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Niall wakes up at what he, at least, thinks is a ridiculously early time. There's some sort of roaring sound rushing past his ears and for a moment he thinks it's just the aftermath of the concert from the night before--Louis isn't the only one to have had ear problems, all the boys have had their fair share of scares. He reaches up and scratches his right ear, feeling nothing strange and sighing as he realizes that he's got to get up now, since he's definitely not falling back asleep anytime soon. He opens his eyes but keeps his focus on his bedsheets, skimming through the events from the night before.
Niall remembers the show and the moments right after, how Louis had wrapped an arm around his shoulders and pressed a kiss to his cheek, how Harry had jumped onto Niall's back and demanded a piggyback ride, how Liam and laughed and how Zayn had smiled so gently, so lovingly at the sight. Niall remembers the butterflies that tore through his stomach at the sight and the immediate guilt that followed as he watched Liam pull Zayn in for a long, intense kiss.
He squeezes his eyes shut, willing that part of the memory to fade away, since last night had, no doubt, been one of the best of his life, and he shouldn't let any silly, meaningless feelings get in the way of that.
"Niall!" A voice calls, suddenly, and Niall sits up immediately, blinking in confusion. The most surprising thing of all of this is that it's a woman's voice he hears, and Niall hasn't hooked up with a girl in--well, it's been a while. He tries to think back and see if he'd brought a girl over to his hotel room at some point last night, but right as he's mulling this over, the door to his room is pulled open.
"Niall!" The voice calls again, and Niall blinks in shock as about eighty different things seem to settle into place all at once.
First of all, he's not in his hotel room. He's not even in America. No, he's far away, thousands of miles, settled in the familiar-smelling sheets of his childhood bedroom in Mullingar. Secondly, it's not just any woman calling out his voice--no, it's his mother.
"Ma?" He asks, hesitantly, and Maura rolls her eyes as he stares at her. "I--what--where--"
"Stop playing about, Niall." She says, clicking her tongue. "It's almost nine, you're going to be late. You need to get down to the radio station.”
"I--" Niall starts, but his mom tuts again and walks over to the bed, pulling the sheets down.
"Get out of bed and get ready." She chides, and Niall sputters, jumping out of bed and glancing around.
"Yeah." He says, confused. "Yeah. Um, where am I going again?" He asks, wincing a bit at the blunt question. His mother turns and gives him a dirty look.
"You're not pulling that one on me again, pet." She says, then sets about making his bed. "Now hop in the shower, you smell something awful."
Niall just nods, still a bit unsettled, and speed-walks over to his bathroom. He locks the door, takes a deep breath, and turns to look in the mirror.
And then screams.
"Ma!" He cries, yanking open the door and staring at a very annoyed Maura. "Ma, I'm--why am I not blond?"
Maura raises an eyebrow. "Niall, you haven't been blond since you were sixteen."
"I--" Niall starts, but then pauses. Sixteen? Why then?
"Niall." His mother says, then appears in front of him in the doorway. She looks more tired than he remembers, a bit more overworked than she usually does. The ghost of a smile that's always flitting about her face is gone, replaced by a small tinge of exhaustion. "Listen, I know this is still hard for you sometimes--working out here when I know you'd rather still be busking. But we agreed on this, remember?"
Niall is so shocked he can't even speak--just stares at his mom, still flummoxed. He can't think of much more to do than nod dumbly, even though there are a million questions buzzing through his head at the moment. Working out here? In Ireland? While the rest of the boys are in London, she means? And she had to have meant playing concerts instead of busking, right? She always did have a way of under-exaggerating things. But why is Niall in Ireland anyways? And more importantly, when did he get here? When did he ‘agree on this’ at all?
Maura sighs, obviously noticing the flummoxed expression on Niall’s face, then offers him a small smile and places a warm hand on his shoulder. "Get yourself sorted, pet. Get to the station and I'll try and meet you for lunch today, yeah?"
Niall nods again, still idiotically silent, and watches as his mother walks gently out of the room. He turns back to the mirror and pulls off his shirt.
He almost screams again, his shock the only thing that's keeping him quiet at the moment. He runs a hand over his left shoulder, over the dark, fluid lines inked across his skin. A tattoo?
It's a bit silly, but it takes that specific oddity--something Niall had never really expected in his lifetime--to make him actually question the validity of his surroundings at the moment. He knows he's in Mullingar, but that's about it. He doesn't know where the other guys are, what happened to them, how he ended up in Ireland, or why he looks like he looks right now. There's a huge part of him that's shocked silent but there's a larger part of him that's approaching all of this with a burning curiosity and he can't help but let himself be led by this intense wonder for what this new world is. He blinks at himself some more, trying to get more used to this image, and thinks about all the information he's gathered from his mom by now.
He’s got to get to the local radio station, for some reason. Probably an interview? Which means the other boys’ll meet him there. But why didn’t they just stay in this house overnight? Niall knows they’d never turn down an invite from his family to stay with them. He runs a hand through his hair and looks at the color of it more closely. It doesn’t look like it’s been dyed back to brown, but it could just be enough of a really close color match that Niall can’t tell. And it’s possible he just got super smashed last night--like he usually does when he stops by in Ireland, to be honest--and finally decided to suck it up and get some ink on him. He brushes a thumb over the dark, raised lines. They look cool, a contemporary mashup of lines and circles and shapes that form some kind of deep, illusion-like pattern--but it doesn’t seem like that much of a Niall tattoo, really. Niall always thought that if he’d had to get a drunk tattoo, it would’ve been an embarrassingly large clover somewhere on his person. This...this seems deep, thought-out. Also not red or scabbing or peeling, as he knows new tattoos tend to get, so it can’t have been done recently.
Suddenly a thought enters Niall’s mind, a new idea that seems so preposterous yet seems to explain every occurrence that’s been going on--he’s fucking got amnesia. Niall blinks at himself in the mirror, takes in how less tan he is, how more buff he is, too--he looked nothing like this last night--or the last night that he remembers, at least. It has to have been a few months since that concert he thinks happened twelve or so hours ago. His entire physique is different than he remembers. Maybe it isn’t just today he’s forgotten everything--maybe this happens every day? That’s why his mom looked so harried? Fuck, is Niall in, like, some sort of 50 First Dates-type of situation? Does he wake up every day without knowing where he is or what’s happened to him?
Niall feels himself start to hyperventilate and no, this isn’t good, this isn’t right. If that was true, he’d have post-its everywhere, he knows it, telling him to calm down, reminding him of where things are. The walls of his bathroom are blank, though, even though he’s got shelves of products that he currently uses, nothing like he did when he was younger--sixteen, he reminds himself, as his mother mentioned earlier. He has to have been here for a few months at least, he thinks again.
He draws his eyes to his own gaze again. He has no idea who he is now or the kind of person he comes off as, so maybe he's--meaner? Tougher? He frowns at himself. Maybe he's still as nice, just with some ink. That could be plausible, right? In any case, he’s going to meet up with the boys soon, and they’ll be sure to fill him in on what’s up and why he’s feeling like this. His heart surges with hope at the thought of seeing them, and he’s instantly placated. They’ve probably supported Niall through this more than anyone, doing interviews like the one he’s headed off to in Ireland, staying close to Niall’s parents so that they can all get through this.
For the first time since he’s woken up, Niall smiles. There’s a loud banging on the door right afterwards, though, and he jumps almost a foot high, landing solidly on his feet as he hears his mother scold him for not showering yet. He takes a quick sniff under his arms and cringes--she was right. He strips down, thankful he doesn't find any more unexpected body modifications, and walks into his shower, turning the water up scalding hot and hoping it'll somehow clear his head up enough for him to actually understand the situation he's gotten himself into.
When he hops downstairs, feeling surprising more limber than usual, his mother is clicking her tongue at him, pushing his wallet and a ring of keys into his hand and a piece of toast into his mouth, shoving him out the door. Niall stands in the garage, a bit confused, before he looks around and spots a black motorcycle in the corner. He approaches it carefully, but it has to be what he rides now, since the remote on the keyring makes it chirp. He steps over it carefully, wondering how his mother let him get on it knowing that he doesn’t remember a thing, but it’s easier than expected getting himself used to it--must be muscle memory--and before long, he’s got a helmet on and he’s revving his way out of the driveway and onto the main roads.
Niall’s been driving around for about ten minutes when he realizes that he doesn’t exactly know where he’s going--he’s just been taking turns when he feels like it, really. He blinks at the red light in front of him and then automatically turns right when it turns to green, almost shocked at himself for acting like this. But then he pulls up in front of a large, grey building with a familiar logo on it--Niall recognizes it as the one of his local radio station--so he apparently made it to where he had to be. Maybe it was another muscle memory kind of thing? Though Niall doesn’t remember coming here in ages, so he had to have been driving from directions from years ago, when he first stopped by to give an interview about being on XFactor. Huh.
He parks his bike, a bit shocked at how there’s no bodyguards outside waiting for him, but maybe things are a bit more lax at this time in the morning. Or maybe they’re taking a bit of a hiatus--yeah, that sounds understandable--while Niall gets over this memory-loss thing.
He takes a deep breath and pushes into the building. It’s a bit hectic inside, as Niall knows it to be whenever One Direction comes in for an interview, so he tries to smile at everyone he sees, letting them know he’s grateful for them putting so much hard work into this. Surprisingly, everyone gives him warm, knowing, comfortable smiles back--not the slightly taken-aback, starstruck, blushing expressions he’s used to. Maybe Niall’s come here more often than he remembers.
“Um,” he says, eventually reaching the front desk. He doesn’t get why no one’s showed up to guide him to the actual studio yet, but maybe it’s just spectacularly busy today.
The girl at the front looks up. “Oh, Niall!” she chirps, casually. Niall blinks at her. He’s never met this girl in his life. “A bit late, innit? No matter, Sean’ll be understanding, I suppose. Better get your butt down there soon, though.”
Niall stays silent for a moment. “Right,” he says, nodding. “Um, where exactly am I going, again?” he asks, hoping the girl knows about his condition. She blinks at him, unamused, but then cracks a small smile and rolls her eyes.
“Down that hall and to the left, you joker,” she comments, shaking her head. “I hate when you make me do that.”
Niall gives her a weak smile. “Thanks,” he says, quickly, then turns and walks where she pointed to, ignoring the curious way she looks at him when he leaves.
It’s only when he gets to the studio area that he sees someone jump up and approach him, and finally Niall feels the familiarity of doing these interviews. The girl--young, probably an assistant--ushers him over to the doors.
“You’ve got the agenda for today, right?” she asks, and Niall nods slowly. The girl smirks. “Rough night?”
Niall laughs in response but doesn’t actually say anything until they’re right at the door. “Are the lads already here?” he asks, trying to look around the room and see if he can spot the tops of any of their heads.
“Everyone but you,” the girl confirms, then lets him walk into the room. They’re on the air, so Niall quietly seats himself in one of the chairs in the corner of the room. That assistant girl lied--they other guys aren’t here yet.
“Niall?” a voice says, finally, and Niall looks up to see an older, close-shaven man eye him suspiciously. “All right, there, mate?”
Niall blinks at him then shrugs. The man rolls his eyes and the chubbier, red-haired man next to him laughs.
“Ready to come sit at your chair? Or do you need a formal invite?”
“Um,” Niall says hesitantly, then stands up and sits down at the chair the first man signaled to. He slips on the headphones in front of him then looks questioningly at the man as he speaks into the microphone in front of him. “Hello?” he says, then winces at how awkward it is.
“You feelin’ alright?” the red-haired guy says, smirking. “You look a bit pale, mate.”
“Just, uh,” Niall starts, then clears his throat, surprised at how strong his brogue’s suddenly become. “A bit scattered at the moment, if I’m being honest.”
“Well, let me re-introduce ourselves, just for your sake,” the first man says, winking at Niall. “And for our listeners out there, too. I’m Sean.”
“I’m Tim,” the red-haired man says. The two of them look at Niall expectantly.
“Oh! Uh, I’m...Niall?” he asks, confused, and Sean groans as Tim starts cracking up again.
“Is this another one of those pranks, Niall?” Sean asks, shaking his head. “You young ‘uns and your jokes. I never understood them. Still can’t.”
“Well, we can’t all have our balls dropped by now, can we?” Tim teases, looking at Niall, obviously waiting for a reply.
Niall just laughs nervously, feeling a bit uncomfortable. Shouldn’t the other guys be here by now?
Tim blinks at Niall, then frowns at Sean, who shoots Niall a curious look. Sean introduces a song, Problem, by Ariana Grande--Niall remembers that song, though, how has he not forgotten that--and then when they’re off the air, he glares at Niall.
“Listen, mate, comin’ in late is unprofessional enough, you don’t need to be actin’ like a twat on air, alright?”
“I--” Niall stutters, cheeks blazing red from embarrassment. “What the fuck? Am I being pranked right now?” He narrows his eyes at Sean. “What’s your fuckin’ game, mate?”
Sean backs off immediately, blinking at Niall, surprised. Tim looks shocked as well, glancing between the two of them quickly.
“Niall--” Sean starts, but Niall interrupts him.
“No. Where the fuck are the other guys? That girl in the front said they were here, but they’re obviously not. This isn’t funny, makin’ jokes about me and the lads like that and things like that. We took our time to come down here, to talk to you, and you’re going to be a piece of shite?”
Sean just blinks at him for a moment. “You’re not jokin’ around, are ya?”
“Why would I be--” Niall starts, but shuts his mouth as they go on the air again, Tim stuttering through the introduction of what’s obviously a last-minute second track being played.
“Um, now, a song by--you lot know them, the biggest boyband in the world--” Niall rolls his eyes. Is this a way of calming him down, of introducing the band? It suddenly hits Niall that maybe he’s doing this interview all by himself. Maybe none of the other boys are going to be stopping by. Shit. “--The Wanted!” Tim finishes, and Niall gapes at him, glancing around the room. What the fuck?
“Okay, now you are fuckin’ with me,” Niall says, once they’re off the air again. “You’re gonna play one of their fucking tracks, now, are ya?”
“You--Niall, are you feeling okay?”
“No!” Niall cries, all of a sudden, and it’s like all the doubt and frustration he’s had at not being able to figure anything out since morning has suddenly built up to a breaking point. “I don’t know what the hell is going on, I don’t know why I’m here, I don’t--” Niall pauses, suddenly, quiet as he actually hears the song they’ve just put on. It sounds somewhat familiar, the lyrics at least, and it takes a second for Niall to realize what song The Wanted are singing.
It’s fucking Stockholm Syndrome. It’s their fucking song coming out of their mouths, and it sounds nothing like it should. Those five knobheads are moaning and groaning through the lines and the chorus, singing it with no real feeling or heart. It just sounds wrong.
And that’s what it takes to get Niall jumping out of his seat, shaking his head as he walks to the door. “I need some air,” he huffs out, shouldering the door open and walking around until he finds an exit sign.
Sean must think Niall needs a little time, because he doesn’t come after him until at least fifteen minutes later. He opens the door and looks around, finding Niall sitting down on the pavement, his back against the brick of the building.
“Here,” Sean says, handing Niall a cup of water, which Niall takes gratefully. He waits till Niall’s finished the drink and is picking at the styrofoam before speaking. “You okay, though?”
Niall sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “I don’t--” he starts, wary of how much he can tell the man, but it seems like they’re pretty close, so he guesses he can spill the beans. “I don’t know where I am. I don’t know what I’m doing. I woke up today and I was literally in a different fucking world. I come from--it’s like I traveled through a wormhole or some shit, this is not what my life is.”
Sean hums and sits down next to him. “What is your life, then?”
Niall laughs. “It’s going to sound like I’m full of shite. But, uh. I’m in a boyband. And we’re the biggest boyband in the world. Not the fuckin’ Wanted, they had to break up. Because of us. Because we’re that fuckin’ big and powerful. We’ve got millions of fans and awards and we go on world tours and--” Niall scrubs at his face. “I sound like I’m crazy, but this wasn’t a dream, I swear, it was--it’s my life.”
“I believe you,” Sean says, after a moment of silence. Niall looks over at him, surprised. Sean shrugs. “You’re not the Niall I know. You’re not acting like I’d expect you to. You’re obviously uncomfortable here, at your own damn job, and--”
“Wait, I work here?” Niall asks, then blinks up at the sky, going over the morning’s events. “Fuck, that makes so much sense.”
Sean laughs. “Yeah, it would. You thought you were here for an interview, right?”
“Been on my fair share of radio,” Niall shrugs. “I just--I’m so confused, mate.”
“Look,” Sean says, sighing and standing up. He brushes off his jeans. “Take the rest of the day off. Take the rest of the month off, if you have to. Find out what’s going on, okay? When you feel settled down, ready to talk again or give this another go, then you can come back. You’ll always have a spot here if you want it, Ni.”
The nickname sets Niall’s heart aflame and he takes the hand that Sean’s held out, letting himself be pulled up. “Thanks. But, like, why--why aren’t you freaking out about this? You know I sound like I’ve gone mad. People don’t just wake up in parallel universes, I sound like I nutter.”
“Strange things happen to us all, Niall,” Sean says, giving Niall a knowing look. “If I’d told you of some of the things I’ve seen, some of the things I’ve done, you definitely wouldn’t believe me.” He shrugs. “Guess you’re lucky I’m a bit of a free spirit, for me to believe you. But don’t take it for granted.”
Niall nods. “I won’t.”
“What’s going to be your first plan of action, then?” Sean says, biting his lip. “I’m not sure what people usually do in these situations.”
“I guess--I can look up the people I know,” Niall thinks, immediately visualizing the boys. “Find out what they’re up to, see if I can reconnect with them. See if this might’ve happened to them, too. Try and put me life together like that.”
“Sounds like a good idea.” Sean turns to the door. “You don’t have to come back in, it’s a bit of a clusterfuck. But call me soon, okay? Keep me updated.”
“I will,” Niall promises, giving Sean a small smile. “Thank you.”
Sean smiles back. “Anytime.”
Niall drives home determined to find some answers, to settle his restless mind. He’s back home in half the time it’d taken him to get to the station, and his mom yelps in surprise when he walks through the door.
“Niall?” she asks, worried. “What’s--”
“Can’t talk now, ma!” Niall cries, bounding up the steps. “Work to do!”
She doesn’t try and follow up, thankfully, and it’s only when Niall gets to his room that he realizes that the usual strain on his knee isn’t acting up like it would after a speedy ascent like that. He tries rolling his trousers up but of course they’re too tight for that; so he just takes them off, running his hands over his unscarred knees.
“Shit,” he mutters, awed. He’d never had knee problems, no knee surgeries either. He looks around his room more carefully than he did earlier in the day--at the books stacked haphazardly on his desk, the faded footie posters tacked onto his wall, and breathes out a sigh, amazed. He's spent so much of his life in this place, has built a whole identity here, but...it's not who he is. It doesn't really feel like him at all. He closes his eyes and thinks. What else could be different? His hair, the tattoo, his knee...and then his eyes open in alarm. He gets up and makes sure his door is closed and locked, then opens up his side drawer, rifling through the drawers of his bedside table until he finds a mostly-full box of condoms and a bottle of lube. Which--that doesn’t say much, really. Then some sort of inspiration strikes and Niall digs around his room furiously, searching until he finds an old Dell laptop somewhat halfway under the bed. It takes ages to power up, but Niall is so thankful there's no password required for entry. He doesn't have prying eyes now, fans who'd do anything to see all his secrets, so there's really no reason for him to try to hide anything from anyone. Plus, he’s not sure exactly what his password would be--it seems like this version of him is so painfully different, so unfamiliar.
He clicks open the web browser and quickly goes to his bookmarks. He’s done the same thing back in his world, a trick for bookmarking a site he doesn’t want people knowing the name of--and, bingo. Niall clicks the porn video he’s got saved and holds his breath, waiting for the page to load. He has a last-minute thought to make sure the volume is off--which it is--just in case his mom’s outside listening, but--yes.
Niall breathes out a sigh of relief, watching the two men on screen make out. It’s not like he would’ve been grossed out if this version of him had been straight, but it just makes it easier for him to fit in, and he won’t have any awkward explaining to do to anyone. Thank god. He closes the tab and stares at his home page, at his most recently visited sites. There’s Twitter, of course--Niall takes note to look through it later, see what he says and who he follows--Tumblr, which is strange but understandable, Niall supposes, and then--Facebook. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of this before? It’s literally got all of Niall’s social history on it, his friends, photos of him in the past, posts he’s made, and--shit.
If there’s no One Direction, then the other boys might not be famous. And if they’re not famous, that means they’d probably have--fuck. Niall clicks over to Facebook quickly, his heart thudding wildly. It's ridiculous how helpful this makes things, and if this didn't exist, Niall has no idea what his next move would be. He types in the first name that comes to mind, the first that would show up as being most socially active on a site like this--Harry Styles--and holds his breath, waiting to see a familiar face pop up in the search results.
He doesn't get any people--he lets out a frustrated breath--but he does see a page for a musician, someone who goes by Harry Styles, working out of London. The photo for the page is the silhouette of a tall, lanky someone in a large-brimmed hat against the sunset, and Niall feels hope surge through him as he clicks open the page.
It's Harry, alright. The person in all the photos Niall clicks through doesn't look completely familiar to him as his own Harry does, the Harry he can read like a book, but he looks close enough to him to grant Niall some relief. There’s a bit of difference in the way he holds himself, the way he stands and looks in the camera, and Niall can only assume that comes from the events that each individual has gone through over the past few years. This Harry looks less lax, tries to look more serious in his poses and intense with his gaze.
He's sure dressed as Harry, though, in a large, open flannel and tight jeans, scuffed boots on his feet. The page says he's got a few thousand fans, which isn't too bad, in Niall's opinion, but it doesn't link to Harry's personal Facebook, which is what he wants to find. Regardless, he does know that this Harry's home is London, which is good enough of a start for him.
He looks up Louis next and finds him easily, surprisingly enough, because of the sheer number of likes they have in common on Facebook. Their music and movie tastes barely differ, and Niall has to hold back a smile as he clicks through Louis' photos.
He's got hair that's short and soft-looking, his fringe falling into his face, not slicked into a quiff or grown till his neck. His info says he's currently in or around Doncaster, working at a theatre and also a local eatery. He looks just as good as ever, a bit more weight than he has on currently, but still healthy nonetheless. He's not got too much facial hair either--only a small bit of scruff, as far as Niall can tell--and his relationship status is single. That should come as a bit of a surprise to Niall, but he supposes that Eleanor has never really met Louis, really, since she met him through a friend of Harry's anyways, so. Okay.
Zayn isn't hard to find either, a student at the University of London. He’s already finished a major in English and Art--not surprising, the fucking brainiac--and he’s working on his Masters in Art History. His Facebook is a bit private though, and Niall can't see much more than a few of his profile pictures, but it's enough to confirm his identity. He's still got what looks like a good amount of tattoos, though his hair is shorn close to his skull, leaving him with an almost buzzcut sort of look. He still looks beautiful, of course, and Niall's heart skips a beat at his single relationship status as well, though he feels guilty right after, because this Zayn doesn't know him, won't love him, will probably fall in love with Liam if he ever meets the boy.
Speaking of--Niall types in Liam's name quickly, and his profile shows up, even more public than Louis'. Liam really never had been good at figuring out how privacy settings worked. He's got almost everything open to see, and Niall gathers that he still works at the same factory that his father does in Wolverhampton. He’s also listed as single, though his profile says he’s only interested in women, which is--interesting, Niall thinks. And a bit strange.
Niall makes sure to follow all the boys--he likes Harry's page as well--and breathes out a sigh, thinking through everything. He's got two boys in London, one working and one studying, one boy in Wolverhampton, and another in Doncaster. He needs to visit them; needs to see them one by one and convince them to listen to him or to just--to trust him and be his friend or something. He hopes the information he can provide is enough to make them believe that he knows them, but--what if Harry doesn't have four nipples? What if Zayn has no younger sisters? What if Liam was born with two functioning kidneys? He can’t just try to strike up friendships with them willy-nilly, without them knowing what he’s come from, because if it ever came up after they’d known each other for a while, they might think Niall was just forcing something, which is not the case. He knows they’ll all be easy friends--what they have is organic and one in a million, no doubt about it.
But how can he get them to all get to know each other? It’d be selfish and foolish for Niall to just try to be friends with each of them individually. He misses each of them, of course, but he misses the group dynamic most of all. He wants to hang around and watch a movie with them all, wants to get drunk and sing karaoke with four other voices harmonizing along with his.
It’s with a sinking stomach that Niall thinks that none of them really have that much in common--different interests, different goals. Harry is still pursuing music, of course, but Zayn is off being an academic, Louis is acting, Liam is living a nine-to-five life. The only thing they have in common--well, had in common, at least where Niall came from, is this dream, this passion for the music, for becoming the best, for making a name for themselves.
And then it hits Niall like a gust of cold wind--goosebumps break out over his arms and he sits up straight, his heart rate steadily increasing. He could fuck this all up--fuck it up beyond belief--but even though the doubt, he's got this nagging feeling in his gut that's telling him that he has to do this, because it feels so right and seems like the only logical solution to the problem that Niall’s now faced with. He has to get them back together, has to make them a thing again, and fuck if he’s not going to try his hardest to make sure it happens.
He’s going to reunite One Direction.
The next hour or so is a blur--Niall is bustling around his room, finding clothes, pants, socks, and stuffing them all haphazardly into a suitcase. He’d never be this hasty otherwise, but, as he tells himself, he’s a new Niall now, a different one. A tattooed, brunette troublemaker. Speaking of which--he walks over to the his bathroom, giving himself a good up-down in the mirror. He looks more like he remembers himself to be--with renewed vigor--though his eyes seem a different shade of blue with his dark brown hair, and, if he’s being honest, he doesn't like it. He immediately bends down and rifles through the cupboards, trying to see if he can find any spare hair bleach, anything at all to get him back to blond and feeling somewhat comfortable with himself again.
As luck would have it, he finds an old, almost-expired box of something under his sink, but it looks trustworthy enough to use. Niall's done this for ages, he knows how to work his way around some hair dye.
By the time he gets downstairs, Niall's got a shock of blond hair styled up nicely on his head. It's not exactly how Lou can get it but it's good enough, and Niall sighs happily. He almost recognizes himself now.
"Niall?" his mom calls and Niall sighs again, stepping out into the kitchen. He watches his mom stir a cup of tea and add another spoon of sugar, reading the paper that's spread out on the counter. She looks up after a moment, the smile on her face flickering a bit at Niall's new hair but then expanding wider.
"You look good," she comments, and Niall blushes a bit, sitting down at the table. “Done with all that work?”
"Can I talk to you for a second?" he asks, and she looks at him curiously, bringing her cup of tea and then sitting down across from him at the table.
“Aren’t we doing that already?” she smirks, then rests her chin on her hand. “Go on, then. What’s on your mind?”
"I--" Niall starts, then sighs. "This is strange. Really strange."
Maura frowns. "How so?"
“I don’t--” Niall sighs. “I haven’t been feeling like myself lately.”
“Lately?” Maura asks, raising an eyebrow. “Do you mean today?”
Niall shrugs, offering her a weak smile. “I need to--I have to leave. For a while, from here.”
His mom frowns again, but looks more concerned this time. “Niall, we talked about this. The music thing, I--”
“It’s not about music,” Niall interrupts, then bites his lip. “I just--there’s some friends. In London. I have to go see them, Ma.”
Maura purses her lips. “For what?”
“It’s hard to explain,” Niall starts, then sighs. “But I promise, I wouldn’t be mentioning them if it wasn’t essential. I have to go see them.”
“This is--sudden,” Maura says, obviously disappointed and--annoyed? Maybe? “I’m not sure how to feel about this, to be honest.”
Niall gulps. Did things really get that bad with him and his mom? With him and his music? “Can’t you trust me, Ma?” he asks, his voice quiet, and almost a little bit shaky. He’s never been this nervous before, and he’s scared, because his mom’s never had this attitude towards his songs, towards his passion. She’s always been supportive of his dreams, and this--this is even more unsettling than his own personal changes.
“You’re talking like you don’t remember, Niall,” Maura says, scolding him. “And I don’t ever want to see you in that state again, surrounded by those types of people, doing--involved in--” Maura stops, her voice hitching. “I don’t want you there again.”
“It won’t--” Niall says, his head buzzing with questions. “It won’t be like that. These are different people, good people. They wouldn’t do anything to hurt me, or--or to put my life in danger. I promise.”
Maura wipes at her eyes and sighs. “You’re a grown man, Niall. I can’t stop you from going where you want to go and I just--I suppose I’m lucky to have you even ask me for permission, or whatever it is that you’re doing.”
“I don’t want you to worry,” Niall admits, honestly. Maura laughs.
“All I do is worry about you,” Maura says quietly, then smiles. “But maybe I don’t need to worry about this you anymore.” She reaches across the table and runs a hand through Niall’s hair, still rough from the bleach, and sighs. “There is something different about you, though. Today.”
“Do you trust me, then?” Niall asks, gently, and watches Maura smile some more, slowly.
“I always trust you, Niall,” Maura replies, and moves her hand to his, holding it tight. “If this is--if you really believe you need to go back to London, need to meet somebody important, then--then I’m not going to stop you. I can’t stop you.”
“That’s bull,” Niall says, firmly. “You can stop me. Just say no, and I won’t go.” Niall’s heart clenches at the prospect, but he fights himself to stick to his decision. “I won’t go.”
There’s nothing but silence for a moment as the two of them just sit there, hands clasped, looking at each other. Niall hopes his mom can read what’s in his eyes, the plan he has in mind, how much he needs to leave. And she must, because she smiles at him again, patting his hand.
“Go. Just--don't forget where you belong, yeah, love?” Maura says, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Home."
Niall blinks at her, stunned, then laughs a bit nervously. "Yeah. I will. I won't--won't forget.” He takes a deep breath and smiles, a grateful warmth blossoming from his heart. “Home."
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