I always update fast because there's never anything for me to do. I go to work, go home, drink green tea, then watch season five of The Office as a daily routine.
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chapter nineteen. feeling blue.
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I like when recent details in your life casually fall into place, like it's meant to belong there. Almost as if the last part to complete the puzzle — no other pieces fit because it was just bewildering and unadjustable, but that one piece that isn't so peculiar fits and completes it. Rubs off a good feeling. One that isn't usually present in my routinely life.
I AWAKE WITH A blue feeling lounging around in my gut. It isn't a bad bluish feeling; like when Santa skips over your home during the holiday season. It's more of a positive blue feeling of tranquility and security — two important factors to have in your life because safety is everything. Keeping your sanity stable is everything, also. And my sanity is lying on the uncomfortable lounge floor beside me.
His hair dishevelled and covering the entirety of his face, but he looks peaceful. Calm and peaceful with his eyelids shut to a golden dream for only him to see. The brightest star in the galaxy is shining through the sheer curtains of the lounge beaming onto his lifeless figure. Giving his paling skin a beautiful glow.
I've never experienced this before.
With all of the many times Harry has slept over my house as I've slept over his, I've never seen him in this way. I've never intensively observed him sleep beside me — take in his beauty and his adolescent flaws. Like the unnoticeable peach fuzz around his mouth and a small amount of acne residing on his bottom chin. The obnoxious way he snores. Yet this makes Harry, Harry.
The odd way he rolls his tongue over his gums in his slumber that sparks a concerning noise — like Harry is croaking like a frog.
Although the weird things about Harry contrasts well with the great things about him. Like how he abruptly smiles in his sleep, or subconsciously lifts his knee to rub against my shin. Harry's a wild sleeper. All the same I watch him for some more minutes, thoroughly processing them before noticing a third party lying on the couch; Cara.
She's relaxed, mumbling incoherently into her phones speaker. I can't paint out everything she says until Cara mutters 'mum,' then I find myself climbing from the lounge floor to Cara's side. Intentionally ignoring the hard shove in my ribs from her elbow because my mother is smiling bright on Cara's iPhone screen. Brown eyes shining and skyscrapers in her background — she's in New York City. It isn't difficult to figure.
It is difficult for my mother since she's still searching for regular, everyday people to scout for her fashion line. She hasn't found much luck with her narrowing eyes although, her eyes scan the royal green coloured fabric in her surroundings. My mother talks to the two of us while cutting and measuring the fabrics as I can't help but think about the sleeping boy just below the couch with the same colour eyes.
Though they're a burning jade with a tree-bark brown, and mixtures of all greens when you're standing so, so close to Harry. Still he's .. pretty. Pretty and handsome and beautiful and fit and, he crosses my mind frequently when he's conscious to the world or not.
Mum has to depart minutes later so I wish her some luck on her line and future models that use to have a regular habitual life living and working in the city. And my mother can, surprisingly, flip their entire world upside down by adding a male or a female or anyone to her fashion line. For fashion week — who'd have known my mum would have so much power in and out of the fashion world?
Then her image is gone. Moments later Cara is gone, saying she has a simple shoot in Liverpool. Not too far from Manchester but far enough for a simple commute but busy schedule like my older sister. Cara, a half-hour later, leaves wearing basic sweatpants and no makeup as people know her for the utter opposite on magazine covers and runway catwalks. She's just so amazingly different.
Like one of those trendsetters in this so called horrendous fashion world everyone speaks about, like it's a controversy.
Which I wouldn't know since I'm the one on the outside observing in. But when you have witnesses and people affiliated with the inside watching out, all you can do is take their word for it. As I do with my mother and Cara, and sometimes Louis since he has a lot of knowledge on fashion trends and such.
People, like the three of them, shouldn't be stuck within the invisible walls of simple Manchester. They should be exploring and travelling and experiencing other countries. Especially Louis — he's such a peoples person. One that's all smiles and laughs and full of fun. People need, deserve, a Louis in their lives because he has a demeanour that shines brighter than the sun continuing to shine on Harry.
Speaking of Harry, there's a grumble that sounds out from his sleeping body. Then he's slowly rising as he stretches his limbs thoroughly. Two of his hands rub at each of his eyelids before the green pair trail around the lounge room, eventually landing on me. I fumble under his gaze until Harry shoots me a drowsy smile that I don't hesitate to return because it's Harry.
Harry -- my best friend of a near decade. The one that's grown up with me as I've grown with him. To take in his growth and development and his interests through the years from late primary to early secondary to college. The one I am habitually accustomed to being in his presence, even if we aren't on stabilized terms.
He blinks his eyes repeatedly before moving away from the suns glare. He stands to his feet awkwardly as he nearly trips over the itchy discomfortable quilt we shared last night. When the both of us were too tired to travel up the stairs to my bedroom, so we agreed on a painful night on the lounge floor. Not that I minded at all —
"Morning, Ni," he greets politely. And Harry's always been polite since we were younger and in our sixth year he'd say hello to everyone in his sight with such confidence. They'd all swindle over Harry's aura and those prominent dimples when he smiles faintly or broadly. I've always been envious of the dimples on his face.
"Morning, Har," I repeat with nonchalance, deliberately ignoring the sly smile growing on my face when Harry stares at me longer than usual.
Then soon after we're simultaneously brushing our teeth in the bathroom upstairs. Playfully nudging each other's shoulders as I internally sing the alphabet twice just to be sure my teeth are brushed in an appropriate duration. While, also, avoiding a deliberate reaction to the cheesy glances Harry shoots me in the mirror -- that captures both our features -- so I won't flush before breakfast begins.
And I fail. I fail when Harry volunteers to make tea and eggs for the two of us and sausage for him as I sit on one of the kitchens worktops watching him thoroughly. How Harry's growing biceps clench with the slightest of movements and they clench even more when he scoops the food onto two plates and pours the boiled water into two separate mugs. He, automatically, walks to stand and lounge between my parted legs on the worktop. A flush brushes my cheeks – I embarrassingly look away.
Harry has a growing yet knowing smile on his face. Curving his lips upwards when he asks, "May I kiss you?" but I'm quick to deny. Not because I don't want to, but because sausage breath isn't a flavour I want my tongue to intermix with. I tell Harry that and he frowns. Those muscular arms wrap around his chest stubbornly.
That side of Harry reveals itself as we both playfully fight against one another. Harry fighting to kiss my lips as I defend myself by turning left then right then up and away from his sausage pouted lips -- he pecks mine with accomplishment and I grimace at the unfamiliar taste. Genuinely I wonder how Cara can eat such a breakfast food.
My mother doesn't favour meat as I'm not too fond of any other animal other than turkey and chicken. Cara -- Cara enjoys everything with no care in the world, and it's not bad. It isn't bad at all for a very successful model to have a variety of an appetite. As I've mentioned she's a trendsetter, regardless of the fashion and clothing lines my older sister enjoys to work for.
We both continue to eat in a relaxing silence. One that is very unusual when having a peculiar friendship like mine and Harry. All the same it's nice even when we're amiably laughing and jokingly teasingly one another until. Until Harry's grows serious. His eyes burn into mine as his arms relax on other side of my thigh when he leans forward to situate his posture.
Harry murmurs questionably. "Niall, where does this leave us?" The atmosphere instantly changes. Like summer to winter or hot to cold. The aura freezes and I hug myself with my bare arms with no answer in mind — I'm very stumped and confused and clueless and I mumble with a shrug, truthfully, "I don't know."
"What do you want to be?" Harry asks hopeful. His green eyes optimistically sparkle. I inwardly coo at the innocence that brushes Harrys face when he does that. Yet, still, I'm not so sure.
He exhales sharply, mumbling incoherently underneath his breath. Then those eyes look away from mine for a brief minute before landing on me again. A broad smile curves Harry's extremely pink lips. "Would you like to go on a date with me, then?" his tone is still hopeful. Amusement is prominent in my best friends tone.
"Is this – date," I start before genuinely stuttering over my words. The question throws me off, nonetheless. "More than friendly between us?"
Harry nods as I squeal excitedly. It isn't masculine for an adolescent male like myself, but in the twenty-first century not every characteristic of a human needs a gender label upon it. In a way, every human living in the newer generations are trendsetters upon society's stereotypical outlook on everyone and their physical appearances. I still squeal and Harry chuckles when I hug him tightly. He hugs me back.
And it feels nice to be wrapped in his arms. The blue feeling of security and our simultaneous atmosphere is nothing but tranquil. There's no apparent stress of a transition between work and school and schoolwork that's due in an exact twenty-four hours after the class is dismissed. Everything stands still, it feels as though time stands still with us. As if, theoretically.
"So," I start off with a knowing smile on my face. This is the most I've smiled in a time frame of the morning, and the blame is obviously Harry. "Where are we going for our date?"
Harry shakes his head immediately. I frown and pout at the reaction. "That is only for me to know," he taps my nose with his index. "And for you to find out." Harry puckers his lips as a signal for me to latch mine onto his, but I deny him any access. He huffs as I say, "No more kisses until after our first date."
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