One Direction | Preferences

Magic

Magic

A/N: So I listened to the bonus tracks on Take Me Home again…. And this happened.

Niall: Neither of have ever really experienced something like this, this clicking of two people like you were, well, meant to be. It’s the whole thing, fireworks in your mind and sparks tingling up your arms when he holds your hand and you find yourself staring because, for god’s sake, who has eyes that blue? And he makes you laugh when your throat’s thick with tears, and listens to you ramble on about how pretty the sky looks as the sun goes down and gives you a jacket when you’re cold. He makes you want to run up a mountain and scream about how perfect he is. It must be some form of magic.

Harry: You can’t remember where you learned about it, but the card trick must have been hardwired into your brain at some point, because now you could probably do in your sleep. You show Harry one night after you’ve beaten him (yet again) at Spit and he’s pouting and rolling around on the floor in protest. He watches with careful eyes, trying to catch you out, but when you hold up the seven of diamonds with the question, “Is this your card?” he gleams like a small child, laughing loudly. “Yeah!” You smirk, shuffling the deck back into place, but you’re soon thrown backward with six foot of boy launched at you, Harry wrapping you up in his arms and licking a stripe up your cheek, making you shriek. “That’s what you get for being so smart.”

Liam: Liam’s arms are warm where they’re wrapped around your waist, his chin resting on the top of your head as you observe your front yard, a mug of tea still clutched in your hands. “It’s so pretty,” you murmur, not wanting to disturb the peaceful silence of the first snow. The white layering covers as far as the eye can see, roofs and cars and roads, twinkling in the morning sunlight. Liam hums above you, kissing your hair, “It happens so quickly.” You sip your tea, wrapping your spare hand around his, “Like magic.”

Louis: You’re humming the song to yourself while you clean the dishes, taking pleasure in spitting out the ‘b – b – b – baby, come on over,’ swaying your hips as you open the plate cupboard and slot them away, still singing. Another voice joins the chorus and you jolt around, finding Louis sitting down at the table, propping his feet up on another chair, smirking. “Oh, shut up.” He laughs, running a hand through his hair and watching as the hem of your shirt rises up when you stretch to reach the glasses. He beckons you over to him, wrapping his hands around your waist and standing up to kiss you, “Cause you, you’ve got this spell on me.”

Zayn: The bedroom is dim and quiet as you roll over, snuggling further into the warm blankets. Zayn hums quietly, draping an arm over your waist and, even in the slowness of the morning, sending sparks over your skin. “Hi,” he murmurs against your neck, eyelashes fluttering, and you tangle a hand in his hair, blinking your eyes open just you so you can smile at him, brown eyes dopey with sleep. “Good morning.” He kisses your jaw, tugging you closer, and you have to remember to keep breathing with how pretty he is, black hair falling across his forehead. “You’re so pretty in the morning,” You whisper, trying not to break the spell. He shakes his head, scoffing, “You’re so beautiful, it’s stupid. I realise it every day when I wake up. It’s like magic.”