Her Name Was Marty (Niall Horan)

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A noise by the door breaks me away from my thoughts. Looking for the culprit of the noise, the door creaks again and Niall is standing in the bedroom, mouth dropped open slightly.

I can only conjure up two words to sum up his sudden entrance, as I rise to my feet.

“Thank God.”

Niall storms forward on a mission as I’m embraced just as I had been in the ocean, and this time Niall pulls me in for a kiss.

And this time, I don’t second-guess it. 

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“Oh. I think you got some ice cream on your face.”

“Oh, where?”

Kiss. Giggle. Smile.

We were concealed under the covers of the bed, I could only see his face in the darkness, and he was all I wanted to see as far as I was concerned.

“Hey, I got this ice cream, get your own if you want some.” I tease, eating another spoonful whilst Niall watches mournfully.

“Actually, you said ‘hey, let’s order room service’, and I was the one who said ‘well if you’re getting something, get ice cream’ so I think you’ll find that it’s my ice cream that you are eating.” He responds, taking the spoon out of my hand and eating his own mouthful. I lean back into the covers, my forehead now peaking out from under our man-made fort, and when Niall looks over at me, he places the ice cream sundae on the floor before lying back next to me, his arm crossing over my bare waist and pulling me towards his chest.

“What are you thinking about then?” He asks me, drawing small circles on my shoulder, whilst I leave butterfly kisses across his chest. I try to lean as close to him as our bodies would allow. “Mar?”

The nickname instantly sends butterflies through my tummy, and as I replay that one word over in my head again and again, I come to the conclusion that I don’t mind nicknames as far as Niall’s concerned.

I instantly don’t want to tell him what I was thinking only a second before, maybe it would lead to an argument with him, that he’d think I was doubting him and all his words he’d said last night. But I’d decided that I would always be honest with him, and telling him what I was thinking would count as being honest with him.

“Wanna tell me?” He probes again, and now I know I have to tell him, to save him from imagining something else.

“Maybe this will never work.” I express. “Which I do want it to work, and I’ll try harder than anyone to make sure it does, but… there’s this part of me that’s scared it won’t work, and now I think it’s too late to go back.”

“I was thinking the same thing.” He confesses, “Maybe not to the extreme thoughts that we’ll never work out. I was sort of going down the thoughts of how everyone will react. Friends… family… fans. It’s going to be tought.”

“But what will we tell them?” I ask him, “When we get back, it’s no longer just us involved in this. You’ll be Niall Horan, part of the One Direction brand to the public. I’ll be… Marty, slut and sex addict. I won’t be seen as good enough for you.”

“Don’t say that.” He shushes me, taking a stray red curl and moving it back to the rest of my hair, without speaking a word to me. “So… what do you want to do about it?”

“Make the most of our time now.” I answer without even blinking, because that’s all I want. All I want is to have the most amount of fun with him now before the day where we decide that we should be headed back home, and the outside starts to mess with our relationship… or, whatever we have right now.