niallhorxns

[niallhorxns]

I love your niall fics!!! 🫶🫶🫶

ahh thank u so much 🥹💕💕

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niallhoran: Night Fifty-Seven Noblesville

[niallhorxns]

Angel man 😇

[niallhorxns]

Niall Horan x Reader: Not Like Him

Prompt: Because of your past, you hate confrontation. One day, Niall comes home particularly grumpy.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: anxiety, past verbal abuse mention

A/N: hi all!!! continuing to try and post on here. please feel free to send any niall x reader prompts / ideas my way :)

You’re in the midst of putting a dish you just washed away when you hear the front door open, then suddenly slam shut. The pictures hanging on the wall rattle as you peer around the corner anxiously. The first thing you see is Niall bustling through the door. Normally, having Niall home would cause a surge of warmth and excitement to rush through you– but today, instantly, you recognize that something about his demeanor is off. 

He throws his flannel on the chair and with his back facing you, runs his hand through his hair. When he turns to you, there’s no warm smile or cheerful greeting. Instead, he takes a few steps then tosses his keys on the counter, letting them slide carelessly across the surface. He makes no effort to even acknowledge your existence. 

Instantly, a lump forms in your throat, making it harder and harder to breathe. You hate tension… Or any sort of confrontation, really. Your parent’s entire marriage was built off tension and confrontation– passive aggressive comments and slamming doors leading to screaming, which then led to shattered dishes or dented walls. 

Your father had a temper. And it didn't matter how well behaved or helpful or unseen you were. Something always managed to spark his anger. The nights he drank were worse, and as the years went on, the sober version of himself made less and less of an appearance. 

Although you didn't recognize it at the time, looking back, you knew that you spent the vast majority of your childhood living on edge– always waiting for the yelling or the screaming. You were afraid more often than not. And that wasn't something you could just unlearn when you were old enough to leave– no matter how far away you were.  

In fact, it took years of hard work to heal from the trauma you'd experienced. But for so long, it felt like no matter how much therapy you attended or self-help books you read, there was always a part of you that was just stuck. 

Until you met Niall. 

Niall was the missing piece. His presence alone was healing. He was calm and safe and consistent. He was patient and gentle and kind. And when you finally got up enough courage to tell him about your childhood, he listened carefully, his brows furrowed somberly. It was like your trauma caused him physical pain– that's how much he loved you– how much he felt with you. 

With Niall, you could safely work on communicating without screaming matches or slamming doors. It had taken time, but slowly, piece by piece, you started to rebuild, until you actually felt like you could trust someone again. 

And of course, even now, in the midst of whatever this unknown territory was, you trust him. But despite that, tension is radiating off from him. It’s almost palpable in the air– suffocating you. 

You have to say something– Niall will understand. 

“How was your day?” You ask nervously, already knowing the answer. 

Niall walks right past you to the fridge, pulling the door open and ignoring your question.  

You bite your lower lip, your anxiety settling like a rock in your stomach. This feeling felt too familiar… 

“Is everything okay?” you ask. He pulls out a beer, showing no sign that he even heard you. He cracks it open, the sound alone sending shivers down your spine as you’re instantly reminded of all the nights your father would drink five beers before even recognizing you were home. But Niall is not your dad, you remind yourself. Niall is gentle. Niall is kind. 

He takes a long swig before walking towards the stairs.

“Niall?” you say, worry evident in your tone. 

He doesn’t stop. 

Niall isn't like him. Niall cares about your feelings. Niall loves you.

You follow him a few steps, knowing that you can’t let him just go to bed this… angry? Upset? Whatever he is– 

“Niall, what’s going on–”

“Oh my God!” He bellows suddenly, waving his arms and spinning in his tracks to finally look at you. “Can you leave me alone for one goddamn second?!”

Before you can quiet down your brain or repeat all the ways Niall was different from your father, your body reacts as if they are one and the same. You flinch harshly from his sudden movements and loud tone, like your body remembered exactly how it felt to live in your house twenty years ago. And before you can help it, the glass cup in your hand falls to the floor, shattering around your feet. 

The noise makes you snap out of your trance. Looking down at the mess you made, your mouth goes dry. Your whole body has already begun shaking and you can feel the tears fighting their way to your eyes. 

“I’m sorry–” you whisper, choking back a sob. Then you brace for the screaming– the berating. Clumsy, stupid, idiot. 

Nervously, you kneel down, tucking your hair behind your ear while you try to pick up the broken glass. What the hell is wrong with you? It’s obvious Niall had a bad day. So why couldn’t you just leave him alone? The last thing he needs is you making and being a mess. 

“Sorry–“ you mutter, it’s so quiet though, you doubt he hears. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. You’re so anxious you don’t even grab a dustpan, you just start collecting pieces of shattered glass in your hand. Your vision quickly becomes blurry with tears as they streak down your cheeks. 

“Shit,” you vaguely hear, but you don’t stop trying to clean up. You’re frantic, grabbing whatever you can off the floor before he can get more upset about it. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. 

Through your clouded vision, you can’t see what you’re collecting off the floor– all you know is that you have to keep cleaning it up.

“Baby, stop–”  

The voice is distant.

“I promise I’ll clean it up,” you say, hands shaking so violently, you wonder how no pieces have sliced open your skin yet. 

“Baby–” 

It’s just background noise. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” 

You vaguely see a figure kneel beside you and before you can wave him away, Niall reaches out– hand cupping yours before forcing open your fingers. As soon as the glass is out of your hand, you see him reach up to toss it on the counter before kneeling back down to be on your level. 

All it takes is one arm wrapping around your shoulders for you to break. Suddenly, you can’t hold back the sob that’s been sitting in your throat. The second it escapes from your lips, Niall pulls you into his chest tightly. 

“C’mere,” he exhales, chin resting on your head while he slides the both of you back against the cupboard. You let out a choked gasp and cling to him. 

His arm winds tightly around you, locking you in place. “I’m so sorry,” he breathes.  

“I have to clean it up–” you cry.  

“Shh,” he soothes. He rocks you on the floor like that, his arms wrapped around you securely.  Your breathing is choppy as you shake against him. Niall grabs your bicep with his hand, holding you steady while his thumb rubs up and down your bare skin gently, trying to calm you down. 

You’re not sure how long it takes for you to feel like you can think again. Time stands still as you settle into his embrace. Niall’s embrace– you remind yourself. Not your father’s. Because your father wouldn’t embrace you after yelling like that. And he certainly wouldn’t embrace you after you broke a dish. 

After a while, your breathing gradually returns to normal again. Moments later, you feel him shift. “Did you cut yourself?” he asks carefully. 

He supports the majority of your weight, all but lifting you off the floor before scanning the length of you. 

You shake your head. At least you didn’t think you did. 

Niall nods before reaching his hand out. “C’mon, let’s get away from the glass.”

You take it willingly, sighing as you feel the warmth from his palm spread through your hand. He guides you away from the pile of glass and towards the kitchen island. He helps you settle into one of the tall stools. 

“Hey,” you hear him whisper. But you’re still staring at the mess, so worried about cleaning it up. Until you feel firm, but careful hands cupping each side of your face– forcing your attention to shift towards him. “Hey,” he repeats. 

His calloused thumb trails along your cheek. Before you know what you’re doing, you’re leaning into his touch, craving his comfort. 

“Did you cut yourself?” he asks again, clearly not trusting your earlier response. 

To be fair– you’re not even sure that you trust your earlier response. By now, you feel like you’re actually back in your own body, and feel no pain. So you shake your head, this time more convincingly.  

As soon as you give the confirmation that you’re alright, Niall takes a step forward and wraps his arms around your shoulders, crashing his body against yours.  

“I’m so sorry,” he says, lips ghosting against the top of your head. “I didn’t mean to yell like that.”

You nod into his shirt, pinching the fabric between your fingers and breathing in the smell of him. Niall is not your dad, you repeat. Niall apologizes. Niall loves you. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, you were slightly more calm. “I’m sorry I was so annoying– I’m sorry I broke the glass.”

You feel Niall shake his head above you. “No–” he says firmly. “I don’t give a shit about the glass. I had a shitty day,” he sighs. “A really shitty day. But that’s not your fault.”

“I should have just given you space.”

He shakes his head again, pulling back from his embrace to look at you earnestly. “No– We’re supposed to talk about things. I promised you I’d always talk to you about things, and I broke that today.”

He brushes a few loose strands of hair from your face, before wiping some stray tears stuck under your eyes. “I know how much yelling activates you– I know it sets you off, and I just wasn’t thinking.”

“You’re allowed to get annoyed,” you remind him. “And angry. You’re allowed to yell.” 

“That’s not how you and I communicate,” he says. “That’s not ever how I want to communicate, and I’m sorry. I’ll do better next time”

Squeezing him tighter, you nod against his chest. 

Because Niall is not your father and you believe him.

[niallhorxns]

The Show Live on Tour | Cincinnati

[niallhorxns]

A Masterlist

Niall Horan x Reader

Panicked (you have a panic attack, he helps)

Worth Fighting For (distance is hard on your relationship)

Not Like Him (you hate confrontation, he comes home grumpy)

[niallhorxns]

Niall Horan x Reader: Worth Fighting For

Prompt: The distance while he's on tour is difficult, you and Niall try to make it work.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: none

A/N: Hi all!! So excited to be writing again. Please enjoy this slightly angsty, short fic. And please feel free to send any / all Niall requests my way :)

Niall’s contact photo pops up on your phone. The ringer interrupts the song you were playing through your car speakers, but before you even slide to answer, you already know the sound of his voice is going to be way better than whatever poppy tune had been on.  

“Hey babe,” you smile widely, trying to balance your phone between your ear and shoulder as you drive home from work. The fact that you would be seeing Niall tonight has been the only thing keeping you smiling throughout the day. Not even the heavy traffic can interfere with your good mood.  

Since you’ve been together, you’ve dealt with Niall spending long hours at the studio– and occasionally taking long weekend trips to Ireland or New York. But this tour was so much more difficult than any of that. 

When Niall left for his latest tour, you both were dedicated to making things work. You planned FaceTimes and phone calls and flew in to see him whenever you could. However, the last few months had been harder than you could have ever anticipated, and the distance had definitely taken a toll on your relationship. 

But right now, none of that mattered, because Niall would be home tonight.  

“Hey there,” Niall says back. You can hear chatter in the background and briefly wonder if he’s landed yet.  

“Are you almost home?” You ask, hopeful.

There’s a brief pause, then Niall sighs. “That’s actually what I was calling about—“

“Oh no,” you interrupt. “Was the flight delayed?”

“No…” he clears his throat, “I’m actually still in New York.”

The moment he says the words, your coffee canister slips from your hands, spilling over your lap and car. The heat immediately seeps through your skirt. You’re lucky you don’t crash as you try to wipe it up with the napkins stuffed in your cup holder.  

“Shit,” you gasp, your thighs burning from the hot beverage. “Shit, shit, shit—“  

“Baby?” You hear his worried voice through the line. 

You flip your blinker on and pull over on the side of the road. You wipe up the remainder of the coffee, ignoring Niall asking if everything was okay on the other end of the line.  

Once your legs no longer feel like they’re on fire, you pick your phone back up, and already on the verge of tears resume your conversation.

“Are you serious?” You ask. “I thought you had three nights off.”

“I know– I do, but we got the opportunity to play on Fallon, my agent booked it–“ 

You can tell he’s trying to dodge a fight, which you’ve been doing a lot of lately. Last week you were mad when he canceled your FaceTime date to go out with bandmates instead. The week before that, he was frustrated that you declined his offer to fly you out to Denver with less than a day's notice.

Seeing each other today has been what you were both holding onto. Or at least that’s what you thought.

“Why do you have to play Fallon, Niall? It’s not like you’re desperate to grow your image–”

“I know, but it’s a good opportunity to expand to other listeners–”

You sigh, and without raising your voice say,  “I just… We’ve had these dinner plans for so long— I mean my parents have been talking about this for weeks.“

“I know, I know, I know—“ he says frantically, “I’m so sorry, believe me, I’d much rather be there than here… this place is nuts.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose, and close your eyes, listening to the sound of traffic rushing by your parked vehicle.  

“Okay,” you sigh, feeling so defeated and drained all of a sudden. “Okay, well, we’ll miss you.”

“I know, tell everyone I say I’m sorry for not being there.”

“Yeah, alright,” you agree.  

“So we’ll just talk later then?” He asks, the noise in the background getting louder.  

“Okay,” you say before hanging up. 

You can’t help but notice that the “I love you’s” were skipped.  

You drive the rest of the way home with your fingers tightly clutching the steering wheel. Your knuckles are white by the time you pull into the driveway. You drag your bag and coffee-stained self into the house to change and get ready for dinner with your family.  

You try convincing yourself that the night will be fun, regardless of the fact that Niall bailed.  But the moment you sit around the table at the restaurant and count that you are in fact the ninth wheel of the family, you know things are doomed. Plus you can’t shake the achy feeling inside your chest that makes you fear for your relationship with Niall. You’d been holding onto this weekend together with everything you had. It’s kept you grounded, and reminded you that this distance between you and Niall won’t last forever– that this tour will eventually end. 

Except now, you have nothing to hold on to.  

“Where’s Niall?” Your mother immediately asked. Of course she does– because your family loves Niall. 

Without even thinking, you lie, “His flight got delayed. Bad weather. Tornadoes, I think—“  you’re not sure why you don’t tell the truth. Denial, maybe. Embarrassment that his job would always come before you.

“Bad weather?” Your brother asks, “Where is he?”

“New York,“ you say quickly. 

Your brother pulls out his phone. After a moment his brows furrow. “Huh, weird. The weather app says it’s sunny and clear there.”

Instantly you feel your face turning red. “Yeah… weird,” you say. 

Your brother opens his mouth– probably to ask more questions, but his girlfriend elbows him, indicating for him to shut his mouth. You give her a soft smile in appreciation.

You stay quiet for the majority of the meal, and you don’t feel much like eating. You try to listen to your dad talk about golf, but all you can focus on is how Niall might chime into the conversation. You try to listen to your older brother when he complains about his meal, but all you can imagine is how Niall would nudge your leg and offer you a sly smile, knowing how much that annoyed you. 

You can’t be present because all you can do is think about how much you miss him– you miss his laugh, and the smell of his aftershave. You miss how warm hands always are, and how they’re always touching you– every chance he can get. You miss the way he can always lighten the mood, and how safe you feel just knowing he’s around. You miss him with everything inside of you– and his absence tonight only makes you miss him more. 

All-in-all, you’re relieved when everyone is ready to head home.  

“Hey,” your brother’s girlfriend catches up to you before you can head to your car.

“Hi,” you smile.

“Is everything okay? I just— I wanted to make sure, because you do know New York doesn’t really have tornados, right?”

You nod and let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, I know. And Niall’s flight never got delayed,” you take a deep breath, “I guess that just sounded better than the fact that he didn’t even get on his flight. Got caught up at work,” you explain.

She sighs empathetically. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I just—“ you feel the tears starting to fill your eyes and you wipe them away, embarrassed. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Oh no,” she says empathetically.

“The distance is just, really, really hard. Way harder than I ever thought—“ Even you can tell how choked up your voice sounds. “And I just don’t see it ending anytime soon. I mean, sure, this tour will end. But he loves his job, so I know there will just be another one. And another. And can’t ask him to give that up. But I can’t compete with it. I just don’t know if I can do it—”

“Maybe you should talk to him about this,” she suggests, as she soothingly rubs your shoulder. “Tell him how much it’s bothering you. Be honest.”

You nod. “Yeah you’re probably right.” You wipe your runny nose on your sleeve.  

“Let us know if you need anything, okay?”

You nod, thanking her and hugging her goodbye. She’s right. You do need to talk to Niall. But that’s a conversation you wish you could just keep on the back burner, ignoring until everything ignited. You dreaded it the whole way home.  

When you did finally arrive home, you puttered around the house– put the dishes away, washed your face, got into your pajamas, all as an effort to stall. Finally, you curled up on the couch. With no more excuses to delay the inevitable, you pulled out your phone and clicked on Niall’s contact. You hated this– everything about it. You hated that you hated it– hated that you were dreading calling your favorite person in the entire world… the only person who made you feel whole. 

The phone rang three times before Niall answered. “Hey baby,” he said cheerfully. “How’re you?”

“Okay,” you said quietly. “How was Fallon?” 

“Not bad– that guy from the TV show you like… the one on HBO? God, I can’t remember the name of it now. But he was there. Made me think of you. The crowd was fun– a few people actually knew the words. How was dinner?” He asks.  

“It was fine—“ you lie, not really wanting to fake small talk. “Everyone missed you.”

“Yeah, I wish I could’ve been there.”

You clear your throat as you anxiously pick at the skin around your thumb.  

“Listen, Niall. We need to talk—“

“Babe,” he protests, like he knows where this is going. “I already apologized for not being there— I wanted to, but I couldn’t say no after they booked the gig–”

You don’t want another fight. You’re too tired, too drained, too sad to fight. You love Niall– so much so that you wanted him around all the time– needed him. And you know Niall loves you too. But Niall also loves music, and touring. One was always going to interfere with the other, and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. And suddenly, the realization that this just isn’t going to work hits you like a ton of bricks.

“I know…” you say as non-confrontational as possible, “I know it’s your job, I understand that, but I— I need you here, Niall. And maybe that’s selfish of me, or whatever, but it’s true. I need you here. And I don’t know if I can do this distance thing, I thought I could, but I don’t think I can. It’s… Honestly, it’s killing me.”

“What do you mean you can’t do it?” Niall asks. “I mean, what do you want me to do? Quit? Do you want me to quit the tour?”

You squeeze your eyes shut in anticipation of what’s about to happen.  

“No, I don’t want that,” you say, your voice becoming thick with tears. You could never take performing away from Niall– you wouldn’t be the thing that came between him and his passion. “I hate that this is through the phone, but I don’t think we should do this anymore. I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A long, heavy silence settles over the air. It sends waves of blood pumping to your ears. It’s deafening. 

You begin wondering if you should provide more of an explanation, but then Niall speaks. 

“Baby—“ he pleads, his voice suddenly full of desperation. “Please, I know you’re mad about tonight but I can fix this—“

“I’m not mad,” you tell him honestly, pushing the emotion in your voice down and trying to muscle through. “I understand that you couldn’t say no. I know you wanted to be here but couldn’t. But I come second to your job, Niall. And I always will. And that’s not your fault. But it’s not my fault either. And I– I just think that I need more than that.”

He’s stammering incoherently on the other end, and you imagine what his face looks like right now. Is he crying? Are his eyebrows all scrunched up?

He tries protesting again, but you can’t think about anything other than getting off the phone.  

“I’m really sorry this isn’t in person, you deserve that. But I just can’t keep doing this,” you explain. “When you’re back in LA, shoot me a text and I can get your stuff together.”

“Baby–” he pleads. 

But you cut him off. “Goodbye,” you whisper, hitting the end button before he can convince you to change your mind. As soon as the line goes dead, you break out into uncontrollable sobs.  The weight on your shoulders that you thought would be lifted only felt heavier as you let yourself fall back against the cushions of the couch you bought together.

Your chest aches. Desperately, you clutch your arm around yourself, trying to hold everything together. 

It hurts like fucking hell. 

It’s the kind of pain you know will leave lasting scars– the kind you know you’ll carry with you forever. And the only person you’d ever want to call to help you through it is the one you just broke up with. 

Broke up. 

You and Niall broke up. 

You cry harder. 

You cry and cry and cry– until there’s nothing left inside of you, until you’re pretty sure if you cried anymore, you’d need an IV to replace all the fluids. You cry until finally, you drift off into an uneasy sleep, curled up on the couch with Netflix playing on the TV, the screen lighting up the otherwise dark living room. 

The clock below the TV reads 7 am when you wake to the sound of the front door opening.  

Your first instinct is to scream, but you catch a glimpse of the familiar, dark haired man crossing the room before that can happen.

“Niall?” You say groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. “What are you doing?” You feel like you might still be dreaming.

“I know you probably don’t want me here,” he says, he’s out of breath, panting, even– like he ran across the country overnight to be here. That’s when it hits you that Niall is really here– not across the country in New York, but standing in your shared living room in LA. 

“Just hear me out—” He begs. When you don’t protest, he continues. “I love my job,” he states. “Playing music has always been my dream, and then that dream came true. I love touring– I love performing.I love being able travel around so much—“

You let your eyes wander to the floor, wondering where this all is going.

“But none of that compares to how much I love you,” he says, his shoulders finally deflating.  “And I’ll quit in a heartbeat if that’s what it takes. Please, please don’t be mad– I’ll do whatever it takes to make this work, I swear.”

It had been so long since Niall had told you he loved you, that you feared it might no longer be true. But as soon as he says the words with such honesty and passion, your face scrunches up and the tears start to fall, because you immediately believe him. For a moment, you forget that you’d practically broken up with him over the phone.

All you care about is that he’s here. Niall is here, standing in front of you in real life for the first time in so long. As soon as he sees your face crumple, he’s crossing the room in two quick strides. Before you can protest, he’s kneeling in front of you on the couch. 

Your knees– you think. But then one of Niall’s hands is cradling your cheek softly while the other rests on your thigh, and all you can think about is how grateful you are that he’s home. 

“I’m not mad, I just… I– I miss you–” you sob before leaning forward, arms winding around his neck while you crash into him. “I miss you so much, all the time.” 

His arms wind around you tightly. He smells so familiar, and when he tightens his grip around you, you immediately feel safe and secure and whole again– the way only Niall can make you feel.   

You’re not sure how long you stay like that. But you’re afraid that the minute you let go, things will fall apart again.  

“I miss you too,” he whispers, hand coming up to stroke through your hair. “God, I missed you so much.”

You lean into his touch, try to memorize the feel of it. Then, you sigh into his neck. “I could never ask you to quit your job. You love your job more than anything. You’d be so unhappy and I’d hate myself for making you unhappy.”

Niall pulls you away from himself– holding you out in front of him. “You come before my job, okay? It’s not even close. If I quit music, I’d miss it. Of course I would. But I can write songs here– play my guitar here. Eventually, it’d feel okay. But if I lost you–” Niall shakes his head, like the thought alone is too unbearable. “I don’t know if I’d ever be able to be happy again. You come first, okay? Always.” 

You give Niall the best attempt at a smile that you can come up with, enough to show him that you appreciate his gesture. It’s nice actually hearing how much Niall cares for you. He smiles back, it’s weak and doesn’t reach his eyes, but it’s a smile all the same. And it’s Niall’s. 

But then it’s gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a slight frown before he says, “What if you came with me?”

Taken aback, you immediately shake your head. “What? On tour?”

He nods, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “Yeah, why not?”  

You open your mouth, presumably to list the reasons why that would be such a bad idea. But your mind is blank. 

“You can bring your laptop– work from the bus, or hotel or whatever. We could travel around, see things. Just be together.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You’d get sick of me–”

“Are you kidding? I’m sick of being away from you.”

“Niall– there’s no way. I have work– what about the apartment?”

“It’s an apartment, not a dog. It doesn’t need food or water. Plus, I won’t be touring all the time. Just for a few more months. We’d get through it, then figure out what to do next. But we’d be together.”

The more he talked, the more you realize that maybe it isn’t such a bad idea. Like he said, it’s only a few months. Maybe it really could work. 

And in that moment, on top of admiration and love and endearment, you feel hopeful– hopeful for the first time in a long time. Because even though things between you and Niall are far from perfect, you love him and he loves you. And that’s worth fighting for.  

[niallhorxns]

NiallOfficial: Night Fifty-Two Toronto

[niallhorxns]

The Show Live on Tour | Toronto N1

[niallhorxns]

The Show Live on Tour | Toronto N1

[niallhorxns]

Niall Horan x Reader: Panicked

Prompt: You have a panic attack while you're on tour with him, he helps you through it.

Word count: 3.1k

Warnings: anxiety, panic attack

A/N: hello!!! i recently discovered there's a painfully limited amount of niall x reader fics out there, so i'm adding to the pot. feel free to send requests / prompts if anyone has ideas they want me to write :) (i especially love angst, so give it to me).

Niall’s laugh fills the air as he leans forward and chats back and forth with the driver. If you weren’t so busy gazing at the views around you, you would’ve held onto the sound of it longer– reminded yourself it’s still your favorite sound in the entire world. 

Tonight is night… forty five? No, forty six. Hell, you can’t remember. All you know is that as far as cities go, this one is small– but it has a certain charm to it that you’ve been admiring the entire ride to and from breakfast.

“Oh, take a look at that,” Niall says, reaching over your lap to point out the window. He’s motioning towards the river, sparkling blue underneath the clear sky, and lined with a cobblestone walkway. “That’s gorgeous.”

He says it longingly– like he wishes he could get out of the car and walk along the path. But of course he doesn’t suggest that. In fact, Niall rarely suggests outings when you’re with him on tour– because he knows how anxious it makes you. Not the outing itself, but the likelihood of him being spotted. You could handle a walk along the river, but you’d have a hard time handling a swarm of people bombarding you on a walk along the river. 

It must drive him crazy– the way you always prefer sticking to the venue or hotel. And while he always claims to understand each and every time you say no to a public dinner, or whatever adventure is planned for the day, you can’t help but wonder if there will come a time that he gets sick of you always anxiously hanging back. 

Your anxiety has ruined so much for you. It’s ruined school events and trips, it’s ruined friendships and opportunities. You don’t want it to ruin your relationship with Niall, too.

For the last year and a half, you’ve been attending therapy consistently– learning breathing techniques and grounding skills to cope with anxiety. 

You wonder if now was a good time to test if it was working. 

“Do we have time before soundcheck?” You ask.  

Niall checks his watch. “It’s only eleven thirty. We don’t have to be back at the venue until one. You want to walk around?” He asks, a hint of surprise in his tone. 

“Yeah, let’s do it,” you agree. 

Niall grins before asking the driver to pull over. 

Hand in hand, the pair of you stroll along the river casually, admiring the views around you. Summer is in full bloom– all the trees a brilliant shade of green, the sky stunningly blue. 

“Look there–” Niall uses his free hand to gesture at a family of ducks swimming along the rivershore. You both stop in your tracks and watch for a moment, a smile spreading widely across your face. 

“This is so nice,” you say. It’s so rare that you actually got quality time with Niall when he was on tour. Sure, you accompanied him to most shows, but you rarely got any shred of privacy. 

This is what life might look like if Niall wasn’t… well, if he wasn’t Niall. You could take quiet walks in the morning along a riverbend. You could sit on park benches and drink your coffee without being swarmed. You’d be free to live your lives– unbothered, undisturbed. 

But that wasn’t reality. And through the years, you learned that the only thing about your situation that you had control over changing was yourself. You couldn’t change the fact that Niall was adored and loved by people wherever you went. But you could try to change how anxious that made you.

You’d accepted the fact that you would always be introverted. People, present company aside, were draining. You’d never get energized from crowds like Niall did, and you’d never like being the center of attention. All you wanted was to be able to handle yourself when Niall inevitably was surrounded by crowds– that way you weren’t always restricted to what you could and couldn’t do whenever he was on tour. 

“It is nice,” Niall agrees. 

“And to think I’d never even heard of this town before,” you add. 

Niall chuckles while you lean further into his side. “I think we’re actually really close to the venue, too,” he says, tilting his head towards the direction of the road. 

The road, which is parallel to the path, curled around a corner and sure enough, in the distance, you could see the faint outline of the venue Niall would perform in tonight. 

“Oh wow, I didn’t realize–” you begin. But before you can finish your sentence, your heart clenches in your chest. Because as soon as you’re far enough along the path to see the road leading to the entrance of the venue, the line of fans waiting to get in appears. 

They’re across the street from the two of you, less than a football field away. Hundreds of fans sit– in their pretty clothes and outfits on the concrete, waiting in the hot sun for your boyfriend’s show. You are simultaneously proud that he is so adored, and terrified that you’ll be spotted. 

“Shit,” Niall mutters under his breath. “Let’s turn back.”

“We can keep going,” you say, trying desperately to prove to him that you really are getting better– that you don’t have to be coddled all the time. 

“We don’t have to–”

“The venue’s closer than the car,” you reply. “It’s fine, let’s just go.” 

“You’re right. Maybe we can just sneak by. Go in the side gate there,” he suggests, nodding towards a side entrance to the venue. “I’m pretty covered up today. You up for that?” 

You nod slowly, although you aren’t sure how true that really was. But at least Niall looked pleased– maybe even a little impressed. 

Following his lead, you keep your head down and just focus on taking one step after another. Your gaze remains fixated on the stone beneath your feet, hoping to evade detection. You breathe in, forcing the air to your stomach– just like your therapist taught you, hold it, and out. 

And slowly, the two of you get closer and closer to the venue, just enough so that you actually start to feel hopeful that maybe you’ll pull it off. 

Until the screaming starts. 

It starts off slow– one person shrieks. 

And then it becomes hysterical– the kind of screams you let out when there’s a snake in the pool or a spider in the shower. Except you know these girls aren’t screaming because of snakes or spiders. They’re screaming because of your boyfriend– who is currently pressed to your side. 

“Oh shit,” he says quietly. “Here they come.”

“Ni–” you whisper, already feeling the panic creeping up your throat. And suddenly, everything you’ve been taught– all the breathing techniques and grounding skills, go out the window. Your mind is blank– frozen. 

“It’s okay,” he encourages you, giving your hand a tight squeeze. “Stand on this side of me.”

He shuffles you so that you’re on his other side– furthest from the group of fans currently running your way while you continue walking towards the venue. You aren’t going to make it in time, you realize– they’re going to catch you first. 

“It’ll be okay,” he repeats to you. “We’re close to the venue, it’ll be okay.”

All you can manage is a weak nod. 

As soon as the group approaches, the warmth from their bodies engulf you like a blanket– slow and suffocating. Niall, of course, handles everything beautifully. “Hello, hello,” he says kindly, remaining so calm. “Afraid we can’t do photos this morning, I’m late for soundcheck… Gotta get inside.”

There are bodies in front of you– there are bodies pressing behind you, bodies around you… everywhere. You lean into Niall’s touch, your clammy hand clinging to his like your life depends on it. In the vague distance, you feel him squeeze back, but it doesn’t feel real. 

“Move please!” A firm voice suddenly shouts above the noise. Instantly, you recognize the voice as one from Niall’s security teaam. Relief floods through you as he makes his way through the group to collect the pair of you. He grabs Niall’s shoulders firmly and guides him forward. In the haste to try and keep up, your sweaty palm slips from his. Desperately, you try to latch back on, but as soon as it parts, bodies slip between you. In an instant, you’re separated from the one person in the entire world that can make you feel safe. 

“Niall—” you try to say, but of course your meek voice is drowned out by the crowd. 

You think you saw a flash of his hair ahead of you, but then a body slams into yours and you stumble, losing track of where it goes. People are pushing forward– to get closer to him. And then suddenly, you can’t breathe at all. Hot bodies all around you, the beating sun above– skin and clothing touching your bare arms. You can’t take it– you’re going to suffocate in here. 

And all you can do is continue to push forward– closer to the gate, hoping that eventually, the crowd will break. 

Everything is simultaneously moving too fast and too slow as the edges of your vision blur, like you’re getting sucked deeper and deeper into a dark tunnel. Chest tightening, you struggle to inhale. 

Until suddenly, someone grabs your elbow, tugging you to your left. You don’t even have the energy to fight it. Instead, you let them pull you sideways until you’re out of the thickest part of the crowd. 

Another one of Niall’s security team that you recognize gave you a concerned look. “You alright?”

You can’t get the words out, so instead you just nod. It’s a lie, though. 

With that, he helps you the rest of the way to the venue. “Move aside!” The security guard yells, his grip on your shoulders tightening as he tries to maneuver his way through. “Move!” 

Using his arm, he sweeps the remainder of the mob from your way and ushers you through the gate. Except, even once you’re inside– separated from the crowd, you’re too far gone to even appreciate it. Instead, you feel the familiar sensation of panic creeping across every inch of your skin, like it has already taken over your entire body. You know you have to get somewhere private, and fast– before you completely fall apart. 

Without even realizing it, your feet start moving. Luckily the attention shifts to the mob of people outside, so no one even notices your attempt to slip away. Or maybe you’re just too engrossed in your own panic to notice anyone noticing you. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is getting somewhere quiet– somewhere safe. 

You’ve never been to this venue before– but throughout the tour, you’ve learned that most of the layouts are the same. This was an amphitheater– outdoors, minimal options for private breakdowns. Your best bet is going to be the backstage room where you and Niall left your stuff earlier in the day. If you could remember how to get there…

Even though you have no idea where you are going, your body continues to move. It leads you around a couple of corners, past the merch booth and concessions and towards the stage… You’re going to lose it if you don't get somewhere safe fast.

Suddenly, a pair of hands grip your shoulders, causing your entire body to seize. 

“It’s me,” a gentle voice murmurs. "I got you."

Through your foggy haze, you recognize Niall’s touch– except you still can’t breathe. 

One look– that’s all it takes for him to know what was going on. Because he’s the one person on this planet that you’d willingly ever let get close to you during a panic attack. 

“One to five?” he asks, indicating the rating scale the two of you had created for moments like this– so you could communicate just how bad you were feeling. One meant you could stay where you were, maybe take some breaths. Two meant he’d guide you through the grounding skills he knew about, maybe rub your back. Three was on the cusp, probably needed to go to a quiet corner to take some space. Four meant getting somewhere quiet and safe– and fast. Five meant you were probably dying. 

You hold up four fingers. It feels bad– scary. Maybe you’re dying… but you also don’t want to be dramatic. 

“Tell me what you need,” he says. 

You try– honestly, you do. You open your mouth, but all that comes out is a gasp– a plea for help. 

“Okay, it’s okay– c’mon,” he grips your shoulders and begins walking. You have no idea where– honestly you don’t have the capacity to care. All of your energy is focused on not passing out. 

Niall flashes his badge to an employee who lets you backstage. You vaguely recognize the halls he leads you down as the ones where you dropped your stuff earlier. He’s bringing you to his dressing room… because of course he knows exactly what you need.  

Once you’re inside, Niall shuts the door behind you as you stagger inside. Then, he spins around, his hands cupping the sides of your face. 

“Look at me, baby,” he says. “It’s okay– you’re okay.” 

“I– can’t–” you gasp, your own hands flying up to grip his forearms for some sort of lifeline to reality. “I can’t– breathe–” 

“Okay, okay, okay,” he says. He’s trying to stay calm, but you can hear the uneasiness in his voice. “With me.” 

He gives a deep, methodical inhale before letting out a slow, intentional exhale. “Just do it with me. Slow, like this.” 

He continues, and you try to match his pace– to breathe with him, but it feels like someone is gripping your windpipe– squeezing so hard you just can’t get enough air– 

“Niall–” you beg, your voice hoarse. “I can’t–” 

“C’mon, with me,” he repeats earnestly. He’s looking at you with terror in his eyes, but you find comfort in their familiarity just the same. “We’ve done this a hundred times before, you know how to do this.”

“I– I–” you stammer, but the words won’t form. 

“Shh, with me. Everything’s okay. I’m here. We’re both okay,” he assures you. His gaze is just so tender and soft and careful while his thumb grazes your cheek. 

“I- I can’t-” you choke again, “Please-”

“Shh-” he soothes. “Look at me, nothing else, just me.”

Your wide, desperate eyes meet his. You don’t say anything, just shudder and gasp frantically.  

“With me,” he repeats.

Niall produces loud and deliberate, slow and calming, in and out breathes. After a few seconds, you latch onto the sound, mimicking it, and then finally follow along. 

“There you go,” he whispers.

Your facial features slowly start to relax as you’re able to breathe properly.  Without your loud, choking sobs, you’re able to hear your heartbeat pounding in your chest frantically.  

“Good job,” Niall sighs. “Look, it’s just you and me, we’re okay–”

But he can’t even finish his sentence before you lean forward and wind your arms around his neck– desperate and longing for some sort of comfort. Strong, sturdy arms wrap around you as you burrow your face into the nape of his neck. You breathe him in, letting his familiar scent wash over you. 

“It’s okay,” Niall soothes. Upon feeling your shaky body pressed against his, he squeezes tighter. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here, I got you.”

You melt against him in response, bunching the fabric of his shirt into your fist, trying to communicate just how badly you need him to hold you right now. 

And that’s exactly what he does— until you can finally breathe on your own again. 

And then the wave of guilt comes.

Suddenly the realization of everything hit you– what a basketcase you’d been, running off like that, having a meltdown– you probably scared the shit out of him, or at the very least made a fool of yourself in front of the entire venue. Slowly, you pull back. 

“Are you okay?” Niall says before you can even open your mouth. 

You exhale a deep, shuddering breath that you can feel down your entire body. “I’m okay,” you say, your voice raw. “I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to freak out.”

“Shh. Hey, hey, hey. It’s okay,” Niall says. His hands grip the outside of your shoulders gently. “Don’t apologize– I’m the sorry one, making you go through a crowd like that. That was a horrible idea.”

“It wasn’t even your idea– and I should be able to go through a crowd like that. I don’t know why I always freak out–” you stammer, feeling so upset with yourself. “It’s so stupid.”

“We talked about this, love. Remember? Anxiety doesn’t always make sense. Right? It’s not rational.” 

“I just—” you start, but you stop when you notice how choked up your voice sounds. You take a slow breath. “I wanted to prove to you that I was doing better– that I wasn’t going to freak out every time we went out. But I guess I haven’t made progress, after all.” 

As soon as you feel the tears burning behind your eyes, you dig the heels of your palms into them frustratedly, like you were physically trying to push them away. 

“It’s getting so much better though, baby,” Niall says encouragingly. “This is the first panic attack you’ve had all tour. Unless you’ve been hiding them from me,” he says with a hint of playfulness to his tone. “First one in forty-five shows. That’s incredible. Last tour you were havin’ em every other night it seemed. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but that’s huge.”

You lower your arms and nod pathetically, gaze fixated on the floor. 

“What is it?” he whispers gently. “Talk to me.”

“I’m so scared,” you choke out, “that one day you’re going to get sick of me–”

“Baby,” Niall interrupts. 

“Maybe not me, but all of this,” you say instead. “I mean, you realize you could have anyone, right? But you could especially have someone who didn’t have a meltdown every time they had to face a crowd– Or someone who could actually handle going out in public with you once and a while.” 

“Please look at me,” Niall says, voice gently serious. Pathetically, you do– your lip quivering as tears threaten to spill. “I need you to listen to me when I tell you this, okay?” 

Slowly, you nod. 

“I don’t want anyone else. Not in a million years, okay? I don’t want someone who loves crowds or going out, because they wouldn’t be you. Baby, honestly, I don’t like getting swarmed or photographed, either. If it bothered me that we didn’t go out much– I’d tell you. But it doesn’t. What does bother me is you changin’ things about yourself because you think it’ll make me happy. You make me happy. You. As you are, no changin’ things.”

You let his words sink in and try to believe them. “I’m just sorry you have to deal with me all the time. You have enough on your plate,” you groan, rubbing your tired eyes. 

Niall sighs. “Baby, I sing and play the guitar– do a little dance or two if I’m really feelin’ it. I think I can handle being there for my girlfriend on top of that,” he says. “I love you. And I want you to be okay, always. That’s all I’ll ever want.”

With all your energy seemingly zapped, you lean forward and rest your forehead on Niall’s shoulder. His arms wrap around you again, anchoring you to him. 

“I love you,” you murmur into his shirt. It’s muffled by the fabric, but it's there just the same. 

You feel his hand cradle the back of your neck while he chuckles softly. “Good, because we still have about forty more shows to go.”