#blind!niall

[thenarrystore]

Home is Wherever I'm with You -- ziamfcks

Niall is blind and Harry works in a coffeeshop. It's love from the start.

blind!niall, coffee shop au, fluff, top!harry, bottom!niall, 5.3k

[narrymusings]

Look

Beginning . Accusation . Restless . Snowflake . Haze . Flame . Formal . Companion . Move . Silver . Prepared . Knowledge . Denial . Winter . Order . Thanks

Niall is blind. Harry treats it as a disability but quickly realizes it isn’t a disability at all; Niall just sees things differently.

 X

Harry sees Niall every day but never talks to him. He watches Niall from across the courtyard, across the corridor, across the classroom but he never acknowledges him. He thinks maybe it's weird, a little creepy to watch Niall from afar and never say anything, but the thing is he can't. He could never. 

Niall is like an enigma to Harry. Niall intrigues him, fills him with wonder and interest and curiousity and it's that curiousity that should make him speak to the Irish boy with the dyed-blond tips and brown roots, those sunglasses he always wears and those tank tops that show off way too much skin. But it doesn't; all it does is make him nervous, like a silly little boy with a weird sort of crush. 

The thing is: Niall is blind. Niall's always been blind, since birth – or so he's heard through the small town gossip mill. And it shouldn't, because it has no reason to, but the fact kind of scares Harry. It puts him on edge, makes him uncomfortable – just like everyone else in school, which he hates because Niall is kind of perfect.

So Harry keeps his distance and continues to watch Niall from afar because it's safer for everyone that way. 

Until he doesn't.  X Niall gets picked on, sometimes. While most kids just ignore him – save for the few that don't mind helping him out when he drops something or gets turned around, there's a handful of prats, bullies more like, that like to pick on Niall. They like to play keep away with his books and try to turn him around so he gets lost and, ultimately, winds up late for class. On a couple occasions in which Harry's actually been witness to such events, all he's had to do is glare at them from across the hall to make them stop. (Harry's kind of, almost, a little bit popular; people listen to him.) Other than that, Harry never really says much because Niall always holds his own – or ignores it, Harry's not sure which.

Today, however, when Harry rounds one corner to carry on down another corridor on his way to his Spanish class – which he shares with Niall and which Niall is exceptionally good at – and sees the same group of boys picking on Niall an unusual amount of anger surges through his veins. He begins to feel incredibly annoyed and frustrated and defensive because Niall's never done or said anything bad to anyone – not since he moved here from Ireland at the beginning of the year anyway – and he doesn't deserve to have these stupid boys using his disability against him. 

"Hey!" he finds himself shouting, his feet carrying him towards where one boy has Niall's walking stick high above his head and another is spinning Niall around in circles. Both boys freeze, turning to face him; Niall stumbles a bit, his shoulder falling into the lockers beside him. "Leave him alone."

"Oh c'mon, we're just having a bit of fun," the bigger, chubbier one holding the walking stick claims.

"You're being right prats is what you're being," Harry growls, using his height to rip the walking stick out of the bully's hand. "Get out of here."

Both boys scowl but disperse nonetheless. 

Harry immediately turns to face Niall, his gaze raking over the blond boy's small, thin body to check for any potential damage to his person. Niall stares at a spot just to the left of Harry's head, his eyes covered by black Ray Bans and his back against the lockers. "Here," Harry murmurs, taking Niall's forearm in his hand as he places the handle of the walking stick into Niall's palm. "Those guys are just pricks, don't – don't let 'em get to you."

"Thanks, Harry," Niall says, tapping the end of his stick against the floor. 

"Y-you know me? How?" Harry asks, blinking in confusion. He realizes, then, that that's probably an offensive question and behinds to feel bad. "Sorry, you don't-"

"I'm really good with voices," Niall replies, shrugging his shoulders casually. "And names, I suppose – not that that matters, considering everyone knows who you are anyway."

Harry rolls his eyes cheekily. "I'm sure not everyone."

Niall laughs softly, then, and Harry decides the sound of sort of mesmerizing. "I'm pretty sure it's everyone, mate. Definitely."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better everyone knows who you are as well."

"Only because I'm the blind kid."

Harry blinks, taken aback – though Niall's voice lacks animosity. He's simply stating a fact, yet it makes Harry uncomfortable. "I – uh-"

"It's okay, I know I'm blind," Niall jokes. "Speaking of, they kind of turned me around just now and since we both have Spanish could you, maybe, lead me in the right direction."

"Oh, right, yeah, of course," Harry replies as Niall holds his hand out to grip the grip the sleeve of Harry's jumper. 

They begin walking down the hallway in silence, Niall moving his stick about in front of him, tapping the end against the floor despite the fact that Harry's there to guide him. Harry finds himself looking sideways at the boy, finds himself admiring the way Niall holds his head high and walks with an air of confidence not even Harry, who has 20/20 vision, can seem to muster up because he's far too clumsy for that. 

"Do they do that a lot?" Harry asks softly.

"I guess," Niall shrugs. "I don't really pay them much attention."

Harry smiles as they approach their classroom door. "Good." X The more Harry gets to know Niall, the more of an enigma he becomes; the more Harry just wants to know him. 

The thing is, for someone who's completely blind, Niall is incredibly independent. His house is "blind-person proof" – which Harry finds out is really, truly accurate the first time he goes home with Niall – and Niall knows it like the back of his hand; he rarely even uses his walking stick in the comfort of his own home, which Maura, Niall's mum, scolds him for three times during Harry's first visit. He knows where everything is, knows how many steps it takes to get from one room to another, knows there are 13 steps in the staircase leading up to the bedrooms. He cooks his own meals (provided they're fairly simple,) does his own laundry, reads his own Braille books – he even knows how to play guitar, has every string and every strum memorized to a tee so he can play it fluidly.

It takes Harry a good three weeks to get used to it, to realize that Niall is fully able to do things on his own. He spends the first two weeks trying to do everything for Niall; picks things up if Niall drops them, reaches above Niall's head to grab whatever it is Niall reaches for, follows him around because he's afraid Niall's going to trip on something – all the while Niall insists that Harry doesn't have to help him. The third week consists of Harry continuing to try to "baby" Niall and then reminding himself that Niall can do everything (anything, really) on his own.

In short, Harry is kind of in awe of Niall and how he manages to be so...normal, despite his disability. X "You're special, you know that?" Harry tells him one night whilst they're curled up on Niall's bed, listening to the Eagles. 

"Special," Niall snorts. "Why?"

Harry shrugs, despite the fact that Niall can't see him. "You just... I mean, you're so independent, you know? Whatever you can do on your own you do on your own, you don't ask for hand-outs, you don't want special treatment. You just-"

"I wouldn't call it being special," Niall says, shrugging his own shoulders. "I can do mostly everything anyone else can do, I just have to do it differently."

Harry nods, more to himself than anything before saying, fondly, "I still say you're pretty special." X The first time Niall tells him to describe something – a sunset – Harry doesn't even know where to begin. He starts off by telling him colours – red, orange, pink, purple – and then stops because Niall doesn't know what colours look like. He starts to feel incredibly stupid and naive and guilty – guilty for forgetting that Niall can't see colours, guilty for being able to see them when Niall can't. And he feels angry, so incredibly angry because why can't Niall see colours? Why can't Niall see anything? What did he ever do to be deprived of being able to see, to never be able to see his mum's face or his future children's precious features or a beautiful sunset? 

Harry's about three seconds away from crying when Niall slips his hand into Harry's and weaves their fingers together delicately. And suddenly words are tumbling out of his mouth and his voice is thick with frustrated tears, "I don't know how to describe it without saying things you'll never understand," he whispers.

"Just describe it the way you see it. Forget colours. Just say whatever comes to mind when you look at it."

Harry licks his lips, tearing his gaze away from Niall's face, where the orange sun has lit up his skin. His eyes settle on where the sun is slowly disappearing in the horizon. "It's like the sky has exploded," he murmurs. "But in the most natural, beautiful way possible. 's like rivers of fire.." X "Doesn't it...doesn't it get frustrating not being able to see things?" Harry asks suddenly, staring at Niall from across his living room floor where they're sitting cross-legged with their current Spanish project spread out between them. It's random and Niall's had to repeat the same translation for Harry to write down four times now because Harry hasn't been able to stop staring at him. 

Niall's beautiful, is the thing. Inside and out and Harry's always sort of noticed but now it's starting to become a problem for him. 

Niall glances up at him, across their worksheets. He's wearing his sunglasses but his head is tilted at just the right angle that if Niall could see him he'd be looking right at him. Harry doesn't know how it works, how Niall knows exactly how to face whoever he's speaking to but Niall explains it as his other senses making up for his lack of his sight. 

Niall smirks. "I can still see things, Harry. I just see them differently."

"How?" Harry asks softly, hoping Niall doesn't take offense to it. Deep down, though, he knows Niall doesn't take offense to anything. He just explains, happily and easily so that Harry can understand. 

"By touch, mostly."

"Touch?"

Niall grins, nodding his head. He leans forward, reaching out to sweep the papers between them out of the way before crawling carefully across the carpeted floor and settling directly in front of Harry. "Can I try something?"

Harry swallows around the sudden lump in his throat, his gaze following every one of Niall's movements as the blond boy sits back on his heels. "Yeah."

Niall lifts his hands, then, and touches them gently to Harry's face. Harry draws in a breath, which he knows Niall hears because the corners his lips twitch into a smile as his fingers trace lightly over Harry's cheeks. Niall touches him carefully, traces his face gently; the way an artist might drag his brush across a canvas to create a piece of art. 

Harry struggles to keep his breathing in check whilst Niall glides his fingers over his hairline, down over his eyebrows and then around his eyes and over his cheekbones and down his jawline. And then his lips – Niall's fingers graze over his lips and Harry can barely hold back a gasp.

It's the single most intimate thing he's ever allowed someone to do to him. 

"I already knew you were beautiful, Harry," Niall murmurs. "But, fuck, your face is so beautiful too."

Harry doesn't know what to say – though the same exact words are on the tip of his own tongue too. 

"Now, close your eyes," Niall says, pulling his hands back as he sits back once more. He takes his sunglasses off – something that took two months for him to finally do around Harry. It's the only thing Harry thinks Niall's ever been self-conscious about; his eyes. "And gimme your hands."

Harry does as he's told. He lets his eyes fall closed and then holds his hands out in front of him, palms facing the ceiling. Niall's fingers wrap around his own, tugging on them gently to bring them to his own face. 

"Now, look."

"I can't see," Harry says dumbly, instinctively.

"I know. Just look."

Harry touches all over Niall's face, dragging his fingers gently over his skin the way he just witnessed Niall did. He touches Niall's forehead, his eyebrows, his nose and then his cheeks and then his lips. It's weird, not being able to see but feeling like he can see just perfectly. It's different. "Wow," he breathes.

"See?" Niall murmurs. "I can see all I need to see. I just see it differently."

Harry continues to map out Niall's face with his fingers, reveling in not only the feel of Niall's skin but also in the way it feels; in the intimacy of it all. 

"Keep your eyes closed," Niall tells him softly. "Can I try something?"

Harry nods. "Y-yeah," he whispers. 

It feels like Niall's getting closer – and then all of a sudden Niall's kissing him and stars are bursting behind Harry's eyes. 

(He wonders if Niall can see them too; thinks he does, judging from the moan that escapes the blond boy's lips as Harry surges forward to kiss him harder.)

[thenarrylib-blog]

Harry is struggling to go back to the way things were before everything, and has landed a job in a parking garage till booth.

Niall is blind and has found himself falling ridiculously hard for Harry, though Niall's not willing to open up about everything about him.

When the two come together, will they last through dark pasts coming back to haunt them or will they give up like they always do?

[lilith94]

i'm a little obsessed! 

can someone write a fic based on this ??

pretty pleaseeeeeee?

[lilith94]

Fellas, I'm gonna ask again: Can someone write a fic based on this? 

Pretty pleaseeeee!!! 

Come on, fellas (Harry voice)

[lilith94]

can someone write a fanfic based on this ??