I'm not over you though, but it's nice to know you don't care about me. Forever, huh? Means a lot. Thanks a lot for turning out like everything you pinky promised me you'd never be.
ooc; i never said i didn’t care about you, they asked how it felt to know you’re over me and i said i don’t care. i’m just done with the situation. if you want to talk, text me.
“Nice to meet you, Niall, I’m Seth,”
"S’nice ta meet ya, Seth. How ya fairin’?"
megan's already over you how does that feel
ooc; tbh i really really don’t even care lol
Harry was quickly finding that transferring to Ireland was not, as his parents put it, ‘a lovely and life changing experience’. He wasn’t excited by the different cuisine (because how different was it, really?) and more importantly, he wasn’t impressed by the people. Some were nice, but many - mostly the students at his new school - were rough and vulgar. They often argued or even got physical right there in the hallways. That was what he’d quickly gotten used to.
There was a target on his head from day one for looking, acting, and even eating like a flaming homo. He’d never really considered himself one- nor had he figured that the style in which he ate insinuated anything derogatory towards his sexuality, but apparently it was more convincing than he once believed. He’d been pushed around and verbally tossed at, and had barely made it past his first month there. He’d only picked the name of one of the boys- “Ni”. Perhaps it was a nickname?
Not only was he a flaming homo, but apparently Britain has control of a few counties- (did he even recognize that before moving?) and therefore English was just sort of a rotten place to move from, and he’d been struggling emotionally. Mark-wise, though, he was doing remarkably well, and had even been prompted by his lenient teachers to start a bit of a tutoring session. Most kids that went to him were nice enough, just wanting to pass that final class, but sometimes they were unruly, unnecessary and totally unwanted.
Considering the fact that his high school had been given the generous grade of an F+ as an academic learning facility, it wasn’t often that new kids arrived. In fact, it was so rare, that when one unfortunate soul did happen across the grounds of McGill High, every pair of eyes were trained on them. For the next month or so, the attention would be completely on them, whether that was a good or bad thing depended on their appearance and the way they carried themselves. Harry something or other had only just begun his first day a few weeks prior, leaving him a primary target for victimization.
Not only had the kid moved from a place as undesirable as England, but he always dressed and acted so flamboyantly that it seemed to evoke anger in a majority of the students. The way his hair fell into perfect curls, and how his attire was always so… gay. That was the only word that was able to stand out in his mind. Every little thing Harry did was just so gay, it was almost painful.
Niall, being in the more violent crowd, became one of the boy’s numerous tormentors. On his third day, Niall knocked the books from his hand, promptly delivering a hard shove to his back when he attempted to pick it up. The curly-haired lad took this without complaint, scrambling to get his books and making himself scarce — but not before directing a disinterested look at the group of bullies. It was as if he thought he was above them.
Niall was the worst out of his group. On various occasions he humiliated and dehumanized Harry. Each time he caught his eyes lingering for just too long on those perfectly sculpted curls, he gave a shove. Each time he found himself staring at an exposed piece of skin as the boy reached for the highest shelf of his locker, he catapulted the lunch lady’s grotesque smelling guacamole. Each time his mind ventured to a place it shouldn’t go — a place which wasn’t able to doubt Harry’s cuteness — he only abused him more. Niall wasn’t gay. He wasn’t.
Unfortunately, his marks had been slipping as a result of… outside distractions, causing his professors to assign him a tutor. The awareness of this fact only elicited a grumble from the irritated blond, not wanting to spend more time in school than was necessary. Despite this, he followed his teachers’ sprawled instructions, following the directions given until he arrived at the desired room. Upon opening the door, that same stupid, amazing curly hair came into view, causing Niall’s heart to palpitate madly.
Oh, god, no. Please no. I can’t do this.
"Well, if it ain’t tha faggot come ta tutor me. Don’t try anythin, ‘ve got pepper spray, homo," The derogatory slurs were even beginning to make Niall himself cringe, the words sounding so harsh and just plain wrong in his mouth. This wasn’t him. Regardless of that fact, he maintained this ruse, the tough facade that he’d worked so hard to build up. He could get through this. And he could definitely do it without kissing those stupidly soft-looking lips of his that were practically mocking him.
“Oh well thank you,” he laughed with the blonde. “I’m very happy that you find my failed attempt amusing.” Of course, he wasn’t the first to laugh at his fake accents. He had tried them on old girlfriends and, of course, they burst into fits of laughter too. He was just happy that he wasn’t offended by the attempt.
"Sorry, mate," He said after the laughter had relatively subsided, slight smile still remaining on his lips. "S’just funny ta see ‘mericans try ta do accents. I mean, imagine if ya saw us walkin’ ‘round like," With this, Niall cleared his throat, preparing his actually quite accurate American accent. "Hey yo dawg, what’s up? Holla at your boy."
“They ripped your shirt and took your hair?” She asked, a slightly shocked expression coming to her face. ” Well that’s not very nice at all. I’m glad you’re better now.” She said, even though the incident was years ago.
“He was. He used to name everything.” She stated, looking at the ground. “It’s a good thing, believe me. I just had the impression that boybands in general were pompous and rude. You don’t seem that way at all.”
"Yeh. S’ppose there’s somethin’ called too obsessed," The blond said, nodding his head in agreement to the girl’s statement. It was ridiculous how desperate some girls — and even guys — became to get some part of him, no matter how small. He imagined things like his hair could be sold on Ebay — the process of which made his stomach curdle in disgust. For all he knew, a 50-year-old man could be in possession of his hair, stroking it in the weirdest fashion as a creeper might.
"Used ta…?" Niall trailed off, realizing he was trotting on thin ice into a territory he should not be invading. After all, the pair barely new each other; he hardly expected her to delve into the deepest depths of her mind and share her personal secrets with him. "Didn’t know we gave off that ‘mpression. Thank ya, though. I do try ta keep myself as non-pompous ‘n rude as I can," A laugh followed the boy’s statement, a slight blush beginning to canvas across his cheeks at the compliment.
A wide grin was plastered across his moderately pale face as he trotted all too proudly through the door of the Horan household, placing a hand on the handle and opening the door widely for his partner to follow suit after him. “After you, dear.” He chuckled as his beryl orbs fixed their gaze on the Irishman behind him.
“Charmin’, aren’t ya?” Niall said in regards to having the door opened for himself, his head swiveling back in forth as he chuckled softly. After allowing himself entrance, he immediately walked towards the kitchen, the smell of the Nando’s wafting up towards his nostrils and intoxicating him with the overwhelming desire to consume every last bit food the bag contained. “If ya weren’t such a cheeky little bastard, I might consider givin’ ya tha boyfriend ‘o tha year award,” The elder of the pair muttered teasingly, dumping the contents of the brown paper bag onto the table with a hungry glint in his eyes.
“Ello’ mate,” he joked, trying to mimick an Irish accent. Failing miserably, he shook his head as he laughed. “I’m Cole,” he stated as he held out his hand.
A round of chuckles left the blond’s mouth at the other boy’s futile attempt to imitate his accent. “No, tha t’was good, really,” He said, trying and failing to sound sincere as another fit of giggles overcame him. Niall hadn’t the slightest clue why, but when Americans attempt to replicate any other accent that wasn’t their own, uncontrollable laughter ensued, rather than offense that some might feel. “Well, nice ta meet ya, Cole. S’a good first impression ya just made.”