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Summer’s at its most dense when Zayn meets Niall.
It’s one of those days that’s just good. When he looks back on it later, Zayn won’t be sure whether it was a good day in general or if it was good because he was going to meet Niall, but either way it’s good and that’s what he remembers about it.
There’s dirt up to Zayn’s elbows, sweat at his hairline and between his shoulder blades. The vegetables are humming with poorly restrained satisfaction at the humidity. It’s hot inside the greenhouse, overcrowded with plants, but Zayn’s not fussed about it in the least.
The sunflowers are the first to notice.
Their clamoring is the only reason Zayn looks up from where he’s packing in some fresh mulch for the tomatoes. He’s not sure they need it, they seem to just want his attention, but he doesn’t really have anything else to do so he’s been humoring them.
But the sunflowers distract him, so he does look up. He freezes, eyes on the person stood in the doorway of the greenhouse. They’re not looking at him, instead they're looking at the hovering garden beds that Zayn keeps temperature controlled for spring veggies during the summer.
They’re really fucking cute. Soft looking all over -- soft tip of their nose, soft jaw, softly sloping shoulders in a loose striped shirt. Even the look on their face is soft, watching the way the planter with the beans in it maneuvers for direct sunlight.
Zayn’s brain short circuits a bit, like a record skipping, blissfully blank for a moment before he shakes it off and forces himself up.
“Hullo?” Zayn shakes the dirt off his hands until they’re clean, but he wipes his hands on his trousers anyway, palms prickling with sweat.
The person turns and looks at him, half a smile on their face before they still, eyes sweeping over Zayn. He feels too warm all of a sudden, acutely aware of how he must look covered in dirt, cut off t-shirt and cut off jeans, cap pulled low over his eyes. He knocks it back self-consciously, so the stranger can see his face better.
“I like your hat,” they say, jerking their chin at him. Zayn blinks.
“Thanks, s’old,” Zayn mumbles, resisting the urge to take off his hat and -- well he doesn’t know what he would do with it, that’s why he resists the urge. It’s worn to hell, bill all frayed. It’s his favorite, black and speckled with a Nasa logo right in the middle, but it’s seen better days.
“I like space,” is the response, before Harry Styles pops up behind them.
The strangers yells, jerking away before frowning and punching Harry in the arm.
“Ouch, fuck,” Harry says, frowning sharply and holding his arm.
“Told you not to do that,” the stranger says, rubbing over the spot when Harry drops his hand like an apology. “Hate when you feckin’ pop up out of nowhere.”
“Well, no promises,” Harry replies haughtily, as he does. He pushes his hair off his face before he waves at Zayn. “Hey, Zayn.”
“Harry,” Zayn says slowly, watching as the roses try to subtly creep towards where Harry’s stood. They’re obsessed with him, it’s nearly ridiculous. “Say hello to the roses, please.”
“Hello roses,” Harry calls, turning and waving at them. They stop their attempt, giggling but satisfied. It’s probably a good thing Harry can’t hear the way they go on. “Zayn, this Niall. He’s new around here.”
“He likes my hat,” Zayn says, stepping forward so he can shake Niall’s hand. When they touch, a very delicate tingle runs down Zayn’s spine as his fingers get a shock of cold. “Christ, your hands are freezing.”
Niall laughs unselfconsciously and shrugs, dropping his hand. “S’nice to meet you, Zayn,” Niall says politely, ignoring that. “Harry said you’re the lad to come to if I needed fresh food stuff.”
“That’s me,” Zayn agrees, flexing his fingers to get rid of the chill as he looks over his shoulder at Harry. He’s fondling a tomato. Zayn’s eyebrows twitch and the mister directly above Harry gives him a friendly squirt. “They’re not ready.”
Harry glowers and wipes the water from his face. “You could have said.”
“S’funnier this way,” Zayn says, with a shrug.
Next to him, Niall bursts out laughing, and Zayn swears it’s the best sound he’s heard in his whole life.
Niall moved here because he needed a fresh start and there’s something about little towns that makes him comfortable.
Niall has sleepy grey eyes that remind Zayn of summer storms, freckles on his cheeks and neck that remind Zayn of summer constellations. When he laughs, it comes from somewhere deep inside his chest. When he thinks, it’s usually with his stomach in mind.
Niall is affectionate. Gentle like a spring breeze, but insistent with the way he touches and the way he talks. Like physical validation is as necessary as verbal validation; a hand on Zayn’s waist when he says, “those cucumbers are the prettiest I’ve seen.” Zayn knows he means it, too.
There are guitar calluses on Niall’s fingertips. His voice warm as sunshine.
The sunflowers like him so much it’s embarrassing.
Zayn likes him so much it’s embarrassing.
“So, like, there’s -- Okay, this is hot, I'm --”
“Hush, Payno,” Niall laughs, tapping Liam’s mug with his finger. The steam disappears like it’s in a vacuum. Liam laughs delightedly as he takes a big gulp.
“Perfect,” Liam sighs, sitting back finally, limbs gone loose with satisfaction. Zayn rolls his eyes and pinches above his knee, hard enough that Liam can feel through his jeans. Liam’s leg snaps out, but he manages to keep his tea from spilling.
“Didn’t know you were magic,” Zayn says, looking at Niall’s hands.
Niall shrugs, cheeks flaring so pink it spreads to his ears. “A little,” he says, flexing his hands. He looks at Zayn for a moment before he reaches out, traces the mandela steadily before he wraps his fingers around Zayn’s wrist.
They’re icy cold. Zayn remembers now, when they shook hands.
Niall’s touch lingers for a moment before he’s pulling back with a smile. “Cooling the tea’s about all I can do right now. S’better when it’s cold out.”
Zayn hums in acknowledgement, resisting the urge to press his fingers to the sunflower on his neck. It’s fully technicolor, height of summer and all that. But summer turns to fall and fall turns to winter, and the tattoo gets washed out and desaturated.
Zayn hates winter.
“Do you have a mark?” Zayn asks.
“S’my hair,” Niall laughs.
“Your hair turns color?” Liam asks, putting his mug down.
Niall’s still pink. “Goes blonde, like.” He shrugs.
“Wicked,” Zayn says, grinning.
“Zayn’s dyed his hair blonde a dozen times,” Liam says, tugging at Zayn’s hair. It’s dark right now, grown out a bit. It’s been a lazy summer. Zayn swats at him, embarrassed.
Under the table, Niall tangles his ankles with Zayn’s to get Zayn’s attention -- then immediately untangles them once he’s got it. “Bet you looked brilliant,” he says sincerely.
Zayn blushes at that, cheeks gone hot.
Liam nearly face plants into his tea from trying to control his laughter.
Summer turns to fall.
“Oi, there’s a stranger,” Niall says.
It’s the first time Zayn’s seen Niall in two weeks, and looking at him makes Zayn’s heart stutter like a bad car engine. Revving and stalling, revving and stalling. There’s honey brown to his hair, lighter than it was before. His eyes are blue now. Blue like the smeared insides of navy blue picasso calla lily petals. Zayn decides he wants to plant some.
“Sorry,” Zayn says, feeling the way his mouth twists.
He doesn’t know how to explain that the cloudy sky and the chilly wind saps his energy the way it does. Doesn’t know how to explain the way it puts a stone at the bottom of his gut, infuses him lethargy and loathing until it’s difficult to move.
So he doesn’t try.
“Got caught up.”
Niall sidles up and giving Zayn a half hug. Zayn holds still, trying to will his heart not to leap out of his chest as Niall squeezes his hip and pulls away; grins and says, “At least you’re here now.”
Here being Louis’ house. Where there’s a modest amount of people and a modest amount of alcohol, and it still feels too crowded. The only reason Zayn’s here at all is that he promised Harry ages ago. If it’d been a last minute thing, Zayn would’ve said no and stayed at home wrapped in his blanket.
(Maybe not, Zayn thinks, as he looks at Niall. Maybe if Harry said, Niall will be there, he’d be happy to see you, Zayn would have come.)
Zayn hums in agreement, trying not to commit to any level of enthusiasm. The less interested he is, the more willing people are to let him leave early. But it’s difficult not to laugh when Niall’s laughing, talk when Niall wants him to. It’s difficult to be gloomy when Niall’s brought all the sunshine in.
It’s nighttime, but Niall’s still brought all the sunshine in.
“Tell me about the stars,” Niall says, settling next to Zayn.
They’re on the roof of Louis’ building, lying on their backs. There’s moss underneath them that Zayn conjured up to cover whatever the roof is made out of -- brick or whatever; Zayn doesn’t know, he just knows it’s cold. They’re lying close, so close Niall’s shoulder is pressed firmly to his. Zayn takes a risk and hooks his ankle over Niall’s, breathing out softly when Niall doesn’t move his leg.
There’s a smile on Niall’s lips, but Zayn doesn’t know if it’s from the way they’re touching or because he’s contemplating the heavens, so Zayn guesses heavens and follows Niall’s gaze, looking up at the stars.
They’ve shifted, as stars do when the seasons change, but Zayn recognizes some. Summer constellations are like old friends with old stories, well worn with nostalgia.
His mum’s voice is in his head, telling him about Hercules and Lyra and Sagittarius, but they’re mostly gone to make way for the autumn sky. And besides, Zayn wants Niall to laugh so he points at the stars, connects dots that aren’t constellations at all, magic tracing in the air, deep blue like Niall’s calla lily eyes.
“What’s this?” Niall asks, frowning.
“This is a spider,” Zayn says. It is. Little body, twiggy legs.
“You’re ‘sposed to tell me about the constellations,” Niall says, laughing.
“I am, if you’d let me.” He looks over at Niall and finds Niall looking back; face softened by shadows, soft look in his eyes, softly laughing as he mimes zipping his mouth.
Zayn nods approvingly and starts again, “So, this spider had magic and when he bit a human --” Zayn draws a stick figure, feels Niall’s shoulder shake as he laughs quietly -- “That human got his magic. It made the human very strong and very powerful, and more than likely to make distasteful dick jokes about shooting webs --”
Niall absolutely loses it, laugh bursting out of him like a shotgun blast, and Zayn can’t help the way he laughs along as well. Niall’s laugh is more infectious than anything.
“I’m serious,” Zayn says seriously. “Niall, this is serious.”
“I’m so serious,” Niall lies.
When Zayn looks at him, he’s biting down on his bottom lip to keep from laughing, bright eyes a little wet at the corners like he might actually cry from the hilarity of Zayn’s story.
Definitely not serious.
Zayn huffs and turns back to the sky, vanishing the magic.
“Another?” Niall asks nicely, scooting even closer. Their sides are pressed together. Zayn uses his left hand to draw, so Niall won’t try to be polite and move away.
He draws a stick figure. “So, this is Bruce --”
“Wait I know this one,” Niall says, laughing, reaching out and grabbing Zayn’s hand. “Got all magicked up, turns into a green rage monster.”
Zayn ignores the way his magic is sparking and jumping between their fingers. Niall’s are so cold. Zayn doesn’t mind all that much.
Niall props himself up on his elbow.
“See,” Zayn says, voice thick as Niall shifts their hands and threads their fingers together. “You know these, don’t need me.”
The space between their fingers, their palms, are slick with anxious sweat. Zayn doesn’t want to let go.
“Don’t, do I?” Niall asks softly, eyes soft as he looks down at Zayn. There’s a soft pause, a silent moment. “Y’aren’t seeing anyone are you?”
“What?” Zayn frowns. “No.”
“I, uh… didn’t know if that’s why you weren’t around.”
“No, it’s not that,” Zayn says, feeling himself go warm. The magic between their fingers fizzles out.
“Okay,” Niall says hurriedly. “Can I kiss you then?” His eyes are wide. It’s too dark out to see how blue they are, but Zayn can imagine. He looks nervous.
Zayn wonders if his heart is going half as hard as Zayn’s. Zayn can feel his whole chest thud thud thud with it. There’s bound to be bruises on the inside of his ribcage.
“Please,” Zayn says, and keeps his eyes open so he can see the corner of Niall’s smile as Niall leans in to kiss him.
Fall turns to winter.
Zayn waits a moment after the door opens and shuts, listens as Niall takes off his boots and lines them up against the wall -- tap-tap of boot soles on the floor, tap-tap of boot toes against the wall. There’s shuffling as Niall hangs up his coat, no doubt. Lighter than anyone else needs, but still a coat since it’s cold and slushy and terrible outside.
Niall had texted, but Zayn didn’t respond. Niall’s here anyway, walking across the floor and up the floating steps to Zayn’s floating bed, kept out of the way above the couch. The mattress shifts tellingly, Zayn flops over.
“Why’re you here?” Zayn asks, fighting his way out of the blanket he’s managed to burrito himself him. His voice feels rusty. This might be the first time he’s talked all day.
Niall smiles at him, arms crossed on the mattress, chin on his crossed arms. There’s no sadness or pity clinging to his eyes the way Zayn thinks there should be. It’s just a smile.
“Missed you, didn’t I?” Niall says.
Zayn jerks his fingers and the step Niall’s on rises, depositing him gently on the bed before returning to its place. Niall scoots closer to the center of the bed.
“It’s charmed, you won’t fall off,” Zayn says, jerking his chin towards the kitchen so the kettle will make up some tea for them. A few mugs dance out of the cupboards with more enthusiasm than Zayn’s been able to muster in a week. Zayn frowns.
“Reassuring,” Niall says, but he still looks dubious, rearranging his legs so they’re crossed.
There are sunflowers on his socks.
Zayn doesn’t answer. He draws his knees to his chest, and rest his cheek on his knees, and closes his eyes. He’s been sleeping all day, but he’s so tired.
“Your hair is really blonde,” Zayn says, without opening his eyes. “It looks nice.”
There’s an amused noise from Niall, then the mattress shifts. “S’cold out,” Niall says.
“I know,” Zayn says, and can’t help the way his voice is stiff and sad. “You love it, don’t you?” Zayn opens his eyes so he can watch Niall’s face.
He likes Niall’s face. All its lines and curves and beauty marks. Likes the point of his ears and the dimple in his chin and the dimple in his left cheek. Likes the way his eyes have gone from stormy grey to ocean blue to the soft forget-me-not they are right now.
Niall watches him back.
“I love you,” Niall says unselfconsciously.
Zayn’s stomach jolts as he closes his eyes.
Zayn’s a mess in the winter. He’s a mess, and he’s messy, and he’s messed up. Everything is dark. The stupid stormy sky, the house with its shut curtains, all the thoughts swirling around Zayn’s mind. There isn’t anything about that Niall should love.
“I’m tired,” Zayn says. The kettle turns itself off.
“We should have a nap,” Niall says gently, leaning forward to run his cold cold cold fingers through Zayn’s hair, tracing the shell of his ear and scratching through his unkept beard before they trace down his neck; over the sunflower that’s now fully black and grey, color long gone.
His hands feel nice, like they could wake Zayn up if they really tried, but they don’t try.
Niall unravels Zayn and unravels the blanket, and arranges them so they’re facing each other. Zayn reaches out and pulls the charm bag out from under Niall’s pillow, sets it floating so neither of them disturb it while they’re sleeping.
“Whassit?” Niall asks. His eyes are so blue.
“S’for dreams,” Zayn mumbles. “So they’re good.”
“Tell me what you dream, when you wake up.” Niall touches Zayn’s face again. Soft touches, soft eyes; leans forward to press a soft kiss to Zayn’s scratchy cheek, tips of his ears pink.
“Okay,” Zayn agrees, and watches Niall until he can’t keep his eyes open anymore.
Zayn wakes up in a tangle. Niall’s face against his neck, hips nestled together, legs entwined. The arm Niall’s lying on is asleep, white static under Zayn skin, so he wiggles it out from under Niall and tries to arrange them better.
It doesn’t work, Niall wakes up with a smile, nudges his hips forward.
“Good morning,” he says.
“I think the sun’s set,” Zayn admits, grabbing at Niall’s waist. His shirt’s ridden up. The skin of his tummy is soft and warm. He can feel Niall’s cock thick against his own.
“Either way,” Niall says uncaringly, kissing Zayn’s pulse -- his ear, his jaw, his cheek.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, tilting his neck for Niall, sighing.
Niall rolls Zayn onto his back and straddles him, leans down to kiss Zayn’s nose. “I miss your freckles,” Niall says, thighs snug around Zayn’s hips. Zayn runs his hands up them, holding on tightly.
“Wait until summer.” Wait until summer. For the freckles, for the sunshine. For Zayn to feel like a person again. Wait until summer, everything will be better. Zayn will be better.
Niall hums. “Their disappearance is temporary,” Niall says seriously. His eyes are bright, bright, bright blue. Zayn smiles. “S’always temporary, right?”
“Sometimes it feels like it won’t be,” Zayn says. They’re not talking about his freckles anymore.
“It’s okay if it’s not.” Niall runs his cold fingers through Zayn’s hair, leans down to kiss Zayn’s forehead -- his cheek, his mouth.
Zayn doesn’t want to talk about it.
He tugs Niall in so their chests press together. Holds Niall close as they kiss, hands sneaking under Niall’s shirt, seeking his warm skin. Niall cups Zayn’s jaw gently, slides his hand down until the tips of his fingers rest against Zayn’s colorless sunflower.
There’s a tingle everywhere they’re touching. It makes Zayn want Niall more, want to pull him closer. They kiss until Zayn’s lips are buzzing, until they’re warm enough that it smells like spring, until Niall’s wiggling against him, too impatient to keep up the slow grind they’ve set.
“Lemme make you feel good, petal,” he says, rough voice pleading softly.
“‘Course, yeah.” Zayn laughs as Niall dives in for a kiss, grins knocking into each other before they manage to get it right, kissing hard, then Niall wiggles away.
Away and down.
Down, so he’s settled between Zayn’s splayed legs, back on his knees so he can tug Zayn’s trackies off. When he tosses them over his shoulder, they bounce off Zayn’s charm and hit the bed instead of going over the side.
Zayn laughs at the indignant look on Niall’s face. Louder than he has in days.
“Bloody charms,” Niall says, hands sliding up Zayn’s thighs, scratching through the hair there, making Zayn’s leg jerk.
“Sensitive,” Zayn warns.
Niall hums, eyes glinting.
He leaves mouth bruises on the inside of Zayn’s thighs. Dark ones that will take days to leave. Teeth nipping, sucking on Zayn’s skin as Zayn’s back arches and his heels dig into the mattress, cock all wet from how good it feels.
He takes his time, but when he gets to Zayn’s prick, he grins and presses a cheeky kiss to the head before sucking Zayn off with sloppy enthusiasm.
Zayn kisses the taste of himself out of Niall’s mouth and wanks Niall off with tight, sure strokes. Kisses the dip at the base of Niall’s neck while he moans, tastes the sweat on his skin. Kisses his pulse -- his ear, his jaw, his cheek.
“What'd you dream about?” Niall asks later, cuddled up under the duvet, ankles tangled together. They're holding hands. Zayn's thumb skates over the back of Niall's. The magic sparking between their skin is forget-me-not blue.
“You,” Zayn admits, just to see the way Niall smiles.
It’s cold.
Colder than Zayn’s comfortable with, but he pockets a warming charm and sucks it the fuck up. Figures he owes it to Niall to try a bit, considering how Niall’s taken to spending free time at Zayn’s house while Zayn does nothing more than Netflix and nap.
It’s a few hours out of the house, fresh air and all.
Zayn checks on the plants first, makes sure everything’s running efficiently. That’s the worst thing about winter, really. There’s nothing to force him out of the house. Not even his garden, it’s all self sufficient until it’s time to pick things. Even then he could probably do it from his bed if he was determined.
He figures he owes them the same way he owes Niall. They get lonely.
There’s a resigned air to the greenhouse. Nothing like the happy humming of summer. They’re just plants in the winter when Zayn isn’t around. He tries to touch as many of them as he can in passing, caressing leaves so they shiver delightedly.
“Yeah,” Zayn sighs, when the peppers ignore him. “I feel the same.”
The only real bright spot are the sunflowers clustered by the door. Quiet but thriving, healthy stalks and golden petals. They sigh when he touches them, showing off their color pattern. Instead of their normal ring of orange around the middle, they’re powder blue instead.
Zayn rolls his eyes so hard, he nearly hurts himself. “You’re so obvious,” he mutters, clipping three. Might as well show Niall.
The ice rink’s full when he gets there. Loads of people since it’s Saturday night. Zayn’s uncomfortable, lowkey buzz under his skin. Not the fun kind he feels with Niall, the kind that makes him want to claw at his skin until it goes away.
He sits with the engine on for a moment, palms sweating against the steering wheel, looking around for Niall. He’s off to the side, stood with the boys, group of his cousins and Louis’ friends scattered on the benches.
His hair is nearly white, matches the snow heaped on the ground. He’s wearing a pullover and that’s it, despite the fact that everyone’s breath is visible and there’s snow on the ground. Zayn’s pretty sure he’s a Jack Frost type of lad, but there’s a difference between asking someone if they’re magical and asking them if they’re the personified spirit of winter.
He hasn’t gotten around to it quite yet.
Zayn’s phone buzzes. He picks it up from the cupholder and smiles at the screen. “What?” he asks.
“Are you sitting in the car park like a creep?” Niall asks. He’s definitely looking in the direction of Zayn’s car.
Zayn flicks his fingers, the windshield wiper gives a cheeky wave. “Might be.”
“You should get your pretty arse out here,” Niall says. He’s grinning.
“C’mere first,” Zayn says. There are sunflowers on the seat next to him that’ll tell Niall everything Zayn wasn’t able to say the other day. It’s not something he wants to give away in front of so many people, though.
Niall doesn’t argue, just pockets his phone and jogs over, grinning when he tugs the door open.
“It’s hot as fuck in here,” he complains, ducking his head into Zayn’s car. Zayn has the heater blasting, that’s a fair complaint to make.
Zayn rolls his eyes and tugs him in by the front of his pullover, kissing him firmly. Niall moans quietly in surprise, settling his cold hand on Zayn’s tattoo as they kiss, thumb tracing over the petals.
“Stop that,” Zayn says, pulling back. Niall’s face is pink. “You know it drives me mad.”
“Sure do,” Niall agrees cheekily. “Why am I over here? Quick snog in the back before we go? Quickie, like…?”
“Shut up,” Zayn laughs, as Niall’s cold nose nuzzles his cheek. “Got something for you.”
“Love me some presents,” Niall says, giving Zayn space to lean back and grab the sunflowers.
It’s so transparent, it makes Zayn smile to himself. The blue on petals is the exact shade of Niall’s eyes. When Niall reaches out to touch them, the sunflowers shiver with delight. Zayn feels it all down his spine.
“They’re not usually blue like this, are they?” Niall asks, looking at Zayn.
Zayn hums. “Usually they’re like, orange.”
“So why are they blue? Special winter flowers?” Niall takes them from Zayn with the hand he’s not using for balance, and smells them, looking up at Zayn from under his lashes. Zayn tummy swoops happily.
“Nah. Think they have a thing for you.” Zayn shrugs. “Matches your eyes.”
“Are they trying to tell me something?” Niall asks, wiggling his eyebrows. He’s grinning.
“Might be,” Zayn says, shrugging. This is where he gets uncomfortable, all the words he wants to say get stuck in his throat. He stares back at Niall a bit helplessly.
Niall laughs, warm and bright like sunshine, and puts the flowers on the dash, leaning over to shut the car off.
“C’mon,” he says, kissing Zayn on the mouth again. “Let’s go skate.”
He’s great about that -- giving Zayn space, understanding that Zayn doesn’t know, or maybe he has an idea but not the words, or maybe he has the words but not the right ones, not yet. He’s great about letting Zayn be, until Zayn can figure it out for himself.
It’s fairly simple, Zayn thinks later, after they’ve done some skating and they’re both breathless from it, chasing each other around the rink. Zayn’s nearly as good as Niall is on skates, they do laps around everyone else.
Zayn corners Niall, letting himself glide slowly across the ice with Niall skating backwards, until they’re pressed against the wall around the rink, pressed together along their fonts.
Niall smells a bit sweaty, pink all over from laughing. He can’t stop giggling, even as Zayn sets about kissing him silly. He giggles during and in between and after, when Zayn pulls back and presses their foreheads together.
“I love you,” he says easily.
Finally, easily.
“I know,” Niall says, laughing and laughing and laughing. “Your sunflowers told me.”
Winter turns to spring, and it gets easier.