this // narry au

prologue

Prologue:

Harry's Point of View:

Get in, get out.

That's the plan.

I repeat that to myself multiple times as I tug insecurely at the sleeves on my sweater.

That was always my solution that when I was gaining anxiety. Pulling at my sleeves or biting my nails.

"It'll be quick." I promise myself under my breath, staring at my worn-out sneakers so I wouldn't have to talk to anybody.

In all twenty-one years of me being alive and a being on his earth, I've come across a single fact.

People suck.

Dick.

And so me staying away from them at all costs will always be my problem solver for absolutely everything.

I run a hand through my hair --I need a haircut, badly-- and scan my eyes over the familiar aisle, before picking up a bottle of pills.

A few feet away from me stands a boy in an ugly black and white varsity jacket and blue eyes...

...with a backwards Snapback covering his purple hair.

Nice. You don't see that everyday.

"Hello there," He breathes out, noticing me staring at him.

"Hi." I murmur, taking in his Irish accent.

I haven't met many Irish people.

I turn around, ready to leave him, when I hear him groan out in frustration.

Do I ask him about his hair? Am I even allowed to?

"What's wrong?" I ask, my voice quieter then intended.

For a moment I think he doesn't hear me and I almost open my mouth to ask again, but then he says, "My punk-ass friends."

"What's wrong with your friends?"

I had gotten rid of almost all of my friends, but from what I remember, they weren't punk-asses.

"They're dumb. Damaged my fucking hair."

"Why is your hair purple?" I tilt my head.

"It's actually fucking lilac." He snaps.

I've never seen somebody got so worked up over the colour of their hair.

I start to regret asking the question.

"Then, um; why is your hair lilac?"

"It was an accident." His voice his softer.

"What?"

"They told me they would help me bleach my hair, and they picked up the wrong dye." He mutters, grabbing a container. "A pile of fuckers, that's what they are."

I let out a small laugh, which I don't do a lot and start to walk away.

"Oh, by the way," The Irish, lilac-haired man says, "My name is Niall."

Niall. I liked that.

"My name is Harry."

He gives me a small smile and I can feel my cheeks turn red, so I quickly turn around to leave, before I end up making Niall hate me somehow.

"Hey," He calls after me, "What are your pills for?"

"Antidepressants." I reply nonchalantly, figuring I'd never see the boy anywhere ever again anyways.

"You're... Depressed?"

"Clinically, yes."

"And I made you laugh?" Niall finally catches up to me and my eyes catch sight of the bottle in his hands.

Hair bleach.

I nod as I walk towards the cashier and surprisingly, Niall doesn't stop following me.

He remains quiet while the cashier pays for me and then him, but as I walk out, he follows.

"How was your day, Harry?"

I stop walking instantly. "Excuse me?"

"I said, how was your day?"

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"Crappy and shitty." I answers, before tilting his head at the boy in front of him. "What about you?"

"Great, considering I met a wonderful new person today."

"I don't know if that's supposed to make me happy or aroused."

He just laughs.

He had a really nice laugh.

I give him a barely visible smile and and I turn around to walk away again.

"So, how's life?" Niall calls after me.

"Why do you care?" I ask, sharper then intended.

I always ended up doing that; sounding like a bitch when I really didn't mean to.

"My big bother Greg, committed suicide because he was depressed." Niall murmurs. "And in his goodbye letter he said that if somebody had asked him how his day was, then he probably wouldn't have done it."

I opens my mouth wide, but no sounds come out. "I'm sorry." I say finally.

"It's okay." Niall murmurs. "Can you come here?"

I hesitantly walks towards Niall, unsure of what I was even supposed to feel towards him.

He was the first person that had actually tried to talk to me in months.

As I stand in front of him he grabs my wrist and pulls my sleeve up, inspecting my arms.

"I don't do that anymore." I breath out, looking away.

"Anymore?"

"I realized that it wasn't helping me in anyway, so I stopped."

"Where did you do it?" Niall whispers.

"My left arm."

He lets go of my right arm and pulls the sleeve up, and sure enough, my arm is covered in old scars.

"Oh, dammit Harry..." Niall murmurs.

"Please don't get emotional." I mumble, not meeting eyes with the stranger. "I get really awkward when people start crying and I met you a minute ago."

"Just, don't do it alright?" Niall asks, looking up at me with such an intense stare I'm almost scared. "I don't like to see people sad."

"Alright," I reply, overwhelmed by the fact that somebody even cared about me.

"Bye Harry." Niall murmurs, dropping my arm.

"Bye... Niall." I whisper and he turns around before walking away.

I stand there, overwhelmed for a few seconds, just reevaluating exactly what happened.

That doesn't happen everyday.

Lilac-haired guys caring about your well being.

...

A/N: i didn't want to wait to post the prologue.

oops.

this book is in harry's POV too, I like the challenge of a point of view book so we'll see how it works out

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