put your lips close to mine | n.s

drunk at night

But then Niall's words rose stories of wishful drunken fumbles and late night stupors, not love, but fuck beneath the milky pale moonlight.

Now though, so help him¸ there are Pandora's boxes of things he doesn't know; new things like love and stay opening themselves inside of Niall's mind, leaving his notebooks and his heart and consciousness so jam-packed that sometimes he finds his fingertips tingling (lately it's not even full sentences, just lists).

And it would just be his luck to see it in the hands of Harry. The wave of fright hits him head on and all he can be grateful for is that he never actually wrote the name down, loved self preservation too much to let himself be broken even more than he already is to let himself wish more than he ever could.