Quit (Narry/Heleanor)

[7] Ocean Eyes.

Niall's heart feels like it is held inside an iron fist. The wild urge to tell it all off overcomes him, washes over his body like a cold wave and he tries to focus on the charms hanging off the drivers rear view mirror. Its golden bell and red tassels dance every time they turn a sharp corner or drive over a high bump. It's the only colorful item in the sleek vehicle.

‚You mind if I turn the volume up, sir?'

Niall raises his head to meet the drivers eyes in the mirror. He feebly shakes his head and folds his hands in his lap, just to focus on the tassels again.
Bollywood pop engulfs the car and its heavy bass vibrates deeply through the speaker on each of Niall's sides.
His heart just won't beat rhythmically despite.

As they begin to reach the outskirts of London City and leave the main road, packed with evening traffic, the houses begin to increase their sizes as well as their individuality. The buildings stopped being clad in identical red brick with small patches of grass in front, but instead grew to be barely visible behind imposing iron gates. The navigator read 'Highgate High hill' and ‚15:06' minutes.
Curious enough, Niall himself wanted to invest in a pad in this borough. His realtor, posh old lady, insisted that he were to buy a house, Hampstead Heath it ought to be. He'd be under like minded people for one ( But, oh my, have you ever seen the park, Mr. Horan? Let's say, if one ever decides to adopt a dog, it wouldn't be a fuss at all to let it exercise upon Golders Hill) and more importantly, every building was secured with the newest alarm system. The realtor introduced him to two objects exactly. The first one had a huge garden with a koi pond, which the lady called hip. The second one was furnished with eye-stinging vintage pieces, and a wine cellar. Niall didn't take a liking for either of them and declined a second meeting with the woman.
Instead he claimed his friends' guest rooms, whenever he was in London and waited for each of them to kick him out. Low and behold, they never did. No one asked why he won't at least rent a hotel room either. Well, Zayn casually tried to ease him into a conversation about it, one Sunday night in front of the television ,but Niall kicked his legs from the coffee table and excused himself to the loo. Alas, in the next morning, he promised he'd look into it, which he never did.
Hop-scotching from guest bedroom to guest bedroom was surprisingly an convenient option. (He remained doing that until he raced off to Australia to buy the token pad there.)

Now that he's thinking about the topic , he never stayed at Harry's. All the years in the band and he's never seen his home. Well, his London home that is. Harry's house in L.A  and his apartment in New York, he'd visited a handful of times and even slept in.
Just now, it hits him that he basically learned to know Harry better, in tour buses and hotel rooms. (On stage, between press breaks and in various storage cupboards if you look closely, but Niall barely does that nowadays.)
The car's dot on the GPS screen slowly but surely moves towards the checkered flag. Niall puts his light sweater over his head and checks his phone for the time. The horizon ahead of him, switches it's blue to shades of yellow and orange. It doesn't matter how many times he's travelled, time zones remain to mess with him. He doesn't feel as tired as he should be, especially now that his nerves are on ice.

Worry keeps one up.

He also feels stupid to think that Harry regrets his decision now, and will slam the door in his face.
As if he'd be openly cruel like that, no, he's pretty passive and'll invite Niall in with a smile, just to let him eventually know his real feeling through small jabs throughout his stay.

Niall gets ripped out of his own tangled thoughts, as the driver comes to a sudden stop in front of a brick, which leads to an iron gate. He hasn't noticed that the driver sped up the last few minutes. The vibrant music gets turned down.

‚Spaniards Road 04, sir.', the driver speaks and exits the car, to open the trunk, where Niall's duffle bag lays.

Niall does the same and slings the bag over his shoulder. He awkwardly reaches for his pocket to pay and leave a generous tip. This should cover the fact that Niall had been refusing to pick up a chat with him, during the whole of the trip from the airport to where they stand now.
As the driver sets off, Niall watches the car disappear down the low slope, until it's just a dot in distance, to buy time.
The silence of the road afterwards is unnerving at last. His arrival has switched the lights around the gate on and he walks towards it. Determined.
Through the gaps, one can see the straight path leading to the front door. On each side of the path green grass peeks through a thin layer of snow. Apparently it hasn't showered yet.
Niall mentally counts to three and presses down on the white button on the top. The gates open. A figure awaits on the front porch.
Niall's leg feel like jelly and he hasn't realized it until he stood in front of Harry. All he had taken in, in the low light was that Harry's got the hood of his jumper over his hair, before he got engulfed into a hug. It wasn't a long hug per se and Niall would say it was rather impersonal, if he hadn't felt Harrys lingering touch on his waist.
‚Hi.', Niall dares to say, as he picks up his bag, which dropped between them as a result of the hug. It's mumbled coyly into the evening air.
‚Hi.' Harry utters, just as quietly, before he breaks into a small grin, which despite seems to light up his whole face.
Niall's breath hitches, before he breaks into a simper of his own.
‚Are you gonna invite me in, or what?'

He follows Harry to the kitchen through the living room area and can't help but notice the lack of furniture in the massive room. It's got a huge TV against the wall, coffee table in front of it and a couch. Nothing else, if you look over the various items of clothing scattered around and the pile of books.
Niall blinks and sits down on a high chair by the kitchen isle. Harry quickly collects two wine glasses atop the coffee table and disposes of them into an empty dish washer.
‚Oh god. You haven't been robbed, have you?'
‚Sod off. It's called minimalism.'
Niall snorts.
‚Mhm.'
Harry opens the fridge.
‚D'you want anything?'
‚Well, what have you got?'
‚Water, beer... and wine.', a pause and he clears his throat. ,Um, I'll order us a pizza.'
‚Water it is.'
Harry takes the bottle and raises his brows at Niall.
Niall grumbles:, I'm on a diet.'
‚Ah.'
‚My friends have been telling me I'm proper addicted to beer.'
Harry chuckles and tickles Niall stomach, pinching it lightly.
‚Have they now?'
Niall swats him away and forces the bottle out of Harry's hand.
Now, under the warm kitchen light, he can see the exhaustion under Harry's eyes in form of dark circles. The stubble on his upper lip and cheeks, he felt in the crook of his neck before and the short hair peeking through the hood curls ever so lightly.

‚Come on, I'll show you around.'

Kindly, he's carrying Niall's luggage.
Harry's house seems to have an open concept, almost like a loft, which emphasizes the emptiness of it all. Along the white walls are no frames or pictures, he's got beige lids drawn over airy windows and along the stair-rails hang all kinds of different colored and crazy patterned shirts and skinny jeans. It seems to be used as a drying rack.
Harry pushes a poor open in the narrow hallway and flicks the lamp on.
Niall's room apparently.
It's big and fits in with the theme of downstairs. The duffle bag is placed on neat sheets.
It does not look like anyone ever set a foot in it though.
Next he's being shown a bathroom, then another bathroom.
‚You can use it if you're getting bored of the other one.'
Then he sees the laundry room which is a mess. No surprises there, for even on tour, Harry's rented chambers were chaos itself. He operates like that .
‚Just throw your dirty laundry on a pile. It doesn't matter which one.'
Niall nods and can't refrain from smiling. He feels as if he can breathe again. The weights on his shoulders disappeared the moment he saw that nothing essential has changed about Harry. They should be getting on just fine. (If no one brings up the last three years and Harry isolating himself from it.)
Later they lounge on the sofa with the TV broadcasting a dumb romantic comedy and the empty pizza cartoons are perched upon the table. Niall's munching on his last piece and turns his head to Harry. He's actually immersed in the story.

What a loser.

Niall throws a piece of his crust into his direction. Harry looks at him.

‚Can we switch the channel?'
He runs a hand through his hair.
‚No way. It's getting good now.'

Niall groans and puts his legs into Harry's lap.
Truly nothing has changed.
——-
Authors note:
BUT has REALLY nothing changed? Hm.

I saw that I reached 400 reads so I went  writing this chapter :)))) Pls share your thoughts with me!!! I love it when you comment guys lmaoo
I dont wanna be a dick and make vote and comment goals, but like it'd be cool if you voted and commented!!!!