brainchild | z.m. & n.h. au

vi.

Niall is sure that his skin brightens the moment he sets foot outside. The dull grey flesh that had begun to cling to his bones immediately regains its colour and he means to say he’s happy. The sun is shining for the first time in two weeks and all the blonde would like to do is let the rays wrap around his body and set fire to insides. Warm.

This is the first Free Time session he’s spent outdoors and he is absolutely reveling in the opportunity to see a single colour besides white. And it’s less of a colour and more of a shade, Niall knows, but his head still spins nonetheless and he wonders how the nurses aren’t suffering from chronic migraines already. It’s baffling, quite honestly, that anyone could grow accustomed to paint the colour of dead flesh and empty canvases.

Niall shudders and digs his fingers into the soft grass beneath him, his fingernails grazing the soil and undoubtedly creating a right proper mess. The nurse will not be pleased. He picks a loose blade of grass from between his pinky and ring finger and holds it up delicately, eyeing it long enough to gather it’s relative size and watch how long it can withstand the wind (three seconds, at most). It’s a bit sad how weak it is without its root; how flimsy it becomes when it loses its grou—

“Hey,” says the boy all of a sudden, appearing quite literally out of thin air. Niall squeaks embarrassingly out of surprise and can only watch as dark features sits on the ground in front of him; all rolled-up sleeves and disheveled hair and a freshly-lit cigarettes hanging out of his mouth. Niall gulps.

The boy takes a long, exuberant drag before blowing smoke out of the corner of his mouth in what appears to be second-nature. Niall involuntarily scrunches his nose up at the smell and the boy laughs; a soft, wholehearted sound that chips the rock-hard barrier of his sternum. Most of his bones are soft and giving but he’s beginning to build his own armour.

“Are you going to say hello back?” he asks politely, quietly, smiling in a similar manner.

“Oh,” Niall flushes red and it’s embarrassing, truly, “Um, hello.”

“Nice to meet you,” the lad offers, extending his free hand, “I’m Zayn, you’re Niall.”

“How did you”—

The boy—Zayn—rolls his eyes but there is nothing harsh about it, “You’re patient twenty-two; also known as this floor’s newest member which, consequently, means everyone here already knows your name...probably.”

“Probably?” Niall cocks his head to the side and he knows he looks like a confused fucking puppy and it should be embarrassing but, for some reason, it’s not.

Zayn laughs around some excess smoke, “Well, you are in an institution mate—can’t guarantee everyone here can keep track of how many of us there are, let alone our names.”

“Oh, right,” Niall blushes stupidly.

The dark-haired boy laughs again and it’s so soft and so lovely Niall thinks he could sit and bask in it the way he does the sun. And that’s a bit terrifying, honestly.

“Your cheeks are pink, Niall,” Zayn points out, which—well now his cheeks are positively red and it’s rather humiliating.

“Oh, um”—

“Why is that?” he laughs, “Am I embarrassing you? Or do I make you nervous?” he stares into Niall’s eyes for a moment and the blonde is sure he can see every colour of his soul. “’S’alright if I do...I make most people nervous.”

“Um, no, I just,” Niall stammers, feeling the blush creep down his neck and his chest until he’s sure his body is on fire, “You don’t make me nervous I’m just...generally nervous, I guess.” Which, Jesus Christ Niall what the hell is wrong with why are you saying such ridiculous things—

“You promise it’s not me, then?” Zayn is smiling—borderline smirking, actually, and Niall gulps.

“Promise.”

“Cross your heart?”

“And hope to die.”

...

[a/n: so this update is a little later than usual and idk if there was many people waiting for it haha, but here it is! I really like writing this story and I hope you guys like it alright too c: if you could tell me what you think it would really mean a lot to me! xo]