#homh

“It’s rude to stare, you know?” His voice startles her and she immediately looks away, heat creeping up her neck and cheeks. She’s an idiot for thinking that he wouldn’t catch her staring. He laughs. “Hey, don’t stop on my account. Go on. I kinda like the attention.”

“I hate you,” she mutters, though there’s no heat to it, and it only makes him laugh harder.

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Chapters: 9/10 Summary: The years before Stefon found himself on Weekend Update were some of the weirdest, and lowest points in his life. He wouldn't say he hated them, but there were only a few moments he would look back on in fond memory.

* The Story of Stefon Zolesky (Meyers), Saturday Night Live's finest hot mess/City Correspondent, and his life from 2006 to 2010..

Mostly I stare at the computer screen and curse myself for being so bad at this.

“If you must know,” she trails off, turning to face her mum, her side pressed against the counter. She can’t believe she’s about to tell her mum the truth. “We… kissed.”

She winces when the word leaves her throat. It’s the watered-down version of what happened but it’s the core of it. Even saying those two words make Jena feel as though someone has split her open and her heart is out on display for everyone to see. But this is her mum she’s talking to. She can be vulnerable with her.

“That’s it?” Her mum asks as if she’s expecting something more.

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“Are you okay?” Niall asks as he takes her empty glass from her hand and exchanges it with his. Jena shoots him a grateful smile and takes a sip. “Do you wanna go somewhere quieter?”

Jena simply nods. 

Just like before, Niall places his hand on the small of her back and gently guides her through the crowd until they miraculously find an empty spot near the wall. Jena leans against it and takes a few deep breaths. Niall doesn’t say anything, just watches with her with the familiar intensity that tells her that if she wants to talk, he’s all ears.

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Her exhaustion is quickly replaced by shock and nerves, and she sits up, blinking her eyes several times to make sure that she’s not seeing things. It would be more believable that her eyes have somehow conjured up Niall Horan’s name on her screen than for him to actually text her.

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Before last night, everything about him had faded into the past as a distant memory — she worked so hard on getting there — but now they’re at the forefront of her brain.

Everywhere she turns she sees him. 

She sees them. 

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