Something About You

Fifteen. May, 2014.

80,000 people.

80,000 people packed into Croke Park—into the place that started it all—to see Niall.

He feels like he personally knows at least a thousand of them. Before the show he's running all over the place saying his hellos—shaking hands, kisses on cheeks, promises to grab pints later—and it carries on into the actual set as well: Niall feels like he spends half of it waving at familiar faces in the crowd, trying to make sure he doesn't miss anyone.

But even with all that it's overwhelming, hard to comprehend where he's standing, how he got here. It's a massive, heaving ache in his heart, staring out at 80,000 people who could've been him. He knows it's a feeling he'll spend the rest of his life trying to describe—a debt he'll spend the rest of his life trying to repay.

He takes a moment during Don't Forget Where You Belong, lets himself be still and quiet and tries to take it all in—an impossible task, really, but he does his best. He thinks about four years ago, standing here with his heart in his throat and the rest of his life in four strangers' hands. He had massive dreams then, sure—sold out shows, red carpets, number one albums—but he never could've imagined this. He never would have let himself believe it.

He thinks about all the people here tonight that he knows: his family, his friends, even some of his teachers and neighbors and coaches. The list goes on and on and on and on—he'd almost changed his number last week, he was so annoyed with all the people coming out of the woodwork to ask for free tickets to the show—but it shouldn't surprise him that he's only thinking about one. It shouldn't surprise him that, in a sea of nearly 100,000 people, there's only one face he wants to see.

She hadn't asked for tickets but Niall puts her name on the list for every show anyway and he's sure she's here—Mully had said they were all coming tonight, and when he'd called earlier to ask about afterparty plans Niall was sure he heard Isla's voice in the background. They haven't spoken since the wedding, him and Isla, and he knows that's for the best—but he can't help the hopeful feeling that creeps up on him when he thinks about seeing her tonight. It's a tingle in his fingers, in his belly, in his heart. Maybe tonight, he thinks, stepping back from the catwalk and over toward the rest of his band. Maybe he and Isla can talk again tonight.

--

'I just think it's a bit stupid,' Louis is saying, passing Niall his third Guinness of the night. They're leaning against the bar while Niall's friends and family mingle around them, spilling out of the cozy pub and into the back garden and the warm summer night. Niall likes standing with Louis at times like this—he's a little intimidating, people hesitate before coming over to chat with him, and Niall's feeling a little overwhelmed by all the semi-familiar faces trying to pull him aside to talk. Here, with Louis, he has a bit of a barrier at least. Someone who's not afraid to tell others to fuck off. 'Like, why would I want to give up red meat? I get what Jarv is saying about it being unhealthy but—oi! Mully!'

Niall follows Louis' line of sight and there he is, for the first time all night, Mully, looking a little sheepish as he waves at them, a stranger by his side. Niall'd given all of his friends plus-ones so he's not too put off by the thought of Mully bringing a uni friend along for the night, really—but there's something about the look on his oldest friend's face. Niall's stomach tightens, like he already knows.

'Hiya, mate,' Mully pulls Louis in for a quick hug, then Niall, patting him on the back twice. 'You lot fucking smashed it tonight.'

'Ah, we always do, don't we,' Louis laughs, crinkles by his eyes. 'Thanks for coming. Your first show, mate? Haven't seen you around before.' He turns to the stranger, holding out his hand for a shake. The guy is massive close-up: at least six feet tall and built like an athlete, all lean muscle and toned lines. But despite his size he's not intimidating, really—there's a softness to him, a twinge of red in the apples of his cheeks, ginger hair that curls by his ears. He's covered in light freckles and Niall shouldn't be surprised that he speaks with a Scottish accent when he opens his mouth.