the right shape
Fandom: One Direction
Pairing: Implied one-sided Niall/Eleanor, super-vaguely-implied one-sided Eleanor/Louis
Summary: Even entertaining the thought of someone like him being with someone like Eleanor Calder is positively mad. It makes Niall giddy, the madness of it all. Because, that’s the thing: he does entertain the thought.
I may sometime write more of this. But for now, here's this.
“Oh. Er. Hullo.”
Her lips break into a smile. “Morning, Niall. You seen Louis? We’re meant to be seen together shopping or something today.”
“Still sleepin’, I s’pose.” He looks down at his shoes, leaning against the wall behind him. “I can go wake him, if you want.”
Eleanor shakes her head and sets down her bag on the counter, seating herself on a stool. “That’s fine, I’ll wait. Need to rest my feet, anyway. Walking in these death traps--it’s a nightmare.” She kicks off her very high heels and smiles at Niall. “So what are you doing here, anyway?”
“Erm.” Niall shuffles his feet, cheeks flushed, to the refrigerator. “They have better food. I keep meaning to do the shopping, but...” he trails off with a shrug.
Eleanor giggles. Niall thinks, sometimes, that she might have a bit of a soft spot for him. Louis had said as much, once. Said she’s mentioned before how cute he is. Said that if he wasn’t dating her to preserve the sanctity of boy-bandery he’d let Niall at her. Niall doesn’t think he’d like to be let at her; she’s lightyears, he thinks, out of his league. Even entertaining the thought of someone like him being with someone like Eleanor Calder is positively mad. It makes Niall giddy, the madness of it all. Because, that’s the thing: he does entertain the thought.
She’s looking at him expectantly. It takes a moment for Niall to realize that she’s said something, and he prays to God that his face is less pink than it feels. “Er--what?” he says.
If Eleanor weren’t a model, Niall would definitely suggest that for her as a career path, he thinks. Her lips are... the right shape. The shape lips should be. Definitely. Especially when she grins like that. Jesus, it takes up her whole face. You never see it in pictures. It’s like, well, she’s a model, not an actress. It’s probably tiring for her to be out and about with Louis all hours of the day. She can’t possibly look ecstatic all the time. “I asked if you’ve been having a good holiday,” she repeats.
“Oh! Oh, yeah, sorry. Yeah, it’s been good, it’s been good. Nice to have, erm, free time.” Niall searches desperately around the room for something to look at other than Eleanor’s knees or the junction of her neck and shoulder or the way her hair falls down her back.
“I can imagine,” she replies, her eyes twinkling. “So, do you--”
“El!” Louis is in the doorway from the hall, and Niall unconsciously takes a step away from Eleanor’s direction. “How are you, love? I’m just about ready, I just need to grab me shoes. D’you think I’ll need a coat?”
“You might do,” Eleanor says, pulling her heels back on. “Looks like it’ll cloud over. Might even rain.”
“Christ, I’ve missed London,” Louis sing-songs, dancing back into the hall to get his things.
“I was--” Niall starts at the same time Eleanor says, “Do you--” and they both laugh. “You first,” Eleanor allows.
Niall clears his throat and crosses his arms over his chest. “I was just thinking, you know. How important you are, to the band. I wanted to, erm. Thank you, I s’pose. It must be hard.”
Her smile softens. It’s in her eyes, too, he thinks. Melting chocolate. “Thanks for saying so,” she quietly responds. She stands, then, and walks to him, touching his left elbow with her fingertips briefly before Louis is back in the kitchen.
“Ready to go, babe?” he asks. “Or do you think the trousers are too camp?”
“They’re perfect,” Eleanor says, turning away from Niall. “Shall we?” and they link arms once she’s crossed the room, heading for the stairs. She throws a, “Laters, Niall!” over her shoulder, and then they’re gone. Niall’s not sure how long he stands there, leaning on the door of the fridge, before Harry pads in from his bedroom, hair mussed and eyes half-lidded.
“What’s wrong with you?” he asks, his already rough voice sounding especially groggy.
Niall shakes his head; he shakes it off. Nothing happened. Nothing happened. “Feel like cooking me something?” he grins widely, practically skipping to Harry’s side. “I’m starved.”