Fix You {Niall Horan}

Chapter 7

“Home sweet home, I guess,” Niall said, as he opened the door to the hotel room he shared with Addie. It was a cluttered mess, probably because they would be departing that night, right after their second concert in Glasgow, Scotland.

He let go of Adelaide’s hand – having just noticed he had been holding it the whole time – and  leant over to push a pile of semi-folded clothing aside on the bed for them to sit down on.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” he told her with a sigh, “While you were in the hospital for a few hours, I came back to pack a bit. We’re leaving for Liverpool really early tomorrow morning.”

“Ah, I see,” Adelaide said, understanding. She sat on the corner of the bed, plucking a t-shirt from his clean pile and folding it perfectly. She placed it on the bed and continued, folding the other shirts and trousers.

“What’re you doing?” he asked, raising his eyebrows at her, “You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” she smiled, “Plus, it bothers me when something is messy… Don’t ask why…”

And he didn’t, as he announced he would be off to pack his toiletries from the bathroom. He rose from his spot on the bed and walked to the toilet, pulling out the few bags he carried for his gels and products for his teeth. He looked up at the mirror for a moment, assessing his features in the mirror.

His blonde hair was browning at the roots, going back to its natural color. He had been wearing snapbacks lately, just to cover it because he knew that Lou would want to bleach it back. He did as well, but for some reason he wanted his brunette look. Maybe management would let him change his hair. Liam did it, anyways.

Niall’s t-shirt suddenly felt itchy and clung to his skin, just as it did when he was in a large crowd. He was surprised that his claustrophobia was reacting then, when he was alone in the bathroom. Then again, he was alone in a hotel room, with Adelaide.

He ignored the odd feeling and continued packing his toiletries, carefully placing his toothbrush in its case and putting it in one of the few bags. As he continued to place his bottles of gel in the other bags, the feeling got worse and worse. Once he looked up at his reflection in the mirror, he saw that his cheeks were a dark shade of red, sweat building up along his forehead and brow.

Adelaide sat on Niall’s bed, folding the last of his clothes. As she was pulling off one of his button downs from a hanger from the closet, she thought she heard someone panting, but ignored it as she continued to pack his suitcase for him. She stood at the end of the bed, her back to the bathroom door, which was left slightly ajar, and continued packing, when she heard it again.

Whirling around, she saw Niall gripping the sides of the sink, his face wet with sweat and his breathing rigid. With a gasp, she dropped the button down and sped over to him, holding onto his shoulders and pulling him up straight.

“Niall,” she spoke, as he continued panting, “Niall, look at me.”

He did.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, concern filling her blue eyes. Niall gazed into them a moment, the unique color somewhat calming him down a bit.

“I-“ pant, “I-“ pant, “I don’t know, it’s-it’s hot,” he stuttered, pulling at his shirt.

Adelaide observed his situation for a moment and tugged on his shirt, attempting to relieve him of the sudden episode. He held his arms up as she pulled the shirt over his head, and flung it across the room.

“Niall,” she said, grabbing onto his trembling hands and steering him towards the bed, where he sat down, “D-Do you have anxiety attacks?”

“C-Claustrophobia,” he answered, confused, “I-I dunno.”