In Other Words (Niall Fanfic)

Chapter Sixty-One

Roxy’s POV

I was awake at 5:35, exactly ten minutes before the alarm on Niall’s side would start its incessant beeping. I slipped out of the covers, the bones in my feet cracking as I sunk them into the plush carpet. I was a little surprised that he wasn’t up already, considering the large green circle he’d made on the calendar around this day. It was going to be a long one.

Coffee. The word popped into my brain. I pushed off from my palms and wiped the sleep from my eyes as I padded down the hallway and the stairs. I flicked the switch on the coffee pot, and peeked between the blinds covering the window above the sink. Thankfully, the sky looked pretty clear. I hoped it stayed that way.

I snuck back under the sheet and curled up against his chest, his light snoring coming to an end as he stirred. We intended to get to sleep early last night, but instead we stayed up talking in complete darkness until one a.m. You’d think at a certain point we’d run out of things to say to one another, run out of stories or questions to ask. That hasn’t happened yet. In fact, I often found myself hanging on his words, which often left his mouth a jumbled mess. He’d go back and sort through them, though, often getting carried off by an anecdote. At this point, I almost spoke his language. I could figure out what he meant, decoding his garbled sentences and random Irish terminology.

I was placing feather-light kisses on his jawbone just as his alarm went off,  his arm flinging from his side and over to the table, pawing furiously to turn it off. “Fuck.” He groaned as he finally succeeded.

“Top o’ the mornin’ to ya.” I whispered into his ear.

“You did not just say that.” He laughed.

“What?” I said. “It’s Saint Paddy’s Day! That’s what you say.”

“No.” he said, scratching his chest. “That’s what you say, because you’re fucking weird.” He ran his fingers through his hair, and rubbed his open palms over his face in attempt to wake himself. “We’ll have a proper lesson in Irish culture, but first you’ll need some coffee.”

“It’s already brewing.” I smiled. “We have a few minutes.”

St. Patrick’s Day wasn’t even on my radar as far as holidays go until I got to college, where it was taken very seriously. The bars would open at four  in the morning to lines circling the block. Those that went to class did so three sheets to the wind. The professors pretended not to notice the gallon jugs of orange juice, which were actually half vodka, being passed around the back rows of the lecture hall. Around noon, campus would fall silent as everyone took a couple hours to sober up slightly, and head back out to the bars for the evening. That was pretty much it. Everyone was Irish, everyone was drinking, everyone was kissing.

The smell of the hot coffee wafted up the stairs, sending my stomach growling. “What’s for breakfast?” I groaned.

“There’ll be a brunch after the parade.” He said. I frowned. “But we can get McDonald’s on the way, if you want.”

“Authentic.”

“Don’t tell me mother.” He whispered. “Now get up, lassy! We need to find ya something to wear.”

I held the blanket to my chest steadfastly as he attempted to wrestle it loose. “How about I get a little Irish in me before we go?” I said, trying my best to keep a straight face

“No time, love.” He smiled, kissing me on the cheek. “Later.” He said into my ear, gripping my ass cheek through the sheet.

I flopped back on the pillow as he headed into the bathroom. “Can you at least put a little whiskey in my coffee?”