The Runner ➳ Narry (Book One)

Chapter Thirty-One

(Niall's POV)

It was nearly five in the morning, and I was tired out of my mind. Greg had shuffled off to bed at some point during our meal that Louis had prepared for us. It wasn't special, just some Kraft Dinner and toast. It was enough to fill me up, though.

Louis had crashed on Greg's sofa, snoring lightly as his eyes shifted back and forth beneath his lids, like he was having an action dream. I sat in one of the reclining chairs next to it, watching him curiously as I waited for Harry to return from the loo. I had told Louis there was a couple guest bedrooms upstairs, but he refused. He said he was used to sleeping on couches, which I didn't doubt. Something about his character seemed a little off, a little strange. I felt as if both Harry and Louis were holding something back, hiding something from me. Something big. This wasn't just about some random guy hunting Harry down, there was a story behind it. What had he been doing the night him and Jeff fought? What were they even fighting about?

Sitting in my brother's quiet living room was giving me a chance to really think all of this through. I knew I couldn't go back now, Jeff knew who I was. He had seen me with Harry that day in the cafe. He knew where I lived now, I couldn't go back.

I knew my house was probably trashed, a permanent reminder of that night three strange men broke in. But still, I couldn't wrap my mind around it. For some reason, I felt as if I knew one of them. I didn't get a good look, but there was a tugging in my gut, telling me that they knew more about me than just the fact I had been with Harry on one occasion.

My brain told me I should have left, let Harry go the day I met him. I shouldn't have even taken him back to my house, just dropped him off at the warehouse like he had asked.

The warehouse.

What was even in there? It had been abandoned ages ago. The metal exterior was rusting with age, the grass surrounding it longer than me almost. It hadn't had a proper maintenance job in years. So why did Harry insist on going there that night? Why did he seem so cold when I asked, so snappy about it? And, earlier tonight in the taxi, when Louis had answered that phone call, why did he call Jeff a client? What kind of work did they actually do? Who was on the other end of the phone? And why, when the same person called Harry a while later, did he not want to answer it? I felt like something bigger was going on here, something dangerous. Something that I felt like had to do with-

"Niall." My head whipped around in surprise to find Harry entering the living room again, carrying a pile of blankets in his hands. He had a smug look on his face. "Don't think too hard, you might hurt yourself."

I rolled my eyes at him and slumped back in the recliner, bringing my bottom lip in between my teeth and biting down softly. I couldn't find my thoughts anymore, they seemed lost. My head felt heavy on my neck, my eyelids even heavier. For some reason, my jumbled thoughts kept being pulled back to the three men. Why did I have such a strange feeling about this all?

I felt a warm hand on my shoulder, careful fingertips rubbing a circle on my skin, calming me. "I'm going to crash on the floor," Harry's voice whispered beside my ear. "You?"

I looked up at him, moonlight shining through the living room window, casting a streak of light across his face. "You do know there's guest bedrooms, right?"

Harry looked puzzled for a minute, setting down the blankets and pillows near my feet. "Is there?" He questioned. "That's alright, I'll sleep here. You head on up, though."

"I'd feel weird making you and Louis sleep in the living room rather than in a bed," I replied, looking over to our friend who was snoring on the sofa. "Greg won't mind. He offered," I half lied.