to move this shit.

They're flat was on the left side of the building, halfway built underground, and down a mini flight of stairs. Well not that mini.
    Niall had bruised the fuck out of his shin because he was on the lower part of the stairs and Harry was moving something big and heavy way too goddamn fast.
    And not to worry, Niall did not hesitate to express his concern in a "delicately" vulgar way, probably startling every resident who lived in the flats.

    "YER A RIGHT FUCKIN WEASEL, YOU MASSIVE FUCKING GIANT. YEW CUNT-ASS BITCH, I COULDA DOIED.
In retaliation, Harry decided the best course of action was to fake an injury and pretend to slip and roll his ankle... hence, the cabinet crashing to it's demise. Then, Harry was trying to get up and his palm landed on a piece of broken glass.
Where do we go from here? Isn't it obvious? Gaslight.

    "Do you see what you did. YOU FLACID FUCKING LEPRECHAUN- YOU DID THIS."
    "Um do I look like I am your legs? No. You fell, bitch. Walk it off."
    "I CAN'T WALK OFF A HAND NOW CAN I?!"
    "Okay, then cry about it."
    "Ohhhh I'm gonna give you something to cry about."

    And so the 2 year old Olympics began:
    "Fuck," Niall declared eloquently in realization. He leaped on top of the fallen cabinet, then over the side rail on the ground level. This man zoomed. It started raining and he put his yellow hood up, but some water didn't mean anything. Harry was still ready with a license to kill. Niall took off like a mad man, racing over the bridge in the middle of the pond, dashing through once, straight, and purposefully placed flowers, then up the mountain where the cherry blossom trees and shrubbery would hopefully offer some shelter. Although his jacket was bright yellow, he dove, quick as ever, attempting to camouflage under a picnic bench with 2 wheel barrow's laying on their side next to the table, hiding him from the rightful beast of the hour, the Best Friend Since Diapers.

    Niall was much faster than Harry, even though Niall ate more and only jumped, didn't actually pop that pussy, dancing when he was on stage like Harry did. Harry was winded as Niall turned the sharp corner and dashed out of his sight, but he would not let up until justice was served (for actually no reason when he went to think about why, but oh well, nevertheless, he was finishing this). The rain was doing a terrific job blinding him; now Harry was beginning to have his "luck of the Irish" belief confirmed. Rounding the corner, heaving and wheezing like crazy, he saw the vague silhouette of Niall's raincoat at the end of the stretch, only he wasn't running. There was probably either no where else to run or hide, or Niall had given up, ready to admit his loss, and surrender.

    Harry flew to meet Niall's still figure for the ultimate takedown. He felt like he was going so fast that he might actually break Niall's ribs, but both have them have survived worse plots of revenge on each other. Harry closed in, never slowing down or hesitating, and soared through the air tackling this man so hard- they almost rolled off the cliff, Harry acted quick and pinned the Yellow Raincoat Man's back to the mud with his eyes closed then, huskily got out, "Got you, sick son of a bitch," before he decided he was permanently out of breath. He collapsed on top of the Man without opening his eyes, exhausted.
"Um... Harry?" A familiar voice spoke up behind him.

    "Oh no." Harry turned beet red. His heart stopped. He knew that voice. That blasted voice came from his initial target... and not the one he pinned.
As if on cue, the rain let up to a drizzle revealing the features of the scapegoat and obliterating any chance of disguising Harry's face.

    Harry opened his eyes and lifted his head. As he lifted up, he noticed the stranger had a slight stubble and a cleft chin. He fully propped himself up on his fists, not wanting to get dirt in his wounded palm. And he saw the stranger was knocked out. Whew. One, thank god, and two, oh fuck, are they okay?
His hair was a dark brown, short, and split down the middle, and his chubby cheeks melted into his chin. Harry got off very carefully, as if any sudden movement might wake him up.

    In one hand, he was holding a stick that branched off into two ends. Harry had heard about these before. They were used to find water sources, a... a dowsing rod. He surveyed the area for water. He saw a deep black hole. Picking up a pebble and walking over to the pit, Harry got on his knees, still catching his breath, and dropped the pebble down. He counted...1 ...2 ...3 ....40, before he heard the faintest splash. He looked back to what was in the other hand of the stranger. It was an abnormally long fishing pole with the line dropped down, what Harry had deciphered to be, an old well.

    "Let's go, Niall, before he wakes up."
    "Hold on, hold on, wot's that attached to it."