Broken Strings || Niall Horan [AU]

06 | a familiar face

I easily opt for a chicken burger and fries, but for Niall, deciding which order to place is seemingly no easy feat. He spends the next ten minutes alternating between staring at the menu, clutching his head in his hands (and running his slender fingers through his thick hair, which I watch in a silly girlish daze), and grumbling profanities beneath his breath. Eventually, he slams the menu to the table and huffs, "I can't decide, so you'll have to choose for me." He lifts his head, narrowing his eyes at me. He speaks the next words clearly and slowly. "Choose wisely, Anna Winters."

I chuckle. "Wow, Niall. That's a huge responsibility. I don't know if I can handle such abundant pressure," I say, my voice dripping with sarcasm.

Niall rolls his eyes. "Firstly, I have no idea what 'abundant' means, and second, if I spend one more minute trying to make up my mind, my head will probably explode. So -- you know what, yes -- I'll just have whatever you're having."

"A salad it'll be, then," I say, and burst out laughing when Niall's jaw drops and he immediately starts to frantically shake his head.

"No!" He yells. Then he catches on and frowns. "Nice joke. I nearly had a heart attack, thank you very much."

A part of me is wondering why he's against the idea of having a salad when, surely, any food would do, but the rest of me -- the bigger, more prominent and pushy part -- is relishing the way his eyes light up when he smiles; which is what he's doing now, having seen the humour in my little joke.

I walk to the counter to place an order for two Diet Cokes and two chicken burgers with fries, and while I'm standing there in the queue, two policemen enter the restaurant. I watch as they speak with the woman at the counter -- something about a scuffle in the streets last night and if any of the workers had witnessed it -- and an uneasy feeling spreads across my body. These two policemen look just like the pair who delivered the news to me and Mum that my father had died; they have the same outfits, the same shiny shoes, the same serious faces. I stare hard at my feet, trying not to let them get to me. I wait until I hear them leave before lifting my gaze, stepping forward to place my order.

When I get back to our table, two glasses of icy Diet Coke in hand, I'm surprised to find that the Irish boy himself is nowhere to be seen. I slide into my seat, unable to shake the uncomfortable feeling the policemen's presence left me with. I fiddle with the sleeves of my jacket, pulling them down over each wrist, and sip my Coke whilst waiting for Niall to return.

When he does, he simply shrugs. "Sorry. Went to the loo." As he sits, he glances twice at the door, and in the minutes that follow, he lifts his head to do the same another five times. He begins to knaw on his chapped lips, his eyebrows knotting together in what seems like worry. It appears as if he's anxiously waiting for something, or checking that something's gone and won't come back -- like when I see a spider scuttle behind the wardrobe in my bedroom. Then I realise. The policemen.

"You know," I say softly, confused and intending to get to the bottom of this, "policemen have always made me feel uncomfortable. As a kid, I never understood why anyone would go round looking for bad."

Niall tears his gaze from the door and fixes it to mine. "Uh- yeah. Me, um, too." He gives a small shrug of his shoulders and once again turns his attention to the door.

I reach across the table, a spontaneous part of me intending to take his hand, but think better of it at the last minute and wrap my fingers around my glass, instead. "Niall?" I press gently. "Is everything okay? You disappeared when those policemen came in, and now you're acting a little weird. What's up?"

"Nothing," he says, a little too quickly. He blinks and deliberately pronounces the next words more slowly. "I mean, nothing. I'm fine. It's like you said -- policemen just make me uncomfortable, is all."