I Want It Bad - Narry

Chapter One

It’s kind of pathetic, Harry thinks.

He stares, (more or less gazes), from his dorm window at the parking lot, which is currently being occupied by Niall and his mates. He watches as Niall takes another long, drawn-out drag from the cigarette between his fingers, the smoke filling his lungs before flitting past his plump lips. His head throws back as he lets out a heavy, boisterous laugh –– probably at a joke from one of his friends –– and Harry practically moans at the sight.

Yeah, it’s definitely pathetic.

This is what Harry calls his past time: staring at the gorgeous blonde whose name is Niall Horan. Harry can’t help it; he’s just so perfect.

Though, in most people’s eyes, Niall is far from that. With his piercings and tattoos and frequent consumption of liquor and drugs, Niall Horan would be what is called a “freak”, or “loser”. Harry doesn’t think he is any of that, but why would that matter? He’s practically invisible to the world. No one cares what he thinks.

He swats away the bad thoughts and goes back to watching Niall — who is now kicking around a soccer ball with his best mates, Louis Tomlinson and Zayn Malik.

Niall boots the ball back and forth with his feet, promptly kicking it over to Louis in one rapid motion. Louis stops the ball with his right foot in ease.

“Gotta’ be better than that, Horan! Your game is shit!” Louis winks at him and chuckles when Niall flips him off in return.

“Sod off, Louis. I’m out.”

Niall peels off his sweat-drenched tank top and tosses it aside. Louis’ eyebrows pull together as he whines. “Don’t be a pussy, Niall. I was kidding!”

“'M just taking a cig break, don’t get yer knickers in a twist,” he says while he pulls out another cigarette.

“Better lay off those, man. Gonna’ die from ‘em,” Zayn comments with a smirk.

Niall snorts and motions to the university building. “It’d beat living in this shitty place.”

Both Zayn and Louis nod in agreement at that. Niall yawns and leans back against his black car, stretching his arms up high in the sky. The sun bounces off his sweat-slick skin, making his toned biceps and tattooed torso glisten.

That’s one of the things that intrigue Harry, Niall’s tattoos. They marvelously cover his body, the story of each hidden behind the ink that tints the surface. He wants to feel them, wants to trace his fingers over each one and memorize the sensation of them against his own skin. It’s hard when Harry’s near him; he has to resist with every fiber in his being from reaching out to touch him, or to keep from gaping at him overtly.

That’s why dorm windows are a blessing in disguise. It’s the one way for Harry to stare at him without getting —

“Hey, Niall! Looks like you’ve got yourself a secret admirer,” Louis says with a singsong tone.

“Yeah, he’s a cutie, too. I’m a bit jealous,” Zayn mumbles with a cigarette captured between his lips.

Niall grabs a pint from the back of his car and brings the bottle to his mouth; tipping it back to take a swig.

“What the hell are you guys talkin' . . . ” He trails off as he looks up from his beer and catches Harry’s eyes.

Harry freezes, body tensing up, his brain screaming to move, but he just can’t. His face feels like it’s on fire, cheeks burning a bright red. Niall’s head cocks to the side and a wide grin spreads across his face. His teeth tug on the piercing in his tongue — a piercing Harry didn’t know existed until now — and it glints against the light from the sun that’s beating down against his bare, freckled shoulders. His eyes look an unnatural icy blue, their brightness multiplying from the eyeliner coating the skin around them.