Broken Strings || Niall Horan [AU]

03 | when it rains

❝Lonely thoughts, they seep into mind, into me, pushing deep. Wash the dirt, a hard day's work, know my place on my own.❞ ▬ Home, Ellie Goulding.

CHAPTER THREE

It becomes clear, about three minutes into the 'tour', that Niall isn't fond of his makeshift home. 

"Bloody thing!" He yells, pounding on a door with one hand and vigorously rattling the doorknob with the other. After thirty seconds of incessant banging and cursing, he lets out a sigh, dropping his arms to the side. He takes a few steps backward, a newfound look of determination sitting in his eyes as he glares at the door before him. "I'm sorry that you're going to have to witness this," he says to me, and before I can ask him what he's talking about he takes a huge leap forward, slamming one side of his body against the hard wood. The whole house seems to shake from the impact, and sure enough, the door swings open. Niall turns to me, frowning. "Sorry about that; that door always gets stuck." As we go inside, I notice him rubbing his arm and wincing. 

"So, uh, what do you call this room?" I ask, looking round. The room is practically empty, apart from a decrepit fireplace, a tatty rug on the floor, and a large oddly-shaped object covered by a sheet, which sits in the corner and now holds my full attention. Curiosity floods my body as to what could possibly be underneath. 

"This is the piano room," replies Niall with a smile, and he folds his arms across his chest, doing that now-familiar thing where he puts his hands beneath his armpits, his calloused thumbs sticking out. 

A grin graces my lips and I walk towards the huge, sheet-covered object. It sits beside a large window, and I'm vaguely aware of rain slashing against the glass like a knife across skin, but I'm too intruiged to fully care. "This is a piano?" 

"See for yourself," he says, and grinning, I grip the sheet, whipping it off with a flourish. The material falls to my feet, as gentle and soft as a kiss. "Wow," I breathe, running my fingers along the smooth surface of a large and beautiful, albeit very old-looking, piano. I look at him pointedly. "You realise you could sell this and get thousands?" 

His eyes widen slightly, as if this is news to him, but he quickly shrugs. In the short while I've known Niall, I've discovered that he's not the brightest tool in the shed -- but can I really blame him, seeing as he's clearly had a rough childhood? "I know, but nah," Niall says. "It's so special -- selling it just wouldn't feel right. Besides..." He moves closer, standing beside me and pressing a random key. The sound rings out. "It's broken. I mean, look at these dents-" He traces his fingers along the surface of the piano, pointing out various imperfections. "-and some of the keys are all stiff. See?" He locates another, pressing it; at first the only sound to be heard is the rainfall outside, but after a forceful push, the note chimes out. 

"Maybe just hundreds, then," I say softly. I choose a key myself -- a black one, an F sharp to be precise -- and play it. "We used to have a piano like this, but my mum got rid of it a few years ago. Said it was taking up too much space." Of course, this isn't the complete truth. My mother did say that, but I knew the real reason behind her sudden decision to dispose of something so precious, something that had been a huge part of our lives for such a long time; my father used to play, and when he died, the instrument reminded my mother too much of him, and it was so painful for her to even look at the thing that she sold it over the internet -- or something like that. "Good riddance," she'd muttered when the man who'd bought it drove off with it in the back of his van, and I don't think she meant for me to hear. We never saw the piano again.