Look at Me
track #7: here and there
Niall Horan doesn’t drink coffee, and I drink far too much.
I learn this a day into our second week in the studio, when I ask him to join me for coffee and he tells me he doesn’t drink it.
“I’ll join you for tea, though,” he says, smiling.
I drink too much coffee, and he smiles too much—but never so much that I wish he’d stop. He sits across from me in the cafe around the corner and bounces his leg, jostling the table.
“Sorry,” he says for the third time, steadying his cup. “My brother used to watch your show.”
Niall is good at non-sequiturs, and I don’t mind because it helps me understand how his mind works. The picture of him I began when I read his journal becomes more complete—and more confusing—with every moment that I spend with him. We’re more comfortable with each other now, acting like we’re old friends sometimes and finishing each other’s sentences when we’re writing, but there are still so many things I still have to learn about him.
“Oh yeah?” I say, steadying my own cup. Despite the cardboard sleeve, it’s hot to the touch. “But you didn’t?”
He grins, shrugs. “I’ve seen an episode or two. Here and there.”
“Right.” I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve never heard of that band you used to be in. What were they called again?”
His grin turns into a laugh at that, and my stomach flutters. Making someone laugh, the joy that comes from it—that’s a feeling I could easily become addicted to. Especially when Niall’s the one laughing.
“You’re funny, Minna,” he says when he catches his breath. “It’s surprising.”
That surprises me. “Why’s that?”
He shrugs. “Because Minna on telly is so uptight, had that best mate who was always tricking her into doing fun things, right? And something tells me that you don’t need to be tricked into doing fun things.”
I swear his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. His eyes always sparkle when he looks at me—earlier today when he told me I have a beautiful voice, last week when he offered a gentle smile in response to my frustration over a broken string on my guitar, the other night when we got takeout and he told me about how all of his travels have made him appreciate being home so much more.
Niall is so much more than the person I thought he was from his journal. He’s kind and funny and smart and compassionate and creative and clever, and he fascinates me. I can’t help but what to know everything about him, and I can’t help how fast I’m falling.
I’m falling too fast, much faster than I ever would’ve dared fall in the past. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in writing together or the heat of summer or the uniqueness of the boy sitting across from me—I don’t know. All I know is that this moment, this moment in the cafe over tea and coffee, is the moment that changes everything.
“I could say the same thing about you, Niall Horan.”
That night, just before I left the studio, Niall kissed me before I had the chance to kiss him. That has me stomping my foot and demanding a do-over, which makes him laugh.
“This is strange,” he says when we break apart. His hand rests on my cheek, mine on his chest. “And it’s gonna sound stupid, but I feel like I’ve known you for so much longer than a few weeks.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “You did watch me on tv when you were a kid.”
He rolls his eyes, still smiling. “You know what I mean.”
And I do. It seems that I only have to look at Niall to know what he’s thinking. I begin to think it’s all in my head, but then Niall voices what I’m thinking. We haven’t known each other long, but we’re weaving our souls together through our songwriting. We’re connecting in a way that I’ve never connected with another person before, and it’s addicting.
It’s addicting and maddening and wonderful, and I never want it to end.
I learn this a day into our second week in the studio, when I ask him to join me for coffee and he tells me he doesn’t drink it.
“I’ll join you for tea, though,” he says, smiling.
I drink too much coffee, and he smiles too much—but never so much that I wish he’d stop. He sits across from me in the cafe around the corner and bounces his leg, jostling the table.
“Sorry,” he says for the third time, steadying his cup. “My brother used to watch your show.”
Niall is good at non-sequiturs, and I don’t mind because it helps me understand how his mind works. The picture of him I began when I read his journal becomes more complete—and more confusing—with every moment that I spend with him. We’re more comfortable with each other now, acting like we’re old friends sometimes and finishing each other’s sentences when we’re writing, but there are still so many things I still have to learn about him.
“Oh yeah?” I say, steadying my own cup. Despite the cardboard sleeve, it’s hot to the touch. “But you didn’t?”
He grins, shrugs. “I’ve seen an episode or two. Here and there.”
“Right.” I raise an eyebrow. “Well, I’ve never heard of that band you used to be in. What were they called again?”
His grin turns into a laugh at that, and my stomach flutters. Making someone laugh, the joy that comes from it—that’s a feeling I could easily become addicted to. Especially when Niall’s the one laughing.
“You’re funny, Minna,” he says when he catches his breath. “It’s surprising.”
That surprises me. “Why’s that?”
He shrugs. “Because Minna on telly is so uptight, had that best mate who was always tricking her into doing fun things, right? And something tells me that you don’t need to be tricked into doing fun things.”
I swear his eyes sparkle as he looks at me. His eyes always sparkle when he looks at me—earlier today when he told me I have a beautiful voice, last week when he offered a gentle smile in response to my frustration over a broken string on my guitar, the other night when we got takeout and he told me about how all of his travels have made him appreciate being home so much more.
Niall is so much more than the person I thought he was from his journal. He’s kind and funny and smart and compassionate and creative and clever, and he fascinates me. I can’t help but what to know everything about him, and I can’t help how fast I’m falling.
I’m falling too fast, much faster than I ever would’ve dared fall in the past. Maybe it’s the vulnerability in writing together or the heat of summer or the uniqueness of the boy sitting across from me—I don’t know. All I know is that this moment, this moment in the cafe over tea and coffee, is the moment that changes everything.
“I could say the same thing about you, Niall Horan.”
That night, just before I left the studio, Niall kissed me before I had the chance to kiss him. That has me stomping my foot and demanding a do-over, which makes him laugh.
“This is strange,” he says when we break apart. His hand rests on my cheek, mine on his chest. “And it’s gonna sound stupid, but I feel like I’ve known you for so much longer than a few weeks.”
I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face. “You did watch me on tv when you were a kid.”
He rolls his eyes, still smiling. “You know what I mean.”
And I do. It seems that I only have to look at Niall to know what he’s thinking. I begin to think it’s all in my head, but then Niall voices what I’m thinking. We haven’t known each other long, but we’re weaving our souls together through our songwriting. We’re connecting in a way that I’ve never connected with another person before, and it’s addicting.
It’s addicting and maddening and wonderful, and I never want it to end.