Summer Nights

*Holly's P.O.V*
"Holly! Can you take out the trash?" Mom asked-slash-shouted.
"Sure!" I answered, stampeding down the stairs. I checked the kitchen trash can first to make sure it didn't need to be emptied, then I went out to the garage. Grasping the handle, I dutifully dragged the gray can down the driveway, loving the breeze that was blowing through. I reentered through the back door, pausing by her office to tell her I was done.
"Thanks," she gratefully said, looking up from a large stack of clipped papers.
"No problem," I flippantly said, already strolling back up the stairs. I opened the door to my room and stepped through, shutting it behind me. When I turned around, Niall was sitting criss-crossed on my bed.
"Niall! What are you doing?" I asked, putting a hand against my rapidly beating heart. He shrugged.
"Uh, sitting?" He said in a "duh" tone. I groaned, moving over to my ajar window and shutting it.
"You practically scared me to death," I accusingly told him.
"Sorry, but your window was really hard to open, and it was super cold out there," he defended himself. I grinned, shaking my head and nearing my bed.
"Move over," I instructed. He obliged, and I sat down next to him so my legs were dangling off the edge.
"So, why'd you come over?" I asked, hugging my pillow. He gave me a sideways glance before looking out the now-closed window.
"I knew I was missing something when I asked about your dad," he murmured. I was silent, letting his crystal-blue eyes roam all over my room, and they settled on my instruments. He slipped off the bed and gently grabbed the guitar before sitting back down next to me. He mindlessly strummed the strings while I moistened my lips.
"It's kind of a sensitive subject for me, but I think you might understand," I said, and he nodded.
"Well, when I was about seven, my dad and mom were fighting a lot, but I didn't know why," I started, and his nimble fingers stopped, his gaze trained on me.
"Did they divorce?" He asked, and I shook my head.
"No, actually, he left us when I was about eight," I softly said, and he sympathetically squeezed my hand, the wooden object resting in his lap.
"I'm so sorry. He was a real jerk," he said, his other hand curling a tight fist.
"Apparently, my mom still keeps in contact with him, and he always visits us. It's horrible," I mumbled, and Niall wrapped an arm around me and pulled me closer.
"Don't worry, I'm here for you," he said, and I snuggled into to him, inhaling his scent.
"I know," I whispered. I felt him rest his head on top of mine, and we stayed there for a while, not talking.

After a few minutes, he moved, and his fingers went back to the guitar strings.
"Can you sing for me?" I asked, changing my position so I sitting criss-crossed.

Notes