Lay Down In My Arms - Niall Horan Fanfiction (Trilogy to If I'm Louder)

Chapter 18 - The Honeymoon

This is my 138th out of the entire series. I'm actually kind of proud of myself because of that...

What I am not proud of is that it took me so long to write this. Sorry guys.

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Mrs. Horan. Mrs. Niall Horan. Mrs. Katie Walker Horan.

I was Mrs. Horan now. I can't begin to explain how ecstatic that made me feel. Meanwhile, Niall was sound asleep, cuddled up to the covers in the bed beside me while I was working on finishing my story.

It was about five hundred pages long so far, maybe more; I'm not really sure.

**"I march down the hallway of the old Springfield city hall. It was the only safe place to stay until the volunteered veterans killed all of the mutts.

The war was finally over.

We won. We actually won the world back, becoming allies with one nation at a time before we fought Kim's army and shot him right through the heart. The world was right again. No more chaos.

Except for one thing: Justice.

Yeah, I was an ass. I'm glad she hit me. I'm glad she screamed at me for getting in a fight with Adam. I'm glad she yelled at me for almost ruining the whole plan. I'm glad she broke my nose for accusing her of cheating. I'm not glad she broke up with me, though.

Yeah, I'm a fucking idiot, but I'm her idiot. Whenever I'm around her, it's like she sucks the crazy out of me and replaces it with stupidity. I can't help it. I act like a fool around her. I try to impress her and look great to make her like me even more, but the wrongest shit comes out instead. Yes, I'm an idiot, but an idiot for her.

I never thought I could feel this way about a girl.

My lips were pressed into a fine line. I was so angry with myself. I was awful to her. But I'm going to win her back.

Justice is stubborn. I won't lie. I won't sugar-coat it. Justice is a bratty, rude, pissy, hardcore, bad ass bitch. But she had a sweet side, deep down. A lot of the time, I was lucky enough to see that side. And that side was beautiful, just like her.

My hands press hard against the door after I turn. I slam it open and step inside.

She was clad in a pair of old sweat pants, with a green tanktop. She wore a gauze-wrap around left ankle and calf, and one around her right hand. She had a broken hand, obviously after she punched that guard to Kim's hideout building in the face. She had nearly fractured her ankle when the bomb to take out Korean soldiers blew up. She wasn't far enough away and the blow threw her to the ground, leg first.

She would have volunteered to kill the mutts if Abraham would have let her. He said that even if it was a sprained ankle, there was a chance that it would prevent her from getting away. That she could hit a fork in the road and fall down and couldn't stray in time.

Her short maroon hair was pulled back to tie in a knot. Her chestnut eyes held many emotions. A frown took place on her lips. She looked upset. Angry.

She was fixing her blanket on the matress, standing on both feet. As much as she hated to admit it, you could just see the way she balanced all of her weight on her right foot to spare the pain of her left.

She jumped and winced as the door swung open before looking at me. Confusion turned to anger in her pretty caramel eyes. Despite that, I marched over as the door clicked shut and grabbed her face in my hands before she could tell me to get out. My lips crashed down on hers.