Niall Centric One-Shots

☾Fever Dream ☾

It's after an agonizingly drawn out day of attempting to write songs, that Harry spills his three-month-held secret. They're seated in the grainy sand, hands warming bottles of alcohol and feet adorned with sand.

Harry's laugh is loud in his ear, but the only traffic he can hear is the wind and waves. He'd find it peaceful, but Harry ends up leaning on his shoulder, warm breath fanning over his neck in short bursts. Harry's arm wraps around Niall's waist as he dips further into the sand, and he whispers about her.

The news of her is spilled all over Niall's neck; her name and existence rolls down his neck to dip into his spine and melt into his toes. Niall sobers up instantly. His body is suddenly chilled, and Harry pulls away with a distant giggle like he hadn't just snapped Niall in two.

Niall tries to smile, tries to act as if he had seen the punch coming, but Harry doesn't notice.

He tries in vain to push her name deep into the crevices of his forgotten memories, tries to hide her away in the darkest corners of his brain. But, all he can do is down the rest of Harry's drink until he's yelling at him with a hazed voice.

Later that night, when everyone's gone back to their rooms, empty bottles in hands and sand on their lips, Niall feels dread blossom in the pit of his stomach.

He tries to sleep it off, but he ends up throwing it up. He's bent over the toilet, throat torn and tears streaming down his face. He downs his fourth shot of cheap liquor, and all he can see is the image of him snogging her.

He vomits once more, and Niall doesn't know if he's crying from pain or from Harry.

He flushes the toilet in an attempt to keep the images away, in an attempt to forget him, but it's not that easy when him is Harry.

__ _

In the morning, Niall wakes up with the sour taste of lethargy lingering on his tongue and a regretful headache pounding in his skull. He wakes up with the image of her in his head.

He scrolls through his phone; all of his contacts look like Harry's name. When he looks at his texts, all he can imagine is Harry texting her. He can hear Harry's deep drawls of I love yous and her quiet blushes.

It gradually gets worse.

The coffee mix looks like the deep colour of her hair, the blue of his coffee mug matches her eyes, the red of the kitchen walls is her lipstick, everything he sees is her. The lettering on the broadcasts, the newspaper headings, the coupons tucked under his door, the title of the book sitting on his coffee table, everything has her name plastered perfectly next to Harry's.

Niall just wants to close his eyes. But Harry is, too important.

He calls Niall, voice hushed over the other end of the phone, and Niall does his best to ignore the barbed wire carving into the walls of his stomach. He can hear Harry smiling over the end of the phone, but it's not a smile full of love and affection.

Because Niall is always the best friend.

He's never the lover, the one, the boyfriend. He's just My best friend Niall and nothing more.

Niall accepts the dinner invite; he can't say no.

__ _

Harry looks at Niall like he's the sun, but Niall knows Harry looks at her like she's the world and the galaxy above. She's a constant, but Niall always sets.

When Harry greets him at the restaurant, he smells different, something like pine and mint, something musky and foreign. Maybe she bought it for him, or maybe Harry bought it for himself. Whatever the answer is, Niall knows Harry didn't put on this new cologne just for him. Niall tries to remind himself that he's nothing special. He focuses on the scent of the rosemary sprinkled on his food or the olive oil next to him instead of the thought of Harry trying to impress him.