Simplicity [Narry]

u n e x p e c t e d [SAMPLE]

Sorry for any mistakes! It is very rare that I proof-read my chapters due to time issues. :) xxx

One ~ u n e x p e c t e d

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Loneliness.

Niall thought it was weird, feeling lonely. Being lonesome isn't so much the absense of a person or the act of being alone but more so feeling alone even if you are surrounded by a sea of people. It's not like missing someone - that was different. That's not weird. Loneliness... it's something else entirely. It's knowing you have people yet feeling like you have no-one. It's craving. It's wanting something so desperately yet not really knowing what or who it is you want.

It's... something. Nothing.

Loneliness, Niall thought, was not an emotion. It seemed too separate to be an emotion - it didn't really make you feel, it made you... it made you yearn. Anger did not make you yearn nor does happiness or sadness - at least, not in the same way as feeling lonesome did - and they were classed as emotions. So what is loneliness? He couldn't understand it, no matter how hard he tried. Niall had this thing where he would think about things, wander off into a uncharted sector of his own mind, and think about things he never understood; never could understood. He was very much living in a daydream, one where nothing made sense to him. where humans were rather hard to understand.

Niall wondered if he was feeling lonely then, as he stared around at the bleak interior of the lounge. He felt cold more than anything and his head thumped dimly in the background. He thought about calling Greg, his brother and his guardian but decided against it because he knew that Greg would get home when he got home, spend an hour with Niall when he could, then scurry out again. To work.

That was another thing Niall didn't really understand: work. Surely, he believed, that you should work for the sake of doing what you like or what you believe in, not for the sake of earning money. Working to earn money if you're doing something you don't believe in or hate, Niall thought, is odd. Never would he work in a job he had no connection to for the sake of a nice life. He'd rather be wearing rags and sleeping under newspaper, feeling happy, then sit in a job all day to return to a materialistic home he bought using money which he sweated miserably over to earn. Of course, Niall was a happy person, anyway. Where people were nice, he was happy. He was a very simple person.

Luckily, Greg liked his job; as a bodyguard for a local celebrity - Mr. Johnathon Ithriel, a man who made his several million by selling a website designs and software of his own creation - Greg earned a good day's wage and enjoyed doing it. Mr. John - that's what Niall was told to call him on the occasion that he met him - was a fairly young, funny and joyful man who Niall liked because he always had this scruff of a beard that made him look somewhat like Greg; after all, who did Niall love and trust more than Greg?

Absolutely nobody.

Suddenly, a cold breeze swept over Niall as he heard the front door click open and he wrapped his blanket tighter around his pale shoulders, grimacing. He knew he should have put on a top but, hey, it was Sunday. Niall was lazy on Sundays. He thought of them as... as an eat-junk-food-and-do-nothing-productive day. Often he wrote songs or played guitar because that was what Niall loved to do, more than anything. He didn't really see it as productive when he played; he saw it as consumerism; escapism... well, actually, he didn't. That was what Greg said it was; honestly, Niall didn't really think about it, he just did it. He called it playing guitar, that's what he called it. He called it loving and doing and being and breathing.

Music was what he was going to do as a job. Music or nothing. Music or newspaper beds and rags.

"Niall, mate," Greg said, exasperatedly. He muttered something under his breath before trying again. "Nialler, can you hear me?"