Isla is already awake when her phone rings.
It's four in the morning and she's staring at the ceiling while Jack sleeps soundlessly next to her, his chest rising and falling in a relaxed rhythm, quiet, gentle mumbles occasionally falling from his lips as he dreams. He's like a dream come true next to her: a gentle giant, warm, soft, one arm open across the mattress for her to cuddle into. She should do exactly that, she knows: turn into his warmth and shut her eyes and never look back, let him carry her into the future the way he wants to, let him protect her, provide for her, keep her away from anything that could ever hurt her.
But her phone is ringing. And the image on the caller ID is enough of a stab in the chest for Isla to know that there's at least one thing no one can keep her away from.
'Niall?' She answers, sliding out of bed gently, so as not to wake Jack. 'Are you okay? What's going on?'
It's a second before Niall answers, his voice slightly slurred. 'Happy birthday,' he tells her, and Isla feels a pang of annoyance, swift and irrepressible.
'My birthday is in January,' as quietly as she can, Isla opens the bedroom door and lets herself out into the rest of the flat. 'It's April.'
As Isla pads toward the kitchen in the dark, one hand out against the wall so she doesn't bump into anything, Niall carries on. 'Yeah, well, I didn't call you then so I figured I'd tell you now.'
For just a second, Isla leans back against the kitchen counter, squeezes her eyes shut, and tries not to cry. As if she needed a reminder that he'd forgotten her birthday. Deep breath in, deep breath out, she opens her eyes and runs the kettle under the faucet. 'Are you drunk?'
'A bit,' a pause, wherever Niall is. 'A lot.'
Without trying to hide her annoyance, Isla says, 'I can tell,' and flips on the electric kettle. 'Thank you for the birthday wishes,' she shuts her eyes and leans back against the counter again. She doesn't want to say it. 'But we probably shouldn't be doing this.'
'Why not?' Isla can hear bed sheets rustling on Niall's side of the world. It makes her chest ache for something she hasn't had in so long.
'Well,' Isla pushes herself up off the counter and does a lap around her kitchen, trying to ward off the jealousy stirring in her stomach. 'For starters, it's four in the morning in London. And,' she carries on, unable to stop herself as the rest of the sentence forces its way out of her throat, 'and my boyfriend is sleeping, so.'
There's a pause on Niall's end, long enough for Isla to start pacing again. The knot in her stomach worms its way up to her throat while she waits and walks, her skin prickling with sweat, her heartbeat picking up. It's ridiculous, she tries to tell herself, the way he still gets to her like this.
'Right,' Niall says finally, his voice slurring a little. 'Sorry to wake him.'
'It's not like that,' Isla shakes her head, as if Niall can see her, then sighs. 'Sorry I said it like that. That was shitty of me.'
'S'alright,' Niall is so, so far away. 'You're not wrong.'
'Where are you?' Isla asks, desperate for the conversation to carry on. She doesn't want to let him go just yet. 'You sound a mess, are you somewhere safe?'
'Yeah, Dubai. I'm in my hotel room.'
The kettle clicks off, and as she pours herself a single mug of tea Isla does the math quickly in her head, despite the exhaustion fogging her brain. 'Is it not, like, seven in the morning in Dubai? Why are you drunk at seven in the morning?'
On the other side of the world, Niall yawns. His voice is thick and sleepy when he answers, 'Not gone to sleep yet. Went out last night.'
In London, in the middle of the night, Isla pads over to her couch and curls in on herself, warm mug pressed against her chest. Still, she feels cold. 'It was a good night, then?' She asks Niall, watching the steam from her tea curl and dissipate into the dark of her flat.
'No,' Niall says. 'We broke up.'
All of a sudden, Isla goes still. She feels an uncomfortable warmth flooding her veins, a drop in her chest that makes her dizzy. 'Oh,' she manages, coughing slightly. 'I didn't know you were seeing someone. I'm sorry to hear that.'
'No, no,' Isla can hear the sheets rustling on Niall's edge of the world. 'Not seeing anyone. The band.'
'The—what?' Isla stops herself, stuttering over her words. Two deep breaths, she collects her thoughts before she speaks again. Niall is probably struggling enough as it is, he doesn't need her shock on top of that. She puts his feelings at the forefront, the way she always does, and asks again, 'The band broke up?'
Niall sounds tired, like he's holding back. 'Yeah,' he sighs. 'But don't say anything. We're not announcing it yet, like.'
'I won't,' she promises, although she knows he knows that, too. 'Maybe it's a good thing, though. You deserve some time to rest. You could work on some golf stuff, or write your own music, even?' As she says it, Isla feels herself getting excited: Niall, making his own music, having creative freedom, truly shining the way she knows he deserves to. The thought of it energizes her, like it's not the middle of the night, like these are her dreams coming true instead of his.
'Dunno that anyone wants to hear my own music,' says Niall, voice quiet. 'Dunno where I go from here.'
'I'm interested,' she tells him, hoping he can feel how earnest she is over the phone. She's always interested, when Niall is involved.
'You're interested in everything I do.'
Isla smiles, rolling her eyes as she lifts her mug to her lips. 'Not true,' she tells him. 'I really don't give a shit about golf. Like, at all.'
Niall laughs, and Isla's heart does a stupid little somersault, as if he doesn't laugh at everything all the time. It means nothing, she knows, but still—the sound of his laugh activates something deep inside her, the way it always has. Knowing she made Niall laugh is like winning at some game that he doesn't even know she's playing, one where she's the only person keeping score.
Still curled on the couch, the sun just beginning to peek out over London, Isla lets her mind wander for a moment, imagining herself in bed next to him as he laughs sleepily, his face inches away from hers. They used to do that, when they were teenagers, when she'd lie to her mum that she was spending the night at Mia's and go straight to Niall's instead, because Bobby didn't care. They'd spend the night curled up in his twin sized bed with the covers pulled over their faces, the tiny little world under the duvet theirs alone. And she would do everything she could to make him laugh, his breath against her skin, his shoulders shaking with it, until he flipped the switch, his fingers between her legs, her breath against his, her shoulders shaking, too.
Maybe if you gave it a shot,' Niall says, still chuckling, and Isla drags herself back into the present moment—back into reality. Here, she's alone, a little cold, and totally exhausted.
'Don't want to, if I'm honest,' She says, mustering up all the normality she can. 'Maybe you should give going to sleep a shot.'
'S'why I called ya,' Niall yawns. 'Talk to me about law or something. Bore me t—'
'Isla?'
Isla's heart shoots into her throat, as if she's been caught doing something illegal. In the doorway to the living room it's Jack—giant, gentle Jack, in his boxers and his messy red hair, sleepy eyes worried, pretty mouth turned down in a pout. 'Everything alright?' He asks, his Scottish accent thick with sleep.
In a flash, Isla realizes she feels nothing.
The realization doesn't take her by surprise, really. She felt something for Jack once upon a time, she knows that, but now, right now, with Niall on the other end of the phone and her heart in her fucking throat, Isla knows the choice is simple. She knows there never really was one.
'It's alright,' she tells him, one hand covering the speaker on her phone. 'It's Niall.'
'Niall?' Jack sighs, pulling a hand through his hair. 'It's four in the morning.'
'He's in Dubai,' Isla whispers, annoyed that she even has to explain. 'He didn't realize.'
'Well did you tell him?' Jack presses, taking a step toward Isla. 'He can't just call you in the middle of the night and expect you to wake up and—'
'I was already awake. Couldn't sleep.'
'Right,' says Jack, looking a little lost in the middle of the living room. Isla feels a pang of guilt—this isn't fair on him, not matter what kind of epiphany she just had. 'Well, whenever you want to come back to bed—'
'I'll come,' she tells him, voice softening. 'Let me just finish my tea and say goodnight.'
'Okay,' Jack whispers. 'Love you, doll.'
Feeling a little sick, Isla mouths back a 'you too,' and uncovers the phone as she watches Jack make his way back to their bedroom.
'Sorry,' she says, into the phone this time. 'Listen, Niall, I should go. It's really late. Or early, whatever, and you're drunk. And this is... we can't keep doing things like this.'
'What do you mean, doing things like this?' Niall sounds angry, just for a second. 'We haven't spoken in ages.'
'I know, I know, but. This...' Isla swallows the lump in her throat, thinks of Jack, waiting for her in bed. 'This thing, Niall. Always coming back to each other. We've got to move on.'
'I'm not—'
'I'm sorry,' Isla cuts him of before he can say anything else, before she lets herself get too hurt. 'Niall. I shouldn't have picked up. Take a sleeping pill and make sure you drink a load of water. You'll feel better in the morning.'
'Isla—'
'Whatever comes after this,' she says, voice thick, worried he can tell how close to tears she is. 'it'll be the right thing for you. You're brilliant, Niall, you really are. Sleep well.'
And then, before he can break her heart again, Isla hangs up.
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