Without a Clue {Diall}

Chapter Seven: The Lost Boy

Trigger warnings in this chapter: descriptive depictions of mental illnesses.

Please do not read if you will be affected by any of the triggers listed above or read with caution.

Niall's fingers lightly run through Grayson's hair for a moment when the small child runs to his side after finally receiving a sippy cup of apple juice that he so desperately wanted. It seems as if Grayson only has two settings: cute and hungry (although he's definitely still cute when he's hungry). The longer I'm around Niall and Grayson, the longer I feel as if there's some part of me that's going to miss them terribly after I'm gone. Even though it's only been two days, somehow, I feel as if my mornings will be empty without the funny babbles of a two year old.

"Alright, little monster," Niall says before picking up Grayson and slinging him over his shoulder, "time for a nap." Grayson whines slightly as Niall starts walking towards his nursery, my heart breaking when Grayson waves goodbye at me with his little, chubby hand.

"Dada! Mom-stars mot map!" I hear Grayson tell Niall in an attempt to get out of this mandatory nap, but Niall is quick to respond that little monsters definitely do take naps. However, by that point the apartment was nearly quiet, and only minutes later, Niall emerges from the nursery with a triumphant look on his face and a different baby in his arms.

"Trade one for another?" I ask softly, and he smiles with a nod.

"'Suppose so." Jensen smiles in Niall's arms while chewing on his little fist. I still can't get over how cute this kid is. Jensen looks up at me with his incredibly large eyes and seems to stare at me, his little smile carrying through the room. Niall's quick to lay him on the soft baby blanket in the living room next to his toys, pulling at his little feet and making silly faces at him before returning to the kitchen.

Suddenly, a soft guitar tune starts to travel through the air, and I have no idea what it is before Niall pulls his phone out of his pocket. He quickly answers, letting out a small laugh before speaking, but for some reason, I can't make sense of the words that come out of his mouth.

"Sa-vah?" The words that start flowing out of his mouth after that are indecipherable, and it doesn't take me long to figure out why: Niall's speaking French. And, this isn't some high school French class language; his words are extremely quick and fluent, his accent incredible. I had no idea he knew another language, let alone used one on a common and casual basis like this. It's apparent that Niall knows what he's doing .

I'm easily entertained watching him shift around the kitchen talking for what feels like hours. Once, I actually hear my name thrown into the mix, and I can't help but wonder who Niall could possibly be talking to and what he's said about me.

It seems as if it's no time before Niall's infamous quick mood change takes hold of him again, and the light tone in his conversation is hurriedly changed to hushed and stern. It's as if something suddenly triggered him, and all of the life leaves him instantly.

After one shaky sentence, Niall hangs up on whoever he was talking to, and turns to face the counter away from me. His hands are placed flat on the counter in front of him, his breath wavering. Through his quiet silence, I can hear him whispering a few words to himself, almost like a calming mantra.

"Niall?" I pause, stepping towards him slowly and continuing, "Are you alright?" He doesn't respond until I place my hand gently on his upper back, trying to glance around his shoulder to see his face. As soon as my hand touches his back, he turns around, wiping his eyes gently and throwing me possibly one of the fakest smiles I've ever seen.

"Yeah." His smile gives me an oddly unsettling feeling, and I'm sure the sympathy on my face is evident. It surprises me how quick his face falls from sad to seemingly angry as he shakes, looking at me like I've betrayed him.