Chapter Text
Chapter 1(Harry Styles)
Harry had researched college. He knew what to expect, he knew his classes by heart. He knew where every building was located and knew all of the teachers' names. He knew everything to the best he could, and was not nervous one bit about it.
"Oh, I'm going to miss you so much." His mother, on the other hand, was worried out of her mind. He groaned a bit, turning around to see his mother standing there. He walked into the kitchen, to be greeted by the smell of pancakes and bacon (all of his favorite food, actually).
"Mum," He sighed and took a swift step forward. "I'll only be gone till holidays."
Her shoulders slumped with defeat. "I know," She spoke. "I know." She looked to the ground, took a deep breath in, then turned to the stove. "Its just, I don't know.." He knew that voice; she was going to say the Goodbye Talk.
The Goodbye Talk had been established when his older sister, Gemma, went away on her first sleepover. From the least important things to moving away to college, the Goodbye Talk was always told. Gemma warned him about it at a young age, so he had been used to it by the age of five. The Goodbye Talk at its worst was most likely the time when Anne (their mother) had to tell them that their dad left. She had to make the Goodbye Talk for him, since he was too cowardly to tell them himself (before running off with the young barista that worked their local coffee shop).
"Just know that wherever you are, however you're feeling, you can always call. Someone will always be there in the darkest of time,s even if you don't think so. It will be okay, it will all be, in the end, okay. I love you, just know that. That's all you need to know." Her voice was steady but faded to weakness halfway through, and he knew he'd have to hug her and tell her that it will be okay; it will all be okay.
She was still facing the stove so he walked forward, then hugged her from behind. He rested the side of his head on the top of her back, whispering, "I know, mummy. I know."
She laughed sadly and sniffed a couple of times, then waved her hand in front of her face. "Oh, goodness, I'm being ridiculous." He just smiled; he knew it was better to let her calm her nerves on her own and to not try to say something more to try to help her.
She laid the eggs on their own three plates, then added two pieces of bacon on each, as well. He backed up, then looked down at his watch. "Actually, mom, I have to go in a few minutes." Her face turned to a frown. "Oh, really? I just thought.."
"I know, I know. But Niall will be coming, and you know how impa-"
To prove his point, multiple car horn beeping coincidentally came from outside. Niall was here.
She sighed, then shook her head slowly. "Okay, then.." She mumbled, then gave him a long, tight (frankly, the air was squeezed out of him) hug. She continuously whispered that she loved him, and it will all be alright. He nodded, saying, "I know, mummy. I know."
Then, as he grabbed struggled with his six large bags of luggage (full of clothes, CDs, books, etc), he opened the door. "Make sure to tell Gem I said goodbye!" He called back over his shoulder, which he saw his mother nod excitedly. Gemma was currently at work at a vintage music store down the road, and plans to work there until she finds a good job in journalism. She is hoping to work as a main writer for the city's newspaper, and has to wait until the current boss retires so she can be promoted up (or given a chance to put in her application, at least).
And as quickly as he opened the door, he closed it after him.
Heading down the front porch stairs, he saw Niall smoking a cigarette in the front seat of his 1968 Chevrolet Camaro. As much as Harry tells him to get rid of the old thing, Niall only tells him that he will, but only once he earns enough money to afford a new one.
Its been three years since Niall's been "earning money".
Niall just doesn't want to admit he's a cheapskate.
The bright yet dull yellow made Harry feel nauseous at every glance, but still accepted the fact that Niall was his only way of making it to college (since Gemma currently had their only car; their dad ran away with the family van).
Niall took a long drag before throwing it to the ground, slowly blowing the thick, gray smoke back out after it had coated his lungs well enough. Niall took a once over of Harry, sliding his radiators down a bit. "You do know we're not thrift shopping, right?" Niall's accent was thick, as thick as always was and always will be. Even if he'd been living in England (Cheshire, to be more precise) for almost nine years, his Irish voice hadn't changed one bit. Which surprised Harry, but that was not nearly the most exciting thing about Niall James Horan, so he neither worry nor care about it.
Harry grinned slyly back at him as he stuck his bags in the back seat, since the roof was down. "You do know we don't live in the seventies anymore, right?" Niall laughed a bit as Harry climbed over the door and plopped down onto the white leather passenger seat. The leather was worn and faded, but Niall said that was the "effect" he was going for. Harry always rolled his eyes at that.
"You excited?" Harry asked Niall as he backed out of the driveway, him sending one last wave to his mother through the living room window. Niall scoffed. throwing his head back for a second. "Yeah," He smirked as he slowly shook his head, driving down the road. "Yeah, I guess you could say that." Then, after a few long moments, he looked to Harry and asked the same thing.
Harry shrugged. "Not excited, not worried. Just kinda... there." Niall nodded as if he knew what the younger boy was talking about.
Niall then turned up the radio, his fingertips tapping along to the beat of Oasis' hit song "Wonderwall" on the leather (of course, it was sickeningly white) steering wheel.
Harry nodded along, too, and looked to his left at the scenery they were passing by. Red trees and orange bushes quickened past his vision, creating a wonderful arrangement of colors flying by. The smell of freshly cut grass entered Harry's nostrils and he felt happy; he felt content. Like there was a whole set of weights lifted off of his shoulders.
He turned toward Niall and asked what that meant, what this feeling meant. Niall grinned and looked to him, his blue eyes shining through his radiators. "That feeling, my dear friend, is freedom."
And as they drove to college, where both of the lads were going to next fall, Harry felt that feeling of freedom. And, he decided, he liked it quite a bit.