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masonkohler · 2 years

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The Years Between: Visitors

It was sometime after midday when they came. I don’t quite remember where the sun was in the sky, just that it was hot that day, the sun wouldn’t very well stop beating down for a moment, and I didn’t hear the knocking on the front door at first over the sound of splitting wood. I thought it was maybe some of the other folks causing a racket.

A few days ago, a handful of fellas from Moonbrook came, tools in hand, looking like they didn’t have much else or anywhere to go. I came home to fix what ailed Westfall, so I couldn’t very well turn them away. And so, there I was, splitting wood for building. Not just the house anymore, even if it did still have some holes - it was a place to rest our heads for the night, and had a stove, and that was rightly it at that point - but fences to ring new fields, other buildings. A place for the people of Westfall to come when they need help.

Either way, when it didn’t stop, when I realized it was sounding a lot more like a gauntleted hand on wood than a hammer on wood, I went to check it out. Coming around the front, I saw two Stormwind soldiers, full armor, one older judging by the white beard sticking out of his helmet, the other younger. Him I could tell because he had his helmet off, and this lad couldn’t have been more than a teenager. Still, it was his fist pounding at my door. To his credit, he stopped short and turned red as a beet when I cleared my throat.

“Sir! We are here under...ah, Lord Turalyon’s authority. We have...” the younger man looked back at his - I’m assuming - commander. Maybe mentor, I don’t know. It’s been a bit since my military days. A nod from the older man and he spoke again, voice not trembling anymore, “We have questions only, sir: as landlord of this plot, have you seen this man?” The lad unrolled a scroll he’d been holding in his free hand and held it out to me. The poor fellow who’d been sketched out by some authority or another was, if I’m speaking rightly, not much: brown hair, brown eyes, stubble, average jaw, average chin, nothing out of the ordinary except for a scar on his brow.

I shook my head and handed the boy back his wanted flyer, “Not around here, no. Why? He doesn’t look like much, what’d he do?”

Now the older gentleman stepped in when the younger one blanched. Must’ve been something bad, I figured.

“He is wanted for interfering with the interests of the Kingdom of Stormwind in Westfall. That is all civilians need know,” he said. The curtness of it all took me aback. I think I must’ve gotten some look, because the kid shrank back a little.

“With all due respect, I live out here - landlord, you were calling me? Not so much. Just another one of the folks out here getting by. If it’s something I need to be watching for, I’d appreciate more details.”

By now, I’d noticed out of the corner of my eye a third Stormwind fellow loitering around. He was near the gate to my little homestead - or what was going to be a gate once we’d gotten around to putting the wood together. Didn’t look like the guard. Leathers too nondescript, but still with blue and gold accents. Thinking he’s real clever, I’ll bet, escorting this two around. The folks who’d been staying around had peeked their heads around too, hearing us talking.

“You do not have authority to hold this land? I see. A concern for another day, though,” the old man kept on, real brisk, business-like, “All you are permitted to know is that the Westfall Brigade at Sentinel Hill reported suspicious activity and it will be addressed by those affected. If you see Rickhard Foster, you are to report to the nearest Stormwind soldier immediately. Am I clear?” His last remark was like a barb. Look, I get being secretive and all. I was military, paramilitary, mercenary. I’ve met shady folk before. But being rude is just not called for. I couldn’t held myself. “All clear, but... This have anything to do with your SI:7 pal over by the posts there?” I motioned maybe a little too grandly. Maybe I smiled a little too wide, but by the Light, the look on the kid’s face was priceless, and I could imagine the old timer fuming under that helmet.

They stormed off without another word. And their third followed after them.

I didn’t even realize I’d been clenching my fists. My guests slunk off and I relaxed a little. Not sure why it got under my skin so bad, having the soldiers march onto my front steps. They’re just fellas doing their jobs like the rest of us.

But still, I thought while I got back to my work, something was off. I hoped I wouldn’t find out what, but of course, that’s never how these things work.

#the years between

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sadaboutniall · 4 years

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something about you;

introduction | masterlist | tag | wattpad

Twenty Seven. November, 2017.

‘Are you sure you think I look okay?’ Isla’s smoothing her hands over the front of her trousers, eyes meeting Niall’s in the mirror. He can see her hands trembling slightly, an anxious look in her eyes.

Maybe he’d been naive to think that taking Isla to the AMAs would be smooth sailing. He half thought that the glitter and glitz of Hollywood would outshine her anxiety, that she would realize that, although the things here are pretty and expensive, the people are no different, and she fits right in. He’d thought she’d feel confident and sexy with him showing her off in front of everyone else tonight—not nervous and shaky and unsure of her worth.

‘You’re beautiful,’ he tells her, wrapping his arms around her waist from behind, letting one hand travel up to rest on the skin of her belly. After making Niall’s suit, Paul Smith had offered to make Isla a dress as well, and Niall’d joined in on the meetings, flipping through pages of fabric samples and silhouette sketches with Isla, Ellie, and Paul. At the end of it all, though, Isla’d settled on a custom suit instead: tight, curve hugging trousers and a matching blazer, low cut enough to expose an intricate, lace bralette and more than a little bit of skin. He couldn’t keep his hands off her the first time he saw it, and he doesn’t feel any different now. He rests his chin on her shoulders and keeps his eyes locked on hers in the mirror. ‘Everyone’s going to love you.’

Isla sighs shakily, her hands coming up to cover Niall’s, to entwine her fingers with his. ‘Sorry,’ she says. ‘I know it’s not about me tonight, I shouldn’t be—’

‘It’s always about you,’ he drops a kiss to her neck. ‘You feeling comfortable is more important to me than any awards show.’

‘Don’t be an eejit,’ says Isla quietly, but there’s a small smile pulling at the corners of her mouth. Niall feels triumphant, heart soaring in his chest.

He walks the carpet alone. They’d agreed that they’re not ready for any kind of public appearances just yet—that what they have is special, precious, and shouldn’t belong to anyone other than the two of them. Still, he lets his mind wander a little as he poses, thinks about what it would be like to smile for the cameras with Isla on his arm, his hand resting on her waist, the look in his eyes showing the entire world how lucky he is to call himself hers. For all Niall values keeping his private life private, he’s been feeling an itch lately, a pull to make sure every single stranger knows how much he loves Isla.

It started with Colm’s comment and Isla’s confession, Niall knows that. But he doesn’t think that makes it any less genuine, his desire to start bringing her to more work events, to ease her into his world. It’s a mad, mad place, but he doesn’t want to be in it without Isla, and it makes his stomach churn to think she ever felt excluded. So, slowly but surely he’s been bringing her along where appropriate, introducing her to more and more of the people he works with. But tonight feels like a test of its own, her very first big event, coupled with her first ever trip to LA.

With Tara by his side, Niall stands for quick interviews along the carpet, dodging relationship questions and One Direction digging. He hugs and kisses friends for the camera, talks about his album and tour plans, and tries not to worry too much about Isla, inside the theater with Mully and Emilia. It feels weirder than he anticipated, being separated from her and having to do his job while he knows she’s watching him. She can’t sit with him either, won’t be able to hold his hand when they call out his category, kiss him when he loses—or wins.

But this is better than nothing, he tells himself, shoving his hands in his pockets as he and Tara make the final stretch down the carpet. Having Isla here, even if she can’t be next to him, is as good as it gets for them right now.

Winning hadn’t even occurred to Niall.

When they call his name it’s genuine shock—enough that he almost thinks he’s imagining it for a second, until Shawn claps him on the back and Tara launches into a hug and holy shit, fuck, he’s actually won it, an AMA, all on his own.

He stumbles up to the stage shaking with adrenaline, heart soaring, and it’s not until he gets to the mic that he realizes he hasn’t prepared a speech at all, hadn’t even let himself consider the possibility that he would actually, for real, win this thing. For a split second he’s staring out at an expectant room, filled with the faces of his friends, his colleagues, his idols, with nothing to say.

And then he spots Isla. She’s next to Emilia, only a few rows back but all the way on the side, so it’s no wonder he hadn’t seen her before, and she’s got this glint in her eyes that Niall thinks might be tears, her hands covering her mouth, Emilia’s arm over her shoulders. It’s enough, just seeing her, to wake him the fuck up.

The speech comes out easy, then: thank yous to his team at Capitol and at Modest, and a hearty thank you to the fans, for making this possible. It feels like his heart is screaming at him, though, as he clutches the bulky, heavy award with both hands and raises it into the air.

All he wants to do is be able to thank Isla.

Someone, Niall can’t remember who, suggests ditching the afterparty, and somehow they all end up at his house: Shawn Mendes, Nick Jonas, Selena, the lads from The Chainsmokers, Julia, everyone. It feels a bit like sneaking out on a school trip, like they’ve escaped the teachers and can spend the night doing what they want, instead of something boring and educational, and Niall feels like he’s at the center of it all, like the hero of the night, like the most important person in the room.

That might have something to do with Isla, though, the way she’s taken off her blazer so she’s just in her trousers and her bralette, the way she’s talking to Julia and Emilia but keeps glancing back in Niall’s direction, smiling privately when she catches his eye. It’s warm in here with all the bodies and Niall’s slowly shedding his clothes, too: his jacket is off and so is his vest, and he’s already undone the first few buttons of his shirt. He keeps catching Isla trailing her eyes over his chest, his collarbone, his neck. The feeling of her eyes on him is like lightning in his lower belly.

‘She’s stunning,’ Nick tells Niall, jerking his head in Isla’s direction. They’re in the kitchen, him, Nick, and Shawn, leaning up against the counter and sipping on gin and tonics. ‘Good for you.’

Niall feels a rising in his chest, pride, happiness. It outshines even the feeling of winning his award tonight. ‘She’s brilliant,’ Niall says. ‘I’m lucky.’

‘Where’d you meet? She’s Irish too, right?’

‘They’ve known each other since, like, kindergarten,’ Shawn answers for him. ‘Dated in school, broke up when he made it big, got back together after things settled down. The whole nine yards.’

‘Oh, hometown hero?’ Nick’s smirking. ‘That’s sweet, bro. You keeping her around for a while, then?’

‘Forever, hopefully,’ says Niall. He and Isla haven’t talked about that in explicit words, but he can’t imagine anything else. He watches Nick raise his eyebrows, tipping back another sip of his drink.

‘Good for you,’ he repeats, once he’s swallowed. ‘She seems like a good one.’

As the night cools off, Isla does, too. Slowly but surely Niall notices her loosen up, expanding her circle from just Mia and Julia to include Selena, and then Nick and Shawn. By the time he and Mully come back up from the basement, where they’d gone to fetch more wine, Isla is in the middle of it all, sandwiched between Tara and Mia but chatting excitedly to Shawn and The Chainsmokers, laughing into her vodka soda. He feels a swell of pride again, a twinge of hope in his heart. She can fit in here. He’s known it all along.

He and Mully join the group to cheers and shouts, hands reaching out for the full bottles of wine. Tara squeezes over, closer to Selena, and Niall’s able to fit in between her and Isla, his hand coming to rest on her knee. With a soft squeeze he meets her eyes, mirrors her smile.

‘Okay?’ He mouths, just for her.

She nods, hand coming up to rest on top of his.

‘Isla was just telling me,’ says Nick, who pronounces the ‘s’ in Isla’s name. Mully snorts, but Nick doesn’t notice. ‘About school in Ireland. I never knew you played soccer, bro.’

‘Star of the team, he was,’ says Mully. He squeals when Emilia elbows him in the stomach.

‘We should play,’ Nick carries on. ‘Five a side or something. Isla?’

‘Oh,’ she blushes, shaking her head. ‘I’m pretty shite at football, honestly. Sean, though—’

‘Fuck yeah,’ Mully interjects. ‘Five a side is my shit. I’ll get jerseys made up and—’

Nick looks a little put out and Niall can’t help it: he feels smug. He snakes his hand around Isla’s waist, resting his palm against the bare skin of her back, his fingers playing gently with the lace of her bralette. She casts him a sly look and he feels on top of the world, like a king beside her. And what a fucking feeling it is.

‘You know,’ he says, later that night, Isla resting against his bare chest in bed. His limbs are heavy with exhaustion, alcohol, post-orgasm bliss. ‘I think Nick Jonas has a crush on you.’

‘If you told 2008 Isla that one day she’d have to choose between you and Nick fucking Jonas,’ she glances up at him, her eyes glinting with supressed laughter. She looks heavenly like this, Niall thinks: naked, hair cascading down her back, legs tangled up with his, bed sheets pooling around her waist.

‘You’d totally choose me,’ Niall finishes for her, leaning down for a kiss. Isla laughs into his mouth, hand coming up to cup his cheek. When they pull away Isla presses her nose to Niall’s, holding him there for a moment.

‘Thank you for tonight,’ she says eventually. ‘For including me, for being so patient with me.’

‘I always want you included,’ he tightens his arms around her waist. ‘I don’t want to do this without you.’

‘Me neither,’ Isla whispers, eyes locked on Niall’s.

‘Not even with Nick?’ He asks, smile tugging at the corner of his lips. Isla laughs too, crinkles at the corner of her eyes, nose scrunching up, giggles carrying through his quiet bedroom. Contentedness settles over Niall’s body like a warm blanket, like Isla on top of him.

‘Not even with Nick Jonas,’ she kisses Niall gently, lips brushing his as she speaks. ‘No one but you, lover.’

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