Summary: Sure, the lead vocalist is cute; but Harry likes the guitarist.
The pub was his sanctuary; the place he could count on to ease whatever stress he was feeling from a long week of college courses; the place he could run off to when he needed a moment of laughter. It became another home for Harry. He was familiar with names and numbers. He even knew the menu like the back of his hand. It started off as a place his roommate, and best friend, Louis, would drag him to for his own, selfish quench for alcohol and good music ("and don't forget the wings," as the blue-eyed boy loved to remind him); and, eventually, Harry started to show up without Louis accompanying him. It became less about the alcohol consumption and more about the good vibes. The people there were on a whole, different wave of life than Harry's peers on campus. People at school were either uptight or living the stereotypical, college life; and, though that was Harry's perspective of fun during his freshmen year, he quickly outgrew the usual traditions. In the midst of all of that, Harry also had an imperative reason for continuously returning. It was his third weekend, in a row, of reluctantly joining Louis for beers and wings and whatever professional sport was broadcasting that evening; introduction to a local band had been made by Tom [the owner]. Being irrational and a little intoxicated, Louis shouted something absurd about not caring for a "shitty, boy band on fùtbol night;" however, his opinion was rendered irrelevant. The trio of boys took their positions on the small platform anyway.
Harry was immediately enticed, unintentionally giving in to their soothing ballads and their sweet acoustics. His beverage grew warm; long forgotten and unattended. There was a drummer, the name Liam imprinted on the forefront of his largest drum-set. His hands were quick, though precise; never missing a beat. The lead vocalist was quite the catch, honey eyes and a sultry voice to match. Harry wasn't quite sure what his name was, but he heard Zayn being chanted a few times. He was clearly the drive and powerhouse vocal that the band needed; and even his physical attributes were enough to get them noticed. Harry wasn't familiar with the song they were singing, but Zayn's vocals allured him, every lyric evoking something deep, meaningful, and emotional. But that wasn't where Harry's interest began or ended. There was a third one, kind of in the back, but still radiated a beautiful and quirky characteristic that allowed him to never go unnoticed. He was the blond (because - what's a boy band without such a prerequisite?); a little short in size compared to Harry, but easily compensated for it with his strumming talent. He had became Harry's focal point, the object of his affection, needing to know him name and and possibly more. There was a moment, a moment when Zayn was no longer singing, but allowing the guitar and drum instrumental to take everyone through a climatic journey. The blond's hands moved with impressive agility, overshadowing the cheers in the audience. There was a moment when his blue-eyed gaze averted towards Harry; but his focus never broke; a toothy smile upon his lips, bright and joyous. From that moment on, Harry was rendered hopelessly addicted.
"I've tried to move on, but I made up my mind; that my life without you just feels like time. I don't need some new friends, no. I don't need cheering up on the weekends. I draw the shades and pretend that you're mine." The following weekend was no different, except it was. In the forefront was the blond (Niall, the new name being cheered that time around); and he sung until the hummingbirds wept and the chandeliers, on the ceiling, danced. Harry knew nothing more than his name, but felt as though he was being taken on a journey through Niall's personal life; one that consisted of heartbreaks and many nights spent cuddled alone. Harry's heart burned with desire, desire to be more than just one of the faces in the crowd; a desire to be more than the person on the outside looking in. "Thank you," Niall concluded, a round of applause following closely behind. Harry snapped out of his trance, his blush hidden within the dimmed lights; and he was thankful that Louis wasn't there with him that night because the blue-eyed boy would be sure to inform everyone of Harry's flustering situation. The applauds grew dim, the trio then exiting the small stage before heading towards one of the booths in the back. They were deemed local, but were still treated like the biggest names around whenever they entered the pub, so it was only natural for them to be so secluded from everyone else. Harry would rarely, if ever, have the opportunity to get a glance at Niall once he walked off of the stage; however, the thought of being within a small distance from the blond kept Harry's heart beating. Harry returned to the bar, instantly receiving beer from Tim (free of charge, because Tim was feeling rather generous that night). "Hey, Tim! Three rounds!" The Irish accent snapped Harry out of whatever state of mind he was in, head turning towards the familiar blond beside him. He was leaning on the bar, five-feet something with an eccentric presence. Harry found himself at a lost of words, stuck between wanting to run into the nearest bathroom and wanting to start a long conversation with Niall about everything. "Enjoyed the show?" Harry was taken aback, mouth agape, words caught in his throat. He tried to remain nonchalant, but he was sure he looked like a dimwitted fool. The curly-haired boy pointed at himself, quizzing the blond. "I have a habit of talking to myself, but this isn't one of those cases," Niall stated with a chuckle, scooting closer to Harry. "Did you enjoy the show?" He asked once more.
Harry nodded, "uh, yeah; easy on the hands, I noticed," Harry stated.
"You think so?" Niall genuinely asked. Harry nodded once more, hands becoming a little clammy because Niall had took the initiative to settle in the seat next to him; and his band mates were too caught up in their own conversation to notice his prolonging absence; but Harry selfishly enjoyed the moment and couldn't care less if Niall never returned to them. "Started when I was five; me dad bought me my first guitar then. It's easy to get the basics, but everything else depends on how far you're willing to push yourself," Niall explained. Not only did his passion lie with playing the guitar, but the way he spoke about it oozed that same sense of passion; heartfelt. "I'm Niall," the blond stated, extending a hand towards Harry.
"The chants gave it away," Harry lightly laughed, extending his own hand towards Niall. "I'm Harry."
"I don't think it would've been as essential if I didn't introduce me, myself," Niall said. Oh, smooth talker, in a flattering way. Harry was on the brink of swooning. "I uh - I saw you here last weekend," Niall began. "I would've said hi then, but I had to rush off to another gig; didn't think I'd see you again, but as luck should have it," Niall chuckled, a small hint of blush upon his cheeks.
"So, you're one of those Irish natives? Four leaf clovers and shoes with buckles on them," Harry teased, an amused smirk on his face.
"Only every few years or so," Niall replied. Harry genuinely believed Niall was serious; and that within itself made Harry's heart swell. "Do you live around here? I play here every Saturday and it'd be nice to see you again, Harry. Mind if I give you my number?"
Harry frantically nodded, "uh, yeah. I uh - I don't have a pen on me or anything - " His sentence was cut short when he felt the small paper's texture in the palm of his hands, Niall's number written in blue ink. The blond had already made his way back towards his booth. Harry tucked the paper away, endlessly smiling for all to see.
"So, take this broken life I'm living, and take this love I can't stop giving." Even a year later, Harry found himself still enticed by Niall's melodic vocals. Even a year later, Niall was singing heartfelt songs that captured the essence of who he was and who he wanted to be. Even a year later, Niall always looked out to the crowd and made sure his blue eyes found Harry's; made sure Harry knew that Niall was aware of his presence, unconditionally; made sure Harry knew how acoustically remedial he was to Niall's soul. "...you're mine," Niall softly sung, strumming their love endlessly.
