[3] how did we end up here ;; nh

54 » The Plan

Los Angeles, United States of America, 19 May 2024

"Has she replied anything?"

I lift my head toward the bearded figure slouched on the opposite sofa—Harry, proud of the trapezoid-shaped mustache he's been bragging about for weeks. "Not yet," I shake my head, frustration coating my voice.

"Well, at least her whole family are in your favor."

"Actually, she replied once."

Harry leans forward. "And?"

"And she said she's doing just fine, just—'no worries'."

"She doesn't wanna talk?"

"Not a chance, I guess. After telling me to stop reaching out and stop talking to her mom... she blocked me again."

Harry exhales through his teeth. "Damn."

"I know, right?" my eyes sting again as I collapse back onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling until it blurs. "I miss her so much," I whisper. Then, without thinking, I add, "This is the sofa we used to fuck on."

Harry jerks his head back, scandalized. "Bloody hell, Niall. I had no idea it still works."

A broken laugh escapes me. "Man, she loved it," I say as the joke tastes hollow on my tongue, more an attempt to stitch myself back together than to amuse him.

I miss her in everything. In the silence of my room, in the way my chest tightens every time I reach for my phone and there's nothing—no call, no text, no Avril. I miss her laugh when Louis cracks a stupid joke, I miss the way she'd hum without realizing, I even miss her arguing with me over nothing. It's like every corner of my life has her fingerprints, and now it all feels empty.

Most days I just drift. Lingering around the house, not knowing what to do with myself. I sit on the couch for hours, staring at the same spot on the wall. I wander into the kitchen and forget why I'm even there. Everything feels heavy and meaningless without her.

If it weren't for Harry practically moving in, I'd be gone by now. He stays at my place, making sure I eat, making sure I don't drink myself to death. He pulls me out of bed when I don't want to move, and when I'm too exhausted to speak, he just sits beside me, solid and steady, like an anchor.

Sometimes Louis drops by with takeaway, trying to make me laugh even when I barely manage a smile. Liam comes around too, distracting me with random stories just to fill the silence. They come and go, but Harry—Harry stays.

And then—out of nowhere—Zayn showed up one evening. He carried two glass bottles of milk, straight from his farm. I didn't even know he owned a farm now. But there he was, standing in my doorway, telling me to drink it because it's fresh and good for me. For the first time in weeks, I actually laughed. It was ridiculous, surprising, and somehow comforting.

They all keep me alive in their own ways because I am literally their baby. 

And then Avril's parents reached out. I thought they'd hate me. I thought they'd shut the door on me for good. But they didn't. They told me they still believed in me, that I mattered, even if Avril can't stand the sight of me right now. 

It doesn't erase the pain, but it makes it lighter—like maybe I'm not completely lost. Like maybe there's still a chance, someday.

At least now, I'm not as pathetic as I was last week. Not completely.

"To think about it, actually, her mom is probably right."

I turn my head to him, my brow knit tight. "The fact that Anne is behind all this?"