Niall Centric One-Shots

Who Wanted a Happily Ever After, Anyways?

This is one of those stories where Niall is an ironically mute musician who has too much affection and, too many secrets; Ashton is a numb alcoholic who feels too little, who's trying to figure things out. Unlikely together, they're a mess.

Who wanted a happily ever after, anyways?

__ _

Ashton didn't know when it happened. He didn't know when his fingers stopped searching for textures of happiness, or when his vocal cords stopped rumbling in laughter, or when his eyes stopped their warm swirls of optimism. He didn't know.

Nothing was the same.

His heart had stopped beating with neon colours and his nose stopped twitching with anticipation. It was almost like he had forgotten what beautiful even meant. Beautiful used to be simple lines in wood or old pictures with worn edges of the past or the hazy smell of a burnt out wick. Beautiful used to be little gifts of affection and careless mistakes. But now, beautiful was nothing. Beauty was replaced by stark nights and empty heads. Everyone seemed to grow distant from him, their echoes of laughter and love fading into an uncomfortable ringing in his ears. Their once lovely voices becoming refrigerated and cold. Propagated ideas of squinting eyes and warm butterflies dispersed into piles of ash that sat in his stomach. Beautiful was nothing.

What was once great in abundance, his inspiration had long since run dry and his heart stopped emotionally beating. He was empty, empty and numb. Even the bitter taste of alcohol didn't satisfy anymore. It stopped leaving his tongue covered in tingles and excitement, now it left behind a sour taste of brokenness, but he still kept the aluminum bottles in his fridge, afraid of losing it all without them.

He was dependent on lifeless bottles that gave him nothing except hazy memories and bitter emotions. Depression inhaled him and spat him out like he spat up last night's cold dinner into the porcelain bowl, almost like he was spitting his thoughts and nonexistent emotions into the bowl.

His head was heavy and empty as it clunked against the toilet of an unknown club. The heavy colours peeking from under the bathroom door did nothing to excite him. They inked across the tile floor and up his pants leg. The music was nothing but heavy vibrations, it had given up on him, like everything and everyone else. They all pulled away and threw him into a rubbish bin, but it didn't anger him, it didn't sadden him. He felt no emotion towards it. Like usual.

Ashton didn't know how long he had been on the toilet when the sound of stilettos clacking against the floor eased into his ears. He had gone into the birds' room.

Ashton's legs didn't give out on him as he stumbled to unlock the door and head to the sink. The woman didn't even scream or try to claw his recently tanned skin, she just stared at him with sympathy in her brown eyes. She tried to offer him money as he stalked out of the bathroom.

He didn't need sympathy.

He didn't need anything.

__ _

Ashton tried to remember the last time he wanted something. He tried to breach past the walls that had long since caved in on each other and remember when his eyes last shown with grace and joy. He couldn't remember.

He couldn't remember the last time he smiled or the last time he actually laughed. The fragments of memories had drifted away from him like a boat sailing off course and down a waterfall. The colours he desperately tried to feel and see again, that never came to him, were forgotten and discarded somewhere. Somewhere deep and locked away, and he had lost the key to it. He tried to remember anything and everything that he once yearned for and felt for.