"Can you tell me what is real?
'Cause I've lost my way again
Can you tell me how to feel?
'Cause I don't feel anything
Now that I'm down here again
I'm down with the fallen again."

Down With the Fallen, Starset

December 1st, 2016

I arrived at the coffee shop fifteen minutes late, red-faced and sweaty from the bike over. It had been a bit further of a ride than I had expected, and I had extra weight on my bike due to the grocery bags in my basket. I paused outside the shop as I latched my bike into the bike rack, peering into the frosted-over windows. The shop looked cozy enough inside, a fire visible in the corner, but that was all I could see due to the fogged-up windows.

As I looked down at my bike, I huffed softly and hooked the straps of my grocery bags into my hands and lugged them inside the shop, a bell tinkling above my head as I pushed the door open and stepped in. A rush of warmth settled over my body, and I couldn't help but let out a relaxed sigh as I dusted my boots off on the welcome mat in front of the door.

"Clem! Over here," I heard Niall's deep voice call out, and I swiveled towards it, spotting him at a small booth tucked in next to a window overviewing a side street. I strode over and sat down carefully, tucking my groceries in next to me, pressed to the wall.

Niall smiled charmingly, albeit a little shyly, at me across the table. "I was gettin' worried that you weren't gonna show."

I snorted softly as I rubbed my hands together. "I had to finish shopping, and I don't have a car. I ride my bike everywhere. Also, I might have gotten a little lost."

To his credit, Niall looked horrified, big blue eyes wide, pink lips parted in shock. "I had no idea, Clem, I am so sorry. I'll give ya a ride in me car, okay? Shit, I'm sorry, don't worry…"

I laughed softly at his response, shaking my head. "You could be a serial killer. Maybe I should take my chances on my bike," I mumbled as I rubbed my hands together, trying not to make a face at the sensation of being defrosted from the outdoors. It was like jumping into a cold pool and then immediately sitting in a hot tub – everything was tingling and warm, and mildly uncomfortable.

Niall shook his head. "In my line of work, I'm not allowed to be a serial killer, Clem." He joked, mouth curling up at the edges.

I tried not to smile. "Your fans would be so sad if you were a serial killer."

He looked a little surprised, eyebrows drawn together, but in this day and age, it was easy enough to find out the dirt on anyone, especially a celebrity. Technology was spooky, and strange, but at least parents could check to see if their babysitter was a registered felon. There was that bonus, at least. But Niall recovered, scoffing and muttering under his breath, "I'm no Geoffrey Evans." At my puzzled look, Niall stared at me. "You don' know about Evans?"

I lifted a brow. "Do you know about Bundy?"

"Fair enough."

A waitress appeared, thick pad of paper in one hand, a purple pen in the other. "Hullo dears, m' name's Alice. What can I get for ya?"

Niall ordered coffee and fried eggs with bacon rasher. When I asked for my check to be separate, he waved his hand and gave me a very clear no. "I made ya bike here in the cold, least I can do is pay for your meal," he muttered.

I shrugged and ordered hot chocolate and toast. Niall wrinkled his nose at me, and it was such a cute action that for a second, I felt warm in a different way than from the heat inside the restaurant. An inner sort of warmth. But I tamped that feeling down as quickly as it flared. It wouldn't help anyone at all if I couldn't control my own feelings.

Niall's coffee and my hot chocolate were delivered quickly enough, and Niall wrapped his huge hands around the white, porcelain mug, testing the temperature. And that image of him across from me, smiling lightly, brought me back to another time, another coffee place – Starbucks – and another boy looking at me with endearment clear in his eyes.'

I blinked, and the image of Jack, of his windswept black hair, his brown, beautiful eyes shimmering with content, vanished. The sick feeling in my stomach, however, remained, and I abruptly set my mug of hot cocoa down on the table, watching as some droplets spilled over the edges and slid down the white cup, staining it.

That's how I felt. Stained, and tainted.

Niall spoke, and I jumped in my seat a little. "So, Clem, how did an American lass like you end up in Mullingar?"

I thought for a moment. "There's a…Winston Churchill quote about us Americans," I started slowly and carefully so I didn't stumble over my words, "that goes like this: 'You can always count on Americans to do the right thing – after they've tried everything else.' And it was the right thing for me to do. My right thing."

Niall frowned slightly, head tilted to the side, reminiscent of a small puppy. "Does this mean you're a history buff, too?"

I let out a startled bark of a laugh, glad that Niall was willing to lighten the conversation after my not-so-subtly-dark answer. I had no idea why I even said that; the quote struck me in a moment of brilliance, and before I could think too much about it, it had tumbled off my tongue. The sick inside of me flared again. "I'm pretty decent at everything except math, basically."

Niall grinned, smile stretching wide across his face. "Now math is somethin' I can do."

I forced a smile back, forced the sickness growing through my bones to head off. "Good for you. Math is a useful subject."

We made small talk, bantering back and forth until Niall's bacon and my toast arrived, and then luckily enough, food filled the silence, and I could think.

I tried my best to avoid thinking of Jack, but I couldn't even by a McDonald's without feeling the crippling weight of memories pressing down into my head. He was always there, always in some dark, deep abyss within my mind, waiting for me to slip, so he could invade and drive me insane. Maybe there was a part of me, a part I tried to keep locked up and tight, that was already insane.

And it wasn't helping, for me to sit here with Niall, and think about Jack. Sometimes, though, I couldn't not think about him. He was my best friend since kindergarten. We made it through everything together.

Almost everything.

"Clem?" Niall asked, pausing to take a sip of his cooled coffee, "ask me somethin'. I feel like 'm just badgering you with questions you don't want to answer." He smiled faintly, and then I felt a different type of guilt – he noticed my own inner turmoil and thought it was his fault. It really wasn't.

I smiled slightly for his sake. "Tell me about your music."

Niall relaxed instantly, tension I hadn't even noticed melting out of his bones. "My music…I guess music in general. There's nothin' better than writin' or listenin' to music, Clem. You know that. Playin' it is…transcendent. I discovered how to really love through music. With music."

And that was something I deeply, deeply understood. I was – am – the same way. Music has saved me, multiple times over. It was so nice to see someone so happy about music, the way I was during high school and college. The way I was starting to feel again, now that the hole in my chest had healed enough that the edges were no longer jagged.

Niall smiled softly at me, and I knew that he recognized that love, no matter how much it was buried in the past, in me.

"When did you start playing guitar?"

We talked for what felt like ages, all about music. We talked about our favorite artists (we had different music taste for the most part), our favorite pieces, what marching band was like for me during high school and college, what being in a band was like for him – all of it. We just talked. I didn't talk about Jack, or even really think about him, and it was lovely.

Niall glowed when he talked about music. A faraway look grew in his eyes, and his cheeks turned a mottled red. His accent grew thicker the more excited he got, and he started gesturing with his hands a lot. He was even more thrilled when I could keep up with him with the music theory, chord structure; general music talk.

Before I even realized what had happened, two hours had passed. "Oh jeez. I should probably get home." I said as the conversation faded, checking the time. I had no idea why I needed to get home; there was nothing going on there, no one expecting me. But I wasn't used to being away from my apartment for so long unless it was for work-related reasons.

Rubbing his hands together, Niall nodded, pulling out his wallet and paying the bill. We stood up and I grabbed my groceries, tucking them into my arms. Before I could even head towards the door, Niall promptly plucked one of the bags from me and smirked as he grabbed the door for me. I almost stopped walking, rolling my eyes. Who even was this man?

Niall chuckled in response, and I strolled past, tucking myself down into my hoodie as the cold outside. Niall stepped past me, walking down the sidewalk past the shop to a small parking lot nestled next to the café. All I could do was grab my bike and follow; he had my box of Poptarts.

He led me to a beautiful, sleek black Range Rover. My jaw dropped a little. "Shit," I whispered, slack-jawed, before recovering and nudging Niall with my elbow. "You compensating for something?" I joked.

Niall snorted as he pulled his keys out and unlocked the car. "Shut up and get in. I got the bike." I watched as Niall set the groceries he had taken from me down in the backseat, and then glided my bike to the back. Popping the trunk, he lifted it up and then picked my bike up easily and laid it down across the ground. I stayed outside to watch, subtly admiring the way his own hoodie tightened against his arms. It was really unfair how good he looked in lazy day clothing.

Niall turned to face me, and quirked a brow when he realized I was watching him. I sneered jokingly at him in response and climbed into the passenger seat. I had to blink and readjust – everything was different when the passenger's seat was on the left side instead of the right.

For a minute, my chest tightened, and I had to force myself to breathe.

"Ma'am, you were the last person to see Jack Smith…"

I gripped tightly onto the armrest on the door, and closed my eyes, forcing the image of the police officer in my front door away, forcing away the memory of confusion, the hangover that increased the weight of my puzzlement, the pounding headache that wouldn't go away throughout the subsequent talks with the officer, my mom, Jack's parents…

With some effort, I pushed away those thoughts and took a deep breath, lightening my tightened chest. I couldn't help but react to getting inside of cars, especially now that I was sober. They were death traps, accidents waiting to happen.

I used to love driving; wind in my hair, music too loud.

Niall either didn't notice or decided not to comment on my momentary panic. I wasn't sure which. He buckled his seatbelt and I followed suit, pushing the belt in with a sharp click. He turned the car on and glanced over at me. "Alright, where do you live?"

"Do you know the bookstore Just Books?"

"Yes."

"I have an apartment on top of that store."

Niall nodded once and pulled out smoothly, shifted, and started driving down the street. Traffic was light, and we were both silent for most of the drive. It wasn't a bad silence; it was comfortable, easy, like the silence between good friends, strange for two people who barely knew each other. But at the same time, Niall was just easy-going enough that I felt I had known him for a long time.

He parked behind he the store, and I hopped out and grabbed my bike from the back and led it to the tiny storage are beneath the stairs up to the apartment. I shut the wooden door after putting it in place, and clicked the lock into place.

I walked back to the car to grab my bags, my shoulders hunched against the cold.

Niall smiled shyly at me, corners of his lips barely lifted, eyes downcast and then flickering back up to me. "I would like to help you with your groceries…but I'm not sure you want me to go up to your apartment."

A warm flush ran up throughout my entire body, and I smiled slowly back. "You can come up for a little bit. I don't mind."

The answering smile I received in return made it seem like Niall had won the lottery.

Niall gently took a bag from me and I pulled my keys out of my sweatshirt pocket, and then walked up the stairs leading to my apartment. As I fumbled to unlock the door, I wondered if this was a good idea. Was it clean enough? Did I do the dishes or were they scattered along the sink? Did I, at the very least, toss the sheets I had kicked off last night back onto the bed?

I opened the door, held it for Niall to get in, and walked inside to place the groceries on my small counter space to unload. Nervously, I tried to see my apartment as Niall would.

Small. Light, powder-blue walls. A small kitchen that was connected to a small living room that was connected to a small bedroom which had a tiny bathroom attached. From the kitchen, I noted that the blankets were tossed on my bed, although I could only see the corner of the dark blue quilt I had recently purchased from my viewpoint. My pink laptop was placed on a small coffee table in front of a small, stained, black loveseat, which had another blanket messily thrown on it – I got cold very easily. A miniscule TV perched precariously on an end table in behind the coffee table. There was an orange seashell sitting next to it.

There were also a couple of books scattered about, but that was really it. No pictures. No paintings. Nothing personal besides the seashell, and even that was debatable. It looked like I had just moved in; the only thing I was missing was the cardboard boxes dispersed throughout.

My cheeks warmed, but I stayed silent and worked on unloading the groceries. I had basically one open space on the counter to work on, and it wasn't big; the rest of my counter was taken up by a bulky black microwave, a coffee pot, and a shitty toaster, which I probably could have replaced by now, but hadn't gotten to yet. I set my box of Poptarts inside of one of the two cabinets I had – the other contained my plates and assorted cups and mugs.

Niall looked around, just observing. I felt incredibly judged.

"Your flat is nice," he finally ventured.

I snorted. "No it isn't."

"I've seen worse."

I forced yet another smile. "I'm sure you have."

Things fell quiet between us again, but this time the silence was uncomfortable, awkward. The air was thick between us. I shifted a little bit, and tried to diffuse the tension.

"Would you like something to drink? Coffee?"

"Coffee, please."

I moved past him, my arm brushing his, and started up the coffee pot. The crackling sounds of the coffee pot filled the silence.

"So why did you move to Mullingar of all places?"

"Didn't you ask that earlier?"

"You deflected the question with your historical quote."

"Right." I winced, since it had been so obvious that I had avoided the question.

I thought about it, my arm paused mid-air in its quest for two coffee mugs. "I didn't really…have a purpose when I left. I bought a plane ticket to New York City, and chose where to go from there. I chose Dublin. And then…I asked an employee in the airport where to go from there. She lived here in Mullingar, said it was nice. So I ended up here."

There were some holes in my story, like how my mother's disappointment chased me all the way across the ocean. Like how I was barely sober when I made my journey, how the world was fuzzy at all of its edges. Like how my eyes were filled with burning tears most of the trip.

I also ignored how, when I got here, I struggled to find a place to live and a job; how, for a week when I got here, I laid on a hotel bed and didn't move other than to occasionally eat and use the bathroom. These were things Niall just didn't need to know, plain and simple.

"Where are you from in America?"

I grabbed two coffee mugs from the cabinet. Unlike the rest of the apartment, my coffee mugs were colorful, different, albeit they didn't match. I set a Ravenclaw Harry Potter mug down for myself, and my other Harry Potter mug for Niall, with the Marauders Map on it. I had bought them during separate trips to Universal. "I'm from Florida. Bradenton, specifically. South of Tampa."

Niall's eyes lit with understanding. "Ah, okay. I've played in Tampa before, it's a decent city. Fucking hot as hell though."

I scoffed. "Try living there in the summer, buddy, full-time."

Niall chuckled. "Nah. I've been in some hot places before, but I'm more used to colder weather and snow. That shit sucks though too."

Shuddering in agreement, I poured Niall his coffee, then reached into the fridge for creamer. "Sugar's next to the toaster if you want some." I paused to pour coffee into my Ravenclaw mug. "And I like the cold well enough, as long as I have covers. I like wrapping myself in blankets."

Niall nudged his chin towards the loveseat, where the evidence of that was. "I see that." Niall poured a bit of my French vanilla creamer in, but not too much, and stirred it with his finger. I did the same, but poured in more creamer, and used a spoon, like a civilized person.

"So you're a Ravenclaw, then?" Niall asked after a moment of quiet, looking down at my mug.

I nodded. "Yeah. I took the quiz online. I was trying to collect all of the House mugs. I like to collect coffee mugs. That's kind of my thing. I brought these two with me from home."

I had brought a lot of weird stuff from home, not all of it useful. I left a lot of clothes at my old home too; I only brought a couple pairs of sweat pants, t-shirts, my UF sweatshirt, and my 'working' dress. The rest was assorted junk: the seashell by the TV, the two coffee mugs, my phone and its charger and headphones, and my favorite movie The Judge with Robert Downey Jr., among other things.

Niall frowned to himself and looked down at his own mug. "The Harry Potter world at Universal is fuckin' cool as hell. I've been there a couple of times meself. But I don't know what me house would be. I've never taken the quiz. I love the movies though."

I smiled indulgently at him. He didn't seem like much of a reader, really. "The movies are wonderful. So are the books. But I can't believe you haven't sorted yourself!"

Niall grinned. "I'll get to it, eventually. I'm surprised you didn't jump down me throat when I didn't mention the books."

"If you had known me back in Florida, I would have," I allowed, taking another sip. "But it's not that big of a deal to me anymore. I love to read, and I spend a lot of time doing that. If you don't, that's okay. I'm not going to scream at you just because you don't like something I don't." I shrugged, leaning back against the counter.

Niall looked at me for a second, eyes narrowed, before smiling and shaking his head. "You're somethin' else," he muttered, and when I raised my eyebrows, he elaborated, "I've known more than one person who would do just that. Scream at me for not likin' somethin' they did. It's just nice to meet someone that's like me in that respect."

I considered him, head tilted to the side thoughtfully. There was a real tone of sincerity to his voice. It was obvious to me that he had had more than one experience with that kind of person. "Must suck when the person who does the screaming is someone you're dating."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, letting me know that I had hit the nail right on its head. But then Niall winked conspiratorially and chuckled, "it's a real boner-killer, I'll tell you right now."

I almost spat out my coffee. A surprised laugh burst past my lips once I swallowed, and I pushed a hand over my mouth, trying to contain it. Niall looked a bit dazed, a slow smile creeping up his lips. I looked away, still feeling that bubbly laugh attempting to escape, and tried to distract myself.

When I trusted myself to not laugh like a deranged donkey, I took a casual sip of coffee, signaling to Niall that that was not to be talked about.

We chatted for a little bit longer, until I told Niall that I had to start getting ready for work. He looked almost sad that I rejected his offer of a ride, but to be honest, I couldn't think straight around him. Niall was just too easy to talk to; I blurted out just about anything without really considering it. Besides, we'd already talked most of the day away. I needed to sort out my thoughts a little bit before getting ready to play.

"Hey, Clem?"

"Yeah?" I answered, biting down gently on my lip and turning to look at him. Niall was standing next to the door, half-twisted around to see me, his hand already encircling the doorknob.

Niall's eyes flicked from mine and to the floor, back and forth, before finally settling on mine. "When will I see you again?" His voice was soft, and held a note of insecurity to it. Niall probably recognized that I wouldn't seek him out, because I wouldn't – what he didn't recognize was that it would be for his own good. I would hurt him, like I had hurt everyone back home.

Maybe, though, for a little bit, I could be his friend, and he could be mine. Maybe, like how I thought earlier today, he could help me continue to live, and when I was better, before I hurt him, I would let him go. Maybe.

I sucked in a deep breath and slowly let it out, pushing strands of my hair out of my face. His eyes, beautiful blue, stayed steady on mine, not even wavering as he waited for an answer. "Whenever you want to." I finally breathed, feeling a small piece of my chest loosen up and release.

Niall smiled widely, the corners of his eyes crinkling up. He released the doorknob and strode over to me in three big steps, big hand digging in his pocket. He pulled out his phone, typed a few things in, and looked at me expectantly. "Number?"

I gave it to him, and he saved it under "Clem". Just like that. Niall Horan had my number.

He was still smiling so widely that it was like looking into the sun, and I almost had to look away. He was a ray of sunshine, burning fiercely, and my heart ached because of it. He was good. Too good for the likes of me. Niall deserved a better friend than me. Niall deserved someone better, period.

As we said goodbye once again, I hoped that I wouldn't kill that ray within him. I hoped that I wouldn't hurt him too badly. Because I was starting to feel greedy – a dark cloud, covering his light, absorbing it.

I hoped that I would never block out his rays with my darkness.

Jack appeared next to me, black hair wavy, blue eyes radiant, smile wide. I felt my breath stutter in my chest, and reached for him with both arms. He was a supernova, exploding, ready to take me with him, but so brilliant that I would have let him willingly.

But his smile became twisted, and his eyes lost their light. "Selfish, Clementine. You're a selfish monster."

My arms dropped to my sides with a small plop. "I know," I whispered, eyes downcast, similar to a scolded puppy. I would have done anything for forgiveness. Yet there was nothing left for me to beg; nothing more than a shell, an unfulfilled life, left to torture me and make sure that I never forgot.

Jack shook his head. Blood appeared, staining his pale skin, contrasting brightly with it. His eyes met mine again, and that hole in my chest ached, roaring and tearing itself wide open again. I collapsed to my knees, crying out, but Jack never came any closer.

"Your fault," he whispered. "It's your fault."

And then I somewhere different, crouched on the side of a dark road in the rain. There was a river next to the road, frothing and angry, turbulent with its waves. It was close to spilling over the ban, ready to flood.

In front of me a little ways were two cars, a little way apart from each other, fronts smashed beyond belief. One headlight was flickering ominously; the others were dark. The force of the crash was so great that at least one of the vehicles had rolled back from the other. The windows on both vehicles were cracked, in some areas shattered.

There were no signs of life from either car.

Pain hit me right in the chest and I sank fully to the ground, sobbing. "No!" I cried, digging my fingers into the asphalt, nails bloody. "No no no no no!" I screamed, fighting to get the words past the rawness of my throat. "You can't be gone! YOU CAN'T!" I bawled, thrashing and clawing at the wet road.

Over it all, my screams and the thunder, I heard Jack once again.

"Your fault," he murmured.

I woke up, chest heaving, with a second to prepare myself before the nausea hit my stomach like a fist to the face. I stumbled out of bed and half-ran, half-tripped my way to the toilet, just making it puking directly into the bowl. I retched, over and over again, until I was a trembling mess.

When I was able to lean back from the toilet, I looked up and all I saw around me was nothing. Darkness. The panic hit me again and my heart beat faster in my chest. I started heaving over the toilet again.

Finally, it was over, and I recognized where I was. My head was throbbing, the world was spinning, and the hole in my chest was pulsating, sending waves of guilt and pain washing throughout the rest of my body. I thought it was healing; but no, the jagged edges were tearing open, and with it came every memory and all of the guilt, rushing like a tsunami to the forefront of my brain.

I was drowning.

My hands dug into my sides, twisting into the soft flesh on my stomach, trying to overpower the mental weight I was sinking under.

But what I really wanted was to be numb.

I laid back on the cool floor of the bathroom, my nails still raking into my skin. Cool. It was nice. It felt like it was taking the heat out of my body, almost leeching away the guilt and the agony.

Through my firestorm of my head, a simple idea popped up: why not sit outside? It was cold when I biked home from work. Surely it would be just as cold, if not colder, outside. There, I could be numb. There, I could feel nothing.

Slowly, I pushed myself off of the floor, faltering on my legs like a newborn deer. I kept my arms out for balance, and to guide myself forward. I leaned against the wall at one point, needing to stop and breathe.

And then I was outside, and the chill was so sudden and freezing down into my chest that I coughed. It was loud, breaking the silence that was cast over the predawn street.

In nothing but my thick, plaid pajama pants and tank top, I sat down on the top of the staircase, and stared out at the empty street. The cold surrounded me, blanketed me, and pricked everything it touched. But it also soothed. It took away the thoughts in my mind, the whirling emotions thundering inside me, quieted them, and I became what I wanted to be: numb.

It occurred to me then, in a small corner of my mind, that maybe meeting Niall was the cataclysm that pushed me over the edge of my own guilt.

I couldn't find it within myself to care. So I stared out at the cold morning, and let myself freeze.