One Shots

Moral {au & od}

mor·al •ˈmôrəl,ˈmär      noun: moral; plural noun: morals       ❝a lesson, esp. one concerning what is right or prudent, that can be derived from a story, a piece of information, or an experience.❞

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There was always a moral to a story. Whether it be something like: be safe, do not believe everything, treat people kindly, trust no one, etc., etc. However, no moral is complete without some common sense. Now, the story I tell you is not real, but my dreams.

                My life was normal; I was just a boy. I was just that loud teenager who hated school, but I loved to chat with my best mates at the back of the classroom. I am that kid that would get in trouble for singing too loud at the back of class—that obviously was not music class.

“Hey kid!” My old history teacher would yell. Let me tell you, he talks about World War II, but I think he could have been in the war itself. He was in the late sixties—no idea why he was still teaching at that age—and he had snow-white hair. Not snow white like the princess, but the colour of snow.

“I’m sorry, sir.” I would mutter, quieting down. He did not like me, but when I apologized, he looked more hopeful—like one of his students was trying.

If I skip ahead to present time, I would tell you that I am one of those famous people you might have heard of. I was one of those people girls loved, people hated and even better—celebrities envied. Okay, not really. I was one-fifth of a boy band.

You see, three years ago I was normal. I was just loud, and kind of like an innocent looking troublemaker. Teachers never loved me, or hated me; they just liked me. Students were fond of me, and I had a few close mates.

Now I sing in some cheesy boy band – who by the way, cannot dance. I love my four new mates…one more than the others. I might have pulled a Lance Bass and closeted—to the public—gay. I have had my fair share of publicity stunts—that by the way, they all knew I was not straight, and I stayed friends with all of them. They were kind women, and made great new friends while I was on tour.

“Hey,” my best mate—ahem, crush—muttered deeply. His voice was deep, and at the same time, it was just as soothing as a little child’s giggling was.

“Hi,” I said, or stuttered. He made me so nervous, he did not know it – or at least he did not notice it. He would always say ‘hello’ and I would usually just wave and stutter out ‘h’ to him. I never really understood how he did not put two and two together.

Before I was this, this famous guy featured on some of most popular magazines; I used to imagine me marrying some girl that loved me the way I loved her, had children, had an amazing career. Now, that is all ruined. I am not normal, I am not even straight anymore, and my career is singing in front of millions. I make millions, but I wished I were normal.

“Is there anything we need to know?” Our new manager asked. He stared at the five of us, curiously raising an eyebrow.

First, I mentioned I was not straight. This resulted in them asking if it was okay if I were to ‘date’ women they would introduce me to. I did not care; I did not have a boyfriend. The only person I wanted was he, him as in Harry Styles of course.

Liam mentioned that he had a girlfriend, Danielle, who he met when we were on The X Factor. Louis mentioned he had a girlfriend, but he was breaking up with her to focus on the band, and work, more. Zayn did not say much, but that he could have a girlfriend sometime soon, since he was bit of a ladies man. Harry did not mention anything, said that nothing was important.

Three years after that first meeting, was the day. What day is that day? It was the day I was drunk, and drunkenly confessed my love for Harry. He was definitely not drunk and just laughed jokingly – thinking I was lying, joking, or whatever.

“I love you,” I slurred, clinging onto Harry as he dragged me away from the pub. It was my birthday, and the mates decided to go to pub and celebrate. I was twenty-one of course. We were in America – I guess it was called a bar here, or maybe it is a club.

“Niall…” Harry laughed, patting my back slowly. “Funny one mate, I love you too.” He poked my nose cutely, making me giggle. When I was drunk, I had a tendency to giggle.

“No,” I slurred – trying to sound stern – while waggling a finger, also drunkenly, towards Harry – I think. “I am in love with you.” I could not see him properly, but I think he rolled his eyes.

“Niall,” Harry whined, “I have to take you home. Now stop joking around and just let me pack you.” Harry was not weak, I knew that, and I would always try keeping my weight on the ground. In the end – he won; he would tickle me, and lift me up, as I tried squirming away, instead of weighing myself down.

“No, I love you. I’ve been trying to tell you that for almost four years.” I said, sobering up finally. It didn’t take long for the water Harry offered five minutes ago, to finally kick in. “You were so oblivious, but I was never gay. I was straight, like Liam…or something. I never once had feelings for a guy. I guess you could say I am bisexual. But I’ve only ever loved one guy, in that way, and that guy is you.” I sighed, finally letting all those feelings come out in a quick sentence.

“Niall, we have to go. I was supposed to meet Louis soon.” Harry whined, trying to grab my hand. As soon as he said Louis’ name, I pushed his hand away, making him sigh. “Niall, I’m serious, Louis said he had to talk about something.”

I was not technically gay, but hypothetically, Harry was. Harry might have been oblivious to my feelings, but he was also oblivious to his hard-core feelings for Louis. I would notice him gazing at Louis, in the same way I would to him. I would see the jealous look in his face, as Eleanor showed up, kissing Louis’ cheek – in the same way I felt about how he looked at Louis. I could hear the love in his voice when he mentioned something he and Louis were doing.

“Harry,” I sighed, “you’re an idiot.” I muttered, leaving the pub on my own. I could hear Harry’s footsteps behind me, stomping his way towards me.

“I’m not done talking to you, Horan.” Harry never called people by their last names, and that was one way I knew he was not pleased with me right now.

“Yeah, sure.” I muttered, turning towards Harry. Harry finished stomping towards me. I could see his face calm – only slightly. Before he grabbed me, somewhat roughly, and kissed me – with the same roughness he did to grab me. I did not know what was happening really, but he was kissing me, and that made me happy. I did not really kiss back, but smirked as he kissed me with all his power.

“Kiss back idiot,” Harry murmured, still kissing me as he murmured. I shrugged a little, before pulling Harry closer. He was taller than I was, and this was getting awkward. I was short, and tippy toeing was not fun. I decided to jump on him, and wrap my legs around his waist. Harry did not seem to mind as he gripped me, holding me closer.

“I love you idiot,” I murmured, finally kissing Harry back – but more passionate. Harry grinned, as he pulled away. He held me up as he spoke, “I love you too…I was afraid to admit it for the past few years.”

Usually, there is a moral to a story, however, not this one. There is no moral. There is no moral because this never happened. I was never Niall Horan, from that boy band called One Direction. I was not lying when I said I knew the boys. I was at university, at the age of twenty-one, I finally met Harry at that pub. He was performing, with some guy in the back, playing guitar. And that was when I fell in love with him; my moral was that: he was right, not wrong.