drunk voicemails ↠ narry

2.5

Each step taken seemed to last longer  than the last with every soft thud of his converse cladded feet as they hit the paved walkway. It seemed as if every person within an eye range only kept their focus on the familiar brown rooted man that passed by almost daily. They were waiting for another breakdown; for another occurrence where they can remember how much of a better life they must have than that despondent, miserable kid that appears so woebegone.

His mind was scattered, he had no clue what he was doing. His body and his head were not in sync today (or any day in general, really). All he knew was that this needed to done (it would've been better if it was done years ago but better late than never).

Three thousand two hundred and fifty-eight steps were the exact number of times the blonde's feet hit the ground on the way from his house to his destination. He counted each time he walked by and each time the number was the same. His stride was never too large or too tiny. By counting the steps he took, it kept his mind occupied so he wasn't capable of over thinking what he was about to do.

The number count grew closer to the exact amount second by second. His heart was pounding, his pale hands were trembling nervously, and he was terrified that his knees were going to give out.

Three thousand two hundred and fifty- six.

Three thousand two hundred and fifty-seven.

Three thousand two hundred and fifty-eight...

He stopped and stayed still for a good moment or two as he listened to the intense sound of his heart rate. Thump thump... Thump thump... Thump thump. He wondered, is it always that loud?

Slowly glancing up at the blue and white prairie style home, it's as if his nerves doubled in size. With shaking legs, he wobbled up the driveway as he pathetically attempted to calm his anxiety. A petite sized garden to the side came in view and the once well known faded and worn, blue painted door was finally in sight. He never thought he was going to see that door again in his life after what happened. It brought back memories from such a long time ago. Visions of children sprinting and giggling as they entered that door numerous times, tapping the top of the doorframe as the biggest of grins were plastered on their face.

Reality set in and he soon realized that that was merely a memory. Nothing more and nothing less. The wooden door somehow seemed to grow in measurement. Breathing seemed to be a laborious task but he knew he had to zone in on keeping calm. Gulping loudly, his quivering hand fisted as he brought it up to the middle of the closed entrance. After three knocks, he quickly stepped back and cast his eyes at the doormat.

Loud footsteps and rustling could be heard behind the door and once the signature creak of the hinges sounded, everything froze. The eyes of the two people that used to be such good friends, locked together. Nervous blues met confused greens in a unwavering stare.

"Niall." Harry snarled, eyebrows furrowing in what was either frustration or puzzlement.

"H-Harry, before you close that door or-or yell, let me explain what happened that day. Yo-You never heard everything." The blonde stuttered, softly hiccuping as he spoke.

"Why should I even care? You never seemed to care about me, much less how I felt. You are heartless and you are cold and I don't think that has ever changed since the last day we talked." The brunette scowled, stressfully running a hand through his shaggy and long hair.

Niall closed his eyes in fear, trying to hold on to any of the courage he once had. His heart was hammering in his chest and panic arose but he couldn't let it get the best of him.

"H-Harry, please. Give me time to explain and I-I promise that you'll see things differently."

"See what differently? I don't need glasses to know that what you did was absolutely horrendous. You left, or so you said you did and you expect me to forgive you?"