** MAJOR EDITING**
Niall realises he likes Harry, his best friend. But Harry's already drowning deep in a toxic relationship with Liam, his companion.
A story of love, lust, friendship, and abandonment between five friends during their last year of...
"What has you so happy?" The excitement upon Harry transitions into crazed foreseeably; suddenly. He answers, "The uni I told you about, the school in Cambridge. They want to interview me in a few weeks, Niall. This is so exciting –"
Harry begins to ramble consistently about the Dentistry programme once again. I feel nothing but a severe amount of happiness for my boyfriend and my best friend, but that self-consciousness reappears. As it always does when my future is questioned again and again, repeatedly.
I hate it. I hate it, so much.
That feeling of incompleteness. When you have nothing going for you. Not one thought. Not one clue. And the future appears quicker and quicker by the minute, each minute. I gulp to suppress the dark truth and its realisation. Immediately faking a facade to lessen everyone's concerns — everyone being just Harry. I hug him whilst he continues his rambling.
THE NEXT DAY I awake earlier than all. The day I realise I have no reference to cooking, and I completely suck at it. One would say. With one other ultimatum I decide on ordering room service, hoping it'll arrive in time, and Harry awakes a little after I make the call for an order.
Harry's a great cook still. A great cook, a great person with a great personality. One that is sensible and empathetic towards most situations. He's a great listener and observer, and Harry is just fantastic. Hopefully, in about several weeks, the Cambridge university will be able to sense and see that during an interim amount of time with him.
With Harry's two birthday presents in both hands and the silver trays of breakfast I've ordered, making my way back to the path of our temporary bedroom. I place the two trays on the beside table whilst pressing my lips onto Harry's forehead causing his eyelids to flutter responsively. How can one be so sleepy all of the time?
Harry's in a deep slumber — still as beautiful as ever. With the same breathtaking beauty as he has obtained every hour of the day by my intent observation. My lips touch his dishevelled hair. Then the cold feel of his two flushed cheeks. Until those green eyes with swirls of browns and vague cerulean spots lock with my own.
Abruptly, by familiar muscular arms, I'm pulled closer to the birthday boy. Like I'm a gutted fish wrapped by a metal hook, being reeled in closer and closer to the successful capturer. Harry is my successful capturer — witty and content and positive and smiling that crooked smile he habitually smiles with. Nonetheless it's an eye catcher.
"Happy Birthday," I greet Harry who elicits a broad smile. "How does it feel to be eighteen for the first and only time?"
Harry chuckles breathily before I pass him his tray of breakfast and the birthday themed gift bag. He reaches for the objects eagerly, automatically and subconsciously locking eyes when Harry moves to open it.
First he retrieves one of the two black suede jewellery boxes. The one that holds a gold necklace. The one that I spent several weeks saving up for, with some not so punk rock Punk Rock savings too, of course. The necklace that has the letter 'H,' engraved on the pendant. That, and a solid, symbolic heart, with the letters '- N&H,' written, cursively underneath the prominent heart engraving.
A sheepish smile brushes my face watching Harry's crooked thumb grazes over the necklace. My heart pummels at the entranced, burning gaze Harry's eyes set on the golden coloured necklace. He slowly looks up at me before engulfing me into a tight hug. One that says everything he doesn't make an effort to utter. But his lips kiss me behind my ear softly, then pecking my lips with the same demeanour.
Harry opens his second gift next. A shirt that goes well with the odd fashion style he's been, recently, developing -- a crazy patterned satin material collared shirt. Something fashionably ridiculous like the several I've seen in Harry's closet the past month. But if anyone could pull off a shirt like this is Harry. No matter how incredulous it is.
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All the same Harry's entirely thankful and he makes note of his gratefulness by thanking me, properly. For the rest of the morning we spend together eating a spinach omelet and toast.
