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"I’m asking you out on, like, a proper date," he stumbles, but he isn’t nervous, only out of practice, biting a little at his lower lip.
He can hear Cher’s huff across the phone line, imagines her with a hand cocked on her hip and her eyes as bright and fierce as they always are. ”Well it’s about bloody time.”
Niall laughs because it feels like the right thing to do, and because he’s shaky with relief not only because she’ll let him take her out, but also because they’re both alive, somehow. It’s been four weeks but it still feels like it took a miracle and a half to get them here. ”Can I pick you up at seven?” he asks right as Harry pops into the room.
"Who’re you talking to?" questions Harry, looking far too curious for his own good.
At the same time, Cher replies. ”Seven is good. Gonna sweep me off my feet, then, Horan?” and she’s teasing, but Niall’s grin is a mile wide and he thinks he might be blushing a little, which just makes Harry look more interested.
"What kind of a gentleman would I be if I didn’t?" Cher giggles across the line, and Niall swears his insides are bursting into light.
"Seven, then," she answers, mock stern, "don’t be late," and the line goes dead. He pulls the phone away from his ear and tries to stop the smile from spreading any further.
Harry is still in the room, now lounging lazily on the sofa. ”Did you need something from in here?” asks Niall, confused.
"No," says Harry, "I’m just jumping short distances, like, practicing. Making sure nothing breaks." He gestures to his own body.
And oh, Niall remembers, this is the first time he’s seen Harry jump at all since he got out of the hospital. ”Still in one piece?” he asks, instead of are you okay or this is an important and impressive step and I’m proud of you.
Harry flashes him a thumbs up, and after answering in the affirmative his smile starts to shade wicked. ”Sounds like you have a hot date tonight.”
Niall thinks to sheets of smoke, to burning buildings, to fire-red sparks and flammable baseboards. ”Yeah,” and he’s stifling a laugh, “hot is probably right.”
Harry groans. ”Terrible, just awful, and that’s coming from me.”
"Don’t dish it if you can’t take it," shoots back Niall, "and besides, you set yourself up for that one. You shouldn’t be surprised."
Harry rolls his eyes and pouts, and Niall laughs, walking over to ruffle his hair. It’s getting long, now, curling around his neck, but Harry doesn’t seem to mind it. ”Oh,” says Harry, suddenly, perking up, “the others don’t know, do they? That you’ve got a date tonight? Hey! Boys!” Niall is making rapid cut-it-out motions with his hands but Harry refuses to be deterred. ”Group meeting! We have to discuss Niall’s date!”
But Niall is already on his feet and walking out of the room, amused but firmly unwilling to have a group meeting about his personal life, thank you very much.
"Hey!" yells Harry after him, dragging it out and pouting tremendously, but his expression clears right up in a flash. "Fine!" he shouts, "Have fun tonight with Cher! Tell her I say hello! Use protection!"
And Niall slams the door to his room once he’s made it inside, shutting Harry and the rest of them out and leaning back against it, but he’s still laughing a little, helplessly. ”Good god,” he mutters to himself, and then realizes he hasn’t the slightest idea what he’s going to wear.
…
"You asked the right person," says Louis, rifling through Niall’s closet and tossing a few shirts onto the bed. "You’re going to look smashing, she won’t be able to keep her hands off you." He wiggles his eyebrows, and Niall rolls his eyes but he’s still smiling.
After a few minutes and plenty of unnecessary commentary from Louis, Niall is dressed in a sharp white button up and dark jeans, and he’s looking into the mirror nervously, fiddling with his shirt.
Louis bats his hands away. ”You look fit, stop worrying,” he insists, and Niall’s mouth twists a little bit, not quite a smile but maybe getting there.
"Just want it to be good," he admits, uncharacteristically shy, and it’s the truth. Cher is impossible and beautiful, and they spent days locked up in a tiny office while Niall got beaten black and blue, and they very nearly lost their chance at escape, and Niall wants to give her everything, starting with a nice, normal date where he pulls out her chair and pays for dinner. That’s all. He doesn’t think it’s too much to ask but he’s also a little nervous.
Louis is smiling, but it’s soft. ”Oh, you’ve got it bad,” he teases.
Niall’s face is burning. He shoves at Louis’ shoulder. ”Shut up.”
"No, it’s sweet. You’re doing it proper, like, taking her out and fussing about your outfit. Very normal," he adds, and sounds like he approves, and it helps. Louis is Niall’s oldest friend, and his opinion matters when it’s complete nonsense and especially when it isn’t. "You’re the best and you’ll have a great time, don’t worry so much."
Niall shoots him a crooked smile. ”Thanks,” he says, infusing it with all the warmth he has (which is, incidentally, quite a bit), and then, “Help me with my hair?”
…
After waiting in the car and trying to kill time because he’d shown up five minutes early mostly out of nerves, the clock ticks to seven and Niall hops out, gathering up the flowers he’d brought. And maybe it’s cheesy and maybe he isn’t usually this over the top and maybe Cher will laugh in his face and light the entire bouquet on fire, but, well, this is him trying. It’s been so long since he can remember doing anything like this and he feel sixteen all at once, sweaty palms and nervous to talk to the girl he likes.
He raps on the door one-two-three-four-five times and it’s a moment before it swings open. ”I’m almost ready,” says Cher, fiddling with an earring and turning around, walking back into the house, “Just make yourself comfortable, I’ll be down in a minute.”
And then Niall is alone sitting on her couch, still holding the flowers, but the shake in his hands has been tempered into excitement. It’s only a few minutes before Cher comes back down the staircase, and it’s all kinds of cliche but she is the most beautiful girl Niall has ever seen.
Her hair is still half-burned from the incident, disguised in plain sight with a bold undercut, and she has one of her eyebrows arched like she’s waiting for him to say something, dark lashes batting patiently.
She doesn’t have to wait long. ”You’re beautiful,” says Niall, sincere, and she melts into a genuine smile, walking up to him and getting right into his space.
Cher tugs at the bottom of his shirt, straightening it out, and grins up at him. ”And you’re looking sharp yourself.” She leans up and kisses him, hands fisting in his shirt, and he’s kissing back before he can even think about it, not bothering to protest when it turns a little dirty.
Soon enough, though, he has to pull away, laughing and swiping away the lipstick that had transferred onto his face. ”We’ll be late if we don’t go now.”
"It would be a pity to be late," she muses, mulling it over, "all right, then, let’s go." She grabs his hand and marches out the door, and when they get to the car she starts messing with the radio settings. He protests half-heartedly and she merrily ignores him, settling on a song Niall hasn’t heard before. Evidently, Cher knows it, singing along to threads of this ain’t over we own the night and love in the middle of a firefight. Niall starts humming once he catches on to the melody, and Cher is drumming along on his upper arm, nails tapping at his shirt.
They pull up to the restaurant at baby we were born to run and they’re holding hands as they walk inside - neither of them said anything, but their hands tangled up so easily, and it really isn’t as if Niall is going to complain.
They get seated, and they order drinks, and it’s nice. The ambience is typical for a middle tier Italian restaurant and the waiter is polite, And they chat a bit and poke fun at each other and smile, and it’s nice. And their food comes, and it’s still nice, but Niall is panicking a little because after the last essentially two years of his life stuck at breakneck pace, he’s realizing that he isn’t exactly sure how to do normal anymore.
He’s lost in his own rapidly spiraling thoughts when Cher interrupts them. ”This is a bit boring, innit?” she asks bluntly, cherry red lips twisting into a sympathetic pout.
Niall sighs, relieved that he’s not the only one feeling this way. ”Yeah,” he admits, “sorry, I didn’t mean for it to be this, uh, you know.” Normal, he wants to say, average, typical, wrong.
"Well don’t apologize," she chides, and Niall is thrown for a loop, "let’s just blow this place and do something exciting." Her eyes are bright and conspiratorial, shades of warmth even in the dim lighting of the admittedly boring (but nice) Italian restaurant.
He can feel a spark blooming. ”Yeah?” he asks, perking up.
"Yeah!" She rifles around in her purse before throwing a wad of cash onto the table. "That should cover it," she says, completely unconcerned, and then she’s sliding out of the booth before Niall can protest. They’re barely halfway done with their meals, and people are staring. In fact, the two of them may or may not be making a scene, and the responsible thing to do would be to flag down the waiter and explain the situation.
Niall gets up and follows her, starts to wonder if there’s any situation in which he wouldn’t do just that.
She’s well outside by the time he gets to the door, and it’s raining now, and she’s standing out in the middle of the parking lot, upturned face and outstretched arms, and she’s absolutely beaming, and Niall feels all the breath get punched out of him at once.
She spots him standing under the eave of the building watching her, and turns toward him with her hands on her hips, giggling, rain glistening on her skin. ”Well?” she calls out. ”You joining me or what?”
A group of women runs past, huddled under an umbrella and cursing the rain. A main leaves the restaurant with his jacket collar pulled up to his ears to protect himself from the cold.
Niall, in his white button up shirt that will definitely get soaked through, doesn’t even brace himself as he starts walking toward Cher.
They’ve had enough of that, he thinks, of preparing for impact, of tensing up before the hit. He walks to her and they’re both smiling stupid smiles, and Niall can barely see anything with how the rain trickles down his skin and clumps up his eyelashes. They are here and they are both alive and for once there is nothing looming over their heads.
"Can I tell you a secret?" asks Cher, half-yelling to be heard above the rapidly intensifying wind.
"Yeah!" says Niall, yelling right back, a touch too loud. He reaches to tuck a piece of hair out of her face but merely succeeds in tangling his hand in it, and she has to help him extricate his fingers, and they’re both giggling madly, it’s ridiculous, they’re wet and shivering and standing in the middle of a storm in a parking lot. She doesn’t let go of his hand.
"I can’t think of a single person I’d rather be here with!" and she’s yelling right back into his face, pushy and loud and brash and sweet and perfect. "You’re so fucking fun! You saved the entire city and you won’t even take any of the bloody credit for it! And I like you!"
Niall’s cheeks hurt from how much he’s smiled tonight, and he can’t help the fact that he’s beaming, or that his cheeks must be flushing beet red like a bad sunburn. There’s a flutter in his stomach and he says, “I like you, too!” before they’re kissing, and everything is slick with rain. Every once in a while the wind bites into his skin and it’s freezing, he’s freezing, but he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.
They pile back into his car sopping wet, and Niall steers with one hand. Cher holds the other one the whole way home.