𝒾𝒻 𝒾 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝒻𝓁𝓎 𝒽𝑜𝓂𝑒 (𝓁.𝓈.)

twenty-one

As soon as Louis leaves, it's like he takes a part of me with him. The part that was happy, that found the courage to smile even in the face of everything. Now all I can do is fall backwards onto my bed and cover my face.

I might lay there for minutes or hours, I'm not sure. Suddenly, I hear the unmistakeable ringtone of my phone—Juice by Lizzo—and I reluctantly roll over to look at it.

The name on the phone is one I've regrettably been ignoring a bit lately. I didn't mean to. But I got so caught up in the engagement and meetings and whatnot I just haven't had time to talk to him.

"Niall," I say guiltily when I pick up. I hear a huff on the other end.

"I'm at the door, Harold, let me in."

***

Ten minutes later, Niall and I are seated on the couch in my living room, having a heartfelt talk. It's not like we never do this, but it doesn't happen often enough, I think. It's mostly me ranting about my feelings. Niall told me at the beginning he has happy news, but he stepped back and let me talk, and now we're here.

He brought his guitar. Said something about how maybe writing something would make me feel better. I haven't given it a second glance since he set it down and flung himself onto the sofa, but maybe he's right. Writing has always been how I deal best with my emotions.

When I think I've finally talked myself raw, Niall purses his lips and sighs through his nose. "Sounds like a pretty fucked up situation," he notes, and I let out a breathy laugh despite myself.

"Yeah," I agree. "It is. I just wish he'd told me. And now I don't know where we stand. Not like I really knew before anyway. And I know Eleanor's his beard and I don't think he'd ever have feelings for her—I mean, I think he's just gay gay so—yeah. But it still hurts. Seeing them together and knowing there's nothing I can do to change the narrative the public's being fed."

Niall nods. "That sounds like a song right there," he says, and I give him a 'look,' but I actually see it. It could be a song. Probably a good one, too.

"Speaking of songs," Niall continues, reaching over to unclip his guitar case and pulling the thing out. It's a pretty guitar, but it's well-used, a light-colored Yamaha with chips practically everywhere. It's Niall's lucky guitar, the one he writes most of his songs on, and it's the one I learned to play on. It was a special thing for him to let me use it, especially since I was learning.

"I have this thing I've been playing around with. Not really my style, but maybe you could use it? It's a little upbeat, but...I don't know."

Niall starts playing, gently but confidently, a little bass line on the lowest three strings of the guitar. His fingers move surely across the fretboard without his eyes even watching. I hope one day I'll be as good as him at guitar. It's magical to watch.

"You like it?" Niall asks. I nod, humming along. A lyric pops into my head and I try it out.

"You don't understand, you don't understand," I sing softly. "What you do to me when you hold her hand."

Niall nods along, smiling. "Keep going."

I miss a few measures, but I pick up a little later, repeating the first words and adding, "We were meant to be, but a twist of fate made it so we had to walk away."

Niall stops playing for a second and looks up to meet my eyes. "I love it."

"Keep going, I think I have some more," I tell him, and he playfully salutes me before playing again. I start the verse over.

"You don't understand, you don't understand

What you do to me when you hold her hand

We were meant to be, but a twist of fate