I enjoyed the pancakes quietly for a few minutes while Niall read the paper. Eventually I finished, fork scraping against an empty plate.

“Here, let me take that for you,” he murmured, grabbing my plate and putting it in the dishwasher.

“Thank you,” I sighed, leaning back in the chair, feeling full, warm, and happy. “That was really good.”

“Glad you enjoyed,” Niall said, smiling and sitting back down. “So,” he began and I groaned.

“No,” I told him, know what he was about to do.

“No what? I haven’t even said anything yet,” he laughed.

“I know you’re going to harass me and I just wanna sit and not be harassed.”

“Well, I know you, and how you try and push through everything. I think I have a reason to harass you,” he said, locking his gaze with mine, the traces of amusement fading into a serious expression.

“Then I should be able to harass you for the same reason,” I pointed out. “How do I know you’re not sick?”

Niall raised an eyebrow. “Well, that was an impressive attempt at deflecting,” he said.

“Was it?” I asked. “Because I think it’s a valid question.”

“Well, I think you’re stubborn enough that you should’ve been split with a donkey,” he retorted.

“Wow, rude, much?”

“Yes. It’s part of my roguish charm,” he said nonchalantly.

“Roguish, maybe. Charm? Not so much,” I replied.

“Now who’s the rude one?”

“Still you,” I said.

Niall didn’t respond to that. “So, how are you feeling?” he finally asked, repeating his earlier question with a renewed emphasis.

I sighed.