Work Text:
Niall is a simple name.
A simple person.
A simple boy with lots of things he likes.
Niall likes music. The way it courses through his veins, the way the soft melodies flutter around him, through him, and everywhere around him. He likes the way he can close his eyes and the music can just hum to him, telling him stories of love, loss, sadness, and happiness. He likes how he can surround himself with the music, how it understands him and how it’s his best friend.
Niall likes his guitar. He likes it’s shiny body and smooth strings and how it vibrates as he plays. He likes playing his guitar until his fingers are bleeding and calloused, he likes how the music just floats out from the slim frame of his favourite instrument, his guitar.
Niall likes food. There’s no other way to put it, he likes how the flavor explodes deliciously in his mouth, how he can just consume the tang that bursts on his tastebuds.
Niall likes his bandmates, his best friends. He likes how he can rely on Liam for serious talks, how he can always ask the older boy for advice. He likes how he can always count on Louis to make him laugh, and to get into a bit of mischief with. He likes how reliable Harry is, how the Cheshire lad can pick his moods right up with a suggestion to go to the local bar. He likes how Zayn’s eyes make him feel safe, how he can make him feel better, with just a smile or a laugh.
Niall likes Zayn. Most of all, he just likes Zayn. He likes the chocolate-caramel-honey eyes that he gets trapped in. He likes the strong hugs, the fleeting glances, the sometimes-shy smiles. Those are the smiles Niall likes the best.
Niall likes how Zayn’s eyes light up and tell a story as he sings, notes floating out of his mouth and hovering in the air, long and clear and perfect. Niall likes Zayn’s voice. He likes the way it’s husky tone is coated with a silky kind of sound, like honey or liquid sugar; the Bradford accent shining through whenever he talks. Sometimes Niall just sits and likes to get lost in Zayn’s voice, get lost in the little curves of his vowels or the little breaks between the sounds.
Sometimes, Niall likes to sit and smile at a memory of entangled limbs, milky skin contrasting with a deep olive. Niall likes to remember what it felt like to have Zayn’s lips against his neck, little butterfly breaths dancing across his hot skin. He likes to remember how soft Zayn’s lips are, caressing his own.
Niall likes to remember what it was like before all the butterfly kisses, before the gentle touches and friction of skin against skin. He blushes at how his heart thumpthumpthumpthump-ed in his chest every time Zayn would even look at him. Those were the moments when private, slightly intimate shy smiles were exchanged.
But sometimes, Niall doesn’t like to remember things. Sometimes, he thinks it’s better to just take everything in; in the moment. Take in the sweet smell of Zayn laying mere centimeters from him. Take in the loving touches of Zayn’s hands on his face. Take in the soft kisses pressed against his nose and his forehead.
Niall likes a lot of things. But being with Zayn, that’s what he likes the most.