small town divorce fic excerpt

[saysthemagpie]

“Just tell me you hate me!” Harry shoves him up against the passenger door, hard enough to jar him, fingers digging into his upper arms. He stinks of beer and old sweat, his face twisted with hurt, and Niall still wants him so much it makes his chest ache. “Tell me I’m a fucking asshole, and I fucked it up, and you fucking – you hate me, you hate me for what I did to you, to us.”

Niall can’t help it. He’s trying to keep a clear head, but Harry’s too close after weeks apart, weeks of thinking about how he’s never, ever going to have this again.

He kisses him.

For a moment Harry tenses up—stunned, maybe. Then he makes a low, angry sound in his the back of his throat and kisses him back, fiercely, pinning him against the side of the car with his body like he’s afraid Niall’s going to twist away from him again. There’s no tenderness in it, none of that awful, disorienting gentleness he’s come to associate with being touched by Harry.

Niall feels a wave of relief so profound his knees nearly buckle. It’s not too late, then, to rewrite what they are to each other, to rewind the tape of their history and press record.

He could learn to hate this Harry. He could learn to regret loving him. To want to give it back, all of it, every moment of their lives together.

“God, Niall,” Harry chokes out, pressing their foreheads together. He sounds lost, almost scared. “Why’re you – why won’t you talk to me, why won’t you ever talk to me.”

Niall tries to kiss him again, to shut him up. But this time Harry pulls out of his grasp, stumbling backwards. There’s a look of bewildered hurt on his face, as if Niall’s the one who’s done something wrong. As if it’s Harry whose heart is breaking.

“Say something,” he says. “Niall, just – say something, please.”

The truck door feels like the only thing keeping Niall upright. He presses his palms flat against it, the metal cool against his skin. “I talked to Coach.”

“You what?”

“He called Oklahoma State,” Niall says. He forces the words out, though it hurts to say them. “And they still want you. The scholarship won’t be as good, least not the first year, but they’ll take care of you. That’s what he said.“

 For a long minute Harry doesn’t move. He just stares at Niall, a muscle working in his jaw.

“They’ll take care of you,” Niall repeats, stupidly. His tongue suddenly feels too thick in his mouth, threatening to choke him.

Something in Harry’s face shutters.

“Jesus, Horan,” he says, his voice flat. “You’re a piece of work."