Fake (N.S)

45.

Niall's POV

The sound of my mother and father talking downstairs was what brought me and Harry out of the sort of trance that we had both been in since we had fallen silent. Well...talking was a considerable understatement. I hadn't heard them this angry since the time I had angrily told them I was gay for the first time. 

What exactly they were saying wasn't clear, though I knew things had been rather awkward ever since mum had decided to apologise to me.

The sound of the front door opening and closing told me that someone, who I could assume to be my father, had just left.

This left me with little choice but to talk to my mother. I wanted to put it off for as long as possible, though I knew I would have to do it soon because I would be rather hard for me to get the opportunity to see her without my father around to make things difficult.

A sigh passed through my lips as I pulled my head away from its place on Harry's shoulder in favour of looking up into his eyes. He seemed to know exactly what I was thinking, the green of his eyes filled with sympathy, his brows furrowed and his lips turned into a frown.

I wanted nothing more than for him to pull me closer to him and refuse to let me go, for him to give me some excuse to avoid what was happening.

He didn't.

He seemed to be silently encouraging me to get up, as if he knew that I needed to do this.

I let out a quiet groan, making my feelings towards the matter completely clear and judging by the laugh I received from Harry, he clearly found my mood quite amusing.

Good for him. Asshole.

"Niall..." he trailed off, his hand giving a reassuring squeeze to my own, which were still tightly laced together.

"Babe, I really don't want to. Don't make me," I pouted dramatically. At this point, I didn't think I did anything without throwing some sort of fit before doing it.

He rolled his eyes with a small smile, chastely kissing my bottom lip.

"I'm not going to make you do anything you don't feel comfortable doing. However, I really think you need to do this," he replied.

"What happened to that guy who told me that I shouldn't give her a second of my time unless it was absolutely necessary?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He's still here. He just knows that maybe talking to your mother would be beneficial. Even if you don't accept her apology, at least you'll know where you stand," he shrugged.

"I really wish you would just tell me to not even look at her," I told him honestly. Who knew that I would be begging for the controlling side of Harry to tell me who I should and shouldn't talk to?

"C'mon, Ni. I really think it's a good idea," he responded softly.

Well, he didn't know anything.

Okay, so maybe he was right. I knew that I couldn't continue to dodge my mother for the rest of my time at this house and I was the one who wanted to talk things through previously. Though like most things, once I had to do it, I didn't want to.

Goddamn Harry and his stupid, persuasive face.

I sighed, standing from the bed, wincing a little at the still apparent sore feeling from mine and Harry's previous actions.

"Will you at least come with me?"

"If you want me to," he replied gently.

"Of course I want you to. Do you think I'm going to do it by myself?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.