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Niall sighs exasperatedly as he looks at himself in the mirror. He knows he looks good, can’t deny how much he likes the outfit he’s wearing. Designed by Oliver Spencer which he guesses is fitting since he’s attending the fashion show in a couple of hours.
He likes the the casual fit and cut, the feel of the fabric, how smooth and cool it feels against his skin. He definitely likes the colour because the dark blue material makes the colour of his eyes brighter, reminding him of the sky he can see outside his window. An endless stretch of bright azure, cloudless and perfect, the very epitome of a hot summer’s day in London.
Niall really likes everything about his outfit, there’s just one problem.
He hates wrinkles.
He can see the offending little creases running across the bottom of his shirt and at this point Niall is willing to blame the fabric because the pants and shirt had been wrinkle free when delivered to his house that morning. Unfortunately that thought does nothing to soothe the light frown lines currently crisscrossing Niall’s forehead as he stares at his reflection in his mirror.
“Wouldn’t have this problem if Harry was here” he grumbles vocally at his reflection. Can’t help but think about how, if Harry was here listening to Niall grumble about his offensive creases, he’d stop whatever he was doing and make his way over to Niall.
How he’d press every inch of himself against Niall’s back while mouthing at the pale skin stretched across the curve of his neck as he unbuttoned Niall’s shirt from behind. How he’d slowly pull the shirt off Niall’s shoulders with one hand while using the other to turn Niall’s head so he could get to Niall’s mouth, kissing him so thoroughly before licking into his mouth.
How heated the kiss had become, how easily Harry could turn Niall into a breathless mess with a need for more before stepping away from Niall with a teasing grin. The sound of Niall’s frustration at being lead on mingling easily with the soft tone of Harry’s laugh as he made his way over to Niall’s ironing board.
The way he’d switch the iron on and use it to smooth out the creases with a practiced ease before making his way back to Niall. The feel of Harry’s hands on his skin as he helped Niall’s back into his shirt, buttoning it up and smoothing the material while whispering “So fucking pretty you are sunshine” into his ear before biting on his earlobe, making Niall blush all shades of red as he hip checks Harry away from him with a laugh….
Niall stops when he realises what he’s doing, feels his cheeks heat up at the combination of words that had tumbled out of his mouth and lead to Niall becoming wrapped up in thoughts of him. Feels his stomach twist slowly like a Ferris wheel at the thought of Harry because if he’s honest with himself, he’s been trying not to think about Harry and he hasn’t exactly been successful in avoiding them.
It’s been six months since One Direction decided to embark on a hiatus and Niall can’t help that he feels a little lost, a little melancholy when his mind is suddenly, unexpectedly filled with thoughts of Harry. It doesn’t help that he’s had zero contact with him, six months of nothing.
No text conversations or phone calls or requests to Skype or FaceTime. Niall fucking hates how much he feels like a fan who’s infatuated with every aspect of Harry while anxiously following Harry on every social media platform just to keep up with him.
Niall knows he shouldn’t feel like this, fuck they’re in the same boyband for god’s sake. They’ve spent minutes and hours and long days together, even longer nights tangled up in each other with all five senses intoxicated by each other’s touch, smell and feel.
How the hell they went from being each other’s definition of happiness to nothing makes everything inside of him hurt. A stinging kind of heartache that Niall has unfortunately become familiar with since his brain and mouth has decided to spew out Harry related answers to everything that immediately sends him into a downwards spiral of “Harry, Harry, Harry” thoughts.
Niall can’t even find it in himself to put all the blame on Harry, knows it’s just as much his fault for not keeping their lines of communication open. He did run away to Thailand after all, thinking that Harry would understand how much he needed to become invisible, how much he needed time to just stop, pause and breath.
Not a single damn response or message from Harry pretty much said it all.
It’s just so easy for Niall to get lost in the memory of Harry doing something so simple, like teaching Niall how to iron his clothes. He knows most people would think he’s being ridiculous, in fact Louis would tease him relentlessly if he knew. Niall didn’t care, especially now since Niall could see his bed in the mirror, which made the memory even harder to ignore.
Niall can recall the image of Harry in that bed. How he’d been lying on his stomach with his arms wrapped around a pillow and the sheets barely covering the curve of his ass and impossibly long legs. How the soft morning light coming through the open window beside Niall’s bed had illuminated every inch of Harry’s skin, highlighting the dips and curves and splatterings of dark ink like a caress because the sun was just as infatuated with this gorgeous person lounging in that bed as he was.
His long silken hair loose around his face, his eyes a clear and remarkably light shade of emerald green. The way he had watched Niall stumble around the room self-consciously and the dizzying heat Niall had felt rush through every inch of him from the feel of Harry’s gaze, on him.
The sound of Harry’s voice and the sweet, irresistible tone of his soft laughter as Niall had complained about a wrinkled T-shirt that had lead to one very naked Harry Styles pressed against a shirtless Niall Horan in front of an ironing board as he showed Niall what to do between stolen kisses..
Niall shakes his head once again, not wanting to recall what came next because as much as he missed Harry, intimate thoughts of him and Harry still made his body hum with a need, a consuming fire that six months of separation had not quashed. Even now he could feel himself stirring at the thought of Harry, naked and Niall refused to go down that well-used path of explicit thoughts that lead to a hot, self-pleasuring hand job that left Niall breathless with a bitter taste in his mouth.
It’s too much Niall thinks and quite fucking frankly he’s had enough of being consumed by these constant, needy thoughts of Harry so he does what he never could do before. He sits on the edge of his bed, picks up his phone and dials Harry’s number. Listens as it ring once before his call is answered and a familiar voice is speaking into his ear.
“Niall?”.
"Hey Haz” Niall fucking stammers into his phone, his heart beginning to beat rapidly inside his chest.
"Niall? Shit one second ok, just please don’t hang up” Harry answers as Niall nods as he looks at his reflection.
He’s aware of the background noise coming through the phone, can hear the soft french jazz music playing. The sound of laughter and conversation as Harry speaks to someone in french, knows he’s excusing himself from wherever he is because soon Niall can hear nothing, just the soft exhales of Harry breathing and the click of a door being closed.
"Niall?”.
"My shirt has wrinkles”.
"You rang me because your shirt has creases in it?”.
"Yes because I’m going to this fashion show today, Oliver Spencer and he sent me an outfit to wear and there’s creases in the shirt Harry. Little fucking creases and it made me think of you and how you would iron my shirts for me, even though you showed me how to I still preferred you ironing my shirts” Niall answers rapidly, a flurry of words falling his mouth in quick succession.
"Oliver Spencer? Love his shirts and his shoes are incredible, stylish yet very comfortable” Harry rambles away in a tone thats entirely too comforting to Niall’s ears. He can’t allow himself to be distracted from what he needs to say.
"Why aren’t you here with me so you can iron my shirts Harry?”.
"Niall….”.
"You should be here with me Harry” Niall says slowly,
"Ni” Harry tries again but Niall cuts him off mid-sentence.
"Six months of nothing Harry, no texts or phone calls, I thought I meant something to you Harry, I thought we had something” Niall continues because now that he’s started this conversation he’s going to say everything he needs to say before he regrets it.
"I put the creases in your shirts”.
And well Niall was not expecting that for a response.
You what?”.
"When our laundry would get delivered to our hotel rooms I’d take your clothes and roll them into balls so they’d be all creased then fold them up again” Harry confesses slowly once again except Niall’s brain is still having trouble processing what Harry is saying.
Niall remembers it all too clearly of course. His endless supply of creased laundry while on their OTRA tour, how he had voiced his annoyance between huffs and short mutterings of Gaeilge. How his responses had made Harry cackle with glee, the gentle teasing from Harry because Niall couldn’t iron his clothes and his decision to teach Niall. How it had been the worst idea Harry ever come up with and how they had almost set their hotel room on fire because they were unable to keep their hands off each other.
Niall was still confused.
"But why?”.
"Because I’m a domesticated fool who took pleasure in ironing your clothes and helping you back into them” Harry sighs into Niall’s ear, "Because tour life was so crazy and doing that simple little task for you made me happy. Waking up with you and being with you and realising how my happiness was all wrapped up in you made everything not so crazy”.
"Harry….”.
"I’m in France filming a Christopher Nolan movie and I should be focused on that but I’m not. Six months of denial hasn’t changed anything, can’t go a single day without thinking about you or missing you” Harry confesses as Niall closes his eyes, feels his heartbeat kick up a notch at the thought of their mutual neediness for each other.
Just because it’s what his heart wants doesn’t mean Niall is going to forgive Harry so easily.
"You could have called or texted you know, you should have called or texted me” Niall can’t help but say it, knows he needs to say it as he hears Harry sigh again.
"I wanted too, so many times I just wasn’t brave enough”.
"Haz”.
"I’m sorry”.
"You’re still the source of my happiness too”.
"Really?”.
Niall can’t help but laugh, a warm bubbly little laugh that escapes out of his lips. Feels the same giddy kicks of delight in the pit of his stomach that he’d felt as he had rushed around the hotel room with Harry’s gaze firmly locked on him.
God Niall adores this boy so much.
"Absolutely”.
Harry’s delighted little chuckle in response is music to Niall’s ears.
"Ok as much as I’d really like to continue this conversation we’re filming a scene so I probably should go” Harry says, lowering his voice to a whisper.
"Oh my fucking god Harry!”
"Ssh it’s fine”.
"But what about the creases in my shirt?”. Niall still isn’t happy about his shirt as he frowns yet again at his image in the mirror.
"Fuck everyone, wear it creased and when you come home put all your wrinkled clothing into a suitcase and book a one-way ticket to France”.
"One way?”.
"Yes”.
"Ok”.
And thats exactly what Niall did.
~Fin~