Tell Me You Remember. (Niall Horan)

5.

We took his car, which was an old and sort of terrifying wagon of a thing. I gave him a wary look as I stepped inside.

"Is this safe?"

"Don't worry, it's not mine. I've had to use a neighbour's since my car's in the shop."

It clanged and clattered as we maneuvered through the streets of town, but all in all, we made it there in one piece. The massive house I remembered at the end of Emaline's street loomed in front of me, and I couldn't help but gape at its expanse.

Niall caught my eye, smiling at me. "Last time you were here, I was a right sod," he laughed, leading me in the direction of the front door. "It's not my house, technically; it's Harry's, who I assume you'll be meeting shortly."

Niall opened the door to an absolute war scene.

A young man with tousled brown hair was chasing a baby-faced curly headed boy with a bowl and mixing spoon in the living room, all the while, the curly haired boy was about screaming his lungs out. I recognized these two from Tilly's the other morning, when I had been a bit rude to them.

I looked over at Niall, who didn't seem to be phased at all. "Lads! What's going on here?"

The one holding the spoon spoke up. "Harry started it!"

The curly haired one stuck his lip out in a pout. "Did not!"

"You threw a sock at me!"

I started to giggle at the two arguing. Niall just rolled his eyes. "Well, this is Bronwyn; Winnie. Winnie, meet Harry and Louis, my own personal toddlers."

They suddenly stopped their bickering to snap their heads over to me. I waved, confused at the looks I was now getting from them.

Louis smirked mischievously, looking over at Niall. "Oh, the infamous Bronwyn! Pleased to meet you. We've heard loads--"

"Bye now," Niall took my arm and directed me up the stairs and to what I assumed was his room.

I laughed as we made it inside. "They're very...charismatic," I decided, smiling as I took in the state of his room.

Things were in immaculate order and very simple, which was a bit surprising, knowing Niall. The covers on his bed were a plain white, and walls were painted a  muted shade of blue that contrasted perfectly with the electric colour of his eyes.

In one corner, an expensive looking acoustic guitar sat, and my eyes instantly lit up. "You play?" I asked, wandering over to it. I didn't touch it; I was afraid that such a wonderful thing could easily break in my hands. My father used to play.

He came over to stand next to me. "Yeah," he said softly. "I'm no good though."

"I don't believe that," I turned to look at him. "Will you play me something?"

He sighed, smiling sheepishly. "If you insist..."

He sat down and lifted the guitar from its holder and began to play. And as if it couldn't get any more flawless, he opened his mouth to sing.

My mouth instantly fell open in amazement. I vaguely recognised the song; probably something I'd heard on the radio once before when I wasn't paying attention. But there was something about the way he sung that made me forget, if just for a moment, the whole world around us. It was just Niall and I, alone in time.

When the song he was playing was replaced by silence, I wiped a stray tear from my eye that had brimmed over. He looked at me with an unreadable expression. "That was perfect," I whispered.

He set the guitar down and walked up to me, putting his arm around my shoulders. "Don't cry, Win," his voice brought me back to reality and I snapped my eyes up to meet his. I smiled and brushed the rest of my tears away, leaning my head slightly on his arm. "So, how about that film?"