The Butterfly Effect

8. Breaking the Rules

Nialls POV

As the sun made its appearance into my bedroom window, I glanced at the clock on my phone to reveal it was only 6:23 am. Fuck. I didn't get much sleep last night because Harry decided to fancy an escort.... you know, someone who could potentially steal his money and murder him, choke him in his sleep, shoot him up with heroin and trade him to the black market.

Maybe I should check on him. Of course, that would mean moving this big ass dresser I put in front of his door as he instructed me to do....and the other frats may not enjoy the alarm clock this early. Alas, I won't be able to sleep if I don't check on him though. Next time, Olivia is on the save Harry from his careless and naive self-mission.

I tried to scoot the dresser as quietly as possible away from the door. Nobody is stirring around or yelling at me, so I think I have success.

My hands feel sweaty as I slowly open the door, trying to be as stealthy as possible. This frat house was built in the early 1900's and truth be told; most doors are really squeaky when you try to open them.

I opened it just enough to peek in, hoping that he was still alive. If something happened to him, I'd never forgive myself and Olivia would murder me too. Hope the escort doesn't have him tied up and gagged, and I don't mean that in a kinky way. If that's what Harry likes then albeit, but I am talking about against his will.

I opened my eye, prepared for the worse...

Oh.

See, I told you that you have a vivid imagination and are overreacting. It's rather adorable. Harry is cuddling him, and the smaller Lad is tucked under his chin. They're not even undressed all the way...so that means Harry didn't even get it on last night, right? Well that's different. Trust me, I've heard my fair share of stories about his romantic endeavors and using someone just for a night of fun is not beneath him.

Hmm. Maybe they were too drunk to even fathom a thought about that. I mean surely an escort is about sex. They must be. They're legal prostitutes even though Harry argues that they're not. Whatever helps him sleep at night, and whatever he's telling himself is working because aww. I just want to pinch his cheeks.

Maybe now I can sleep. Pretty soon, I'll have to get up and help with the bake sale that I just don't feel like doing. For one, it's Saturday and last time I tried to help with a charity cook-off, the whole frat got smoked out and everyone teased me for weeks. Secondly, I would rather go to the bar with Olivia or the movies, or something.

Cooking is just not my thing, but Harry will be all for it. He'll wake up peppy and put on his little chef hat and serve the children with a huge grin on his face. He's precious that one. That is why it is my job to not let someone like an escort destroy him, make him tainted. I'm sure he's a great Lad, truly, but there must be some sort of story with him, some sort of darkness. He's going to have to do a lot to get under my good graces.

Besides, the most pressing question I have is: why did Harry make me put furniture in front of the door in the first place? Why couldn't Louis leave? Ugh. I won't be getting any sleep tonight.

Hours later, I learned how true that statement was. I walked out of my room like a zombie, rubbing my eyes, and as I predicted, I was greeted by a chirpy Harry.

"Ni!" He said giving me a hug. "God, you look like shit!"

"Thanks man," I say sarcastically. "Where's lover boy?"

"He said he had to be at his office at 10 so he had to leave but he did say he'd see me around," he smiled, rocking on his toes.

"How was it?" I asked curiously. "Your date, I mean."

"Fine," he shrugs nonchantly. He tries to maintain his neutral tone but I saw a smile forming on his lips, grabbing my arm. "Ok! Ok! You caught me. I really like him, but not like that yet....just someone I'd like to get to know better."

I guide the two of us into the kitchen as he continues to gush about his night. I causally sneak up on top of the kitchen counter with my feet dangling, watching as Harry does all the work. Besides, the kitchen is sort of crowded anyway with people trying to figure out how to make these stupid things.

"Just be careful, Lad. You hardly know him,"

"I know that he tried to commit suicide," Harry mumbles under his breath.

"What?" I asked for clarification.

"What?" He repeats changing the subject.

Just as I was about to continue the conversation, Olivia came stumbling in. Her shirt was hanging off one shoulder and her mascara was smeared down her face. I could tell it wasn't from a night of crying but partying too hard. We'd seen this look on her several times. She was carrying her red heels and smiling at us.

"Guys, two words: Zayn Malik."

"Gross," Harry groans. "He was in my room the other day and said he and someone from his frat were using my room to get it on."

"And getting it on he is a pro at. Hot too," she brags. "Where's your eye candy?"

"He already left," Harry sighed as he spooned some vanilla frosting in a piping bag with blue food dye. I watched as he carried it over to the fridge, his lip perched in a frown. I patted his back lovingly.

Oh boy.

"After this stupid bake sale, we are going out for ice cream. My treat," I say to both of them.

"With sprinkles?" Harry pouts his lips.

"With sprinkles," I repeat as he smiles.

We continued to bake the cupcakes and when they were cooled, Harry decorated them in blue and green frosting. We hadn't sampled any because we were saving our appetite for ice cream.

Just as he drew a heart with his piping bag, Justin came running in. He had tears streaming down his face. Maybe he and Selena were fighting again.

"Did you guys not hear the news?" He asked confused. We looked at each-other shaking our head. "They found Kyle this morning. They rushed him to the hospital but it was too late....."

"Too late?" I questioned

".....Yeah. He didn't make it!" Justin wailed.

Oh my fucking God. Did Kyle even have a drug problem?

~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry's POV

I broke the rules. FUCK.

Kyle is dead because of me.