Chapter Text
He wasn't a child―he didn't need anyone to watch his every move, didn't need anyone asking if he needed their help or if he would be okay managing on his own. He was his own person; he was strong and independent and smart. He could do things on his own―normal things that normal people were typically capable of―and he'd been able to for a while now. He wasn't a charity case and he definitely didn't need anyone's pity.
Despite the fact that he could no longer see, he knew how people looked at him, could feel it in the air around him. Sometimes when he couldn't do something right or if he happened to need assistance even though he'd insist with all his being that he didn't, he knew how others would look at him and he hated it. He hated feeling small and worthless, like he should be treated less of or babied around simply because of a disability he had absolutely no say in whatsoever. It wasn't fair on his part, and it wasn't right.
But no matter how much he'd protest and try to do things for himself, someone would always swoop in like some kind of hero he never asked for. This wasn't a comic book; he didn't need a superhero to save him from the world. He was perfectly capable of controlling his own life―he wished others could realize that.
He'd been quite used to his unfortunate disability for some time now, but it bothered him right down to the core how people didn't seem to understand that. He couldn't walk down the street without feeling like the entire universe was watching him. He couldn't even tie his shoes with people wondering how he could possibly accomplish that if his eyes didn't work properly. And it's not that they were purposely meaning to be ignorant or sound rude (at least he hoped not, he hoped no one was that cruel), but that was how everything came across, and Niall would be lying if he said it didn't bother him at all.
And while there were some good people out there who obviously didn't have bad intentions, were good hearted and pure, and while there were some people who were just downright insensitive and didn't give a care in the world, there was one person who happened to genuinely understand Niall―he'd never met anyone like that before.
He didn't treat him like he was a charity case ready to be donated to, didn't treat him like he was special or of a higher priority, didn't feel the need to care for him and watch over him like he was some kind of child who couldn't survive on their own. He didn't push and he didn't intrude; he didn't ask stupid questions and he was the most realistic, most rational person Niall had ever met in his entire life.
His name was Harry, and soon enough Niall would realize that he was the one thing he needed to feel alive again. And while Niall was an empty room full of black and darkness and nothing, Harry was that bright light at the end of the tunnel here to guide him home. He was Harry and he was the one thing Niall never knew he needed until he had him wrapped around his little finger and settling into the cusps of his hands.
Niall was pitch black, a silent, still noise, but Harry was a bursting, volcanic eruption of colors―bright and loud, pretty and electric, painting the skies and turning Niall's world into a beautiful work of art; a wonderful masterpiece.