That Magical Summer

  Could’ve been minutes, but you doubt it. It was more like hours when you finally got back to your house. You had cried until you could cry no more, washing his name from your head just to find it reappear again. You walked into your house with your bare feet buried in the sand. You heaved yourself back into the shower, for the second time today. Your somewhat apparent tears transformed with the running water, so it was if you weren’t crying. But you knew you were. You stepped out of the shower, dripping wet. You changed into a comfortable long pair of pajama pants, and a long sleeve top crop that didn’t match. You stepped into your kitchen, making yourself a fresh cup of hot chocolate. You just wanted to relax. You took your cup to your couch, and turned the tv on. It flickered on with a churning sound. It must be really old. The scratchy view, turned clear as it warmed up. You flipped through an unentertaining 49er vs. Packers game, iCarly, and the local 8 o’clock news. You had to look no further, because the noise from the doorbell exploded your ears. Ding dong! You moaned throwing you head back. This boy needs to stop. He needs to leave you alone, and know when he’s walking on the border of the annoyance line. “What?!” you yelled loud enough for him to hear. No response. “What do you want Niall?!” you cried again. No answer. You groaned, throwing yourself up from the most comfortable position of the day. You looked out the door hole, and saw Niall standing there holding one arm with the other. You opened the door to a blank expression. You stood awkwardly facing each other for a few minutes before he finally spoke.

“May I?” he mumbled. You stepped aside, letting him pass surprised that he actually asked this time. You saw as he found the supplies he had left this morning, picking up a paintbrush and dipping it in the awful excuse of a paint color. He began strolling the paintbrush along the wall, covering up the portions he had missed earlier.

“Um Niall? What are you doing?” you asked peculiarly.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” he asked not taking his eyes off of his work. You didn’t respond. “I’m finishing what you didn’t want to finish this morning,” he finished bitterly.

“What’s your problem?” you scowled.

“Nothing,” he muttered. You saw as he splattered the paint angrily onto the wall, spreading it around with the whisk of a brush. You didn’t really have any choice but to help him. You went into your room, changing out of your pajama shirt and back into your v-neck. You worked in unknown silence for about an hour until you saw him step back. He looked at the splotchy wall and placed his paintbrush back into the can. That’s when you felt the cold liquid erupt onto your foot. He had spilled some of the paint onto your foot, the mucky paint teasing at your toes. Your mouth was agape as the feeling settled. “Y/N I am-“ he began slowly with wide-eyes.

“Niall!” you exclaimed. Your nostrils flared in revenge as you picked up the whole can lurking it from behind your head, onto Niall. It got him straight in the face. You held in a giggle as it dripped from his forehead He smeared the muddy orange from his eyes, so he could look back at you.

“Oh no you did not just do that,” he said waving a finger sassily, making a circle with his head like a teenage girl who just called a bitch.

“Oh but I did,” you said waving your arms up in the air playfully. Before you could defend yourself he grabbed his paintbrush, swirling tons of paint around on it before flinging at you. He got you right in the prime spot. The top half of your white shirt was dampened with paint.

“What the hell Niall!” you screamed spitting out paint. “This is your fault. You’re the one who kicked over the damn paint can onto my foot!” you said pointing to it. Instead of fighting back he swung his paintbrush at you again, splotching your face with the eerie paint.

“Niall stop!” you screamed as you picked the whole can up by its handle and throwing the remainder of the paint onto him. He scoffed, throwing the paint off himself as much as possible. You couldn’t help but giggle at the site. He looked as if an orange dinosaur had just eaten him and then threw him up again.

“You think this is funny Y/N?!” he asked angrily. You stifled a laugh as you shook your head. Before you could laugh any harder he ran up to you, smearing his messy hands onto your hair.

“Ugh not my hair! You’re such an ass Niall-!” you screamed walking into your room, “Wait. What’s your last name?”

“Horan!” he yelled furiously.

“Niall Horan!” you boomed as you continued to your room. You grabbed two clean towels and walked back out to him. He hadn’t moved. He was standing in the middle of your living room, sopping with paint. You threw him one of the towels. He caught it and started to wipe his face free of paint.

“Orange looks really bad with your hair,” you replied smirking.

“Right back at ya,” he said looking at your almost identical hair color. You groaned as you attempted to peel out the paint from your hair. “Oh uh sorry. That was a little over the line going for your hair,” he mumbled.

“Barging into my house at 8 at night, with no explanation to continue painting my hideous walls was over the line,” you muttered back. He looked at you with a straight face, his lips pursed in a straight line.

“Fine,” he stated lightly before throwing the towel down onto the ground and storming to the door.

“Wait Niall. Where are you going?” Why did you even care Y/N?

“Leaving. Right? That’s what you’ve been wanting me to do this whole day. I can tell you don’t like me Y/N. I get it. You don’t have to be so mean about it,” he said facing his back to you and walking out the front door.

“Wait Niall!” you called as he turned to you, “you can stay.” He looked at you oddly. “You know to finish the paint.” He hesitated.

“There’s no more paint though,” he said after a minute of looking at the dirty room. There were splotches of orange, brown, and white covering the walls and floors.

“Right…” you said as he you saw him walk towards the door again.

“Now where are you going?” you asked rolling your eyes.

“To get more damn paint,” he muttered before walking out.