Broken Strings || Niall Horan [AU]

11 | walking on sunshine

I'm surprised by his forwardness and all I can say is: "What?" 

"You don't seem to like her very much. I... I just wasn't sure why."

I gulp, swallowing away the huge lump that's formed in my throat. "She just... She makes me feel like I'm nothing but a burden. I used to think the world of her, and she felt the same about me, but when my dad died, she just... changed. She became... damaged. Lifeless. Depressed." 

"Like you," Niall whispers. 

I look at him. "I'm not depressed, Niall. I'm just unhappy." 

"Well, maybe your mum's not depressed, either."

"Come to think of it, I don't think she is. I think she's just sad, too. But she'll be okay one day. We'll all be okay." I pause, letting my words hang in the air for a few moments before continuing. "Anyway, I think I remind her of Dad, and she doesn't like that. She looks at me and sees his blue eyes, his wavy brown hair, and sometimes, it's like she hates me for it."

I stare at the mattress between us, idly tapping the stretched sheet like piano keys, chewing on my lip and wishing I'd never said anything. Because the truth is, I feel guilty and wrong, and suddenly I'm thinking of all the good things my mother has done for me, all the reasons I shouldn't resent her. She has never lain a finger upon my body; never physically harmed me; never let me go without food or shelter; never directly or intentionally insulted me. I think of her now, fast asleep in the next room, nothing but a distressed widow whose heart just needs time to heal. 

"Maybe getting better just takes time," Niall says, voicing my thoughts. He grips the duvet, pulling it right up to his chin. His gaze never leaves mine. "One day, she'll be able to look at you in the way she used to. I promise." 

I smile sadly. "You think so?"

"I know so," he assures, before letting out a long yawn, which he attempts in vain to stifle. "Goodnight, Anna," he says, his voice muffled by the sound. "Sweet dreams." He closes his eyes and, taking one last look at him, I push back my side of the covers and begin to climb out of bed. 

"No," Niall says quickly, eyes still closed, blindly reaching out -- and flailing around, a bit -- in an attempt to grab my arm. He succeeds and desperately pulls me back towards him, slender fingers wrapped around my exposed wrist; defeated -- and not really that willing to fight -- I fall into bed. 

"Okay," is all I say. 

"I'll see you tomorrow," Niall murmurs. 

"See you," I say softly, and in that moment -- because his eyes are closed and it's midnight and everything seems easier right now rather than during the day -- I wish I could tilt my head towards his and kiss him. But I can't, so I don't. Instead, I merely close my eyes, and hope that someday, somehow, I won't be so messed up and our lips will finally be able to touch. I'll finally be able to tell him that, in reality, I think I'm falling for him. 

But I can't bring myself to say a word, so I keep my muddled thoughts to myself as reality fades away. 

♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫     ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫    ♪    ♫

Consciousness slowly reaches me, pulling me from sleepy dreams and waking me up as gently as today's sunshine, which seeps through the curtains and kisses my face, spreading a golden glow across each freckled cheek.

It's one of those moments I wish I could savour forever; curled up here on my side, a thick duvet enveloping my entire body, warmth cocooning me like a hug. And it is a hug, I realise as I slowly come to my senses, discovering that there's a thin, pale arm wrapped loosely around my waist and a body, about the same size as mine -- albeit a little longer and, let's face it, skinnier -- pressed up against my back.