anobrain // narry au

a no brain

I'm already prepared to publish the first chapter to my third story for harry. please check it out if you have the chance!!

please + thank you. love you all.

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chapter forty-seven. love is colder than death.

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SATURDAY FACES ME ABRUPTLY — my current biggest fear. It's the day I've taken the first step to text Harry, asking for his permission to speak. There is a lot to discuss between the two of us truthfully. And with some passing hours he responds with a simplistic ok which causes me to ready myself -- mentally, emotionally, physically, and psychologically -- for the journey to the Cox–Styles's residency an hour later.

The walk is filled with positive peer talk with myself to myself. Memories of when everything was going just dandy like a beautiful spring day or like a cool breeze on a summer day. Just bright and blooming, humid wind and moist skin kind of day.

The spring air gives off that warm breeze I always fall in love with over and over annually. The wind blows my quiff softly whilst my Vans make soft pats against the moving pavements with my locomotion. The 1975's Talk blares into my ears comfortably until I reach the final destination — one that I can later on leave content or leave upset, with nothing in between.

Just when I'm about to knock, Harry's front door opens and out exits him and Liam simultaneously. My heart immediately sinks when my eyes land on their content figures. Stuck close together like a glued duo, scared to break off and let go of one another. They'll always be liamandharry unlike harryandniall.

Because water and fire can never intermix. Water and fire can never be friends.

Because he's cold and I burn and we aren't destined for romance – for a permanent amount of time.

When Harry sees me he breaks away from their proximity. "Oh," I hear him murmur softly, more to himself than aloud to his peers. "You wanted to talk, right?" The question is directed towards me. And I simply nod. Harry whispers audibly into Liam's ear that he'll see him later. Then Liam departs from the burning flame known as myself and Harry. One can only save themselves.

And we stand there before his front door in silence. And there's things I want to say but I can't find the courage to muster up to utter. Apprehension courses through me, aching my veins profusely as Harry crosses his arms across his chest crudely. "What do you want?" he questions me.

With the only thing really concerning me other than our problems, of course. I ask, "Are you and Liam an item now?" But Harry deliberately ignores my question by countering back, "It's none of your concern."

Which, truthfully, fucking hurts. It hurts that he is right about that statement. It hurts to invest time in someone whom already had a subconscious plan B. To grow and develop with someone who, probably, never seemed to ever care about the growth of a positive relationship. It hurts that Harry is acting standoffish towards me when we're both at a fault here.

"Whatever," I murmur before inhaling a deep breath. Tranquility needs to ignite through me, into my bones to get through a speechless conversation that's already heading toward an in-returnable dead-end.

I already feel like I am, however. In this sempiternal trance leading to Harry. It's like he's my only destination mentally. The only place I'd want to be disregarding our current bicker, being in the presence of Harry makes my heart pummel. My stomach twist into knots and blooming butterflies when he's near and my head spins in a good kind of way.

It's those reactions you see when couples screech and holler when they share a rendezvous after a while. When they see the person they love. And, maybe, I'm certain, I'm in love with Harry Styles. I've had some months to think about it — I've always loved Harry. But, there's a differentiation between loving someone and being in love with someone.

Subconsciously. I say the three words, eight letters so swift and sudden I can barely hear myself. "I love you," and it's a soft murmur. Yet the words have a symbolical meaning. The words reflect off of myself and Harry. And our obstacles as a couple.

Or, maybe, just my perspective. Because everyone sees the world differently. I see Harry as a pearl in the shell of an oyster. The brightest diamond in a mine of coal. The rarest platinum jewellery piece in an accessory store. Harry is as rare as they come into my life, and I just don't want him to go so soon. Everyone always departs too soon.

He looks at me, appalled. Harry's hand rubs uncomfortably at his nape whilst his eye bulge out at me.

I continue, holding desperately onto my mother's previous words. "We were friends before lovers, y'know? I don't want us to end on a bad note. Even if we aren't destined to be together romantically."

Harry remains silent. Practically gaping at me. The gesture I take as a brief departure, but as I turn around to walk off of the Cox–Styles property Harry grabs ahold of me. So, so, so tightly. His toned hand wraps around my wrist and I spin from the force — our lips press to each other's automatically. Because Harry's made the move to kiss me first. Harry's kissing me, and it feels nice.

Nice and warm. Warm and nice. My heart slams against my protective ribcage, to the point that it nearly crumbles like a thin crust. All the same I melt into Harry's touch. One that I've been holding myself back from missing — one that's crossed my mind habitually the past weeks.

My fingers play with the loose strands to his long curls. Hidden underneath the weird pattern of Harry's current style of a headscarf. The colours and designs are peculiar, yet Harry always manages to pull of even the oddest style someone wouldn't be able to. That's probably why everyone is aspiring him to become a male model.

That, and because of his height. How he can practically tower over the person closest to him, me. And the prominent features on his face — bright eyes topped with swirls of every colour. The foreseeable dimples in his cheeks. Those long, brunet eyelashes that christen in any kind of weather. And, Harry's overwhelmingly beautiful. My opinion can never change on his external characteristics.

He rests his head on mine after we simultaneously break from our kiss. A look of sincerity flashes through the greens of his eyes when Harry, in his raspy tone, tells me, "I love you too. So, so much."

There isn't a better feeling in the world than having someone reciprocate the same opinion as you. I've always thought that. That was, until, hearing Harry continuously repeat the three words over and over into my ear before capturing my bottom lip with his top into a passionately fond kiss.

I savour it all. This moment, the taste of Harry's mint flavoured lips, and the positivity set into my mind. It may feel like a happily ever after, like the ones in those unrealistic fairy tales, but the apprehensive feeling arising in my gut informs me that it's not.

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pRACTICALLY EVERYONE SAID EY. So ey it is, lads. I deliberately wrote that to sound like a pirate talking to his crew -- guess it didn't work out to my benefit haha.

This chapter may be a bit confusing and I apologise. It's kind of rushed so it may need an edit or fifty.