SAUDADE ; [ narry ]

Chapter 1.

MONDAY, MARCH 10, 1997 ; 2:55 P.M.

If Niall had the words to speak, he would put them on billboard signs. He would make them into canvases and sell them to the homeless for a piece of their story. He would make them into murals for the reckless even if it meant getting in trouble. But the one thing he did not want to do was talk. People had taken away his sole ability to feel important, his will to express himself and his faith in anything beautiful.

It's interesting how pain brings people to a sense of peace once it's all over with.

His pain had really began when an almost surreal man strolled right through the doors of his high school in search of his trouble making sister. The rumor was the same as always; she was found passing a cigarette around in the bathroom and claimed they belonged to someone else. When pressed about it, she pointed fingers and gave out names which in turn made the situation a bigger tangle of lies.

It was a day that made people feel a real kind of joy. The air was clean while the sun was vile. Trees were statues and not a single leaf stirred out of context. People lingered, laughed, and loitered in the courtyard in status. Everyone had a partner or companion or even an acquaintance.

Niall's companion was a piece of blank sketch paper.

Up until yesterday, he had never seen the other male step foot in our school. His slightly loose band shirt rolled up at the sleeves, the white color a contrast with his tight black jeans almost made the color rush to Niall's cheeks. His tan velvet boots clicked against the hard tiles of the hall, echoing in the emptiness as Niall stood and stared with awe. And somehow he felt as if he knew that face, somewhere, he knew that face.

And never would he have guessed he would be staring at his open sketch book in disgust, the scrawled image of his face staring back at the blonde boy as he gripped his black pen in his hand.

He should have meant nothing to him, he should be something Niall would avoid at all costs, yet he couldn't stop thinking about the way the curly haired sucker walked. He made it look like a damn hobby the way he ambled along without a care in the fucking world. Without caring who's eyes were on him.

The jaw intimidated Niall; if it had a mouth it would be smirking. The way it looked as if it wouldn't stop, as if it would prick an innocent finger if touched. It almost seemed real. His eyes were hidden behind black shades that added to the scruffy image he dressed in. Without even thinking, he could conjure up the image of him in his head and dive into detail about it.

His hair was the most unruly set of curls Niall had ever seen, looking neglected yet clean and soft to the touch. A hand itched to feel it. One could only imagine the bliss that is his hair.

He had such a mouth. Lips that curved like that of a bow, dipping and trailing in the right places. It was just the perfect shade of pink and red, a blend of the two. It made him curious, he wanted to stay and watch him speak. Watch him laugh and grimace. Watch him eat even. It was a magnet that yanked you in without warning or permission and Niall was completely opposed to it.

His arms. The most intricate sheet of artwork he would see. It made the boy wonder if someone was close enough to be able to trace the tattoos. The freckles and little scars hidden behind ink. He found myself dreaming of such a day where him of all people would be able to reach out and brush the pads of his fingers along the skin of his bicep.

He almost punched myself for thinking of it.

With anger in mind, he ripped out the page from the book, tore it up until he felt satisfied, and crumpled up the pieces into a ball before tossing it into the bin beside his closet, hoping he would never see his stupid face again.

But life works in the funniest ways, for he had found him behind the wheel of his large black car more than once, shaded eyes following him as I walked in view of the school. It had him asking himself why no one had said anything for parking next to the fire lane.

At first he thought nothing of it. And then he began to lose it.

He wouldn't see him inside the car anymore, but outside of it, leaning on his door. He would be still and looked quite stiff as his head was glued in Niall's  direction.

Maybe that was the day Niall had forgotten his pills. Maybe his disorder was running lose and these were symptoms of a higher level of his illness. 

And then, Niall's pain increased.

Thursday morning when all he wanted to do was slump into class and make a home out of the desk beside the window, he shocked him out of his drowsiness. He wasn't stiff or still or leaning against the door of his car. He was tall and mobile and walking in the blondes direction. And for fucks sake, his legs decided to become stuck to the pavement. He could practically feel an anxiety attack spreading from his chest to his  throat and nearing his lips. He could hear the blood in his ears, the sirens ringing like ambulances whizzing past a house. He could sense his  body numbing from the inside out and there was absolutely nothing he could do.

"I would like to... Apologize." was what he said first. And if he thought he was on the verge of death seconds ago, he was already dead at the first syllable that left his mouth. His words were slow and could put anyone on the edge of their seats to hear more. He was careful with what he said, as if he had to make everything he said so damn perfect. The accent was laced with a drawl of laziness yet an erect professional air that had even the most inanimate objects swooning.

Niall can't talk. Niall can't feel. Niall can't even react.

Yet the bastard continued to talk.

"I suppose watching you from my car every morning is uh, a bit creepy, yeah?" It was a rhetorical question but he found myself screaming the obvious answer on the inside.

And as he waited for the sky to darken, the clouds to release acid and lightning to strike his body the man continued to speak. He talked like he was alone, like he was trying to make a point to himself. Niall wasn't even there.

"You gonna talk?" he asked but no answer came. He willed my jaw to close, his mouth to shut, his eyes to stop their dumb staring and his body to become alive again. He told myself that the male in front of him was no one special and that he had the worst anxiety around. And he listened to himself say this, and he kept repeating it like a mantra until he believed it.

His escape was nothing short of pathetic. The poor lad clammed up, felt the first trace of sweat dot his forehead and sidestepped the male to move towards the school.

He continued to call Niall back, to coax him out of leaving. He would have none of it. He would be strong for once in his life and save himself from a world of pain caused by a fool.

But even as he repeated this, he never followed through with it no matter how hard he tried.