Work Text:
this is the place where i feel at home
when zayn first tested out of college, his family had been ecstatic.
finally, someone in the family who was going to do something big with their life! with a father that worked so hard for so little after dropping out of school himself and a mother that had too many children too young, there was a lot of room for improvement in the area of education where they were all concerned. they saw zayn as a god send, their perfect child come to redeem the things they had lost.
so when he started applying for university, getting into manchester right away, they thought things would continue on the same path. maybe some sort of mathematics or scientific degree. maybe he’d studying english more. he always had been a big reader and he dabbled in writing. teaching was a fine career these days. he could work at a college!
he was so smart, so absolutely brilliant in their eyes, they assumed he could do anything he set his mind to.
the shock of their lives was when he told them he was majoring in arts.
painting, nonetheless.
he was using his college education, the one he had worked so hard to begin early, for the development of his hobby.
their disappointment was glaring. it was scathing to him, so obvious and unabashed that he could almost feel ashamed of his decision.
that never stopped him as he packed all of his childhood things away and moved into a dorm room at the start of his first term, however. zayn had never been about making decisions to please anyone else. he did as he pleased and made himself happy, first and foremost.
he remembered studying philosophy in school. in the beginning, he had found it dreadfully boring and a bit obvious. someone old putting a common life lesson into fancy words and passing it off as genius. he just thought of it all as a crock, mostly. anyone could do that.
this mindset had him creating his own philosophies. he had taken to scrawling them at the top of homework assignments or in the corners of notebook pages. little notes and reminders to get him through the day or the next week or maybe even entire school years. some of them would last him for life, even if he didn’t realize it at the time.
one of his favorites, and the one that left his university decisions easily made, without regret or hesitation, was one he had written right before he had taken his final exams to rid himself of standard schooling.
‘our gifts are what make life worth living. why spend our time doing anything that does not bring us complete peace?’
painting was all zayn had ever loved.
he loved running a brush across a canvas and showing the world what he could only see inside of his mind. he liked the smell of paint when he first opened a can or tube and he loved the feel of a new brush across his finger tips. the rough surface of a clean canvas was more familiar to him then the feel of human skin that was not his own and he preferred a life that way.
he wanted to know his art better than anything in the world and manchester would do that for him. something inside of him just knew, without any reason or guidance, that it was where he was meant to be and what he was meant to be doing.
despite his family, or their disappointment. he was finding his peace, at last.
....
except there was a variable to the equation that zayn hadn’t, and could not, account for.
niall.
with his swirling, impossible eyes and his messy hair and stupid hats and tank tops, he was everything that zayn had always warned himself away from. he was all the things that zayn avoided in school because it was a distraction.
it wasn’t safe.
zayn didn’t do dangerous.
but niall was impossible to avoid. he had a laugh so loud it could be heard clear down a hallway. he was always within a one mile radius for the first two months that zayn lived in the dorms and he wasn’t sure how it was possible but somehow they managed to run into each other at every possible interval. on the way to shower, heading to class, heading back to their rooms.
niall was always ready with a smile, teeth gleaming in ever possible light, and a quick “hiya zayn!” like this small interaction was the highlight of his day.
they started to become the best part of zayn’s.
he would wake up in the morning, knowing exactly how long it would take him to shower, dress, and be heading to class to meet niall halfway to his first period as well. he knew exactly where they would intersect and he was unfailingly timely each and every weekday morning.
and niall would beam at him, forgetting the ridiculous hour, and zayn’s day would appear a little less bleak, a little less dreary, and a lot easier to manage. at least until he could see niall again, in the courtyard as they made their way through their days without each other.
they were nothing, not even really friends, but zayn didn’t have any friends anyway. he didn’t have a need for them. friends weren’t going to get him through school. friends weren’t going to pay his bills someday. he had focus and drive and friends were a distraction from the task at hand.
he had to concentrate, put all his efforts into his school work and his art work, and not worry about the people around him that were doing the same (or, in some cases, doing the opposite).
but then niall would appear, twinkling eyes and all, and zayn would wonder.
could one distraction really hurt all that much?
once allowed, niall horan would be an unnervingly loyal friend.
....
the first time zayn invited him to hang out, nervous and fumbling and full of regret, niall had been so excited that zayn wondered if he was completely oblivious to how idiotic zayn was in the first place.
“any real plans or can i make a suggestion?” he asked, like he had been waiting for this opportunity all of his life.
zayn was grateful for that because, “no, no real plans. what’s your idea?”
then there was mischief in those eyes that he wanted to stare at until the image was burned into the back of his mind. he wanted to make murals in their honor.
he was being completely ridiculous.
“you’ll see! i’ll meet you at your door at… seven tonight. wear something cool.” he suggested (ordered?) before turning and heading off with a wave and a “later!” called over his shoulder, on to his next big step.
everything for niall seemed to be one second to the next. first it was ‘walk through the dorms’ and then it was ‘hand in analysis paper’. he lived inside each little moment, took it all in, and not looking too far ahead.
it was far too easy to miss things around him and he liked to see things. really see them. not glance at them as he passed by, but take them in and understand them.
maybe that was why zayn malik fascinated him so much. zayn was confusing for him. no matter how many times he looked, how many glances he was given, he didn’t really get him. he couldn’t see through him like he could with other people.
zayn was unreadable. he was closed, shut tight and locked up.
niall wanted to get it. he wanted to understand this, because it wasn’t familiar to him. this was uncharted territory.
maybe it was his personality, always so open and willing to do anything, that made people so carefree around him. or maybe he had just always encountered carefree people.
whatever the case, he liked a challenge.
....
the first time niall and zayn saw each other intentionally, when there was no rush and no class to attend within minutes, it was at a bar near campus.
niall had been at zayn’s door when promised, snapback perched on his head as always, and zayn felt strange standing there in his plaid and leather, like the two of them clashed awkwardly.
niall barely gave him a cursory glance before tilting his head and starting to walk, silently signalling for zayn to follow. “don’t freak, alright? i don’t know what kind of scene you’re into, but i promise a fun night.”
zayn honestly believed him, somehow. he wasn’t sure, because clearly they were vastly different people, but he got the feeling that he wouldn’t actually mind niall’s particular brand of ‘fun’. he felt the tightness of nervous excitement twist his stomach for the first time in what could have been years.
maybe he just needed to get out more.
whatever the case, they ended up in a bar that was full of drunk college students. niall found a corner table and zayn was glad because it was almost as if they had stepped inside their own little bubble. it was possible for him to observe all the mayhem and partying happening around them but not actively be involved.
maybe niall was more intuitive then zayn had once assumed.
“this alright?” niall asked before he sat down, eyes probing zayn’s face in a way that almost made him uncomfortable. it was as if he expected zayn to lie or something and he was going to seek the truth out one way or another.
zayn nodded, taking a seat and surveying the bar casually. he fixated on a girl leaning across the bar, chatting up the bartender. he seemed interested in whatever it was she was saying and zayn wondered idly if they had some sort of connection.
this was what he did.
in any social situation, zayn found a point of observation and locked in. he focused all of his energy on what was happening in that moment, the moment far from him, and painted pictures in his mind about the background about them. it was how he had coped through school, gotten through long days and avoided boredom or interaction of any kind. it was a hard habit to break, and he wasn’t even really trying to.
“so, you’re an art major of some kind, right?” niall asked suddenly, already waving toward a waitress that was strolling around casual.
zayn watched as she noticed him and just nodded, not even coming over to take their order before heading to the bar. he smiled a little at the question. “some kind, yeah.” he agreed, looking down at the table.
“what kind of art do you do?” niall asked now, because apparently he was actually interested.
or maybe he didn’t like awkward silences.
“i paint.” zayn told him, thinking about the blank canvas waiting in his room for when he got back from whatever this was. he had challenged himself to find some sort of inspiration from this night.
niall hummed thoughtful but at that moment, the waitress came over and set two beers down on the table. “how ya doin’ nialler?” she asked, all casual.
“not shabby, not shabby at all.” he responded, beaming up at her. she gave his shoulder a pat before heading off to clean a table and zayn couldn’t help but look at niall wistfully.
“so are you a regular?” zayn asked, because he figured that was a safe question. he was looking at niall now, the way his eyes seemed to look different in the dim lights of the bar, versus the sunlight or the lights of the dorm hall.
he might have found his inspiration.
niall was smirking at him now, a look that said so much that zayn couldn’t understand at all.
“i’m irish. i’m a regular in every bar.”
zayn wasn’t completely sure he was joking.
....
that night, zayn painted swirling blues and greens that meant absolutely nothing to anyone but him. it was the best thing he had painted in weeks.
....
after the first time, their daily routines seemed to change. walks in opposite directions turned into walks together from class to class when time allowed. niall was never in a hurry to do anything, it seemed, and he was always appearing at zayn’s side, as if from no where.
not even two days after their night at the bar, niall showed up at zayn’s bedroom door with a bag of chinese takeaway and his text books.
“i was hoping maybe if i bribed you with food, i could get a quiet place to study?” the sentence ended in a question and there was an uncertain furrow to niall’s eyebrows that was completely uncharacteristic of him.
“how do you know it’ll be quiet here?” zayn asked, but niall just smiled and zayn let him inside.
they split the food, but zayn ended up giving niall half of his eggroll over niall’s history notes.
this continued for weeks. nights at the bar where trixy, niall’s favorite waitress friend, would give them free drinks. sometimes they studied in zayn’s room. other nights they’d sit in niall’s room with never-ending bowls of popcorn and shitty movies that niall claimed where “the greatest bits of cinema that were never appreciated”. they were honestly just terrible, but zayn didn’t have the heart to tell him that.
zayn continued to paint swirls and senseless color. niall continued to ask questions that seemed boring to zayn.
why did he start painting? (to get out of his own head sometimes. or maybe further inside of it.)
who was his favorite painter? (he had to pick just one?)
what did he want to do after school? (something about a ‘struggling artist’ is inherently sexy, right?)
one night, when they were supposed to be studying but had ended up laying out on zayn’s bed, niall’s head on zayn’s stomach as zayn tossed skittles into his mouth periodically, niall asked a question zayn wasn’t sure he could answer honestly.
“the painting in the corner, with the swirls and the blue…”
zayn tensed and there was no way niall didn’t feel the difference.
“what inspired that?”
zayn stayed quiet, letting the bag of skittles fall from his hand and lay motionless on the mattress beside him. he looked down at niall, who was staring at the ceiling, and a knot formed around his heart.
if he scared niall away now, he wasn’t sure he’d ever open up again. all the questions, all the things he hadn’t thought important before, came flooding back in a moment of terror and he realized he had shared things he had kept to himself for years.
he didn’t want to lose that. that flicker of hope he felt when he saw niall every morning. the way his heart stuttered when niall looked like he approved of anything zayn did or said. he wanted that more than anything else, and that realization shook him to his core because he was almost positive that he was moments away from losing it all.
then niall was sitting up, looking down at him instead, and his eyes were intense. there was a seriousness there that wasn’t niall at all, like he had aged years in the seconds between catching skittles and that very moment.
“i’ve only ever dated girls.” he said suddenly, much to zayn’s shock. “i’ve only ever liked girls. pretty standard, i thought.” he looked toward the corner, toward the painting, and zayn held his breath, waiting. “you confuse me, zayn. i don’t like that.”
and that…. that was probably the worst thing he could have said.
“no one said you had to be here.” zayn reminded him, coming off meeker then he had intended. he had expected a sharp edge to his voice, but it just wasn’t there.
probably because his words were a lie. he wanted niall to be there. he needed him there.
niall’s features softened and he nodded. “you’re right. no one did.” he agreed, lying down once more and picking up the skittles. “it’s great, by the way. submit it to that art fair going on next month. everyone should see that.”
zayn might have fallen in love at that moment, but he didn’t know it. not yet.
....
niall hadn’t been lying either. he was firmly, completely, truly straight. girlfriends, one night stands, friends with benefits… all female, all the time. that was how it had always been, since he had realized that the female body was something nice to look at.
but zayn had a curve to his spine that niall wanted to trace. he had a jaw line that niall wanted to get to know better. his eyes were dark and mysterious and niall needed to know the things that went on behind them.
zayn twisted him up inside. he made him feel things he didn’t think he was supposed to. not for zayn, at least.
he had always expected this someday. the feeling of complete satisfaction, like the person that had just walked into your life could stay forever and you’d be content that way for as long as they’d have you. like you’d take every single day of forever with them and never regret a single second of it.
like the air you were sharing was the most precious thing in this world because it meant that another second had gone by that they were yours and you were theirs.
he had always dreamed of it. always wanted something so certain and right and unique.
he wanted to know how that felt.
and now that he did…
how was he supposed to know how to love zayn the way zayn deserved?
....
zayn submitted the painting like niall told him to. when he handed it over to the art director for the gallery, the man had given it such a long, critical look that zayn had wanted to rip it from his hands.
but then this man, who couldn’t possibly understand what this piece meant, just smiled and nodded. “you really meant this one.” and then he was taking it away to be labeled and hung, displayed among dozens of others that were far better, that made much more sense.
but he had. he had really meant it.
....
niall went to the galleries opening night. he walked around, looking at the other artists, seeing what zayn was up against in this world. he wanted to see inside zayn’s life, if only for a night. they spent so much time in niall’s world, doing what niall loved, and zayn seemed content there.
maybe it was niall’s turn to do some reaching. maybe he needed to learn to grow a little too.
the painting was surrounded by other distinct, different paintings like it. abstract, strange, a little hard to understand. it hung toward the center of it’s display, blues and greens and flecks of gold standing out boldly.
he stood there for so long that he lost track of time, tracing the brush strokes and the patterns, learning the painting and memorizing it so he could see it in his mind whenever he wanted.
it’s name caught his eye just as he was turning to walk away and he left smiling.
....
when he got back to zayn’s room that night, impossibly late and too obvious to be for many other reasons, zayn looked wary but not upset.
“i went by the gallery.” he confessed, because zayn had already told him he never went to see his own pieces being examined.
zayn didn’t seem surprised by the admission, just shrugging and continuing to type away at the essay he was writing for one of his classes.
niall watched him as he sat down on the bed, watched his fingers fly across the keys and his eyes flicker from his text book back to his screen, over and over. watched how concentrated he was.
“‘regular’, huh?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence again.
zayn’s hands froze and he looked up at niall finally, one eyebrow arched in a silent question.
“y’know… i’ve only ever been girls.” niall tried again, needing to do this right for once.
because he needed to continue to share the same space as zayn, for as long as zayn would allow, and he needed to do it the right way.
“i’ve never been with a girl in my damn life.” zayn interrupted, adding in this very important detail.
“yeah, risky business.” niall warned, shrugging a little. “i think i’m over it.” he added, smirking a little.
zayn returned the smile slowly, turning in his desk chair to look at niall full on now. “that so?”
nodding, niall stood up and went over to the desk, pushing aside a notebook to perch on the edge, his leg bumping against zayn’s as he did. “i think i might have found something i like better. just kind of fits, y’know?”
zayn nodded, because he knew. in a world full of mismatched edges and uncertain parts that collided and crashed against another in a battering ram fashion, leaving everything broken in it’s wake, he knew what niall was feeling right now.
it was nice to fit, for once.