Can I Cry? (A Narry Storan Teacher/Student Fan Fiction)

Prologue

*Niall's POV*

I bit my lip as I spotted a crowd of laughing, cheeky 'jocks' gathered around where my locker was located.

I could hear their laughter and idle chatter from here, my timid steps faltering as I neared the herd of routy kids who I had gone to school with for two years, but probably still had no idea I existed.

I sighed, looking back down at my time table paper in my hand.

Yep. Locker 671...

I looked back up at the group of people, my stomach clenching.

I guess I was just going to carry my stuff around with me the entire day then.

I tugged my backpack strap higher on my shoulder and turned back down the hall, searching for my first class. Though I was a Junior here, it being my third year attending Cheshire's famous St. Harting Academy, I still get lost all the time, and prayed that I would at least make it to my first period on time.

Though it wasn't like anyone would notice if I wasn't.

But that's just life.

It was so ironic it was almost humerous.

Almost...

I went to a school full of famous prodigy students, where everyone was friends, and their names were known across the country.

And yet, I was noticed and greater known at my old under-rate public school. 

Here I was a nobody.

No, I was lower than a nobody. I was invisible. I was negative nobody. Below zero.

Which, practically, wouldn't make sense. Especially since I was brothers with the most gifted kid in the whole school.

Sadly, it's true.

Greg was not only the star football player of the country, but also excelled in academics. He was so popular, it blew my mind. He had friends from other continents, was buddies with nearly all the students here, and had probably overshadowed me since birth.

I remember way back when I was younger, five or six maybe, and I drew pictures for my mother. They were simple, crayon scribbles, but I was proud of them nonetheless, and would watch with adhesive eyes as she accepted my drawing.

I still remember the tight smiles she would give me.

And I remember the feeling I had when I found them used as a coffee mug coaster, or even occasionally crumpled up and in the rubbish bin.

I remember the feeling of failure and shame.

I remember wondering why my pictures weren't on the fridge with Greg's, why mum didn't tell me "Good job!" or "It's beautiful!" like she did to my older brother, why instead they would end up in the trash.

I remember wondering why I couldn't be good like Greg, why I wasn't good enough to be up on the fridge. 

I remember crying myself to sleep until last year.

I remember watching from my window for years, spying on Greg and his friends as they played in the yard, while I was locked up alone in my room. Or watching from my window as mum and dad drove away, taking Greg to his next football game or practice, or spelling bee or doctor's appointment, while I sat alone, wondering when they'd be back.

Or if I'd have to make dinner for myself yet again.

I remember waiting for the day my parents paid attention to me, asked me how my day was, asked me what I wanted for dinner, asked me if I wanted to join football or drama club or leadership, waiting, fooling myself into thinking that day would come.

The day that they would remember they had another son.

The day that they would wake up and think, "Oh, hey, I wonder how Niall's doing" or "How has Niall's life been?" or "How about I look at my other son today"

And I still wait

... wait

... wait for the day that they remember me.

Or at least the fact that I exist. Have feelings. I have dreams, goals, and wishes too. 

That I'm a fucking person, a living thing.

As far as I knew, I wasn't invisible. Or at least I don't think so...

Who knows? Maybe I was just destined to be invisible. Destined to be a no one, to live my life crying myself to sleep, to live my life each day, hoping, praying, that maybe someone would notice me. Maybe someone would see me.

Because that day had to come...

I was sure of it.

The day that someone said my name, talked to me, even looked in my direction maybe.

Even once.

Then I would be happy.

Or at least, that's what I had thought.

It was what I had believed until I walked into my first period class and spotted him.

I spotted the only person who had ever agknowledged my existence, the only person who ever remembered my name. The person that, for some time now, I had been trying to erase from my memory.

He turned around and smiled until his eyes met mine.

Harry...

The corners of his mouth quivered for a second and his jaw dropped as he realized who I was.

Is he my teacher...?

I ripped my gaze away and bolted out of the class room.

And I still remember my heart pounding in my chest, my vision blurring as I raced down the hall, his voice calling my name.

It was maybe the first time I heard someone call after me.

Wonder if I was okay.

And it was also the first time I didn't want anyone to ask.

A/N: Well, that was the prologue, loves! Vote, comment and fan if you enjoyed it, yeah?