oh god, i wrote ziall fic
Basically, One Direction & Henry James ruined my life and crushed my soul. This fic is the result.
Between the Lines
Characters/Pairings: Zayn/Niall with appearances from all the other boys.
Summary: Zayn likes to read and Niall likes to tease him about it, until one time he doesn't.
Wordcount ~3,000 words
Disclaimer: I do not own either One Direction or Henry James. All quotes are from Portrait of a Lady.
Note: MASSIVE THANK YOU to Lindsay for putting on the super chic Editor Pants for me, and for not laughing in my face when I told her my fic was about Zayn reading Henry James. Seriously, thank you. xx
Zayn feels as though the book is staring down at him rather than the other way around.
Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
He can’t explain why this particular book seems to be calling his name except that, when you’re at the mini Waterstone’s at Heathrow, you don’t have a lot of choice. On top of that, Paul is standing just outside the store, gesturing for him to hurry up. None of the other boys had wanted to stop at the bookstore, what a surprise. He knows Louis will never shut up if they’re all delayed because he lost track of time browsing books. So he pulls Portrait of a Lady off the shelf, and that’s the end of it.
“This young lady had been seated alone with a book. To say she was so occupied is to say that her solitude did not press upon her; for her love of knowledge had a fertilizing quality and her imagination was strong.”
At the hotel the next day, Zayn is the only one in the guys’ common suite. He’s curled up in one corner of the couch, just getting into Portrait of a Lady and savoring this rare stillness in the middle of the day, stillness that’s soon interrupted by the sound of a key in the door.
Niall bounces in and it’s like the whole room clicks into motion. He’s flopping down on the couch, crowding in next to Zayn (even though there’s an entire couch free), pulling at the book to see what he’s reading. He’s so close Zayn can tell Niall’s just brushed his teeth, the mint cutting though him with a sharp chill.
Niall simultaneously laughs and wrinkles his nose at Zayn’s reading material.
“Henry James? Seriously man, you are SO weird.”
“Seriously man, do you even know who Henry James is?”
“He’s dead, that’s who he is.” Niall pronounces authoritatively, sticking his tongue out and leaning his head on the back of the couch. Zayn takes the opportunity to smack him with the book. It’s 700 pages, so it makes an impact.
“Is he dead? You sure about that?”
“Aaargh! That thing’s a fucking monster and a weapon!” Niall clutches at his head.
“Be glad it wasn’t hardback,” but even as he’s saying it, Zayn’s reaching over to ruffle Niall’s hair, then smooths it back down.
“That shit is like a million pages long.” Niall grumbles. “Why would you even try? It’s gonna take you ages to finish it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Zayn drawls, letting his hand drop to the back of the couch, just next to Niall’s head. “It’s pretty tough to get through it when some lunatic won’t stop talking to me.” Niall tries to glare at him, but his face breaks into a grin instead.
“Calling me a lunatic, huh?” Now it’s Zayn’s turn to try and fail at glaring. The two of them just end up making goofy faces at each other. It probably only goes on for a minute, but it feels like much longer. All Zayn really knows is that he feels like the lunatic now because he’s contorting his face into silly expressions mostly in an effort to suppress a stupidly happy smile.
“Alright, alright!” Niall bursts out. “I’m starved. I thought there was food in here, but apparently this room is just your personal library or whatever. I’ll leave you and your boyfriend Henry James alone,” and he actually makes kissing noises before jumping up from the couch. Zayn bursts out laughing, he can’t help himself.
Nor can he stop himself from reaching out, from wrapping his hand around Niall’s wrist, preventing him from leaving just yet. Niall looks down at Zayn with the hint of a question in his eye. Neither of them say anything, the silence stretching out between them for a long moment. But then Niall’s typical smile returns. He half-laughs, half-shrugs before breaking Zayn’s grasp and bounding out of the room again.
Zayn lets his body sink into the couch, allowing himself to lie there-almost boneless-just for a second, before diving back into his book. He’s feeling unusually light-headed and not quite ready to ask himself why.
“To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.”
Touring is a lot of things. It means performing under the lights center stage, with thousands of people hanging on your every note, your every glance. Zayns basks in the exhilarating delirium of those moments, can’t believe how ridiculous it is that this is his job.
But day-to-day, touring is mostly made up of constant, relentless movement. It’s being herded onto airplanes, into anonymous black SUVs, onto the tourbus. Every day bleeds into the next and Zayn can’t tell the difference anymore between the bland décor in each new hotel room.
And the thing Zayn’s discovered about traveling is that, no matter how hard you try, you can't bring your regular life along. You can’t fit your family, your friends, your own bed, or all your usual hair products into a suitcase, or even several suitcases. Zayn is trying to embrace it, this travel version of himself, this person who only uses miniature toiletries and carries 6 different adapters for all of his electronics.
On this tour, travel version of Zayn carries Portrait of a Lady everywhere with him. He’s attached to it like the other guys are attached to their phones. It’s like some kind of anchor for him. Because Zayn needs stories, and there’s something about Isabel Archer’s story that he needs right now. He can’t really explain it to himself and he certainly can’t explain it to Niall. Niall, who would rather be living his own life than reading fiction. Niall, who has noticed Zayn’s Henry James-shaped security blanket, and takes every opportunity to tease him about it.
Usually it goes like this: he’ll run over to Zayn, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and ramble something along the lines of: “How’s it going with our intellectual then? How’s our favorite dead author, Henry, doing?” and then giggle before Zayn can even answer. Usually Zayn doesn’t answer. Usually (actually, all the time now) he’s not saying anything to Niall, but reaching for him. Grabbing for Niall’s wrist, or maybe hooking his fingers through Niall’s belt loops, and just letting his hand rest there. It becomes their habit.
This time, all the guys are around, but Zayn’s trying to catch some downtime anyway. He’s stretched out on the couch, book in hand and, while they’re all used to the sight of Zayn reading by now, Niall can’t help stopping as he’s walking by.
“Hiya! Look who it is, Professor Zayn. Wanna give us a dissertation, then? About old Victorian times?” Zayn raises an eyebrow.
“How do you know the book is set in Victorian times?” Niall doesn’t really answer, he just laughs, and that’s okay because Zayn’s already reaching out for him. He’s aiming for Niall’s waist, and his hand kind of accidentally slides underneath his polo shirt. Zayn gives him a second, but Niall doesn’t react. So he lets his fingers explore, grazing along hipbone, skin feeling warm to the touch. Niall makes a humming noise, but it’s so quiet Zayn isn’t sure if maybe he’s imagining it. Niall reaches down, resting the back of his hand on Zayn’s cheek for the briefest moment. Then he does that Niall thing where he half laughs, half-shrugs, and turns away. He jumps on Louis’ back, yelling:
“Help me, Tommo! Zayn’s making this mental accusation that I actually read! Books!” Louis pulls Niall into a piggyback, puts on a Ridiculous Louis Voice.
“Reading? We’ll be having none of that nonsense!” But he throws a wink Zayn’s way. Just then Harry runs by, pushing both of them, sending Louis and Niall toppling to the floor. Liam tries to tell the three of them off for causing a scene, but Louis is now pulling at the hem of his shorts, and he keeps dissolving into laughter.
Zayn can only lie on the couch watching the chaos. He’s in a daze, and is pretty sure the weight of the open book on his chest is the only thing keeping him from floating away.
“You wanted to look at life for yourself-but you were not allowed; you were punished for your wish.”
Zayn is sure that one of the worst things in the world is when you know something bad is about to happen. When you can sense it coming and you also know, with absolute certainty, that you are powerless to stop it. You just have to let the storm hit you.
It’s the middle stretch of the tour. They’ve just finished an interview and are waiting in a suite for everything to get sorted out before they leave for their next destination. The exhaustion is starting to wear on everyone, but Louis in particular is in one of his glowering moods.
Zayn had tried making a joke about Power Rangers to get him to crack even the faintest of smiles, but Louis had just stared back at him, his whole face clouded over. That’s how it’s gonna be? Well, fuck that, Zayn had thought, not feeling guilty about diving back into his book and ignoring everyone. The others are now silent too, and it’s as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Niall actually takes his guitar and goes to sit in the hallway. Even Harry has given up trying with Louis. Instead, he’s stretched out on his stomach on the floor, texting furiously back and forth with someone, maybe Nick, or maybe just his mum.
But the real problem for Zayn is that something he doesn’t like is happening in Isabel Archer’s world too. She makes a shockingly sad decision, and he wants to reach through the pages, take her by the shoulders and talk some sense into her. He wants to go back in time to prevent Henry James from writing this because he really doesn’t want to be upset right now. Since neither of these options are possible, he’s forced to read on, a quiet sense of dread building in his stomach.
A sort of buzzing noise interrupts Zayn’s thoughts, and he looks up to see Liam huddling up next to Louis, humming what sounds suspiciously like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Zayn and Harry exchange a look like god, how stupid is Liam right now? But it doesn’t take long for Louis to break because apparently nursery rhymes are his kryptonite.
‘You are actually an idiot, Liam!” he bursts out “do you know that? A truly fucking mental idiot, and I’m going to smack you in the face.” And he does. He smacks Liam right in the side of the head, but Liam is laughing.
‘Not the first time you’ve done that! Thanks for the warning this time, mate.” he’s tipping over, sinking into the couch, pulling Louis with him. It turns into a wrestling match. Of course they fall off the couch immediately, and this is obviously going to end in broken hotel furniture and tears, most likely Paul’s. Zayn closes his book and sets it aside like he’s made a decision: he isn’t sticking around for this. He shakes his head at Harry to say good luck and steps over the tangle that is Louis-Liam on the floor, bolting for the door.
“There were two entrances…they were exactly alike-large white doors, with an arched frame and wide side-lights….the two houses together formed a single dwelling, the party-wall having been removed and the rooms placed in communication.”
Zayn steps over the threshold into the hallway, closing the door behind him and it’s as if he’s entering a completely different atmosphere. Niall is sitting just outside the door, his back to the wall, idly strumming his guitar. No other guests or hotel staff are around, and it’s like an oasis of calm. Niall looks up and takes Zayn in for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone light but managing to convey that he’s interested.
“Nothing, they’re just being nuts in there, like usual.”
“Hmmm,” Niall sets his guitar aside and scoots over a bit so Zayn can sit next to him if he wants. “Of course they are. But, you don’t have your book with you. I know you’re not finished with it. I thought something might be up.” Zayn slides down the wall to sit.
“Ah. You noticed.”
“Of course.” Niall says it casually, like it’s no big deal that he notices details about Zayn that maybe Zayn himself hasn’t even registered. Just as casually, he starts drumming his hands on Zayn’s thigh and Zayn has to lean his head against the wall now too because he’s feeling dazed again.
Things come sharply into focus as a clatter and shrieking noise can be heard coming from the suite. Louis and Liam howl with laughter as Harry shouts: “I’ll have Paul kill you both if you don’t give it back!” Niall chuckles.
“They’ve probably stolen his phone again. Probably hidden it in the sofa cushions or something,” He shakes his head before continuing: “Anyway, it’s not those idiots. What’s going on with you, man?” he’s looking at Zayn with these wide and earnest eyes, like he truly wants a response, and Zayn’s never seen anything so unnerving. Niall’s hands are in his own lap now, and Zayn’s keeping his to himself too. Part of him feels like it’s strange, this not touching Niall. But mostly he feels paralyzed because Niall won’t stop looking at him.
“Honestly,” he manages to choke out “it’s the book. You know, Henry James.”
“I know. Our man, Henry. So, what’s he done then?”
“You don’t want to hear about it.” Zayn looks at the floor, he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life, and that includes getting told off by Simon Cowell on national television for not dancing. “It’s really dumb. Also, you haven’t even read the book so, like, why would you give a shit?” Niall gives this little sigh, like he’s being very patient waiting for something to click in Zayn’s mind.
“Yeah, but you can tell me the story though.”
“Tell you? But, I mean….you don’t…” Zayn can’t think of a less blunt way to say it. “You don’t care about books? You don’t like reading.” A smile plays at the corners of Niall’s mouth, but when he speaks, his tone is serious.
“Tell me the story, Zayn.”
And he would. Zayn really would, if he could remember Portrait of a Lady or think at all right now. That dazed feeling has migrated down from his head, flooding through his entire body at an alarmingly fast rate, sending flutters through his stomach. And there’s Niall just sitting next to him. Niall, who exists as a blur of motion and energy, is sitting completely still, his focus trained solely on Zayn. Well, Zayn isn’t used to disappointing an audience, so he takes a shaky breath and tries to articulate himself.
“I can’t tell you the whole thing because, like you said, it’s a million fucking pages. But, it’s the main character, Isabel. She was wealthy and independent, you know? But then she chose to marry this guy. Like, she didn’t have to marry him, she wanted to. But he’s not good for her. Like really, really not good. The marriage is more of a trap than anything else.” Zayn’s actually wringing his hands, partly out of frustration with the story and partly because he can’t believe how stupid this sounds spoken out loud. “I just really feel for her, ya know? It was something she wanted to do, and it backfired on her. How scary is that? Like, it actually makes me feel claustrophobic thinking about it? And I can’t fucking believe our dead man Henry James is doing that to me. There!” He finishes with a laugh because the alternative would be to melt into the floor, and that doesn’t seem possible.
Niall considers him for a moment, and Zayn sees a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth again, but it’s not the typical playful Niall smile. This one looks new and (dare Zayn think it?) gentle.
“You know what I think?” Niall begins, his voice low. “I think that worrying about making a bad decision, worrying about being trapped makes a lot of sense because, let’s face it, it is awful. Our man Henry got that right.” And now Niall’s taking his time, choosing his words with more care than Zayn’s ever seen before. “But, I don’t think you need to worry about anything like that, about regretting a decision or being trapped. I mean, I can see why you would. But I just don’t think it’s something you need to stress about, ok?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Anyway, I can think of one story with a nice ending. And it doesn’t involve having regrets, or feeling miserable, or any bullshit like that.” And now Zayn feels all the air being punched out of him because he isn’t reaching for Niall. This time Niall’s the one reaching out for him: first putting a hand on his shoulder, then his whole arm. And Zayn could laugh because, how did he not realize it? This is the anchor he’s been needing the entire time.
Then it’s like dominoes. They collapse into each other at the same time, arms around each other, fitting their bodies as close together as possible. Niall rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder for a moment, but even that isn’t enough, so he pushes his face into Zayn’s neck. Now Zayn’s got eyelashes fluttering and Niall’s mouth just resting against his skin. He can’t help arching his neck to get more of it, can actually feel Niall breaking into a grin.
“You never said….” Zayn’s voice comes out as a whisper.
“What?” Niall doesn’t so much say the word, as he breathes it into Zayn.
“What’s the nice ending?” even though he thinks he has an idea. Now Niall shifts his head so he can actually speak.
“This. Zayn and Niall. Zayn and Niall in the hallway. Zayn and Niall wherever. You know?”
Zayn lifts his free hand up to Niall’s face.
Yeah, he thinks as he runs a knuckle under Niall’s chin. And he knows he isn’t imagining it this time, Niall’s humming into his touch, both their bodies vibrating with it.
Yes.
Traces his thumb across Niall’s bottom lip.
Zayn knows.
Between the Lines
Characters/Pairings: Zayn/Niall with appearances from all the other boys.
Summary: Zayn likes to read and Niall likes to tease him about it, until one time he doesn't.
Wordcount ~3,000 words
Disclaimer: I do not own either One Direction or Henry James. All quotes are from Portrait of a Lady.
Note: MASSIVE THANK YOU to Lindsay for putting on the super chic Editor Pants for me, and for not laughing in my face when I told her my fic was about Zayn reading Henry James. Seriously, thank you. xx
Zayn feels as though the book is staring down at him rather than the other way around.
Portrait of a Lady by Henry James
He can’t explain why this particular book seems to be calling his name except that, when you’re at the mini Waterstone’s at Heathrow, you don’t have a lot of choice. On top of that, Paul is standing just outside the store, gesturing for him to hurry up. None of the other boys had wanted to stop at the bookstore, what a surprise. He knows Louis will never shut up if they’re all delayed because he lost track of time browsing books. So he pulls Portrait of a Lady off the shelf, and that’s the end of it.
“This young lady had been seated alone with a book. To say she was so occupied is to say that her solitude did not press upon her; for her love of knowledge had a fertilizing quality and her imagination was strong.”
At the hotel the next day, Zayn is the only one in the guys’ common suite. He’s curled up in one corner of the couch, just getting into Portrait of a Lady and savoring this rare stillness in the middle of the day, stillness that’s soon interrupted by the sound of a key in the door.
Niall bounces in and it’s like the whole room clicks into motion. He’s flopping down on the couch, crowding in next to Zayn (even though there’s an entire couch free), pulling at the book to see what he’s reading. He’s so close Zayn can tell Niall’s just brushed his teeth, the mint cutting though him with a sharp chill.
Niall simultaneously laughs and wrinkles his nose at Zayn’s reading material.
“Henry James? Seriously man, you are SO weird.”
“Seriously man, do you even know who Henry James is?”
“He’s dead, that’s who he is.” Niall pronounces authoritatively, sticking his tongue out and leaning his head on the back of the couch. Zayn takes the opportunity to smack him with the book. It’s 700 pages, so it makes an impact.
“Is he dead? You sure about that?”
“Aaargh! That thing’s a fucking monster and a weapon!” Niall clutches at his head.
“Be glad it wasn’t hardback,” but even as he’s saying it, Zayn’s reaching over to ruffle Niall’s hair, then smooths it back down.
“That shit is like a million pages long.” Niall grumbles. “Why would you even try? It’s gonna take you ages to finish it.”
“Yeah, I know.” Zayn drawls, letting his hand drop to the back of the couch, just next to Niall’s head. “It’s pretty tough to get through it when some lunatic won’t stop talking to me.” Niall tries to glare at him, but his face breaks into a grin instead.
“Calling me a lunatic, huh?” Now it’s Zayn’s turn to try and fail at glaring. The two of them just end up making goofy faces at each other. It probably only goes on for a minute, but it feels like much longer. All Zayn really knows is that he feels like the lunatic now because he’s contorting his face into silly expressions mostly in an effort to suppress a stupidly happy smile.
“Alright, alright!” Niall bursts out. “I’m starved. I thought there was food in here, but apparently this room is just your personal library or whatever. I’ll leave you and your boyfriend Henry James alone,” and he actually makes kissing noises before jumping up from the couch. Zayn bursts out laughing, he can’t help himself.
Nor can he stop himself from reaching out, from wrapping his hand around Niall’s wrist, preventing him from leaving just yet. Niall looks down at Zayn with the hint of a question in his eye. Neither of them say anything, the silence stretching out between them for a long moment. But then Niall’s typical smile returns. He half-laughs, half-shrugs before breaking Zayn’s grasp and bounding out of the room again.
Zayn lets his body sink into the couch, allowing himself to lie there-almost boneless-just for a second, before diving back into his book. He’s feeling unusually light-headed and not quite ready to ask himself why.
“To read between the lines was easier than to follow the text.”
Touring is a lot of things. It means performing under the lights center stage, with thousands of people hanging on your every note, your every glance. Zayns basks in the exhilarating delirium of those moments, can’t believe how ridiculous it is that this is his job.
But day-to-day, touring is mostly made up of constant, relentless movement. It’s being herded onto airplanes, into anonymous black SUVs, onto the tourbus. Every day bleeds into the next and Zayn can’t tell the difference anymore between the bland décor in each new hotel room.
And the thing Zayn’s discovered about traveling is that, no matter how hard you try, you can't bring your regular life along. You can’t fit your family, your friends, your own bed, or all your usual hair products into a suitcase, or even several suitcases. Zayn is trying to embrace it, this travel version of himself, this person who only uses miniature toiletries and carries 6 different adapters for all of his electronics.
On this tour, travel version of Zayn carries Portrait of a Lady everywhere with him. He’s attached to it like the other guys are attached to their phones. It’s like some kind of anchor for him. Because Zayn needs stories, and there’s something about Isabel Archer’s story that he needs right now. He can’t really explain it to himself and he certainly can’t explain it to Niall. Niall, who would rather be living his own life than reading fiction. Niall, who has noticed Zayn’s Henry James-shaped security blanket, and takes every opportunity to tease him about it.
Usually it goes like this: he’ll run over to Zayn, punching him lightly in the shoulder, and ramble something along the lines of: “How’s it going with our intellectual then? How’s our favorite dead author, Henry, doing?” and then giggle before Zayn can even answer. Usually Zayn doesn’t answer. Usually (actually, all the time now) he’s not saying anything to Niall, but reaching for him. Grabbing for Niall’s wrist, or maybe hooking his fingers through Niall’s belt loops, and just letting his hand rest there. It becomes their habit.
This time, all the guys are around, but Zayn’s trying to catch some downtime anyway. He’s stretched out on the couch, book in hand and, while they’re all used to the sight of Zayn reading by now, Niall can’t help stopping as he’s walking by.
“Hiya! Look who it is, Professor Zayn. Wanna give us a dissertation, then? About old Victorian times?” Zayn raises an eyebrow.
“How do you know the book is set in Victorian times?” Niall doesn’t really answer, he just laughs, and that’s okay because Zayn’s already reaching out for him. He’s aiming for Niall’s waist, and his hand kind of accidentally slides underneath his polo shirt. Zayn gives him a second, but Niall doesn’t react. So he lets his fingers explore, grazing along hipbone, skin feeling warm to the touch. Niall makes a humming noise, but it’s so quiet Zayn isn’t sure if maybe he’s imagining it. Niall reaches down, resting the back of his hand on Zayn’s cheek for the briefest moment. Then he does that Niall thing where he half laughs, half-shrugs, and turns away. He jumps on Louis’ back, yelling:
“Help me, Tommo! Zayn’s making this mental accusation that I actually read! Books!” Louis pulls Niall into a piggyback, puts on a Ridiculous Louis Voice.
“Reading? We’ll be having none of that nonsense!” But he throws a wink Zayn’s way. Just then Harry runs by, pushing both of them, sending Louis and Niall toppling to the floor. Liam tries to tell the three of them off for causing a scene, but Louis is now pulling at the hem of his shorts, and he keeps dissolving into laughter.
Zayn can only lie on the couch watching the chaos. He’s in a daze, and is pretty sure the weight of the open book on his chest is the only thing keeping him from floating away.
“You wanted to look at life for yourself-but you were not allowed; you were punished for your wish.”
Zayn is sure that one of the worst things in the world is when you know something bad is about to happen. When you can sense it coming and you also know, with absolute certainty, that you are powerless to stop it. You just have to let the storm hit you.
It’s the middle stretch of the tour. They’ve just finished an interview and are waiting in a suite for everything to get sorted out before they leave for their next destination. The exhaustion is starting to wear on everyone, but Louis in particular is in one of his glowering moods.
Zayn had tried making a joke about Power Rangers to get him to crack even the faintest of smiles, but Louis had just stared back at him, his whole face clouded over. That’s how it’s gonna be? Well, fuck that, Zayn had thought, not feeling guilty about diving back into his book and ignoring everyone. The others are now silent too, and it’s as though all the air has been sucked out of the room. Niall actually takes his guitar and goes to sit in the hallway. Even Harry has given up trying with Louis. Instead, he’s stretched out on his stomach on the floor, texting furiously back and forth with someone, maybe Nick, or maybe just his mum.
But the real problem for Zayn is that something he doesn’t like is happening in Isabel Archer’s world too. She makes a shockingly sad decision, and he wants to reach through the pages, take her by the shoulders and talk some sense into her. He wants to go back in time to prevent Henry James from writing this because he really doesn’t want to be upset right now. Since neither of these options are possible, he’s forced to read on, a quiet sense of dread building in his stomach.
A sort of buzzing noise interrupts Zayn’s thoughts, and he looks up to see Liam huddling up next to Louis, humming what sounds suspiciously like Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Zayn and Harry exchange a look like god, how stupid is Liam right now? But it doesn’t take long for Louis to break because apparently nursery rhymes are his kryptonite.
‘You are actually an idiot, Liam!” he bursts out “do you know that? A truly fucking mental idiot, and I’m going to smack you in the face.” And he does. He smacks Liam right in the side of the head, but Liam is laughing.
‘Not the first time you’ve done that! Thanks for the warning this time, mate.” he’s tipping over, sinking into the couch, pulling Louis with him. It turns into a wrestling match. Of course they fall off the couch immediately, and this is obviously going to end in broken hotel furniture and tears, most likely Paul’s. Zayn closes his book and sets it aside like he’s made a decision: he isn’t sticking around for this. He shakes his head at Harry to say good luck and steps over the tangle that is Louis-Liam on the floor, bolting for the door.
“There were two entrances…they were exactly alike-large white doors, with an arched frame and wide side-lights….the two houses together formed a single dwelling, the party-wall having been removed and the rooms placed in communication.”
Zayn steps over the threshold into the hallway, closing the door behind him and it’s as if he’s entering a completely different atmosphere. Niall is sitting just outside the door, his back to the wall, idly strumming his guitar. No other guests or hotel staff are around, and it’s like an oasis of calm. Niall looks up and takes Zayn in for a moment.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his tone light but managing to convey that he’s interested.
“Nothing, they’re just being nuts in there, like usual.”
“Hmmm,” Niall sets his guitar aside and scoots over a bit so Zayn can sit next to him if he wants. “Of course they are. But, you don’t have your book with you. I know you’re not finished with it. I thought something might be up.” Zayn slides down the wall to sit.
“Ah. You noticed.”
“Of course.” Niall says it casually, like it’s no big deal that he notices details about Zayn that maybe Zayn himself hasn’t even registered. Just as casually, he starts drumming his hands on Zayn’s thigh and Zayn has to lean his head against the wall now too because he’s feeling dazed again.
Things come sharply into focus as a clatter and shrieking noise can be heard coming from the suite. Louis and Liam howl with laughter as Harry shouts: “I’ll have Paul kill you both if you don’t give it back!” Niall chuckles.
“They’ve probably stolen his phone again. Probably hidden it in the sofa cushions or something,” He shakes his head before continuing: “Anyway, it’s not those idiots. What’s going on with you, man?” he’s looking at Zayn with these wide and earnest eyes, like he truly wants a response, and Zayn’s never seen anything so unnerving. Niall’s hands are in his own lap now, and Zayn’s keeping his to himself too. Part of him feels like it’s strange, this not touching Niall. But mostly he feels paralyzed because Niall won’t stop looking at him.
“Honestly,” he manages to choke out “it’s the book. You know, Henry James.”
“I know. Our man, Henry. So, what’s he done then?”
“You don’t want to hear about it.” Zayn looks at the floor, he’s never felt so embarrassed in his life, and that includes getting told off by Simon Cowell on national television for not dancing. “It’s really dumb. Also, you haven’t even read the book so, like, why would you give a shit?” Niall gives this little sigh, like he’s being very patient waiting for something to click in Zayn’s mind.
“Yeah, but you can tell me the story though.”
“Tell you? But, I mean….you don’t…” Zayn can’t think of a less blunt way to say it. “You don’t care about books? You don’t like reading.” A smile plays at the corners of Niall’s mouth, but when he speaks, his tone is serious.
“Tell me the story, Zayn.”
And he would. Zayn really would, if he could remember Portrait of a Lady or think at all right now. That dazed feeling has migrated down from his head, flooding through his entire body at an alarmingly fast rate, sending flutters through his stomach. And there’s Niall just sitting next to him. Niall, who exists as a blur of motion and energy, is sitting completely still, his focus trained solely on Zayn. Well, Zayn isn’t used to disappointing an audience, so he takes a shaky breath and tries to articulate himself.
“I can’t tell you the whole thing because, like you said, it’s a million fucking pages. But, it’s the main character, Isabel. She was wealthy and independent, you know? But then she chose to marry this guy. Like, she didn’t have to marry him, she wanted to. But he’s not good for her. Like really, really not good. The marriage is more of a trap than anything else.” Zayn’s actually wringing his hands, partly out of frustration with the story and partly because he can’t believe how stupid this sounds spoken out loud. “I just really feel for her, ya know? It was something she wanted to do, and it backfired on her. How scary is that? Like, it actually makes me feel claustrophobic thinking about it? And I can’t fucking believe our dead man Henry James is doing that to me. There!” He finishes with a laugh because the alternative would be to melt into the floor, and that doesn’t seem possible.
Niall considers him for a moment, and Zayn sees a smile pulling at the edges of his mouth again, but it’s not the typical playful Niall smile. This one looks new and (dare Zayn think it?) gentle.
“You know what I think?” Niall begins, his voice low. “I think that worrying about making a bad decision, worrying about being trapped makes a lot of sense because, let’s face it, it is awful. Our man Henry got that right.” And now Niall’s taking his time, choosing his words with more care than Zayn’s ever seen before. “But, I don’t think you need to worry about anything like that, about regretting a decision or being trapped. I mean, I can see why you would. But I just don’t think it’s something you need to stress about, ok?”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Anyway, I can think of one story with a nice ending. And it doesn’t involve having regrets, or feeling miserable, or any bullshit like that.” And now Zayn feels all the air being punched out of him because he isn’t reaching for Niall. This time Niall’s the one reaching out for him: first putting a hand on his shoulder, then his whole arm. And Zayn could laugh because, how did he not realize it? This is the anchor he’s been needing the entire time.
Then it’s like dominoes. They collapse into each other at the same time, arms around each other, fitting their bodies as close together as possible. Niall rests his head on Zayn’s shoulder for a moment, but even that isn’t enough, so he pushes his face into Zayn’s neck. Now Zayn’s got eyelashes fluttering and Niall’s mouth just resting against his skin. He can’t help arching his neck to get more of it, can actually feel Niall breaking into a grin.
“You never said….” Zayn’s voice comes out as a whisper.
“What?” Niall doesn’t so much say the word, as he breathes it into Zayn.
“What’s the nice ending?” even though he thinks he has an idea. Now Niall shifts his head so he can actually speak.
“This. Zayn and Niall. Zayn and Niall in the hallway. Zayn and Niall wherever. You know?”
Zayn lifts his free hand up to Niall’s face.
Yeah, he thinks as he runs a knuckle under Niall’s chin. And he knows he isn’t imagining it this time, Niall’s humming into his touch, both their bodies vibrating with it.
Yes.
Traces his thumb across Niall’s bottom lip.
Zayn knows.