A sense of Déjà Vu washes over Harry as he peers out his dorm room window, watching Niall with a nagging urge of want. Here he is again; desperately yearning to talk to Niall, but the fear inside him crawls back up and shoots him down to the cold ground. He questions himself, asking why it’s so hard to walk up and apologize. It’s his boyfriend, for God’s sake.
Boyfriend. Harry hopes that term is still right to use.
His sad eyes follow Niall’s jogging form, tattoo-littered body slick with sweat and muscles flexing and jumping under his flushed skin. His lips are parted slightly, letting out little puffs of air, chest raising and dropping in the rhythm of each breath. He has earbuds plugged in his ears, the music playing from his iPod blocking out any outside noise, only leaving him with the song lyrics and his own thoughts to hear.
It’s been two days since he’s talked to Niall. He doesn’t understand what he did wrong; he was just trying to help him realize that some silly dream wasn’t worth losing all he had. He didn’t mean to hurt Niall, but Niall hadn’t – and still doesn’t – know that.
Niall is accustomed to pain. He’s use to being looked down upon and known as the child that wasn’t good enough. It was different for his brother.
Everyone loved Greg; Greg was the good child, knew what he wanted to do and achieved it. Now he has a wife and a kid and blah, blah, blah. Long story short, Niall isn’t cared about anymore. But really, he never was cared about in the first place.
It was always GregGregGreg. Greg is so talented; Greg is so lovely; Greg is so handsome; Greg is so fucking perfect and worshiped like some sort of damn God.
Once Niall hit High School he was so tired and fed up with trying to keep up with Greg. So he starts skipping classes, tries his first beer at a party, takes his first hit off a joint in the backroom of some club that he snuck into. He kissed his first boy that night, too. Whether the euphoria he felt was from the kiss itself or the fact that what he did was taboo and rebellious, he didn’t know. That’s why he did it again, and again, and again until he was confident that yeah, he really liked kissing boys.
He gets a tattoo that soon turns into five, then ten, and so on until he couldn’t count the amount on his fingers and toes. Gets a few piercings; ditches the Polos, and khakis, and nice dress shoes. Finally he’s transformed into a true bad boy with the typical cliché background story to follow it on. Life was so much simpler this way, Niall always thought. Until he saw the green eyed, curly haired boy in the window. That’s when it all started going to hell again. He knew getting attached to him would be bad, but that’s what he wanted right? To have it bad, to be bad?
***
It has to be perfect, Niall tells himself.
He nibbles on the tip of his pen with his head cocked to the side, thinking. When the lyrics finally come to him, he scribbles them down on a piece of paper in a rush, the words almost unintelligible. He tugs the guitar he found buried deep in his closet to his lap and strums the chords he came up with moments ago, singing the words quietly along. He grins, bright teeth showing proudly because this is perfect.
Look who’s the talented one now?
It’s finished, finally finished after hours of brainstorming and writing and practicing. He drags his sweaty palms down against the denim of his skinnies, cheeks puffed up before he lets the air out slowly through puckered lips.
Let’s show ‘im what I’ve got.
His legs start moving before his brain could catch up. His eyes watch carefully as his feet move along the concrete parking lot, guitar swinging idly with the sway of his arms. The surroundings are familiar, like the tree that sits off to the side, leaves nearly gone, leaving it bare. Niall always looks at that tree on his way to see Harry, always interested to see what’s changed.
He reaches the door of Harry’s dorm room, feet abruptly stopping, suddenly feeling stuck and frozen. Everything is numb and dull, though his hand reaches up and knocks quietly despite of, and before he could take two blinks it opens.
Blue eyes meet green; confusion is quick to become panic-stricken in both. A soft gasp comes from Harry, and the impulse to reach out and pull him into a long overdue hug was almost too overwhelming for Niall, making him almost do it.
Harry looks a mess, like he’s been crying for hours and too lazy to wash himself up afterwards. Niall understands that though, he’s been in the situation once before. But he’s past that, irrevocably immune to show his emotions, even if he’s alone. He has his slip ups, of course, like a recovering addict who falls back into taking drugs again. Like the meltdown he had with Harry a few days back. He promises himself that it won’t happen again.
But that’s what they all say though, isn’t it?
“Niall,” Harry whispers, eyes bubbling up with tears again. “Um, here. Come in.”
Niall follows him, closing the door behind. It won’t shut fully, a crack in the frame keeping it from doing so.
“Yeah, it’s a bit broke. Hasn’t shut right since . . . ” Harry goes quiet, knowing better to not bring that back up, for the sake of them both.
“I wanna show you somethin’,” Niall mumbles, sitting down on the bed with his guitar in hand. Harry doesn’t question him, just giving a silent nod because the ability to form words seems impossible. (And maybe it’s because the ability to say no to Niall seems impossible, too.)
Niall lowers his head to try and block out Harry’s curious gaze, chin almost touching his chest. He watches his fingers as they move fluidly across the strings, eyes slipping shut and lips parting to let out the string of lyrics begging to be freed.
There’s a shop down the street,
Where they sell plastic rings,
For a quarter a piece, I swear it.
Yeah, I know that it’s cheap,
Not like gold in your dreams,
But I hope that you’ll still wear it.
Yeah, the ink may stain my skin,
And my jeans may all be ripped.
I’m not perfect, but I swear,
I’m perfect for you.
And there’s no guarantee,
That this will be easy.
It’s not a miracle ya need, believe me.
Yeah, I’m no angel; I’m just me.
But I will love you endlessly.
Wings aren’t what you need; you need me.
A few tears faintly stream down Harry’s cheeks. He’s almost angry that he’s letting Niall sweep him off his feet like this – with a song, of all things. He thinks he should be furious at Niall, for being such a twat before.
But he can’t help but realize how sweet and beautiful this song is, especially that Niall had written it himself. And he also can’t help but realize how deeply in love he is with him, so deeply that it might almost be a bad thing.
But you know how Harry is with things, (and people) being bad.
__
A/N: Hellooo! First off, I just wanna say that the song Niall wrote in the story is actually Endlessly by The Cab. I honestly love the song (and the band), and I thought it would fit perfectly in the situation, so I used it! Haha :)
Anyway, make sure to vote/fan/comment! Love you all. x