Strictly Professional [Narry]

Chapter 44.

After his previous conversation, argument with Harry, Niall finds himself sitting down on the bottom of the stairs in his work place weeping softly. People have come and go, nobody that he knew yet they didn't bother to help him, to ask him if he's okay – which he wasn't. His shoulders shook with each desperate sob, his face buried into his hands as he tried to muffle the sounds.

It's horrible. It hurts like hell. He's never loved someone so much as he loves Harry and there's a constant ache in his belly, in his heart, that craves for him, that needs him so, so much. He's finished for the day, his hours are up yet he can't bring himself to leave his work place. He broke down, into a fit of tears and cried and cried on the stair case. It's not something he wanted to do, obviously, in fact he found the whole thing completely embarrassing – but he couldn't help how he felt for Harry. It's too much.

Some time later, he hears the sound of approaching footsteps and he sniffles, hiccups himself into silence in case it's Harry. The sound of the footsteps slow down and somebody is sitting down next to him on the stair case, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. It's Liam. Liam's finished for the day, too, and he's with Niall. He doesn't say anything to Niall but he doesn't need to. Instead, he stays there, on the staircase, comforting Niall as much as he could. That's when they hear another set of footsteps and when they look up, this time it's Harry. He has one hand stuck in his pants pocket, while the other hand is carrying a briefcase. At the sight of Niall and Liam, his footsteps slow down and he looks at them both. Niall wipes his tear-stained face with the back of his hand, sniffing and he turns back around, not wanting to look at him. Harry carries on, walking past Liam, down the steps and out the door, leaving Niall to burst into tears again.

"Come on." Liam exhales deeply, helping Niall stand up and shuffling him toward the revolving doors, pushing him outside. That's when it hit Niall. A flashback from the night of the attack. It hits him hard, in the chest and his mind is clouded by hooded figures and punches and kicks and shouts. He remembers them shouting, shouting horrible, insulting names – names that he's heard countless of times before in high school, in university. Niall stops, wincing a little as he clutches at his chest, steadying himself against the brick wall outside his work. It's not the first time this has happened. Everyday he goes too and from work and these flashbacks occur, these traumatizing memories of the night of the attack flash back in his mind and it's too much for Niall. Liam stops, comes to a halt and he stares at Niall, who's bent down in double before him.

"Niall?" He asks, sounding a little concerned for his best friend.

"Just give me a minute." Niall murmurs, squeezing his eyes shut, avoiding looking at Liam because he can just imagine how Liam is looking at him; judgemental and sympathetic, neither of the things he needed right now. Niall finally exhales sharply and stands up straight, raising his chin high and he waltzes on ahead of Liam, down the path and down past the alleyway where he was attacked.

- - -

Anger is seething through Harry. He's livid, tormented and agitated. He's heartless; he saw how Niall was, saw how badly Niall was affected by the break in their relationship and all he did was walk past him, like he was nothing. But Niall wasn't nothing to him. He was the whole God damn world and he needed him now, more than ever. He needed to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him that everything was going to be okay even though he didn't entirely believe that himself.

His flat, his studio apartment is a mess. He's trashed around, thrown a strop, a tantrum and he's thrown anything he can lay his hands on. Glass is shattered everywhere, his sofa is tossed aside, drawers and cabinets have been thrown around and now, now he's exhausted with having done so much crying, so much sobbing. His face is tear-stained and his throat is sore and raw and his eyes are red and puffy but he doesn't care. He's sitting by the wall-sized window of his flat, crossed-legged on the cold, wooden flooring with a bottle of vodka by his side and in his hand, he holds a picture of he and Niall. He's sniffling, crying softly at the sight and that's when he reaches out, taking another swig of the half-empty bottle of vodka.