Niall One Shots

Depression is an Art

It has been six hours since Niall kissed your forehead, sixteen hours since Niall kissed your lips, and it had been 75 days since Niall has had sex with you.

It has been 36 hours since you last ate, eighteen days since you last washed your hair, nine days since you've last showered, and 25 days since you've left the house.

Depression is truly an art. You become something you don't recognize, fall prey to the false thoughts in your head. It is so much more than "feeling sad". In your darkest times, you truly believed that there was no place here for you on earth. Nobody wants a moldy heart, tearful eyes, or a hopeless spirit... You lock yourself in the room you shared with Niall, blinds closed and curtains drawn, living in the darkness you created and craved. Your body fit in the small spot you've made in the mattress perfectly from the hours and days you spent laying in the same spot. Most days, you couldn't get out of bed for the day, just lying there, staring into the darkness. Sometimes you cry, sometimes you'd bury your face into the pillows and scream—make sure you could still make noise. But you were numb, words from Niall would string together in phrases that didn't make sense. Normally, when you looked at that Irish man who had nothing but love in his eyes for you, your heart would swell two times the size and felt like it would burst. But for the last 90 days, it's been empty.

You weren't sure what triggered this, triggered you, but you didn't really care at this point. You knew it was only a matter of time before Niall left you because he wouldn't be able to handle you, your issues, and the lack of sex. You didn't deserve him anyways. He deserved someone that was happy and bubbly and wasn't the actual scum of the Earth.

Niall drives home in silence from the gym, not even turning on the radio. His worry for you just grew daily and he is constantly worried to come home because of what he might find. The last three months were the hardest he's been through while in a relationship. In the year you two had been together, Niall has never seen anything like this. When he comes home, you're either crying, asleep, or blankly staring ahead. You barely ate what he made you, only got up to pee. He kept a notebook on the timing of everything. He knew it's been awhile since you've showered or washed your hair. Not even him encouraging you to get up and take a bath did anything. You were never in the mood for anything, especially sex. Two and a half months had gone by and he's solely been using his hand and the help of the Internet. Your guys' relationship was much more than physical, but it was also hard because you barely even wanted to give him a kiss.

He parks in the driveway and stares up at the house. He knew where you'd be. He didn't know how to fix this issue or help you. You didn't talk about it at all with him and it both saddened and worried him. Niall had tried, he took the first week off work when you were bedridden, but he couldn't keep taking work off. Someone had to pay the bills, but he hated leaving you.

With a breath, he gets out of the car and walks in. It was just as he suspected, no sign of life downstairs whatsoever. "Baby, I'm home!" Niall calls out, shutting the door behind him. He tosses his keys onto the counter and listens intently for a response—not that he thinks he'll get one.

You hear the door shut, the keys on the counter, and Niall's voice. You take a short breath and just open your eyes, which was exhausting enough. You hear his voice call out again and you just blink slowly at the wall.

Niall comes in and sees your lump underneath all the covers. He fights his sigh and he comes to your side of the bed and crouches, "Hey baby," He murmurs and smiles. He brushes your cheek with his hand gently. "How are you feeling today?" Niall looked for the light in your eyes, but there was nothing there. Whatever was going on had taken his girl and took you for it's own.