Collection of Prompt-Fics


prompt 5: “what part of ‘we broke up’ don’t you understand?”
characters: niall horan, erin mccarty (ofc)
set during the events of ‘tomorrow’, between the last two chapters

“Seven hundred channels, and nothing to watch,” I mutter derisively as I scroll through the listings, but I don’t turn the television off. I need the distraction.

The last week has been awful, and I can’t see it getting any better. I haven’t spoken to Niall in four days, Amber and Brett have either been working or out being a couple, and I… I have kept myself locked away in my bedroom, huddled in my blankets and watching as much mindless drivel as possible.

Deciding on a marathon of NCIS, I toss the remote to the side. Maybe watching Gibbs and Co solve murder cases will help. I curse under my breath when I knock over the mug on my nightstand, fluttering to stop a mess from forming, but nothing spills from inside. Right. I finished the tea earlier.

My chest aches the longer I lie there, skin crawling with sweat even as I shiver beneath the two comforters. A heaviness has taken over my entire being, moving nearly impossible right now. My head pounds each time I shift even slightly. I wince when something twinges in my abdomen, the too familiar lurch of my stomach demanding to empty itself. Tears prickle in the corners of my eyes, yet again, as I squirm to get more comfortable. An insurmountable task, sure, but one I need to attempt.

“What are you watching?”

I bite back a squeak at the unfamiliar voice coming from the doorway. The Irish accent is completely misplaced amongst the voices of the show, and the otherwise silent flat did nothing to prepare me for the quiet to be disturbed so abruptly. With a sigh, I poke my head out of the blankets, glaring as much as I’m able.

“What part of ‘we broke up’ don’t you understand?”

Niall rolls his eyes and steps closer; I shrink back, away from his hands that reach for me, further into my cocoon of blankets and pillows. Sniffling, I turn my face away from his searching gaze, though the reruns on the television do nothing to actually capture my attention. It’s the same trite storyline I’ve seen on nearly every procedural I have ever watched: Bad guy does something bad, things get worse, then - just in the nick of time - the Good Guy saves the day.

It’s cliche and overdone but comforting. At least someone gets a happy ending.

“Erin -”

“You’re interrupting my show. You lost the rights to do that four days ago.”

“You’re serious.”

“I’m very serious.” At Niall’s disbelieving scoff, I scramble for the box of tissues, throw it in his direction. “Don’t make fun of me.”

“I’m not!” he protests on a laugh, but he doesn’t stop advancing. He sits on the edge of the bed, reaching over me to grab the remote, and mutes the telly. “Talk to me.”


“Stop trying to get away from me, your blankets are literally your undoing right now.”

“We broke up. Go away.”

“I didn’t agree to the break-up.”

I blow out a breath and stop moving about. He’s completely correct - the blankets that have been comforting me over the last few days are my prison. He seems to take my lack of fighting as permission, stretching out behind me. I pout even as I let him pull me closer to him. I know it won’t be long before I get too hot, but… this feels nice, having him here.

“When did your fever break?” he asks quietly, and I shrug.

“Sometime last night, no thanks to you.”

“Believe me, love, I would have been here if I’d been able to.”

“Well, tell Simon that it’s all his fault that you don’t have a girlfriend any more.”

“I’m not telling Simon that my girlfriend, who is feeling poorly, claims to have broken up with me simply because he wouldn’t let me come cuddle her back to health.”

I don’t reply for a long minute. I’m too focused on soaking up the warmth of his hold, the beat of his heart pounding steadily against my back, the comfort that distracts me from my aches and nausea far better than any conventional medication. The television screen goes black with a quiet click, and I burrow further into the blankets as Niall cards his fingers through my sweat-damp hair.

“I suppose since you’re here, the break-up is cancelled,” I mumble, and he laughs as he presses a kiss to my forehead. “But make sure you tell Simon he’s on very thin ice with me.”

“Go to sleep, you silly girl. You’ll feel better when you wake.”