The Weekend (Narry)

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"It wasn't a waste of time if you learned something."
Unknown

"If you could just drive a little faster."

"Stop talking."

"Really, I don't think you need to be going this slo-"

"If you nag your boyfriend like this all the time, I wouldn't be surprised if he declined your proposal." Niall snaps, and Harry is at his wit's end. Not only did it take ages for him to finish cleaning his hole-in-the-wall pub, but Niall also feels the need to drive at a pace so slow a snail could beat them in a race.

It really isn't all that much to ask to be driven to Dublin, especially when Harry is paying him a lot of money. Respect is in order. Harry bites the inside of his cheeks, trying his hardest not to get himself kicked out of the small, European car.

"There's nobody else on the road."

"You don't know that."

"I'm pretty sure," Harry argues. "That I do. We are in the middle of nowhere, on a tiny road, surrounded by a landscape that looks like the Green Giant threw up. There is absolutely nobody else out here."

"Ey, Tourist. Shut up." Niall looks at his reflection in the rear view mirror, and Harry groans.

"I am paying you a lot of money to get me where I need to go. On time. The least you could do is pretend to care."

"We'll get there. Just relax." He says, smoothly. Harry scoffs.

"I need to get there on time. I have a schedule. There are things that need to be done, when they need to be done. I can't lallygag around, wasting all my time." Harry rants to the Irishman driving him to Dublin. "I only have this one weekend to propose, or else flying here was a waste of money. If it isn't perfect, then I won't be happy, and if I'm in a shitty mood, then you can bet that Louis won't be the happiest either. When Louis isn't happy, he doesn't listen. I need him to listen, or else I can't propose. So, if you would so kindly get off your Irish high horse, step on the gas a little bit, and drive me as quickly as legally possible to Dublin, that would be fantastic."

Niall continues in driving, as if he hadn't just heard Harry's complaining. After seconds of silence, Harry gives up, turning to face forward and putting his feet up on the dash.

"Ey, get your feet off me dash. Christ." Niall swats at Harry's legs, and Harry listens to him.

"Drive faster."

"I'm driving as fast as I can."

"As fast as you can, or as fast as you want to?"

"For fuck's sake, if you complain like this all the time, it's no surprise your man ran off to Dublin for a weekend. I would want to escape too!"

"I don't complain all the time. I complain when I have an unhelpful Irishman sitting in the driver's seat."

Niall is silent, driving on down the road, ignoring Harry. Harry takes the opportunity to fiddle around with his luggage. After zipping and unzipping his bag for the thousandth time, trying to think of something to say, Niall finally snaps.

"Will you stop with that noise?"

"What noise?" Harry asks, continuing to move the zipper.

"Christ," Niall mutters words under his breath that Harry doesn't quite catch, reaches out to yank Harry's bag from him, and keeps one hand on the wheel.

"Hey!" Harry pulls back on his bag, so Niall can't take it. "Let go of my luggage."

"Quit making that obnoxious noise then." He is livid, somewhere at the corner of aggravated and just plain done.

"Drive faster."

Niall steps on the gas, the car jolting forward. The road is bumpy, and driving fast does not help. Harry's bag bounces around, nearly falling off the seat. Harry himself is thankful he's wearing his seatbelt. "Happy now?" Niall asks, snarky.

Before Harry can answer the car sputters, letting out an ugly cough before Niall can save it. In what feels like half a second, the car goes from eighty to zero, and Harry bites the inside of his cheek. "Did this car just..."

"Your fault, Tourist." Niall says, taking his keys and exiting the car. Harry is flustered, unlocking and opening the passenger door.

"No. This is not my fault. This is your fault. Fix it."

Niall turns to face Harry. "And how would you suggest I do that, hmm? I'm not a mechanic. I'm a bartender. If you want me to fix you a drink, just ask. If you want me to fix a car, you're fucked."

Harry is frustrated. "This cannot be happening. I need to get to Dublin."

"I need €600, but you don't see me stomping my feet."

"You don't need my money. You want my money. And if you want my money, you have to earn my money."

"I may not need your money. But you need my help. If you want that, earn it."

a few people have commented, and i just want to confirm that yes. this fic is inspired by leap year