Heart | N.H.

twenty six - antebellum

Since we'd left the art exhibit early, we still had some time before we were expected back home. Instead of going back, we decided to stop by a small theater in the middle of nowhere. I'd never heard of the movie that was playing, and I didn't understand much of it; I kept poking Niall and asking him what was going on. I didn't think he was very honest in his explanations, either, because he told me all about an extravagant plot involving aliens—and the movie was set in ninteenth-century France.

Eventually, I dozed off again. I was faintly aware of the warmth of Niall's shoulder against my cheek, and I also registered in some vague part of my brain that the movie was over and we should be getting ready to leave. But a much larger part of me was saying something along the lines of mmm sweet dreams Niall smells like cinnamon sleeeeep.

He'd wake me up when it was really time to go, I told myself. And I continued telling myself that, even as I felt myself lifted into a pair of strong arms. Even as I was carried out into the chilly air with a fluffy parka that certainly wasn't mine thrown over me and gently slid into the backseat of a creaky old car.

When I finally opened my eyes, we were already out of the theater parking lot and officially on our way back home. Niall gave a short snort as I attempted to clamber over the top of the seat to sit shotgun.

"You're going to fall on your head. I'm pretty sure that's not safe," he said, tapping the steering wheel.

"Made it," I huffed, tumbling onto the seat and buckling myself in. I gave him a proud grin and a thumbs-up. His disapproving look faded, a smile threatening the edges of his lips.

"How'd you like the movie?"

"Oh, it was... You know, I really liked the ending." We both knew perfectly well that I hadn't seen a minute of the ending; I'd been too busy drooling with my head tipped back on the seat, attractive and poised as ever.

A full smirk played across his face. It was dangerously cute. I hated him for being so perfect that the moon turned his hair to wheaten-white and his blue eyes to galaxies and his lips to red supernovas. I wanted to paint him in stars and petals.

"The aliens were really scary," Niall said.

"Especially with their pompadours and parasols," I agreed.

He was silent for a moment. I noticed that there was a greenish pallor to his skin all of a sudden. Worried, I said, "Are you feeling okay, Ni?"

"Yeah, I just..." Taking notice of the concern that must've been etched across my expression, he said hastily, "I feel fine, I swear. Really. It's just- Do you mind if I pull over for a second? There's something I need to talk to you about, and my nerves are so fried that I'm going to crash the car if I try to drive and-"

"Of course. Go ahead, pull over," I said earnestly, though I was more than a little confused.

We pulled over. Niall looked like he was getting ready to fight a war. His fingers were white from his death-grip on the steering wheel, and when I put my hand over his to steady him, his grasp was ice-cold.

At my touch, his eyes fluttered shut. "How do you do that," he said hoarsely.

I had no idea what he was referring to, so I just said, "What did you want to talk about?"

"You probably already know what I'm going to say, actually," he babbled nervously, running his hand through his hair.

"Niall, quit stalling."

"Okay, well, can I just say that first of all, you're my best friend. You know that, don't you?"

I didn't, actually. Niall had a lot of friends.