#angsty!niall

The last Eurostar for London was leaving at 9.30pm. Niall had made sure of it on the app on his iPhone. He knew he had to be at Gare du Nord, especially this late in the evening, but it was now 10pm and he knew the last train had been long gone by now. His evening had been completely flipped upside down and he took a minute to remember what happened.

 He wasn’t even supposed to be here. He had taken the train on a whim, because he missed her and he really wanted to spend the night with her. She was in the French city for a fashion show and he thought he’d surprise her. But really, she surprised him, when he found her in a Parisian café and she told him they couldn’t keep going on that way. They had tried for too long, this relationship was escaping their grasp like sand between fingers and she wasn’t sure it meant anything to her anymore. He had wanted to beg, to tell her that he knew what this relationship meant to him, that it was all he ever wanted. He had wanted to tell her that he loved her, that she might be the woman of his life, the one, that he didn’t want anybody else. But her mind seemed to be made and he knew by experience that it was pointless to argue now that she was sure of herself. So he had nodded, gathered the small pile of pieces of his broken heart and kissed her cheek before fleeing. She obviously didn’t want to spend the night together, like he had wanted initially.

Niall had aimlessly wandered in the streets of Paris for the majority of the evening. The first thing he had done was to check the hour for the next Eurostar, in the other direction. Once he was sure he could go back home, he thought that while he was stuck there for a little while, he might as well enjoy the city, until it was time to go back to the train station. He could have started to hate this city, but the handful of days he had spent here always left him with a feeling of calm and fullness, like a little part of him had had time to recharge. He always loved his stays in France, especially in Paris, and he had no intention to let her ruin the city for him. So he walked. Niall wasn’t far from the Champs Elysées now, he knew it because he could see a bit of the Arc de Triomphe from where he was. He didn’t really know which way to go from there, but it’s not like it mattered at this point. The streets were basking in a golden light, from the streetlights on each side of the road and the cobblestones were glimmering underneath his feet, as they were covered by a thin coat of water from the last rainfall earlier in the afternoon. He tightened the sides of his coat around his chest and buried his hands in his pockets. His fingers met the one way ticket he had bought in a hurry earlier in the evening, not knowing if he would come back in the following morning or afternoon, depending on her schedule. Maybe even two days later, if the bed of her hotel suite was comfortable. He knew he had an appointment has 3pm the following day, but he could have pushed it a little. So he had imagined the king size bed, with white linen sheets, in a Parisian palace. He had dreamed of a bathtub full of bubbles. He had hoped for champagne and macarons, tasting like the tips of her fingers, but all he had was the scent of rain in Parisian streets.

 It was cold in Paris, these days. He regretted not taking a beanie before he left and thought about getting into a still open store in the Champs Elysées to find gloves. Seeing the compact crowd in the stores, pressing themselves to find some warmth, quickly made him change his mind and he kept on walking, going through the most beautiful avenue in the world, until the metro station called Charles de Gaulle – Etoile. He stopped for a couple of seconds to stare at the monument in the middle of the roundabout and took a deep breath. He had never been closer to the Arc de Triomphe, without being inside a driving car. There was always a good reason not to visit it: too many people, too many risks to create a mobbing crowd, not enough time.. The last time he saw it, he was sitting in a car, stuck in traffic, and had to take what the small window could offer him. Now, he could see it as a whole: the tall arch was glowing with light and he easily guessed that light projectors were casting light on the concrete. It looked very formal, something he had never really thought about before. Niall took the stairs underneath the surface, pushing his way into the metro. He had never taken it in Paris but it couldn’t be much harder than in London, right? He scrolled the small roller and made the vending machine speak English, then chose to buy a booklet of ten tickets. Since he was now stuck in Paris for the night, he had time to use them. He could always use them on a later trip anyway, or give them to someone. It’s not like he didn’t have 16€ to spare.

Niall made his way to the turnstile and slipped a ticket to his right, letting the machine swallow it. He was surprised to find it getting back out a few inches further on the machine. Taking it back, he realized the turnstile was automatically unlocking itself and he was relieved to continue his descent into the depth of the metro. He got really confused by all the French surrounding him but finally found a map showing a collection of colourful lines. The line 6 would take him to the other end of Paris and he observed the names of all the stations, as if they all would offer a different adventure. He started at the bottom, an odd habit he took a while ago and made his way back up, smiling when he found a “Bercy” station, written in navy blue. He remembered Bercy to be a nice arena where he played a while ago and saw himself back in front of the building, covered of a deep green grass. He only played there once, but he liked the atmosphere around the arena and the show had been great. On his inspection of all the stations, he found a station that warmed his heart, without really knowing why.

Champ de Mars – Tour Eiffel

It seemed like a good idea so he made a mental note of the final stop of the line, to take the metro in the right direction. He made his way in the hallways following the colours and checked twice that he really was on the line 6. A train would be here in a minute according to the digital panel on the ceiling and he surprised himself thinking that he had to be at least a tiny bit lucky in all this mess. It looked like a bad dream that he would wake up from in a cold sweat. Except that he was freezing in his wool coat and his stomach was starting to grumble. He didn’t even have time to eat before his ex (was she his ex, now??) ruined his night.

The train arrived in a thud and a gust of wind made him jump. The wagons were white, with a green line running across every one of them. He didn’t hesitate much longer and climbed inside a wagon through an open door. He wasn’t sure how to open it himself, if he was totally honest.

They were two in the wagon and it’s certainly not the small grandpa sitting in front of him that would disturb him. He rummaged into his pockets and took his phone out, as well as the tangled earphones that he untangled with great precaution. He made sure that the sound wasn’t too loud so he would hear the automatic voice announce his stop and when the robotic lady said “Tour Eiffel” among a whole sentence of words that he didn’t get, he jumped on his feet and started the ascension back to the surface. As soon as fresh air hit his face, he found the Eiffel Tower, straight in front of him, so close and so pretty, illuminating the sky with its golden lights, like a lighthouse in the urban ocean. The trees around the boulevard had lost their leaves but if he turned to the bank and the Seine, he would see a reflection of the tower in the water, glimmering like candles on the river.

Walking his way to the Tower had been quicker than expected and instead of getting closer, towards the Champ de Mars, he wanted to take a step back and enjoy a broader picture. He crossed the river and climbed the stairs to the Trocadéro. From there, he could see the tower in its entirety and decided to spend a couple of minutes there, to enjoy the peacefulness of the scene.

He sat on a small step, right in the middle of the place and made sure his coat was right under his behind. He definitely could go without having a soaked ass.

There was something absolutely magical, sitting there, watching the Eiffel Tower glowing in the dark, alone in a city where he barely could speak the language. He had just had his heart stomped onto and still, sat there on the Trocadéro, in front of the lit Eiffel Tower, he thought things were just as they should be. There were only a few tourists like him and he wondered why so few people were there, basking in the magical aura of the tall iron lady. He checked his phone in his pocket and instantly saw the hour.

11.30pm.

The last Eurostar was long, long gone.

 He shrugged, getting the collar of his coat higher on his neck and crossed his arms on his knees. The ache in his chest had been throbbing and so painful that he had forgotten how to breathe, for the first minutes of it. But as he had walked in the city of lights, he had let the flickering light in his thorax get stronger, charging itself of the light of the city. Everything had fallen down so fast that he couldn’t have saved anything. She had gone like a leaf carried by the wind and she had gone way higher than he could ever go. There was nothing left of what they had shared for a few months. In a way, he was still hurting. But could you really be sad when you found yourself in front of a golden Eiffel Tower, in the city of lights?

The Tower’s lights went down for half a second, before it started twinkling. A gasp found its way out of his mouth and Niall sat there, stunned, for a little while, listening to his breathing syncing with the city’s noise.

He had no idea what time it was, nor how long he had been sitting there looking at the tower. His knees were numb and his ass was completely frozen but he seemed to be stuck there, hypnotized by the twinkling lights. His gaze hadn’t moved for several minutes when a cardboard cup came into his field of vision, ruining the magical view.

A faint voice threw him a couple of words that he didn’t understand but when he rose his eyes on who had been offering him a steaming cup of whatever, he found a small woman drowning in a coat and a thick scarf. You were wearing glasses and your lips were bright red, almost maroon. You had a captain hat on your head, keeping your hair away from your face. You presented him the cup again, inciting him to take it.

 “Merci”, he whispered, his accent thick in his voice, but in a rather spotless French.

“Oh.. You’re not from here”, you smiled. “Are you lost?”

“Something like that”, he nodded, appreciating your efforts to talk English for him.

“She’ll help you find your way”, you breathed out, nodding toward the tower.

 Niall realized that to the French people, the Eiffel Tower was a lady. Seemed fitting.

 “Can I help you in the meantime?”

“I’m afraid I missed my train”, he laughed, drinking from the cup what seemed to be hot chocolate.

“Well, you sure aren’t at the right place for that”, you giggled.

“It’s okay. I’ll find a hotel room.”

 You smiled at him, pointing the step he was sat on. He nodded, pushing the side of him coat so you could sit next to him. This time, you could properly see the face of the man you were talking to and frowned a little, just enough to make him sigh.

 “I know.”

“I’m not one to judge, but should you be in London?”

“Yeah”, he sighed again. “I made a mistake.”

“We all make mistakes. The important thing is to stand back and learn from them.”

“It’s still pretty harsh”, he admitted for the first time, his breath short.

“C’est la vie”, you smiled in a touching French, just as touching as the carousel on the other bank of the Seine.

“I was expecting to hurt this much. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“I have no idea what happened, but I know you’re far from being lonely. Why do I find you sat on the ground, freezing, looking at the Eiffel Tower like it was the last thing you’d ever see?”

“I don’t know why I didn’t leave straight after the whole.. thing”, he shuddered. “I needed to walk and I think the city took a bit of the darkness away faster than I thought.”

“Bienvenue à Paris”, you murmured.

“What about you ? Why are you outside at such an hour?”

“I needed a bit of light too”, you shrugged, pushing your elbows on your knees. “The Eiffel Tower always kept all of my secrets, it’s where I go when I don’t feel at my best.”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Wanna talk about whatever happened to you?”

 He shook his head from left to right. No. He didn’t want to talk about it. He just wanted to let the tower lighten up the dark patches inside his chest when she broke his heart. Up till now, it was the dumbest thing to him but the most efficient process too.

 “I saw you on stage last year”, you whispered.

“Did you like it?”

“You sang words I needed to hear.”

“I hope it helped.”

“It did, for a night.”

“I’m glad, then.”

 Just a night. He offered you a night of peace. He was thankful for it. And he couldn’t help but to think that it was probably his own version of a night of peace, and you were the one helping him through it.

 “Thanks again, for the hot choc.”

“You looked lost and pretty cold. I couldn’t let you like that.”

“You didn’t even know who I was.”

“Since when do you need a name to help someone?”

“True”, he smiled.

“You know, whatever you’re going through, this is temporary. It’ll pass, you’ll breathe peacefully again. The hurt is never definitive. You learn to live with it and then one day you wake up, thinking about how it’s been a while since it actually hurt. You’ll forget about it and it’ll be behind you.”

“In the moment, it still stings.”

“I learn from a friend that hurt is a feeling and a feeling demands to be felt. It’s all apart of living.”

“Your friend is right. Thank them from me.”

 You laughed quietly and raised your hand to him. It wasn’t much, just a gloved-up hand but he smiled and took it anyway. He had spent the last hours on his own and had marvelled at everything the city had to offer, but he also had been hurting, alone and silent. Holding your completely stranger hand brought him a little bit of warmth and comfort. You smiled at him again and pushed your head on his shoulder. He didn’t say a thing, because he needed it and let you absorb a little bit of his hurt to carry it yourself.

 “Can I invite you to dinner? To thank you for the company.”

“If you want to”, you smiled. “I’m pretty sure you need a guide, anyway.”

 You told him that the Eiffel Tower would help him find his way but for a second, it felt like he wasn’t lost anymore. The tower guided him to you, you who were trying so hard to recomfort him, just like he did the past year. You had been a face in a crowd last year but he was the only thing you could see, back then. Seemed like things had been turned back around pretty easily. You had been sweet, understanding and he couldn’t help but think he either was losing his mind or Paris really was magical. Sure, you were a tiny bit broken but he could see the light passing through the cracks, just like he could see the twinkling lights reflecting on your glasses.

He had thought of the tower as a lighthouse earlier and he couldn’t deny the fact that it had played its role to the perfection. In the flickering light of the Eiffel Tower, he thought that maybe there couldn’t be a better remedy to his broken heart.

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usually when your friends tease you, it hurts, but you can easily brush it off and go on about your day, but today you were feeling extra sensitive to the situation for some reason. 

you were all over at niall’s house for a little grill out. everyone was spread out around the back porch, snacking and chatting amongst themselves while mully worked the grill. you and niall sat closely on the love seat, giggling about something he had shown you on his phone.

“my god, just kiss her already!” 

“gerry, fuck off,” he giggled, “‘s not gonna happen” 

you tried to laugh it off, but just couldn’t. your chest tightened and you could feel the tears threatening to spill from your eyes and that’s when you broke. the sound of everyone's laughs killed you because you wanted to kiss him. you wanted to kiss him so bad, and his words felt like a jab to your heart and you just couldn’t take it anymore. you stood up and stormed inside, feeling like the room was closing around you. you were embarrassed at your actions, definitely. it looked so dumb to everyone else, but to you, it was much deeper than a friend teasing you. 

you went straight to the closest room and shut the door behind you, locking it and face planting onto the bed, letting your tears fall free. you just wanted to hide and never see a human face ever again; especially not any of them. 

it wasn’t long until you heard the doorhandle jingle and niall’s voice ring behind it, “y/n open the door.” you stayed silent, hoping that maybe after a couple tries to get you to open up, he’d walk away and give you some space, but he didn’t so you eventually had to get up and unlock the door for him. you came face to face with him, his eyes locking with your bloodshot red, teary ones. you immediately sat back against the headboard of the bed, keeping your head low as niall closed the door behind him and sat next to you at the edge of the bed, “y/n what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“if you’ve come t’ yell at me, just leave” your voice was hoarse and vulnerable and it made him feel bad for coming on so strong

his voice softened when he replied with “right, i’m sorry. what’s wrong though?”

you shook your head, “nothing, it’s dumb” 

“it’s not if it’s gotcha this upset” 

“niall stop” 

“y/n no, tell me what’s wrong. dis shit usually never bothers you, ya just laugh it off, what happened?”

“oh my god,” you hummed to yourself, not being able to keep the next few words in your throat, “’cause niall, i love you!”

he was speechless

“i love you so much and it fucking sucks t’ hear that shit all. the fucking. time. yeah, i laugh it off ‘cause i don’t want anyone t’ know how I feel ‘cause it’s fucking humiliating and when they all joke about that stuff, it makes me wanna die inside ‘cause i want it all to be real so bad, i wanna kiss you and hold you and call you my boyfriend, fuck i don’t - i don’t even know and it sucks ‘cause I know none of it’s ever gonna happen and i just fucking broke ‘cause i can’t take it anymore” 

you’re practically sobbing as you pour your heart out to him and he is silent on the other end, not knowing what to do, “shit, y/n, i don’t even know what t’ say” 

“just don’t say anything”

the awkward silence was killing you because you knew what he was thinking and you didn’t want him to confirm it with his words. you just wanted him to leave. you wanted to crawl up in a ball under your covers and stay there forever.

“niall, just please go, just leave me alone right now” 

“y/n”

“niall go!”

Her laughter resonates against his eardrum. It was an unrestrained, joyous noise that Niall isn’t quite sure he will ever get over. Especially when it’s four years in and his heart still flutters the same way. And maybe it’s because they are getting married tomorrow, but his lips stretch into a toothy, shit eating grin as he watches her float across the room. 

“Got yerself a good’un.”

It’s Harry’s voice that pulls Niall away from watching his fiancee mingle with the guests and wedding party. Harry claps a hand to Niall’s broad back, a single dimple burrowing into his cheek. 

“Yeah, thinkin’ that I might have the best one.” Niall nods, placing his champagne glass to his lips and swallowing the fizzy liquid. (Truth be told, he has never really been a fan of the stuff. But, it’s his rehearsal dinner).

Niall’s eyes scan the group of people as Harry leans into him. He’s lost track of her, but he isn’t worried. She’s always had a way of simply melting into a crowd. Not in the way that made her inseparable from those around her, no. Niall thinks he could spot her if he really gives it a good look, but she becomes one with whoever she is with and it’s one of the many things he loves about her. 

It’s why she’ll be his wife in just a little under seventeen hours. No longer will she be Penelope Greene, but she’ll take his last name for the rest of their lives. For eternity, if she would humor him. 

Levinia is positive she has never been a part of a wedding this size. The church alone was huge. With ceilings that you have to crane your neck to see in full detail, stained glass windows double the size of her shop, and pews that stretched for what seemed like miles. People are sat shoulder to shoulder to accommodate the two hundred guests continuing to pile in before the ceremony begins.

There are gardenias and pink roses delicately hung from the pews. Their petals strewn across the cream colored fabric stretching from the doorway to the altar. Delicate buttercups are overflowing in fishbowl shaped, clear vases on either side of the altar. It’s beautiful, Levinia thinks.

She’s proud of herself, too. Really fucking proud of herself.

The bride to be had been specific on her choices and had left Levinia with little input on how everything would be arranged. She hadn’t minded it, for the most part. Penelope was lovely and was excited about her big day. Something that Levinia was used to, having been the florist for more weddings than she could count. But, most brides buckle under the pressure and she steps up to take over.

Penelope hadn’t buckled, though. She had left little to no wiggle room for Levinia. But, still. Levinia is proud of the work that she’s done today. Even if Penelope somehow hates it by the end of evening, she’s happy with the outcome.

She’s plucking the remaining red and pink rose petals from their stems and tossing them into a small wicker basket for the flower girl, now. The toddler, Penelope’s niece, had been scooped away for a last minute bathroom trip and Levinia thought that the basket was a little on the short side. It’s when she pulls the last red rose petal from the green stem that she hears the heavy doors of the church open.

She almost didn’t turn around, figuring it was last minute guests. In her three years of experience, there’s always a few stragglers. But, Levinia hears the distinct noise of tulle ruffling and she turns to look at the source. She barely holds in a gasp when she sees Penelope, in her beautiful pearled, flowy dress scooped into one small hand.

Levinia clears her throat and she can see Penelope’s shoulders tense through the open back of the dress. She takes a moment to turn and Levinia can see the mascara running down her face and threatening to stain her immaculate dress.

“Tell him I’m so sorry,” she says, voice thick with tears and regret. “I’m so sorry.”

And with that, she’s gone. The wooden door slams shut behind her and Levinia’s alone again.

What the fuck.