dust; n.h.

four

It's the same ringtone that makes her jump in excitement everytime, fingers fumbling to reach for her smartphone as she was curled up in bed with a new book. His name flashed across the screen, and she'd given it no thought before picking up, wedging the phone between her ear and shoulder blade.

"Hello," She greets sweetly, a drastic change from the cold shoulder a few weeks back. He chuckles four thousand miles away, lying in his hotel room. "How have things been?"

"Tiring," He mumbles in defeat, hands running through his hair as he stared at the ceiling. "It's still funny to me how you're actually talking to me. Did you decide that cocky assholes were your type?"

"Niall, don't get your boxers in a twist. You're not the same cocky asshole from that day, are you," Fleur challenges him, and he suppresses the grin that threatened to show. "Well, not so much now that you keep me in check."

Their friendship was odd. Fleur found him interesting, his lifestyle and job just an added bonus. She wanted to know more about him. Niall thought she was charming. Desperately needed to talk to her as his true self and change her mind. Now, five weeks down the road, they spoke quite regularly on the phone, playing games and getting to know each other. It was working out.

Except, he was still having one-night-stands. When he spoke to her, there would be a girl in the room whose name he was unsure of. He would hang up because her whines were getting louder and he had desires to fulfill. All while Fleur was reading her book or ready to go to bed, thinking about him. His words. It was only when a certain picture popped up on her Twitter timeline one day that made her drop her phone in a mix of disgust and fury.

"Yeah I, I gotta go," Niall says, his breath hitching in his throat. Fleur scrolls through Twitter as usual, his voice on speaker, filling her thoughts. A grainy black-and-white picture came up, and she saw his head of tousled hair, lips pressed to a cheek of some other girl. She was pretty. It was a pang to the chest. She wasn't going to deny it - It was fury, but not shock. She knew it would come in time. He seemed drunk, he always was complaining of his hangovers and headaches. He just did. The past month had made them sort-of accept each other. At least, she accepted him for his boyish nature.

"Niall," She demands, and he lets out a sigh. Something wasn't right. She screams his name again, and he scrambles to answer. "Fleur. Yes."

She found herself unable to shout at him. She had no place to, over such a photo - they weren't attached. But it made her angered that he was doing this to girls that probably felt something with him.

"Who's the girl?" Fleur asks quietly, and he mutters a 'fuck, get off me'. The girl bids him a high-pitched goodbye, and Fleur had already figured out half the story. "Fleur, she's nobody. We went for movie night," He attempts to explain himself, and she cackles in response. "You've used that line. You told me to tell anyone who asked about us just that. Have you run out of excuses?"

"No, Fleur- It's just that- Christ, I can't tell you how I fucking feel if you won't shut up," He raises his voice. Fleur felt scared, intimidated. But all she did was shout right back at him. "You can't explain yourself? Is that what you're saying? Because I know for a fact that you haven't changed. Niall, have the past few weeks really been bullshit to you? Do the feelings of these girls not matter at all?"

"Fuck, Fleur. Look, we're not even in a relationship, it shouldn't bother you," He responds calmly, and she agrees. It shouldn't bother her, not one bit! It made her infuriated because he had treated so many other girls just like her. Even if they were willing to be regarded as first-grade trash, she felt it was degrading and disgusting.

Well, she was just an ordinary girl off the street. She had the face of a thirteen-year-old, body of a pre-pubescent teen. In her opinion, of course. He, on the other hand, was a world-wide heartthrob who loved to mess around. She should've realised that they were too different.

"Let's catch up over coffee when I get back."

* * *

Fleur sat in the small coffee shop, her fingers drumming the tabletop, as if it'd make time pass faster. Niall was late. Not a surprise to her. Her mocha had gone cold ten minutes ago, the name scribbled across the disposable cup spelt 'Floor'. She hadn't gotten over how he practically forced her to get out to have coffee with him. They had nothing to catch up on. She lifts her head to see an anxious Niall walking into the shop, sitting down across her.

"You're late," She states, and he nods. "Sorry. Got held up earlier."

She looks at him as if to ask, 'why are we here?' She had better things to do. He sighs, deciding to come clean with all that he had done.

"You know everything that happened. And I really didn't mean to hurt you," She laughs at his revelation. What were we, fourteen? "I'm not hurt. It was a one-night-stand, Niall. I'm not sure why we're keeping in contact at all." He gulps, staring at the flower vase on the table. She sips her cold coffee, neither of them saying anything.

She had absolutely nothing to say to him.

"Well, I don't either," He says coldly, raising his head to look at her. He looked like he hadn't shaven in ages. She smiles, slinging my bag over her shoulder as she stood from her seat. "Well then. Since we have nothing to say to each other, I look forward to never receiving a call or text from you again. Have a great life."