So Long

The air is filled with the singsong chirping of birds and the fluttering of wings as they occasionally take flight; cars pass by, the noise muffled by distance and trees and the water that covers her ears. Hot, bright rays of sun beat down on the city below, paint the back of Claire’s eyelids a muddy pink as she lays there. Her muscles relax even further, and she draws in a slow, steady breath and exhales just as evenly.

Niall has himself locked in the Mystery Room, as she’s come to call it. He’s in one of his moods, snapping and apologising in turns, so she has taken it upon herself not to interrupt him for anything short of a cataclysmic event. She tried watching TV or reading a book on her Kindle app, but the heat of the day and the pool water glinting in the sunshine had begged for her attention. She hadn’t even hesitated to change into her bikini and dive right in. If Niall needs her, he knows where to find her.

Claire lets herself sink below the surface of the water, blowing out through her nose as she does, and opens her eyes to stare up at the warped, shifting sun and sky overhead. The dark silhouette of a bird streaks across the wide expanse of blue. Chlorine burns at her eyes, but she doesn’t blink, doesn’t do anything but relish the calm and quiet and serenity that envelops her.

Eventually, her lungs begin screaming for oxygen, her vision goes blurry and dark at the edges. Claire shifts until her toes brush the bottom of the pool then pushes off. She gasps when her head breaks the surface, dragging in gulps of air. Her legs move instinctively to keep her floating, and she pushes her drenched hair back from her face. Sunlight glints off an upstairs window; her gaze flits to it without thought. She’s surprised to see Niall standing there, watching her.

He waves shortly when he catches her staring back, but before she can do anything but tilt her head in confusion, he disappears from sight. Something twists in her gut, something she can’t name, and she’s consumed by how naked she feels. Her skin heats up as she tries to decipher what she saw in his eyes, on his face. She sighs to herself and swims to the edge of the pool. The peacefulness of the morning is broken.

The thing is, she isn’t even upset that he was intruding like that - it’s his house, he can do what he wants. And, if she’s being honest, his attention felt… nice. Claire shivers though the air around her is warm. Wringing the excess water from her hair, she pads to the chair where she left the towel and dries off efficiently. She glances back at the window, but it’s empty still.

The house is quiet, her boss nowhere to be found as she makes her way up the stairs. She pauses in the hallway outside the guest room, stares at the door to the Mystery Room. It’s slightly ajar, a sliver of sunlight streaming through between the door and frame; dust motes swirl in the golden-yellow glow. Her brain whispers for her to leave it alone, but she can’t - she tiptoes quietly down the hall and peers through the crack. The soft strum of a guitar meets her ear, discordant and ugly but dripping with poignancy. Her chest tightens at the emotions that surge up in her.

Niall comes into view then, though he doesn’t look her way. His eyes are closed, lashes fanning across his cheekbones, as he ambles slowly across the room, fingers picking at the strings; his jaw clenches, throat working when he swallows. Claire has no hope of understanding what’s written in his expression. When he pivots on his heel, his eyes have opened, and she barely catches a glimpse of the blue before she’s scurrying back to the guest room. She’s just shut the door behind her when she hears a creaking noise that she takes to presume Niall is looking into the hallway. No footsteps near the room, though, so she’s pretty sure she hasn’t been found out.

Once she’s changed into dry clothes, Claire heads to the guest bathroom to hang her bikini over the edge of the bathtub to dry. She stops by the sink, stares at herself in the mirror. Her cheeks are flushed, and she isn’t sure if the pinkness is from the sun, being watched, or almost being caught encroaching on Niall’s privacy like that. She exhales sharply and makes a vow not to do it again. Not only is satisfying her curiosity not worth losing this job, it isn’t worth losing his trust. She scrubs at her hair with the towel then drapes it on the bar, yanking her still-damp hair into a quick braid.

Her phone is on the counter where she left it before going for her swim. She grabs it on her way to the fridge; it’s almost noon, and she isn’t sure she can eat, but she knows Niall needs to. So she responds to Matt’s text asking if she knows where his bowl is (a definitive and concise No) and tells Tim that she’ll definitely be over to babysit this weekend barring any work emergencies, then sets about cobbling together an easy lunch.

<< Lunch is ready. Come eat.

>> Not hungry at the moment

<< Well, as your PA, I guess do what you want. But as your friend, I say please come eat, you need the sustenance.

>> I hardly think I’m going to starve by skipping one meal

<< Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaassssssssse come try to eat
<< For me????
<< The begging would work a lot better if you could see my pout, I swear

He doesn’t reply to the text, but Claire hears his footsteps on the stairs a few minutes later. She pretends she hasn’t been waiting for him, scrolling aimlessly through Instagram while nibbling at the baby carrot she’s held since she sent the last message. He sighs heavily as he sits in the chair next to her, and she glances at him from the corner of her eye. He doesn’t look any happier since she saw him in the Mystery Room, but she resists the urge to comment on it.

“I wanna see the pout,” Niall announces suddenly, and Claire snorts and shakes her head. “No, no. I wanna see the pout that I missed, and then I’ll be the judge of whether it would have helped or hindered the begging.”

She giggles but does as requested - jutting her lower lip out, she stares at him with wide eyes and raised brows, brings her clasped hands up below her chin. His laughter lights up his face, takes away the drawn expression, and victory burns brightly in her chest. He hesitates then rests his hand on her shoulder. She cocks her head to the side, but he doesn’t say anything, just reaches for a sandwich from the plate.

“So would it have worked?”

He lifts a hand and makes a see-saw motion. “About eighty percent sure it would have helped, yeah.”

“Only eighty percent? C’mon, Horan, that was the best pout in my arsenal. I think it deserves better than a measly eighty percent.”

“Well, maybe you should work on improving the pout, and then the efficiency would improve, too.”

“You’re rude,” she says after a moment, shoving at his shoulder. “Why am I working for someone who’s so rude?”

“I have no idea.” He pretends to think then gives her an impish smile. “It’s my ass, isn’t it?”

“It’s gotta be, considering we’ve already determined it wasn’t the music.”

Claire still isn’t really hungry, but she doesn’t like being a hypocrite, so she manages to force down half a sandwich and a few baby carrots. Niall seems to be in a better mood now, and he cleans up once they’ve finished eating. She expects him to disappear back into the Mystery Room again, but he doesn’t, instead following her into the living room. An electric sensation thrums just under her skin, zipping through her nerve endings, and she wonders, not for the first time, why she ever thought it would be a good thing to fall for her boss.

Unfortunately, the pair are stuck together nonstop for the next month. That lazy day was the last one they have while Niall gets back into the studio, finishes up his golfing ventures, and gears up for promotional events. Claire does her best to keep up, to not get weighted down with the constant rapid-fire flitting from one place to another. Her brother, bless him for being so understanding, sends her memes to make her laugh and photos of the kids to lift her spirits, never getting upset when Claire doesn’t respond. She tries so hard to reply, but by the time she finally has a chance to breathe, it is right as she’s crawling into the bed of whatever hotel she and Niall are staying in, and she usually falls asleep the second her head hits the pillow.

She wakes every morning with the vestiges of dreams, fragments that send her head spinning and world askew. It grows much more difficult to fight the urge to kiss Niall or even to card her fingers through his hair; her heart begins to race any time he’s near, and just the slightest glance in her direction heats her from the inside out. The aching is hardest to ignore, especially in the few seconds of straddling the line that separates dreaming and waking, when she can feel the ghost of his hands trailing along her body, the searing kisses he presses to her skin, the ruthless and demanding way he captures her mouth with his, the fire between them burning her entire being down to ashes. Cold showers have become her best friend with the existence of the fantasies, and the nights have become her enemy, gives her time to wonder if Niall could ever feel for her what she feels for him.