Something About You

Twenty. April, 2016, continued.

Not for the first time in their lives, Isla reads Niall's mind.

She calls him before he gets the chance to figure out who to text first, to take a stab at which one of his friends he trusts the most to tell him what he wants to hear. He doesn't even have enough time to parse out how he feels really—he picks up the phone fully unsure if he's angry, jealous, sad, or just plain hungover. All he can tell is that he doesn't like this, that he'd rather be lost in an unfamiliar city halfway across the world than have to deal with what's happening right now, what's going to happen in the future.

'Hi,' Isla sounds wide awake for someone who was also out until 2am, 'have you, erm. Have you been up for a while?'

'Yeah,' still in the bathroom, Niall leans his bare back against the cold, tiled wall. 'I saw it.'

On the other end of the phone, he can hear Isla swallow. 'Brilliant, okay. Can we talk about it?'

'Not really sure what there is to talk about, if I'm honest. I'm happy for you.'

'First of all, that's a lie,' says Isla. 'And second of all, so is the article.'

Two more deep breaths. Niall's not going to let his mind run away with this. 'Isla, you don't have to make up a story to make me feel better.'

Silence, then, 'I'm going to pretend you didn't just insult me, and instead I'm going to say that it's been six years of this for you and you should know better by now than to trust headlines from the fucking Sun, of all places, Niall.'

'Sorry,' Niall's heating up. He turns around to press his forehead to the cold wall and says, 'I know you wouldn't lie to me.'

'S'alright,' Isla's voice is a little softer now, 'I understand why you'd be upset. I was just thinking now that you're gonna be back in one place for a little while at least... if we're going to carry on being mates, we should probably get better at, like, communicating?'

Niall laughs, his breath fogging up on the tiles. 'We used to be so good at that.'

'I know,' Isla laughs too. 'Then you fucked off.'

'It's your fault that I fucked off, petal. If you hadn't brought me that newspaper.'

'I know, I know,' he can hear Isla smile, her voice wistful. 'I don't regret that, though. Look at you now.'

'All thanks to you,' he says, and it's true. He's never doubted it for a second.

'It was your talent that did it, I just gave you a little shove.'

Niall hums, letting a comfortable, gentle silence fall between them. He's thought about it before, what his life would be like if Isla hadn't brought him that newspaper that day. Maybe he would have eventually heard the announcement on his own, on the radio or online, but he can't imagine, really, finding it in him to audition without Isla's push. Without her unwavering support. Without knowing that she was standing there with his mam, the two most important people in his life, no matter if he made it through or not.

He can't imagine he'd be here without her—and it feels ridiculous to keep living a life that she's not an active part of.

'So Bressie and I,' Isla says finally, and Niall holds his breath, braces for it. 'We hooked up. Twice, right after Jack and I broke up. It was just like... I was upset over the breakup, I would go to him to talk about it, we'd drink, I'd cry, and one night we crossed the line. And then we did it a second time and that was it. It's been almost a year since anything like that has happened with us. There was never, like, a fling, or whatever the fuck they called it.'

'Right,' Niall hates the thought of it: Isla with a broken heart, Isla needing to go to someone other than him for comfort because he wasn't there, Isla feeling alone. Anger flares in his belly, and the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. 'I shouldn't have jumped to conclusions. I'm sorry. And I'm sorry about the breakup. I should've been there for you.'

'S'alright, you had no way of knowing if I didn't tell you.'

'Yeah, but,' Niall wanders out of the bathroom and back into his bedroom, feeling a little more human. 'You should've felt comfortable telling me.'

'It's not that I didn't feel comfortable,' Isla sounds like she's walking from one room to another too now, and Niall imagines them both in sync, wandering aimlessly around their apartments, trying to find the other. 'It's just that it didn't really feel like something you'd care about.'

'I care about everything that has to do with you,' Niall says, not letting himself second guess it. 'There's no reality where that isn't the case.'

Isla's quiet for a moment, and Niall can hear the patterns of her breathing, the way he used to when she'd fall asleep next to him. It tugs at something in his chest, makes him want to curl up in bed and hide his face in her neck. He shakes the thought away—she said mates.

'Me too,' Isla says eventually.

'Hey, Isla,' it occurs to Niall suddenly, and he feels stupid for not asking earlier. 'How did they know about you and Brez? The Sun?'

'Sometimes they write about me,' Isla sounds uncomfortable, embarrassed. 'I guess because of you? It always calls me 'Niall Horan's ex' or whatever, and it doesn't happen often but every once in a while someone will spot me while I'm out. It definitely happens more when I'm around the LIC. It just... I dunno? I guess they think someone cares? I'm pretty boring though, I read the comments sometimes and most of them are just some variation of 'who the fuck cares?''

'Isla,' Niall feels a wave of nausea running over him again, a protective feeling rising up in his throat. 'Why didn't you tell me about this?'

'It's not that big of a deal and I didn't think you'd care—'

'I care,' he cuts her off, 'you shouldn't have to put up with these dickheads violating your privacy just because I love you. That's not fair.'

For a moment, Isla is silent. When she speaks again, Niall can hear a soft smile in her voice. 'Thank you,' she says. 'Like I said, it doesn't happen often. But it is pretty weird.'

'I'll see who I can call,' Niall tells her, already jotting down a reminder to himself in the lyrics notebook he keeps next to his bed. 'And get them to stop.'

'That's really nice of you, Niall.'

'Anything.'

They stay in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, phones pressed to their ears, before Isla speaks again. 'Right, well, I've got a pilates class booked for half an hour from now so—'

'Fucking hell, you're a legend. I'm wrecked.'

'I might throw up, honestly,' she laughs. 'But I pre-paid, so I need to go.'

'Fair play,' Niall feels a bit like a teenager again, that familiar disappointment he'd experience when Isla had to go home and do her homework, or when her mam told her to get off the phone with him and come have dinner. 'Have a good one.'

'I'll try. And Niall?'

'Hmm?'

'I love you too.'