Something About You

Twenty Five. December, 2016.

The feeling of standing on stage at Madison Square Garden, entirely on your own, and listening to the crowd singing your lyrics back at you is unbeatable in a way Niall never could've imagined. It's so different to doing it with the band, so much more vulnerable, so much more like he's flaying his heart out for the entire world to consume. Which he is, he supposes—he's telling twenty thousand strangers about the most precious thing in his life, and they're listening.

It's amazing that he doesn't cry, actually. He thinks of himself here with the band a million years ago, how he never could've imagined being there then, how he never could've imagined the route his life would take to get him here now. He imagines telling 19 year old Niall that he'd be back and he'd be doing it alone. The thought makes him shake.

He bounds off the stage after his set feeling a strange combination of invincible and vulnerable, exposed but unstoppable, powerful but raw and emotional. He'll have a shower, he thinks, find something to eat before meeting up with his cousins and his auntie. Joe Jonas mentioned something about an afterparty tonight and he thinks he'll make his way over to that too, eventually, maybe with Shawn. He'll be asleep before 3am, if he's lucky.

Niall's just ducking into his dressing room, sandwich in hand, when his phone rings. It's a bit of a juggle, fishing it out of his pocket without dropping his sandwich and his coffee, but he manages it—only to nearly drop everything again when he sees Isla's name on the caller ID. It's four in the morning in London. Four AM phone calls are never, ever a good thing.

'Isla?' He shoulders his dressing room door open, relieved to be so close to a private place. 'Everything okay?'

'Hiya,' Isla sounds sleepy on the other end, but okay. Niall feels his heart rate settling almost immediately. 'I'm fine, sorry, didn't mean to scare you.'

'It's four in the morning for you, petal,' Niall drops himself onto the couch, sighing. 'What are you doing up?'

'Wanted to congratulate you on your set. I watched a livestream.'

It's like this was the final piece of the puzzle, the last gentle shove over the edge Niall needed to make him cry. His voice cracking, he asks, 'you watched a livestream?'

'Yeah,' Isla yawns. 'I saw Z100 tweet about it and I figured I'd tune in. It was pretty good quality, too. Next best thing to being there myself.'

'Isla,' Niall swallows around a thick ball of tears in his throat. 'It's four in the morning.'

'Yeah, I slept for a bit, set an alarm to wake up before your go. I caught the end of Ellie's, too. She sounded great. Not as good as you, of course.'

'You woke up,' Niall's talking in circles, but he can't really wrap his head around it. 'At ass o'clock in the morning to watch me sing on a shitty livestream, when you can just call me up and hear me sing anytime you want? Isla, baby.'

'Well when you say it like that,' Isla laughs, and Niall can hear the sheets rustle as she moves around in bed. He thinks of her in his flat, cocooned comfortably in his bed, massive duvet keeping her safe from the harsh London winter. He'd given her a key, told her she could stay over any night she wanted to while he was away—but he's not sure how much she's taken him up on it. 'It's MSG, it felt like a big deal, I wanted to see. I'm glad I did anyway, you were brilliant.'

'God,' Niall drops his head back to rest on the top of the couch, blinking back tears. 'I love you so much, petal.'

'Love you too,' she says, softly. 'But this isn't that big of a deal, Niall. I didn't even get out of bed or anything.'

'It is a big deal,' Niall closes his eyes against the harsh fluorescent lighting of the dressing room, imagining himself at home with Isla instead. He's resisted letting his mind wander for most of the tour—he keeps himself occupied instead, tries not to think too hard about how much he misses her. It's like a fucking hole in his chest, and he walks around ignoring it. 'It was a really thoughtful thing to do.'