You Can't Sing Without Air- Harry Styles Fanfic

3. Oxygen is Not My Friend

"What's the point of wearing makeup if you can't even tell you're wearing any?" Sean whines as I pull away from the eye shadow brush he's holding over my left eye. 

"You said we were doing a natural look! Hot pink is not natural!" I reply. 

"Haven't you ever seen a sunset? Hot pink is as natural as it comes darling". He pulls the brush closer to my face again but I bat his hand away. 

"Fine," he concedes, "But you'd look killer and you know it." 

That may be true, but growing up as the sister of a superstar, I wasn't interested in standing out nearly as much as I was fitting in. 

"Flattery appreciated but the answer is still no". 

Sensing defeat, Sean puts down the brush and replaces it with a mascara wand. He raises an eyebrow as if asking for consent. I nod. 

A few too many minutes later he's finally finished, and I pull towards the mirror to take a look. As usual, he's done a beautiful job. My reddish hair hangs loosely around my face, descending to my lower back. My freckles are lighter than usual considering my lack of exposure to sunlight the past two weeks in hospital. Still, I never wear foundation as they're my favorite feature. My eyelids shimmer with a golden shadow, my eyes framed with a light wing of eyeliner.  I wish Sean would listen to my advice to pursue a career in makeup art. He's skilled enough to style musicians like my brother. He shouldn't be wasting his talent on little old me.

I stand up from the bed and walk towards my closet, a feat that has me coughing before I reach my destination. I sit down on the carpeted floor, waiting for the wave to pass. Sean notices my difficulty breathing with an eye that only comes from living with a CFer for many years. 

"You okay Ay?" he asks, rubbing my back gently as I continue to cough. 

"Fine." I choke out in between jagged breaths. The attack finally subsides and I lay down on the carpet, my cheeks red with exhaustion. 

"Oof." I say when the air finally returns. 

"Hey, no time to be lagging, you need a dress to match that face. Probably a pink one to match your cheeks now." Sean says. I smack his leg without sitting up from my place on the floor. 

He pulls a black skinny thing from my closet for consideration. 

"Too skimpy." I say. He frowns and puts it back. 

His hand hovers over the hangers for a moment before reaching for a light green romper with brown wooden buttons down the front. 

"Ew I don't even know why I own that. Green and red hair do not mix well". I say. 

He puts it back, finally pulling out a cream floral sundress that I wore to Niall's manager's wedding a few months back. 

"That's the one". I say, finally standing up from the floor to grab it from him. 

"Out!" I shoo and I close the door to dress.  

...............................................................

By the time we're almost out the door, it's 9:17 and I'm already exhausted. Everything takes more energy when you're operating at 36% lung capacity. I grab my portable oxygen concentrator at the last minute as I'm grabbing my purse, pulling the cannula over my ears and situating it in my nostrils. I can take it off before we get to the pub.

"So any new boys in your life?" Sean says as he pulls out of our gated driveway and into some LA traffic.

"Yeah," I scoff, "Suuuper hot ER nurse saw me cough up mucus on my first day in hospital. I think he wanted my number."

"Cute Ay, real cute. Didn't anyone ever tell you to swallow?"

"SEAN! That is gross for so many reasons. Please never use euphemisms in the same sentence as the word 'mucus' ever again." I make a gagging face which immediately makes him laugh.

After twenty minutes of traffic, we finally pull into the valet parking for Niall's favorite LA pub. Well, technically it's a bar, but even after four years in the great US-of-A, I've still barely managed to Americanize my vocabulary.

I tug the oxygen cannula off my face before exiting the car, shoving it down in the bag with the concentrator. My lungs immediately miss the extra boost, but I hate wearing that thing in public.

Sean and I make our way into the dim "bar", me holding onto his arm for some support as he pushes through the crowd. He finally spots Niall, sitting in a booth near the back with a decent group of famous colleagues crowded around him. I recognize Camilla and Shawn, sitting next to a guy I don't recognize and a bloke with a mop of red hair I can only assume is Ed Sheeran. 

"Aideen!" Someone shouts from behind. I turn on my heels to see the man of the hour- Lewis Capaldi himself, clad in his usual worn t-shirt and trousers. He staggers towards me and puts an arm around my shoulder, enclosing my small frame in his wingspan.

"Haven't see ya since the boys and you wer at ma place back home!" He shouts over the music, his Scottish accent coming out slightly slurred already. If Niall's plan was to get his best friend as hungover as possible, I'd say he was doing a good job.

"Hey, Lewis!" I say, patting a small kiss on his cheek. Of all Niall's friends, Lewis has quickly become my favorite. Always the life of the party and never one to take things too seriously, he's treated me like a normal part of the gang. Even though he's one of the few people to know most of the gory details of my recent health scare, he's never behaved as if I'm fragile.

Hearing Lewis's booming voice, Niall finally notices that we've arrived and waves us over to give me his seat at the table.

"You made it!" He shouts over the music. I nod. "Glad you're here! I'm getting drinks, want anything?" he asks.

I think for a second. I'm not much of a drinker anymore but I figure it'll get boring pretty quick without one.

"Whatever you're having." I say.

"Sure 'bout that?" Niall asks.

"Um, yes?" I say. He chuckles. Uh-oh, that can't be good.

"What about you Sean, rum and coke?"

"Rum and coke." Sean answers. A man of simple tastes. 

Niall runs off to the bar and returns about fifteen minutes later.

"Sorry mate," he says, handing the rum and coke to Sean, "Couple of girls wanted a selfie. I guess my secret spot is not so secret anymore."

I could have told him that. I'm pretty sure every eye in the bar is on our table and our motley group of superstars.

Niall slides a shot of tequila in front of me with a glimmer in his eye.

"Sláinte," he says, the Irish version of "Salud".

I look down at the shot with dismay. Shit. Why didn't I just order a beer?

"Sláinte!" Sean says, taking a big swig of his drink.

"Sláinte." I say, much less cheerfully. I down the drink in two gulps instead of one, of course, coughing immediately after.

Camilla, who's been sitting across from me, lets out a laugh she probably didn't realize I could hear. Niall chuckles too.

"Why did I think I could trust you?" I croak, gesturing to Niall as I finally break into a smile.

"Big brothers are shit. It's in the job description." Camilla says.

"Yep." I glare at Niall, but his laugh makes me join in. Say what you want about the Horan family, but you have to admit, we have an infectious laugh.