Still Yours

1 / Lost And Found

... on which Laney wakes up late on a Saturday morning to answer a phone call regarding her lost backpack. The boy, no, the man, at the other end of the phone found it! But who is he? Other than when she ran into him and made a fool out of herself the night before, Laney knows it now: It's Niall Horan, popstar, teen crush, charming heartbreaker. And whether he's just trying to be polite or geniunely interested in meeting her again, Niall insists on picking her up after work on this hot July day to give it back to her. Laney might as well expect the worst. She can't deny she's into him, and she's never lucky with the men she likes. But what if it's different this time?

It's clear that there's a public Niall. And then there's the Niall in front of me. And staring at him, feeling a thorn in my palm, I imagine what it must be like to get to know the them all. Each colour of the rainbow this boy's soul seems to be. Every facet Niall Horan has to offer. I think about kissing him. What if I just grabbed his face and did it?

***

DAY 2 WITH NIALL

"Hello, is this Niall? It's Niall here."

I can hear him chuckling at the other end of the phone.

"Yeah, it's Niall.", I say, feeling the corners of my mouth curl up against my will whilst my stomach does somersaults. "Nice to hear your voice, Niall."

"Told ya I'd call you.", he proudly assures me.

"You did." I really didn't expect him to stick to his promise. He's been tipsy, I've been a stressed out mess. And I have been convinced I'd just become a blur in his memory in the early hours, fade into the mass of all the similar looking faces he must have had smiling at him last night.

God knows how many numbers he's got to go through on his 'Girls To Call' list this morning, I think to myself, rubbing my tired eyes with pathetically shaky fingers. "Niall! Mate! How are you! Niall! Over here! Oi! Niall!" Their voices are still echoing in my head.

But obviously, he remembers me.

And I really just try to downplay the fact that Niall Horan is calling me at 11 AM on a Saturday, greeting me with an inside joke as if we were old friends, solely to ease myself and keep the tingly excitement that grows in me like a vine, wrapping itself around my veins and my bones, hugging me a little too tightly, but with a strange warmth and fondness that I have almost forgotten, from taking over, choking me, and making me seem like a fool in front of him yet again.

"Good news!", he announces, clearing his throat. "I got yer backpack."

"Christ on a stick!", I gasp, my surprise immediately followed by relief, but then, too soon, cold, harsh disappointment, given the fact that my lost backpack is probably the only reason he's calling.

"So, when are we gonna meet so I can give it to ya?", he asks. After a brief moment of uncomfortable silence, he chuckles and adds: "I mean, the backpack."

"Yeah, what else.", I say in a way too serious tone, blushing though he can't see me. Thank god he can't! I killed that joke like an assassin of awkwardness. I just don't do well with boys and their boy jokes and their stupid boyish humour.