screaming color // n.h. au

part 10

cole doesn't like to admit it to herself, but it's been one and a half weeks since she last saw niall, and she misses him. it grew from the pit of her stomach, the missing him, and spread into her chest, growing out across her lungs like climbing vines. sometimes she thinks it might suffocate her.

thank god for her little brother, who's taken up chess after santa gave him a set for christmas. alfie is twelve years old and ten times smarter than cole will ever be, and he wants to teach her how to play.

"what's this one called again?" cole asks, picking up one of her black pieces and running her finger over its cold, curved surface. "it's not a pawn, or a horse, so that makes it a - what?"

"there's no horse, coley." alfie snatches the piece out of her hand and sets it back down on the board. it's a nice set, heavy wood and hand-carved pieces. cole has to wonder how santa could've afforded it. cole's sure mum certainly didn't send any money for presents this year. she didn't even call on christmas eve. "it's called a knight. and that piece is called a bishop."

cole frowns, and reaches for one of the other pieces. "i thought the castle was the bishop."

"no, the castle's called the rook, coley." alfie wrinkles his brow and leads forward in his chair, reaching for the piece–the rook–in cole's hand. "put the piece back on the board, would you? you have to learn the rules now."

cole lets out an exaggerated sigh. "there are more rules? i already memorized the name of the castle!"

it's all a joke, of course: cole already knows the names of the chess pieces, and she vaguely remembers the rules, which were taught to her by an educational telly program she watched when she was small. the knight moves two spaces forward and one to either side, or something like that? but that's beside the point now. now, she's spending time with her little brother who, before she knows it, will not be so little anymore.

and it's a little bit selfish of her, too, because she's distracting herself from niall. from thinking about niall, from wondering where he is and what he's doing and what book he's reading. her new old copy of the complete works of w.h. auden sits on the night table beside her bed, and sometimes she picks it up and pages through it before she goes to sleep, but she doesn't read it. she knows the poems will only make sense if niall reads them to her.

this is the first extended period of time cole's spent apart from him since they became friends, and she can't help but wonder if things will be the same with him when she returns to uni after the new year. niall's barely texted her at all – which isn't unusual, cole reassures herself, because she and niall talk very little when they're together. but that's just it – they're not together. they're just friends, so it should be completely normal for them to spend a few weeks apart without much contact. and yet – cole can't stop thinking about him.

and then he calls.

he texts first – can i call? – because it's nearly midnight. cole's curled up in bed with a biography of queen victoria, and she's just reached prince albert's untimely death when her mobile begins vibrating on her night table. she picks it up off of the complete works of w.h. auden and replies: of course.

she holds her mobile in her shaking palm and waits for it to ring. she's never spoken to niall over the telephone before – what will his voice sound like? will it be deepened by the filter of the phone line between them, or raised in pitch? what if he doesn't recognize her voice?

but when she answers, her "hello?" barely louder than a whisper, and he says, "cole, hi," and sighs like he's been waiting days and days to talk to her, every worry that was plaguing cole's mind moments before is gone.

"hi," she says. she curls herself tight under her duvet and remembers vividly for a second the night she spent in niall's bed, his arm wrapped around her waist and her cold feet wiggling their way between his calves. "how was your christmas?"

"nothing too special," niall says. "how're you, cole?"

"i'm–" cole pauses, the words caught in her throat. niall is miles and miles away, but he's here all the same, connected to her by the device pressed to her ear, and she can't get the words out. and then she does. "i miss you, ni."

niall sucks in a breath and cole knows that she's crossed a line between the past and the future and right now she's in the moment in between. she can take it back, make a joke and downplay it and make it seem like seem like something that friends say to friends. or she can let it go and see where it goes.

cole curls tighter into herself and readies herself to backtrack. who else is going to read me my coursework when you're not around? but then cole remembers the hug she and niall shared just before she left, and she remembers the way his hand pressed flat on her back, fingers spread, and she thought, i wish i didn't have to go. and she knows that to take her words back would be a lie.

"niall? are you there?" she asks. she twists her hand tightly in the fabric of the sheet to keep it still.

"yeah," he says. he clears his throat. she pictures him in his own bed, boxers and bare-chested, propped under the covers with a book, a torch, and his mobile. but the book is faulkner or pynchon, and the torch is just for fun. "miss you too, cole."

cole's mouth goes dry. "yeah?"

"yeah. and i rang you cause, i was wondering, if, maybe..." niall pauses for a second. cole loves this about him, the way he forms sentences like each one is a puzzle and each piece is important. "will you come stay with me for new years' eve?"

"i-" cole opens her mouth to speak before she's heard the full sentence, but then she cuts herself off because she doesn't know what to say. new years' eve is just days away, and she doesn't know niall that well, not the kind of well that would convince her father to permit her to travel to visit him, and–

it would mean too much. it would mean meeting niall's family and eating his mum's home-cooked food and taking a shower in his shower and–

"i've got a family thing on new years' eve that i can't miss, ni," cole says. the words come out easily, and they almost sound natural, though they are part of a lie that's spinning itself as she speaks. "i'm sorry. i really would love to see you."

"yeah," niall says. cole tries not to imagine a tinge of sadness in his voice. "it's pretty late notice and all."

"i'm sorry, ni," cole says. "i really wish i could."

"yeah?"

"yeah, of course," cole affirms. niall sighs and it doesn't sound like fear or anger, and cole wishes she could bottle up the sound and keep it for later, for when she's missing him.

after he hangs up minutes later, with a promise to call her again soon and a soft good night, she starts missing him already.