He’s either going to stay, or he’s going to go. Niall hopes that he stays.
X
when you feel your love’s been taken
and you know there’s something missing
in the dark, we’re barely hanging on
It’s well past midnight when he hears the front door open, and then close.
He waits. Counts 45 seconds in his head, and feels his heart skip a beat when the bedroom door opens next. He listens to the sound of feet shuffling quietly across the floor, as though he’s trying not to wake him despite knowing that he’s already awake because he always is.
There’s a distinct sound of him pulling off his clothes; the subtle brush of his shirt sliding up over his shoulders and arms, the rustle of his jeans sliding down his legs, the slight clang the buckle makes as it makes contact with the hardwood floor.
Then, there’s the dip of the mattress as he crawls into bed. And only then, like always, does Niall roll over to greet him.
It’s become something of a pattern lately. And it’s neither of their faults, not really. They’re both busy, what with their own careers now on top of their own social lives and responsibilities, and there are only so many hours in a day, and sometimes those hours within days drag on and on and then suddenly it’s two o’clock in the morning and he’s four hours late, and sometimes it’s Niall that’s late – and sometimes they’re cities apart, separated by hours as well as distance, and neither of them make it at all. Sometimes they don’t see each other for weeks at a time. Sometimes they barely even talk to each other for days.
They’re drifting apart. Have been for a while; a longer while than either of them would ever like to admit.
then you rest your head upon my chest
and you feel like there ain’t nothing left
I’m afraid that what we had is gone
Harry turns to him the second he’s settled amongst the sheets. “Hi,” he whispers.
Niall hums, lifts an arm up to welcome Harry’s embrace. Harry leans into him immediately, instinctively. He rests his head upon Niall’s chest, buries his nose against Niall’s skin and breathes him in.
It’s a comfort they both need. It’s the only thing that makes it feel like they aren’t falling apart. Like there’s something – anything – left to hang on to. Like what they have isn’t always falling apart.
“How was your day?” Harry asks softly lips brushing against Niall’s skin.
“Great. Things went really well in the studio,” Niall murmurs. “How was yours?”
“It was good,” is all Harry says. It’s all he ever says about his day these days. And, Niall gets that he doesn’t want to give too much away so close to, well, everything, but it’s just- It’s Niall. Harry should be able to share anything – and everything – with Niall.
He used to, is the thing. He used to tell Niall everything. And then the hiatus happened, and Harry’s movie happened, and Niall went on holiday, and- A lot has changed. Everything has changed, really. And Niall doesn’t really know why. He doesn’t know why everything is different, doesn’t know what changed.
He doesn’t know why everything they had, why everything they used to be together, feels like it’s been disappearing for months.
then I think of the start
and it echoes a spark
I remember the magic and electricity
They used to be great together. They weren’t perfect, not by any means – they had their fights, and they had their issues, and they weren’t perfect at all, really, but they were perfectly imperfect. They were perfect for each other.
They were young. They were a little bit stupid. And they were in lust. In puppy love.
Niall remembers seeing him that first time, at boot camp. He remembers the way his heart sort of skipped a beat when Harry smiled all dopey and pretty, remembers the way the butterflies came to life in his stomach when Harry tripped over his own feet during choreography – and, well, outside of choreography as well. He remembers being interested in the way Harry’s fringe fell over his forehead, remembers adoring the way Harry’s eyes lit up when he was singing, remembers wondering exactly how deep his dimples caved into cheeks.
He remembers asking, rather abruptly and awkwardly, if Harry would go back to Mullingar for a few days with him. And, more than that, he very distinctly remembers the way it felt like every bone in his body turned to liquid when Harry had smiled and said yes.
Nothing had happened back then. At least, nothing more than easy flirting and the occasional, drunken snog. In fact, two years had passed since it happened.
The details are fuzzy, having had one or two (or three) too many beers – but he remembers the feeling. He remembers a kiss that lit a fire inside his heart. He remembers hands touching him all over, and how it felt like sparks igniting all over his body. He remembers knowing he’d never felt this way before, remembers wanting this feeling – this falling and flying at the same time sort of feeling – to last forever.
He remembers, rather vividly, knowing that he was in love.
then I look in my heart
there’s a light in the dark
still a flicker of hope that you first gave to me
that I want to keep
When he looks at Harry now, he still knows. He’s still very much in love. And that, in and of itself, tells him that it’s worth hanging on to. It’s worth not giving up.
And it’s moments like this, where it’s late and Harry could have stayed wherever he was, or he could have gone back to his own house, but Harry comes here anyway – where he crawls into bed with Niall and stays- It’s moments like now, as he looks at Harry and sees him sees him sleeping and remembers what Harry had said to him before it all went wonky, that are like beacons of light. A flicker of hope.
He holds onto it. He squeezes it tight, keeps it locked up within the walls of his heart – just as he curls his arms around Harry, spoons him, holds him close and tight so that he can’t just slip away.
please don’t leave.
X
when you lay there and you’re sleeping
hear the patterns of you breathing
and I tell you things you’ve never heard before
asking questions to the ceiling
never knowing what you’re thinking
and I’m afraid
that what we had is gone
X
and I want this pass
and I hope this won’t last
last too long
The mornings are always awkward. Where they used to move together, fluidly and perfectly, like they belonged here, and there, and everywhere together – they now dance, and skirt around each other. It’s like neither of them really know what say to each other. It’s like they no longer know how to act around each other.
The spark isn’t gone, is the thing. It’s still there. He can still feel it – when they touch, or when they look at each other. It’s still there. It’s just- It’s getting dimmer. It’s getting quieter. And Niall doesn’t know how to make it stop.
But he wants to. He wants to make it stop, because if he keeps going then… It’ll go out. It’ll disappear. And then everything – everything they are, everything they’ve been, everything they had – will be gone. It won’t just be a fear of his anymore. It would be a reality. And he’s not ready for that. He’ll never be ready for that.
He wants things to go back to the way that they were. He wants this, whatever it is – a rut, or a rough patch, or whatever – to pass. And it could. It could pass, is the thing. The light is still there. It’s dim, but it still flickers. It’s there.
They just have to wait it out.
“You’re coming back here tonight, yeah?” he finds himself asking, as Harry moves towards the front door. He leans against the wall in the foyer, coffee cup clutched tight between his fingers just so they have something to hold onto.
Harry looks back at him, and smiles. A flicker of hope. “Yeah, I’ll be back tonight.”
Niall smiles back because he believes it. He’s not ready for Harry to leave, not for good. He probably won’t ever be ready, if he’s being honest.
And neither is Harry. Harry isn’t ready to leave either, and that’s a relief.
Still, though, it doesn’t stop him from thinking about it. It doesn’t stop him from hoping that today – nor tomorrow, or the day after – won’t be the day. It doesn’t stop him from pleading, silently, as though Harry can hear him, that when he does come home tonight, and tomorrow, and whatever other day follows in the near and distant future, that Harry will stay.
La poliamina PUTRESCINA se produce por ruptura de aminoácidos en organismos muertos, sin embargo es crucial en el desarrollo de la vida.
Esta poliamina, la butano-1,4-diamina (putrescina), es un policatión de bajo peso molecular esencial para el crecimiento y la diferenciación celular de todos los organismos. Debido a su carga positiva distribuida, ejerce múltiples funciones uniendo moléculas de la célula cargadas negativamente, por lo que es crucial en la síntesis de ADN, ARN, proteínas y lípidos de membrana..
La música barroca y la música clásica subsisten hasta nuestros días, deformadas y reconstruidas desde lo abstracto, se reflejan de forma iridiscente en las nuevas creaciones sonoras que rayan en degeneraciones subsónicas: música inteligente de baile, ruido y fallas, experimentación… Todo esto unido a la fina creación de proyecciones visuales para deleite de aquellos que gustan de las mutaciones multimedia.
