The Mogul (Mature Niall Horan) | Reposted

Chapter 15

"Home sweet home." She breathed out as we walked inside.

"This is your home?" I stepped in, looking around. She nodded.

"Me and my mom. I grew up here."

"You live with your mother, at twenty two?"

She made a face. "Yes. I do. I put myself through school, I work as a sub, I got a lot of loans and scholarships. I don't have money to just live on my own. Why not stay rent free?"

I suppose she had a point. I looked about the home; it was just that, a home. It was... oddly warm. The home was very, very small. It was basic, full of decorative clutter, lots of photos of her and her mother. In all the photos they both looked sickly, very thin, and very pale. It had some cracks in the ceiling, the floors were creaky, there was dust all over, a fire place that appeared to not be able to work. But it felt like a home. It felt warm, inviting, it smelled like vanilla and cinnamon.

"It's very nice." I told her. I walked over to a photo of just the two of them. "Your dad really isn't around?"

"Nope, I haven't heard from him in a few months. No big deal." I followed her to her bedroom, it was simple and cozy, lacy curtains, very small. It was about as big as my closet back home, smaller actually. She went to a dresser, and took out gray sweats that were very big. "Here, they're men's; I bought them from a yard sale, same with this." She handed me a sweatshirt

"What's wrong with my work clothes?"

"Niall, do it."

I glared and snapped again. "Do not tell me what to do. I don't like that." I roughly snatched the clothes from her and marched across the hall to her bathroom. She needed to know her place around, me, she damn well better learn it quick.

She shut her bedroom door behind me. I shook out of my dress pants, folding them properly. I pulled on the gray sweats, which did feel comfortable. I undid my tie and dress shirt, folding those as well. I pulled on the sweatshirt and rubbed my face, wondering what the fuck I was doing here.

She wasn't in her bedroom, but I heard the sound of the TV from the living room. She was bending over, reaching for the remote. I bit my lip, she barely had a behind, but I damn well liked to look at it. She was in hot pink shorts and a long sleeve purple shirt that hugged her figure just a touch. She plopped herself on the couch and looked at me, she suddenly wore a very soft facial expression.

"What?"

"Y-You look so different."

"Well," I shrugged.

"Sit down and relax, Lord," she shook her head.

I sat by her, feeling rigid. "Why am I doing this?"

"Because, you're going to lose your hair or get wrinkles by the time you're thirty from your stress. You need to just... be your age. You're young, put your feet up." She put her feet up improperly onto the coffee table. "And take a deep breath."

I felt odd doing it, but I put my feet by hers. They were so tiny. She flipped through till she found some sitcom based in the 70s.

"Are you miserable?" she asked some time later.

"Miserable is a heavy term but I feel like I should be working."

"That's not good."

"Why? I have a strong work ethic. It's how my whole family is."

"Don't you feel pressure?"

"No, no pressure. I'm in control of my entire life; I have no reason to feel pressure."