Dear Laddie,
I'm not sure if you remember but I met you in a pub a few days back. You asked me why I treat everyone in the pub with the same respect, even the drunkards. The reason is as follows: Everyone in a pub is there for the same reason: to drink. Whether it be for a joyous occasion, after an emotional tragedy, or in my case, just to have a drink after a long day. But no matter what the reason, the purpose of the drink(s) is to fill our empty souls with something that will last for at least an hour or two. All of the people in a bar or pub are as lonely as a single candle in a room full of darkness. That's why I treat everyone the same. Because in the end, we're all lonely fuckers.

Sincerely,
Lassie

---

{Niall's POV}

I read over the handwritten words for the third time. It was written in pen, and pretty good cursive. There were some faults in the flowing of the pen marks, probably from her thinking about what to say next. Her ending was a bit depressing though, I mean, did she have to end on such a tragic note? What made her so dark?

She was on my mind ever since she called me out in the middle of the pub two weeks ago. No one had ever treated me like that, not since I and the lads and I got together on X-Factor a few years ago. Since then, I couldn't breathe with all of the girls that threw themselves at me. Sure, I was grateful for all of the support, don't get me wrong. But sometimes all of the screaming and following you everywhere with cameras gets a bit too much.

I've dated a few girls since my rise to fame, but they all were used to stars and treated me like a star. They were all a bit better looking than her. Now, before you call me an arse, I think she is quite pretty indeed. The girls I had dated before though were models and stars who's faces were fit to be on the cover of magazines all over the world. She was the first girl who didn't drop at my feet, rub me with intimate intentions, or bombard me with photos, questions, screaming, tears, and etc. She was different. And that's why I had to find her.

I wondered if she remembers me. She probably didn't. But I remembered.

---

I remembered the Dave Matthews t-shirt she had on, how it draped over her chest with ease. She wasn't showing any of her lady lumps, yet she had a level of sexy about her. Maybe it was those skinny jeans she had on that perfectly clung to her lean legs. She wasn't bone thin, like some of the girls I have dated. But she wasn't chubby either. It was the perfect balance of weight that, to me, was really attractive. Her chocolate hair fell down just past her shoulders and shrouded her features as I walked into the pub.

This particular pub was pretty unknown so it was the perfect place to disappear and grab a pint. Despite the security of this place, I still had on my farmers cap at a long angle so that there would be less of a chance in being recognized as I walked to the building. You can never be too careful. At first, I paid no attention to her. I nodded to the bar tender who placed a glass in front of me as I sat down a couple of chairs from her.

I only glanced towards her as she tucked he hair behind her ear. I thought she was going to say something to me and I braced myself for the typical reaction girls had when the saw me. But she never even batted an eye towards me as she sipped her drink. This surprised me greatly.

I watched her as she ordered another glass of liquor. I noticed the bar tender poured Jack Daniels. Now, no disrespect to Jack Daniels, whoever he is, but here in Ireland we have a taste for a stronger spirit than that American stuff.

I had a busy and long day earlier. Full of interviews, photo shoots, running from screaming fans, etc. I was tired as Hell and most of my pint was now rushing through my veins and was starting to take effect on my brain.

"Jack Daniels." I muttered as I looked down at the counter.

She didn't react.

"Nice choice." I added in, still not receiving a response from her.

"For an American." I finished and with that she raised her head up and glared at me. I was taking a shot in the dark calling her an American. She could have been British with a taste for American liquor for all I knew.

She called me "laddie" in the fakest Irish accent I have ever heard. I couldn't help but smile at her mockery. She then chewed me out for a bit, to which I barely paid attention to. I just looked at her face, into those chocolate eyes of hers that seemed to melt in with her hair color. I chuckled under my breath after she finished, which she thankfully didn't hear.

I apologized and then thought of a slick comeback. "Lassie." I called her.

Lassie. My little Lassie.

I know she wasn't anything like the dog, except for her bite. But I liked it. It was cute and innocent, something she obviously wasn't.

I asked her "So why do you treat everyone in here the same?", curious as to why she, a girl, wasn't the least bit starstruck.

I'm not trying to be vain, but as Ron Burgandy in Anchorman once said, I'm a pretty big deal.

She rolled her eyes as I waited for her answer and left her tab on the counter. She put on her coat and walked past me.

I couldn't just let her walk away from me without some sort of justification as to why she had called me out. I reached out and gripped her forearm, pulling her sharply towards me, so that her hands were placed on my chest to try and put some distance between us.

I loved that feeling, of her hands against me and her body being so close to mine. I realized I wasn't that much taller than her, only by a few inches. Her scent filled my nostrils and with that my mind raced with what I wanted to do to my little Lassie.

I blinked and moved those images and thoughts out of my mind and back to the girl with the chocolate eyes that were now glaring at me.

"Why do you say treat everyone the same, yet you treat me with such a negative difference?" I asked her a bit too harshly. I was now pissed that she had scolded me about my rudeness and yet there she was, ignoring my perfectly reasonable question. I didn't like stubborn people.

But she didn't seem stubborn, just determined to not care.

I searched her face for any indication of her freaking out about me (you know, with me being famous and all). I found nothing. She wasn't just pulling some bullshit mysterious act to try and get my attention.

She legitly didn't care.

Wow.

She wriggled her arm and I let her go, reluctant to set my Lassie free.

"I'll write you why." she called back as she headed for the door. I watched her and when she stopped in the middle of the door frame and turned towards me again, I sat up, wondering why was she hesitating.

"Laddie." she said with a smirk and a wink. But before I could call her by her nickname I had given her, she was gone.

Damn. She was something. That one pet name mixed with her flirtatious gestures was purely sexy. I didn't even get her name.

Just Lassie. Just Damn...

---

So there I was, holding the letter than for two weeks I couldn't stop thinking about. It then suddenly hit me.

Shit! I curse in my mind.The date of this letter was almost two weeks ago!

It's been sitting in the pile for two whole weeks! I've been expecting this letter and nobody told me it was here for two whole bloody weeks?! Why do I even have secretaries?! I rolled my eyes as I flip the ripped envelope over to the front, still annoyed with my employees’ lack of informing me about a letter that I had specifically told them I was expecting.

My mouth formed an “o” shape as I discovered a new piece of vital information. Oh? What's this? There's a return address....

After pacing back and forth in my flat for the last two hours, I decided to visit her, my Lassie.

I had pondered it for a few moments more before I headed out. I didn't want to come off as too smooth. Showing up to a girl's house after you've only exchanged a few words with her two weeks earlier was a bit creepy.

But I didn't care. I had to see her. I had to see her again. She never left my thoughts. It was like I was in the eye of a hurricane of her.

I thought about what I would say to her over and over again. Let's just say I was a bit nervous.

I was wearing a pair of baggy shorts, a white tank top, and a pair of basketball shoes. My hair wasn't styled but I didn't care because I was wearing a green flat bill hat on top of it. "Fuck it!" I cursed as I grabbed my sunglasses and my keys before I headed out the door.

I called a cab and thanked God that the paps thought I was spending my whole day indoors, so they didn't bother to show up at my flat. Her letter was in my pocket, it had been there for the last two weeks.

I would sometimes take it out and read it again, still trying to wrap my head around her brooding, seemingly negative thoughts.They were just too deep for me. I tried not to have that kind of outlook on life. But she apparently didn't agree with my logic, based on her less than kind manner towards me both in the pub and in the letter.

So, you may ask, why bother with such a crab ass like her? Well, to be honest, she was good looking and she didn't give a shit about me; me, an internationally famous pop star that everyone seems to care about.

She treated me like a human being. Not a boy, not a man, not an attractive male, but a human. A human that goes through the same shit everyone else does, has the same feelings, the same dreams and wants, the same joys, and the same pains as every individual on the planet.

To her, I was a nobody. But to the other 99.9% of the world, I was somebody. She treated me like a nobody when I was a somebody, which is the reverse of how a lot of famous people treated everyone else; treating them like a somebody when in reality, they're a nobody.

I know that sounds cruel and harsh, but think about it. If you met someone who meets a hundred people just like you everyday, would you feel special?

Probably not. Now, I love my fans. Every single one of them. I know I just contradicted my whole rant just then, but it's the truth. The fans put us through X-Factor. The fans' support made Simon realize that One Direction could be really successful and make he a lot of money. The fans bought our first single and made it number one in the UK. The fans made One Direction one of the most famous music groups of all time. Without the fans, we would be how Lassie treated me that night in the pub: nobody.

But I try to treat every one of them like a somebody because to me, they are somebody. Any one of them could've been the one who voted for us on X-Factor and saved us by that one vote, keeping us in the competition. Or they could've been the one who voted for our first single 'What Makes You Beautiful', causing it to jump from the number two most popular song, to number one. Or they could've been the one who bought our album and made it jump to the top spot on iTunes. Or they could've been the one who bought the last seat at our concert, making the venue sold out instead of almost sold out.

They all matter because without that one vote, that one purchase, that one ounce of caring, us five lads would still be home, going about our lives like we always had and we would'vnever been able to support our families, live our dreams, travel the world, make music, make four new best friends, and we especially wouldn't have been able to change as many lives around the world as we have.

I read the driver the return address of her letter and off we went. As we were driving, I noticed that we were passing fewer and fewer flats.

By the time we got to hers, there were only a few surrounding flats, making the environment private. I had never been to this part of my home town of Mullingar.

And that surprised me.

There were a couple of trees surrounding the older looking building, all the more shelter from the outside world. It was a beautifully sunny day out and the sun's rays reflected against a few large windows that were scattered along the walls. I also noticed that there were about two balconies on each of the three levels.

I walked up to the front door of the complex and I'm surprised to find that there was no intercom or buzzing-in system. I tried the door and it was unlocked.

Odd. I thought to myself as I entered the 1950's looking building.

The walls were exposed brick, giving it an industrial, urban vibe.

I checked the envelope again and saw she was in room 314.

So she was on the top floor, great. I thought.

Due to this, I thought I had to run up three flights of stairs but it was then that I heard the familiar "ding" sound of an elevator. An older man in a fedora walked out without looking at me. I rushed to the now vacant space and pressed the button for the third floor.

I went left out of the opening doors after the elevator "dinged" to alert me that I had arrived to her floor.

I soon found out her room was the other way. I chuckled at my foolishness and my over-exaggerated nerves.

I'm Niall Horan, a member of the most famous band in the world! I reassured myself, trying to shake my unnecessary anxiousness.

I almost busted out laughing because I sounded like my mate, Harry. He loves himself so much and I think that's the reason why he's still single. I tried to convince myself that she was just a girl.

But she wasn't. She was my Lassie.

I knocked on her door and waited for her to open it. I guessed it would a few minutes before I was to be greeted.

So I decided to check myself to make sure I looked presentable. I rolled my shoulders and cracked my neck.

To someone who was just walking down the hall, I probably looked like I was about to fight someone. The thought made me chuckle at myself.

I jumped back from my thoughts as I heard the doorknob turn.

I looked straight ahead to her.

"Well hey there Lassie." I greeted her with a friendly tone and a sly smirk upon my lips.

My eyes then grazed down her body and when I reached her hips, my eyes widened to the size of saucers and my mouth watered.

Holy shit.

Notes

I know the letter is deep. It's what happens when I brood. Sorry!
So there was a bit of the events in Chapter 1 from Niall's POV (obviously)
Hope you guys liked it! If you did, or if you have any comments, please leave a review!

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- NightShade ❤ :)