Screaming Color
sixteen
cole wakes up the next morning with excitement bursting in her stomach like soap bubbles in the sunlight. rain beats steady on the windowpane, but she doesn’t mind it. it’s friday, the best day of the week, the day when monday feels infinitely far away, especially when you’ve got a feeling in your gut that a million wonderful things are about to happen. the raindrops play her a song and cole makes up the lyrics, you’re on the cusp of something big, don’t you know? and today’s the first day of the rest of your life, buttercup. cole knows she’s not very good at words, but that’s what she has niall for.
niall, who slipped out of her room last night, cheeks red and grinning, after telling her the story of the leprechaun boy and the girl with the freckles. niall, who cole knows she’s headed toward right now: niall, sitting in the dining hall eating a piece of bacon with one hand as he turns the pages of some book of poetry with the other. she imagines the smile that will appear on his face when he sees her, followed by a blush and no words or maybe just a few, just “mornin’” or “hello,” and a smile. it’s the memory of that smile that kept cole warm last night even though the bed was empty beside her. it’s the memory of that smile that has her practically skipping to breakfast this morning. she’d walk a thousand miles for that smile.
but when she walks in and spots their usual table, over in the corner by the window that overlooks the big big big tree, niall’s nowhere to be seen. it’s just april, by herself, leaning her nose over her cup of coffee like the fumes are keeping her alive. she brightens when cole appears, but just barely.
“i’m so tired,” april says. cole looks over her shoulder, toward the kitchens, but she doesn’t see niall. she doesn’t want to say anything, though – april’s made enough assumptions. “i’m so glad it’s finally the weekend.”
“maybe you’d feel better if you actually drank your coffee,” cole says, drumming her nails on the table, steady like the rain. “inhaling it doesn’t have the same effect.”
april raises an eyebrow. “someone’s sassy this morning.”
cole just shakes her head and stands up. maybe when she gets back to the table, food in hand, niall will be here. maybe if she eats something, she’ll stop worrying about where niall is. maybe if she counts backwards from a thousand, she’ll manage to lose track of the part of her brain that can’t stop thinking about him.
cole gets in the longest line, the one for the freshly made omelettes, but when she arrives back at the table, it’s still occupied only by april. the warm paper cup of tea in cole’s hand only makes her feel marginally better. she thinks of herself 15 minutes ago, thinking, today’s the first day of the rest of your life and making melodies out of raindrops, and scoffs. this is real life, where sometimes mud gets on your jeans and ruins your day, and sometimes your eggs arrive on your plate undercooked, and sometimes your best-friend-maybe-more doesn’t show up to breakfast when all you want is to see him.
“i’ve been working on this essay about the roman empire,” april says, “and i’m struggling with this one bit, about julius caesar.” cole stabs at her eggs and tunes april out. she thinks of the wiggly wormy magical nerves that she woke up with this morning: now they’ve turned to mush and annoyance. over april’s shoulder, the branches of her favorite big big big tree droop under the weight of the rain.
cole hates the rain. hates the rain as she walks to class and it splashes up around her boots and threatens to dampen her jeans. hates the rain as she sits in lecture and tries to be the protagonist of her own story, but fails to think up a plotline that doesn’t involve niall horan. cole knows from this moment on that niall will always be some part of her story, even if he’s just lingering at the edges, a memory, a missed chance, a bruised heart.
“essay due wednesday,” the professor says. cole snaps to attention as everyone around her begins to move, shoving things into bags and shoving chairs under desks. outside, the wind howls and blows a rivet of rain against the window. nothing seems sadder than a weekend spent alone, hiding from her rain in the cave of her duvet.
cole swings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door, already imagining the twelve successive cups of tea she’s going to drink this afternoon and the–
“cole.”
there’s niall, outside the door, waiting for her. his hair’s damp and his cheeks are red and he looks a little bit like he rushed to get here, and when cole sees him, she can’t help but smile.
“sorry i missed breakfast,” he says, sounding breathless. “i overslept.”
“that’s alright,” cole says. niall grins at her, and cole forgets about the rain. her stomach fills with butterflies doing cartwheels as niall grabs her hand and pulls her down the hall. he’s saying something, but she can’t be bothered to listen, because niall’s weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing her hand and–
“cole?”
“i–” she squeezes niall’s hand right back. “sorry, what were you saying?”
“i was thinking we could go get a coffee or something?” niall says. his eyes drift down to their linked hands and he smiles, and cole knows that he loves this too.
“of course,” cole says.
at the end of the hall, niall pulls the door open and cole steps out into the rain. she doesn’t bother reaching for her hood. with niall’s hand in hers, this rain is spring and growth and the future. she wants it to seep into her skin and make her clean. she doesn’t realize she’s stopped in the middle of the path, face tilted up to let the water hit her, until niall pulls on her hand, tugging her forward.
“cole, what are you doin’?” he asks.
she opens her eyes and finds him gazing at her with a look of total amusement, eyebrow raised, familiar smirk in place. it’s a look that she’s seen on his face before, whenever she chews on the end of her pen while she’s reading and looks up to find his eyes on her. she doesn’t know what it means, that look, but it always sends the butterflies in her belly fluttering, saying, you’re alive alive alive.
“c’mere,” cole says. raindrops run down the side of her nose and she opens her mouth to taste them, fresh and new. she tightens her grip on niall’s hand and he comes stumbling toward her, and she doesn’t think about it as she drops his hand, doesn’t think as she slips her fingers into his damp hair. his eyes are blue blue blue and he smiles against her mouth just before she kisses him, and when their lips finally meet, cole forgets about the rain, forgets about this morning, forgets about everything besides niall niall niall, and now.
niall, who slipped out of her room last night, cheeks red and grinning, after telling her the story of the leprechaun boy and the girl with the freckles. niall, who cole knows she’s headed toward right now: niall, sitting in the dining hall eating a piece of bacon with one hand as he turns the pages of some book of poetry with the other. she imagines the smile that will appear on his face when he sees her, followed by a blush and no words or maybe just a few, just “mornin’” or “hello,” and a smile. it’s the memory of that smile that kept cole warm last night even though the bed was empty beside her. it’s the memory of that smile that has her practically skipping to breakfast this morning. she’d walk a thousand miles for that smile.
but when she walks in and spots their usual table, over in the corner by the window that overlooks the big big big tree, niall’s nowhere to be seen. it’s just april, by herself, leaning her nose over her cup of coffee like the fumes are keeping her alive. she brightens when cole appears, but just barely.
“i’m so tired,” april says. cole looks over her shoulder, toward the kitchens, but she doesn’t see niall. she doesn’t want to say anything, though – april’s made enough assumptions. “i’m so glad it’s finally the weekend.”
“maybe you’d feel better if you actually drank your coffee,” cole says, drumming her nails on the table, steady like the rain. “inhaling it doesn’t have the same effect.”
april raises an eyebrow. “someone’s sassy this morning.”
cole just shakes her head and stands up. maybe when she gets back to the table, food in hand, niall will be here. maybe if she eats something, she’ll stop worrying about where niall is. maybe if she counts backwards from a thousand, she’ll manage to lose track of the part of her brain that can’t stop thinking about him.
cole gets in the longest line, the one for the freshly made omelettes, but when she arrives back at the table, it’s still occupied only by april. the warm paper cup of tea in cole’s hand only makes her feel marginally better. she thinks of herself 15 minutes ago, thinking, today’s the first day of the rest of your life and making melodies out of raindrops, and scoffs. this is real life, where sometimes mud gets on your jeans and ruins your day, and sometimes your eggs arrive on your plate undercooked, and sometimes your best-friend-maybe-more doesn’t show up to breakfast when all you want is to see him.
“i’ve been working on this essay about the roman empire,” april says, “and i’m struggling with this one bit, about julius caesar.” cole stabs at her eggs and tunes april out. she thinks of the wiggly wormy magical nerves that she woke up with this morning: now they’ve turned to mush and annoyance. over april’s shoulder, the branches of her favorite big big big tree droop under the weight of the rain.
cole hates the rain. hates the rain as she walks to class and it splashes up around her boots and threatens to dampen her jeans. hates the rain as she sits in lecture and tries to be the protagonist of her own story, but fails to think up a plotline that doesn’t involve niall horan. cole knows from this moment on that niall will always be some part of her story, even if he’s just lingering at the edges, a memory, a missed chance, a bruised heart.
“essay due wednesday,” the professor says. cole snaps to attention as everyone around her begins to move, shoving things into bags and shoving chairs under desks. outside, the wind howls and blows a rivet of rain against the window. nothing seems sadder than a weekend spent alone, hiding from her rain in the cave of her duvet.
cole swings her bag over her shoulder and heads for the door, already imagining the twelve successive cups of tea she’s going to drink this afternoon and the–
“cole.”
there’s niall, outside the door, waiting for her. his hair’s damp and his cheeks are red and he looks a little bit like he rushed to get here, and when cole sees him, she can’t help but smile.
“sorry i missed breakfast,” he says, sounding breathless. “i overslept.”
“that’s alright,” cole says. niall grins at her, and cole forgets about the rain. her stomach fills with butterflies doing cartwheels as niall grabs her hand and pulls her down the hall. he’s saying something, but she can’t be bothered to listen, because niall’s weaving his fingers between hers and squeezing her hand and–
“cole?”
“i–” she squeezes niall’s hand right back. “sorry, what were you saying?”
“i was thinking we could go get a coffee or something?” niall says. his eyes drift down to their linked hands and he smiles, and cole knows that he loves this too.
“of course,” cole says.
at the end of the hall, niall pulls the door open and cole steps out into the rain. she doesn’t bother reaching for her hood. with niall’s hand in hers, this rain is spring and growth and the future. she wants it to seep into her skin and make her clean. she doesn’t realize she’s stopped in the middle of the path, face tilted up to let the water hit her, until niall pulls on her hand, tugging her forward.
“cole, what are you doin’?” he asks.
she opens her eyes and finds him gazing at her with a look of total amusement, eyebrow raised, familiar smirk in place. it’s a look that she’s seen on his face before, whenever she chews on the end of her pen while she’s reading and looks up to find his eyes on her. she doesn’t know what it means, that look, but it always sends the butterflies in her belly fluttering, saying, you’re alive alive alive.
“c’mere,” cole says. raindrops run down the side of her nose and she opens her mouth to taste them, fresh and new. she tightens her grip on niall’s hand and he comes stumbling toward her, and she doesn’t think about it as she drops his hand, doesn’t think as she slips her fingers into his damp hair. his eyes are blue blue blue and he smiles against her mouth just before she kisses him, and when their lips finally meet, cole forgets about the rain, forgets about this morning, forgets about everything besides niall niall niall, and now.