niall p.o.v.

Crisp morning air and stiff conversations. Thats how all funerals start out it seems.

The air was still, in a way. Conversations ceased to exist here. Nobody wanted to be there. They didn't want to face the fact that a loved one has passed. Even if you didn't know the person, the aura of the funeral made your mood damper.

Currently, some old woman was giving a speech up at the podium, shedding a few tears here and there. I had asked earlier if Harry was making a speech; he didn't respond, staring blankly at the wall in front of him. I don't think he had accepted the fact his grandmother is dead. He hasn't broke, he hasn't cried, he just stares at something and doesn't talk. My heart aches for him.

It was nearing the end, some people had left already. Many have given their condolences to Harry; squeezing his shoulder, giving a polite smile, saying 'sorry for your loss', and occasionally, there would be someone who says, 'you're parents would be proud of you'. He still has yet to say something about them but, I won't push it. During this, he had never looked them in the eye or said a response. Still just staring at a wall.

We arrived at the hotel and I was thankful for it to be over. The whole thing had been awkward and depressing. It didn't help Harry hadn't talked. Not saying he should be the one comforting me, its just, he's scaring me with not crying or showing some kind of sadness. I know he's not always heartless.

"Harry, Harry, Harry you want some, some water?" I shout, walking towards the kitchen. As usual, I get no response. I sigh, getting him a glass anyway. I sluggishly walk back to the bedroom, seeing him in the same position; sitting hunched over on the bed closest to the window, staring into oblivion. He seems bored and flat on the outside but, I know, on the inside he's slowly killing himself.

I put the glass on the bedside table, sitting beside him. "I brought, brought you a glass, a glass of water, water, water," I say hesitantly. Still no answer. It seems like he doesn't even know I'm here. I'm a ghost to him. Somebody with no voice. Mute. I was once the same.

"I know how it feels, feels," now isn't the time to stutter, control yourself, "I lost my father, father in a car crash. He was on his way home, home from work one night had, had a seizure behind the wheel. Ran into a tree and that was it for him." I almost break a sweat on trying to concentrate on not repeating that whole sentence. When I look over at him, he isn't looking back, making me think he didn't hear me. I sigh and place my hands in my lap, biting my lip. Suddenly, his hand reaches across and squeezes my thigh gently twice, as if saying I understand. He retracts after, going back to the way he was. I smile gratefully.

It was good enough for me.

✿

I had been expecting to return home may be a few days after the funeral but, as it turns out, we're staying here for a couple more days. Not that I mind, it's just been a little lonely. The most he has done is mumble a few words. He still hasn't cried or even showed much expression. I'm way past worried by now.

On the bright side, I think my medication is finally starting to kick in. The side affects aren't effecting me as much and I haven't been freaking out about dirty dishes like I used to. I still do them thoroughly though. When I talk to Harry, the urge to say my sentences over and over again is getting closer to being gone. However, I doubt it will fully go away.

"Here," I give Harry a banana as he sits on the bed, watching the rain patter against the window. He takes it and unwraps it without looking at it. He chews slowly, like everything else he does. I sit beside him, also eating a banana.

I look over at him. The sun brightens his glum face, making his eyes shine a bright green. I'm reminded everyday of how handsome he really is.

Both banana peels lie on the small table beside the bed and I find myself staring again. I feel like he isn't here. What I'm seeing is just a ghost of him. It practically is.

I can't help myself from jumping on to him, wrapping my arms tight around his torso, physically needing to hold him. I squeeze tight, hoping to get a response. It doesn't take long before I hear a quiet sob and a quake of his chest. His arms curl around my waist and he places his head in the crevice of my neck. The room is soon filled with his sobs.

✿

a.n

omg

sorry it was so short, i felt it was unnecessary to add much more

uNTIL NEXT TIME

p.s mitam hasn't stopped playing and im not sure if i have the strength to turn it off.