100 Suicide Letters || Narry

Prologue

Liam's auburn eyes embraced a malicious shimmer that initiated a concealed resentment to stir from the profound abysmal in Nialls gloomy soul. The technique in which his plump lips quirked up in a blazing striking mode, as his astonishingly thin digits browsed through the tear-tainted crumpled sheets of his journal, stimulated thousands of upcoming revolting consequences for the state he was; unfortunately, placed in at the mere jiffy; making them go back to his belittling subconscious like a tattered record on replay which kept on going until the bewildered concepts gave the impression to be inked against his beat-up identity.

Niall did not dare to budge an inch -Not because the callous, unsympathetic fella retaining his dearest possession might have attempted a repugnant act against his most exquisite relic, but because he was petrified he wouldn't be competent enough to suppress the whimper that was previously at the tip of his tongue. The complementing tribute being focused on Liam's finest companion; Harry Edward Styles -whom felt the irrational commitment to mark, stain, and dent every part of his pale whitish structure that could be easily shielded by thick attires and such- in the yet to come future. The traumatized blonde was positive that if he seized the accurate chance and stepped nearer, Liam would easily perceive his aggrieved state and would use it to his advantage; or more like hilarity and enjoyment. And he had determined confidently not so long ago that he would receive no more of his niggling continual harassing. Which is also going despondently down the gutter, since the cackling being unconfined from his oral cavity were more than words to demonstrate that Liam was adoring with no indignity what-so-ever every single term and declaration of Niall's well-planned and strategic suicide letters.

Insignificant incoherent words fled from Liam's full lips, apprising Niall that he was indeed analyzing his most veiled secrets. And he couldn't help the compulsive movements his warm digits started to make in a dreaded manner. His confidences, his past memories, his lost confrontations against the razor-blades and un-prescribed pills, the relentless farewells he composed to everyone that didn't care about his well being in the minimum, everything.

Everything in those pages was engraved in such marvelous detail and heart-shattering sentiment that It could easily -without difficulty- be mistaken by a depressing bible. And even when the tender agony was splattered among his dehydrated skin, icy wintry eyes watered to an expense that seemed unmanageable -and sited cascades to humiliation-, warmness tinted the surface of his cheeks, he couldn't do shit to shield his privacy. He was too used to being used for every ones advantage, he was too used to being a mediocre from second-rate, and he had deliberately learned to put up with how he was treated. Because he alleged he was what everyone else saw in him. He truthfully believed that.

"Say, you depressed parasite," Liam brusquely sealed close the old journal with such vigor and potency pages flew out of their accommodated places, dropping like leafs when the cold winter nibbles on them with no compassion what so ever.

Niall remained hushed. His panicky gaze absorbed on the pages that he would most likely lose if he didn't develop the necessary balls and dashed after them rapidly enough.

"What would you do-" He agitated the journal in front of his face, with a malicious playfulness hidden behind his spiteful actions before continuing. "-If I made this little piece of filth public for everyone in this injudicious dump to see." He cackled, a cold puff of air escaping his moisturized lips, as he gradually moved his head to the side, a nauseating smirk taking control of his features, as if mocking the underprivileged lad even more.

Niall choked on his own sob, and his quivering digits instantaneously went to hide the atrocious sight he was providing to Liam. Un-human sounds were the sole thing blending with the cold November air encircling them and the only humanitarian act Liam was capable of doing was raising his dense eyebrows in bewilderment. 'Is this hypothetically supposed to be an elaborated response?' he mused. 'Such a shame that this is way too excessively comical to let go of.'

Minutes passed mindlessly. And nothing gave the impression to make some kind of logic for neither of them.

Liam sighted in exasperation. He anticipated a more pleasuring conclusion to the situation. Not just ... awful, disturbing bawling. And as he grew more and more exhausted of waiting for a diverse result, he conclusively gave up and spoke to the lousy mess that destroyed his patience.

"It was just a joke, Niall." He tossed the stupid journal and remains of wrinkly pages towards the crawled boy that rested stationary on his wounded knees screaming his wrecked heart out in misery and grief.

Niall managed to grasp a hold of the journal with his gloved digits, burring it on his warm stinging chest -near to his heart- so he could deliver his current feelings towards the journal in a way that didn't implicate writing. And he accomplished all of this without directing a compassionate gaze towards Liam before replying.

"Fine, it's just a joke, Liam, and it's just another cut."