yesterday you were here with me
it's not right. niall knows it isn't. he knows he's committing just as bad a moral crime as zayn is, or maybe even worse, since apparently he's the selfish slut who's ripping zayn away from his girlfriend here. but the thing is, niall doesn't do these things on purpose. he doesn't do it to hurt perrie, or to tear them apart, or for any reason other than experiencing the glow of zayn fucking malik loving him back.
i have no idea what i was trying to do with this, but ziall infidelity happens to be my favorite thing in the world, because of all the angst and secrets and the realism and such. i also felt like doing a fic in niall's pov for a change, and this turned out to be my headcanon even thOUGH I TRIED TO KEEP IT FROM BECOMING THAT WAY but ugh. for lara as a (very very very!!!) late birthday gift because she's perfect and i love her sfm and i haven't been giving her enough ziall welp i hope you like this bb ;_____; (zayn/niall)
--
--
zayn doesn't talk much, and niall doesn't like being part of the mass majority that assumes zayn is hiding his every emotion behind his quiet exterior, but he is. it's a fact, plain and unavoidable; zayn just isn't a talker.
not even when he's drunk. it's funny, because all of the boys have their own personality profiles when it comes to drinking. louis is the very obvious drunk, even more uninhibited than he usually is. harry's the affectionate, overly passive drunk, and sometimes he turns into this emotional mess at three in the morning. liam's the kind of drunk that just laughs at everything and agrees to nothing, blurts out confessions and poignant stories that half the time aren't even true. niall likes to think of himself as the best kind of drunk; honest and true, the classic image of someone who's had one too many shots of vodka in a night. and when zayn drinks, he drinks alot, he's not brooding or unemotional (he's just as openly showy about his affections as the rest of the boys) but he just-- he doesn't talk.
when he does talk, though, people listen. niall doesn't know if it's because they're desperate to fill up the void of his silence, or if zayn actually has the kind of words to change a nation, but people listen to him. they record every last syllable with the microphones hidden under their skin, and they play it over whenever he goes quiet again, letting the memory of his voice keep them assured. niall particularly enjoys it when zayn talks, (he enjoys it no matter what zayn's doing but this confession is in parenthesis because niall refuses to admit how pathetic he is), and he's always been a good listener.
they make a good pair that way, talking and laughing and whiling away the hours like they're nothing, and niall doesn't know what it is about zayn that makes him feel like he's seventeen again and falling in love for the first time. he knows a lot of things about zayn that the other boys don't, and he loves the satisfaction of knowing that he's the only one zayn trusts this way, like he's special, different. they've spent hours and hours into the night, lying on the bed of grass and pointing up at constellations; or on the phone, whenever they're not with each other; or online, on skype, whenever they've got an ocean or two between them; anything that it takes so that there is a constant stream of words flowing between them, anything so they're still talking no matter what the case is.
the last time they talked, zayn made niall cry.
--
(to be fair, niall may have made zayn cry too-- internally, at least, since niall hardly sees zayn cry openly, because zayn is even less of a crier than he is a talker.)
--
it starts like this, because zayn has a habit of doing something wrong and then pretending it never happened and then it makes niall angry because it did happen and why is zayn being so selfish, this isn't always just about him and he should know that by now, but niall's starting to genuinely believe that he really, really doesn't, and like--
it happens at a party behind closed doors and neither of them has the excuse of being drunk or stoned or anything of the sort, they don't have /any/ excuse, really, but zayn pretends that they do, because the next day he's swearing that it was an accident, a fucking accident, like a kiss is something that happens by accident, that these sort of things can just happen and then be ignored in the aftermath, like neither of them felt anything, and niall knows that they did but zayn denies it, denies it, and keeps denying until niall explodes and tells him, yes, he gets it, he gets that it was an accident, and the conversation stops there. further discussion about the topic doesn't happen, even though the accident repeats itself over and over, but it's always just an accident, nothing more, and for zayn it's easier that way. he doesn't stop to care about what it is for niall, and niall's not sure that he even bothers enough for that.
--
there's a reason for everything, and niall might not like the reason-- he hates it with a passion, really-- but a reason is a reason and he has no choice but to go along with it.
zayn's reason happens to be a girl with fair hair and blue eyes, and her name is perrie.
--
so he has her. he has her and he loves her and he goes home to her every night. they're photographed by the papparazzi and they're on the news and in the magazines and their pictures are viral online.
he's happy.
he says he's happy and he acts like it, and everyone believes as much, and late into the hours of the night niall catches a whiff of her perfume in zayn's hair, a stinging note of citrus and body wash and all the smells of a home. she sends him flowers and calls him when they're apart and niall doesn't bother to listen in on the slow, quiet conversations with mumured i love yous.
it's two, three in the morning, and the room smells like old sex and dirty affairs, with zayn's fingertips pressing against the small of niall's back, arms coiled around him like vines. niall's breath is lost within the space of zayn's collarbones, the body heat mottled between both of them and comforters burying their figures under the fluffy cotton.
"it's late," he whispers.
zayn doesn't reply. he nudges his face into the side of niall's neck, lips and soft warmth and niall's wondering how the fuck he finds it in himself to do this, to come in one night and lie with niall and make him feel like he's in love and then going to her the next morning and doing it all over again, like she's the only one who feels his body pressed like a branded tattoo above hers, like she's the only one who's ever clawed at his hair and bitten his shoulder and has him say "i love you" to her. like she's the only one who's ever wanted him, or loved him, or touched him and kissed him, and it's annoying-- even though zayn is clearly the fucking piece of shit who could do that to both of them and she isn't to blame at all-- it's annoying that she thinks she's the only one who owns him.
it's not right. niall knows it isn't. he knows that he's committing just as bad a moral crime as zayn is, or maybe even worse since apparently he's the selfish slut who's ripping zayn away from his girlfriend here. but the thing is, niall doesn't do these things on purpose. he doesn't do it to hurt perrie, or to tear them apart, or any reason other than experiencing the glow of zayn fucking malik loving him back.
see, niall's ninteen years old and he's overly hormonal and yeah, he likes a good fuck now and then, but surely this is something more? this is the way his heart's always beating out of time, always stuttering to fill the blood in his veins, this is the way his fingers curl almost delicately around zayn's shoulders and this is the absolute pointless hope that their filthy little secret is enough to mean that zayn loves him, in the way that he loves perrie.
niall's vaguely aware of zayn getting up from beside him, buttoning his shirt and checking his watch, muttering, "fuck, what's the time?" and talking to niall like he's not really there, like he didn't just do what he has done, like niall is supposed to feel nothing at all from these episodes, like niall is supposed to sit there and say goodbye and not even care that tonight zayn will get into his car and drive back to his apartment and lie beside the sleeping body of his girlfriend, sliding his arm around her waist and pretending that he's been there all along.
and the whole time while niall watches him get dressed he's thinking fuck you, i hate you, i hate you i hate you i fucking hate you. zayn doesn't notice the silent antagonism, not like he ever does anyway, and within five minutes he's up and ready to leave.
niall follows him by obligatory pleasantry, sees him to the door and opens it up for him, letting him out of the flat. there's a pause of two seconds, and then zayn's clearing his throat. "tuesday," he says, reading niall's mind. "i can't come tomorrow, uh, day out with-- with perrie's family, and, yeah."
niall nods, doesn't say anything for a moment. and then-- "drive safe."
"i will," zayn pulls on the lapels of his blazer, hugs his arms around himself because he's cold. "i'll see you in a couple days, then."
"okay."
zayn nods again, looks around for a moment, and then steps away. "i'll get going. i'll text, or something, on tuesday before i arrive. bye."
"bye," niall recites his lines like a puppet, doesn't say anything more because he doesn't trust himself to say the right things.
"niall? i love you," zayn says quietly. "don't ever forget that."
niall nods one last time, his eyes burning onto the back of zayn's head as the black-haired boy turns and walks away, not looking back once. once he's out of earshot, niall slams the door with the last of his strength, bolts it tight, and mutters, "you fucking liar."
--
the other boys find out eventually.
four or five months down the road when the band is on tour and they're all sleeping in the same bus and these sort of things don't just happen, okay, even with zayn's vehement protests and desperate attempts at covering up for his stupid dirty mess, the boys still find out and there's the inital shock and arguments and "i can't believe you've been hiding something like this from us, you're our best mates, there's a sanctity to that, you know," from liam, eventually things settle down enough for them to discuss it rationally.
louis tells them it's dangerous, and they should stop, and niall doesn't say that he can't just stop from falling in love with zayn malik, goddamit.
harry tells them that perrie's going to find out eventually, and zayn's his best friend and all, but he's being a dick for doing this to her, and niall doesn't say that if perrie breaks up with zayn he'll still have niall, and maybe things will finally work out well.
liam tells them to do what they want, but be careful with how far they're taking this, and niall doesn't say that he wants to take this as far as he possibly can, he wants everything from zayn and he doesn't give a shit about the actual consequenecs.
zayn tells everyone that it's an accident, and they should all stop worrying so much, and niall doesn't say that it wasn't an accident, it's not a fucking accident and everyone knows as much.
niall says, "i'm tired," and he heads into the room where he lies down alone on the bed and pretends to be asleep until the boys leave the bus an hour later.
--
it starts slowly, with niall "forgetting" to comb up his sex hair or "jokingly" sending innuendos to zayn while they're performing on stage. and then it leads up to more serious things, like sitting on his lap during interviews and refusing to change his seat, or kissing the patch of his skin beside his mouth in front of their fans, sending both a flush of heat and and livid disbelief rushing up the boy's face.
they're sitting on the long couch, with liam dutifully answering questions, and niall's been examining zayn's fingers for a while now, tracing the back of his hand with calloused fingertips and zayn's shot him one or two warning glances, but niall doesn't care because if zayn's going to play this game, then niall doesn't mind changing up the rules every now and then. the interviewer's voice is a drone, fading into the background as the cameras record every movement, and niall feels zayn's body vibrate with forced laughter at whatever stupid pun one of the boys make. and then he's tilting his head down, glancing at niall and he knows that this is wrong, he knows that he's taking far too great of a risk with this but for a second niall can't focus on anything else, and then he's leaning up and catching the shocked curve of zayn's frozen lips with his own, and--
"what the fuck were you doing back there?" zayn shouts at niall, after a heated conversation on the phone with their managers, and perrie, and a few other people niall doesn't care about. "it's like you're not even thinking anymore!"
niall shrugs, doesn't reply. he was thinking, truth is, but he was thinking all the wrong things at the wrong time, and he's developed too much of a careless attitude the past few weeks. zayn storms around the room a while more, rips up a few sheets of paper, and then turns to glare at niall. "i know what this is about, okay, but shit, niall, you know i'm not going to break up with perrie for you."
niall shrugs again, looks down at his feet like zayn's words didn't sting him.
"look," zayn says, and he pauses because he's never been much of a talker and he doesn't know how to string words together. "look, niall. i get it, yeah. i get that you feel horrible and i'm a right prick for doing this to you, and trust me, i feel even worse about it, alright, and i know you're mad and-- and this is completely unfair to you but right now you gotta understand that-- that i have perrie and there's a lot of things going on in my life at the same time, and fuck, you're not even listening to me!"
niall sighs, gets up from the worn couch and dusts his jeans off. "what does it matter? it was an accident, wasn't it? you're making too much of a big deal out of nothing."
zayn stares hard at him for a few moments. niall waits for him to lose his temper, waits for him to explode and yell and insist that this is different, that some things are an accident and some things just aren't, but he just pinches the bridge of his nose and he says quietly, "yeah. yeah, alright. it was an accident, niall, let's just-- let's forget about it," and somehow, niall feels like this is a whole lot worse.
--
it's two hours before midnight and niall is at perrie's house early, sitting moodily in zayn's car outside an austere mansion, white walls and fairy lights and the delighted giggles of a birthday girl.
zayn's smoking a cigarette, looking out at the constant stream of guests arriving at the edward's and releasing ribbons of gray smoke through the window. there's some horrible nasal pop ballad blasting from inside the house, and niall fidgets around and feels like saying something.
"i didn't have to come."
"the whole band was invited," zayn replies, glances at niall for a moment. "you're part of one direction, aren't you?"
"but i hate perrie. i hope she doesn't live long enough to celebrate her next birthday."
zayn lets out an amused smile, exhales the cigarette smoke. "you don't mean that."
niall scowls, looks away. his fingers tighten around the gift that he's brought, a ruffled pink dress that zayn picked out and insisted that niall give to her. it's wrapped in shiny satin ribbons (by zayn, obviously, because niall refuses to lift a finger for that girl), and right now is weighing down on his lap.
zayn finishes his cigarette, tosses it into the ash tray that's conveniently built into the car to accomodate his bad habit, and by silent agreement they get up and out of the car, walking side by side toward the porch steps. they're dressed in matching suits, and niall supposes it would be cute, if they weren't at the birthday party of zayn's damn girlfriend. perrie invites them in, throwing her arms around zayn and flinging countless kisses onto him, while niall pastes a smile onto his face and counts ten heartbeats before they finally break apart. zayn nods at niall to go ahead and find the other boys while he spends time with perrie, and niall throws a disgusted look at the two of them before hurrying into one of the empty back rooms.
the party goes the way that most parties go; music and laughter and too many drinks. an hour passes and niall is nearly drunk, the slow burn of vodka scorching the back of his throat. zayn's lounging on the couch with perrie, and niall's sitting at the table with harry, wondering when he'll get to go home.
by the time they finally get round to cutting the birthday cake, niall's belly is floating around his body, bouyed by fruit bunch and alcohol and an unavoidable pang at watching perrie and zayn together. they sing the stupid song, and as stupid songs go, niall has never heard it sung more stupidly in his life. finally perrie blows out the candle, smiling as everyone erupts into cheers, and jesus fucking christ, niall prays for a nuclear bomb to be dropped in on them all, so that the pain can end, and the mess, and everything.
perrie disappears and appears again fifteen minutes later wearing the dress that zayn bought her. they dance around the room and niall spends the rest of three hours moping around and secretly smearing birthday cake over all the new designer clothes in perrie's wardrobe. when finally-- finally-- they set out to leave, niall's the first one in the car, hopping around and urging zayn to get him the fuck out of there.
"this was a waste of my time," he grumbles, but not really because at least he ruined perrie's new clothes, right.
"i'll make up for it," zayn says, giving him a small smile. niall doesn't say anything for the entire drive back home.
that night zayn sucks niall off on his knees as a very sincere apology.
--
all endings have a beginning, and this particular ending starts when niall decides to lie to zayn for the first time in his life.
he says there will be no cameras.
he says there will be no papparazzi.
he says he wants to kiss zayn at the beach just before midnight, for the sheer poetic sense of it.
zayn looks around, furtive eyes trying to figure out what niall's on about, but eventually gives in. his lips taste like salt water and innocence.
niall smiles into the kiss, knowing that nearby, a camera flash is going off.
--
zayn finds out a week later; too late, because the pictures are already circulating the internet. the argument with perrie is explosive, because this is the third time he's been caught kissing niall in public and according to her, three times is one too many to be an accident anymore. she hangs up on him, crying, and niall remains silent in the next room as zayn throws things around and swears his lungs out.
--
"you knew," he says in a coldly furious voice that night at the dinner table. "you fucking planned this."
niall shrugs, looks down at his plate flatly, picking at the mashed potatoes with a fork. "it was an accident."
--
zayn sleeps at the flat that harry and louis share, and niall doesn't see or hear from him for two days. harry says that he's just cooped up in the room, refusing to come out no matter how many times they knock.
niall doesn't feel bad, and it's strange because he's just wrecked a relationship, simultaneously broken two hearts with one move, and he knows that he's probably ruined all chances of being with zayn, and zayn will never forgive him for this, he /knows/. but for some reason, it doesn't click in yet.
he lies on the couch in one of the spare t-shirts zayn left behind, curled up into a fetal position. his fingers dig into the side of the sofa like flesh, zayn's flesh, and he wonders why zayn hasn't come around yet.
it's two, three, four, five days later, and niall is still numb. he keeps waiting for zayn to walk in and forgive him, but he never does.
two weeks pass by and niall loses track of time. he tries calling zayn, but he never picks up. he tries going over to the flat, but zayn won't come out of the room until niall leaves. after fourteen days of trying to get zayn to talk, shout, swear, do /anything/ to him, he gets tired and gives up.
he doesn't know how long it'll take to get used to being alone.
--
zayn texts him at one in the morning, fingers clumsy with alcohol. he says he wants to talk, but it's too late and niall is too tired and too numb to figure out what he wants.
so he does the next easiest thing. he doesn't reply.
--
zayn comes around finally, showing up at niall's apartment early in the morning, waking him up by blaring the doorbell through the house.
niall opens up, sees zayn standing there, and doesn't react.
zayn opens his mouth, looks like he's going to say something but then closes it again. "it wasn't an accident," he says quietly, after a moment. "it never was."
niall nods. says, "thank you for telling me," and then shuts the door.
--
zayn's never been much of a talker, but when he talks people listen. niall will never know if it's because they want to fill up the void of his silence, or if he really has the words to change a nation.
it took seven words for zayn to make niall cry.
--