One Direction Bromance One-Shots

Kaleidoscope ~ Narry

Harry was different.

With his glowing green eyes, messy mop of brunette hair, and seemingly out-of-control personality, he was what one may consider; weird.

Harry liked being a misfit. He liked being the kid that worshipped beanies, skinny jeans, baggy sweatshirts, and photography. He liked having his little circles of friends. He liked going to fast food restaurants and ordering kid’s meals with his best Irish friend, Niall Horan. Most of all, he just liked being a teenager.

Gerascophobia. That was the medical term for Harry’s condition. He had learned that when Niall came over to do research with him on their Psychology project. It was the fear of growing old.

Now, most people liked to say they were afraid of growing up – all of Harry’s classmates practically lived by the overused term, YOLO. But Harry was different – physically, mentally, and emotionally; Harold Edward Styles was afraid of growing up.

In lessons, whenever the teacher would ask the class what they would like to be when they grew up, Harry’s throat would begin to swell. His heart would pound; he would grow considerably paler – once, he almost had a panic attack due to that damned question. Niall had to drag him out of class in front of everyone; he had freaked out just that much.

Any idea of growing up would give Harry a big jolt. He didn’t celebrate birthdays – his own, or anyone else’s. He didn’t have a job, he wasn’t in any form of a relationship, and he didn’t do anything that was considered mature unless it was necessary.

Niall was, Harry thought, the only one who understood his fear – well, the only one who respected it, that is. If anyone was about to mention Harry’s phobia, Niall would get him out of the room as quickly as possible. If anyone would tease him about it, Niall would show them just how much power was in his little Irish fists – Niall maybe small, yes, but he was full of rage; he knew when to show it, and exactly who to show it to.

The two protected each other – Harry would even go so far as to say he loved his little blond friend. They had been closer than close for several years; their mothers were best friends as kids, as were they in present time. They protected each other, Harry liked to say.

But, Niall was hurting – and Harry would have to find that out the hard way.

~-~-~

It was senior year in high school when Niall James Horan killed himself.

Harry didn’t find out until his mum came home from the Horan household, crying. He peered at her for a few seconds, before jumping over the railing of the staircase, and into the kitchen. His mother was in hysterics, and Harry was just as confused as he was curious.

“Mum?” He had called, and his Anne immediately brought her son into her arms – wetting his curls with her tears. “Mum, what’s going on?”

Anne pulled away, and gently twirled one of Harry’s curls around on her skinny little finger as she whispered, “Oh, Harry, my baby. I’m so sorry, so sorry…you’re so young…”

“Mum!” Harry gasped; he was beginning to worry. “Mum, what’s happening? You’re scaring me.”

Anne was still crying; she couldn’t help it. For a few minutes or so, she held skinny little Harry as she cried and cried – as if it had her boy, not Maura’s. As if it had been her own best friend, not Harry’s. But she was not to blame for this; no one was, not even Niall himself.

Finally, she looked Harry in the eye, “I’m so, so sorry baby…It’s about Niall…”

Suddenly alert, Harry grasped his mother’s hands in his own, “Mum…mum, what? What about Niall? What’s happened? Is he okay?”