Niall remember's his smell clearly. It's perfectly lodged into his brain, he doesn't ever think he'll be able to get rid of the scent that lingers in his sheets. It's not anything in particular, like vanilla or cinnamon. It's like a mixture of everything he's ever done, or touched. It isn't sweet or musky, it's none of those things. It's simply, perfect.
It's the only thing that Niall can seem to wrap his head around that night. There is no trace of this god like figure that made, sweet, sweet, love to him. Niall remembers moaning his name, but now that name can't seem to pass through his lips any longer. Niall wants to remember the man that held him so close, and brushed his finger tips across his skin ever so softly.
What hurts worse is that Niall knew this was going to happen, he knew that he wouldn't be able to see this gorgeous figure that had whisked him away so suddenly that night, because that's what they all say. Niall was just someone to cross off in his little black book. Niall thought that maybe he was different and that he wouldn't hurt as bad as he does now. But he was wrong. It hurts worse than e could of ever imagined.
He's ever bit of heaven those lucky guys said he would be and Niall was only able to taste him for a moment.
Niall won't get to hear the sound of his sweet laugh, or the taste of his lips anymore, he's gone. He should be happy, he should be glad he's even been given that chance to touch him, feel every inch of his body. but he can't because that only makes him wish for more. Niall should be angry and upset, because usually he has the decency to leave a small note with a brief message on the pillow, (from what Niall has been told) but he didn't even manage to get one of those
He was probably the worst he's ever had, and Niall couldn't be more embarrassed than his is now, as he weeps for someone he hasn't ever seen before, someone he could of easily dreamed about.
But then Niall thinks about the smell that lingers and the beautiful marks that are placed all along his collarbone and he knows that it's real, all of it's too real.
Niall isn't one to give up easily, but there isn't anything he can do... at least not now. Although Niall has the drawing, the drawing that this boy gave him in his Art History class. Niall want's to question it and ask how on earth does he know what he looks like and he wonders why he would give it to him, does he know what happened that night?
Niall can't bring himself to care once he sees the gorgeous piece, its not completely done for obvious reasons but he can see each and every one of his tattoos that leads to his torso, but lastly he doesn't get to see his face, the one thing he had been so desperate to see.
He's so desperate to find things that remind him of the sweet night that he finds himself searching for that smell, he can't even manage to function properly in a store without searching for cologne's and perfumes that could possibly be what he had wore.
He doesn't find it.
His bed sheets doesn't smell like him anymore, he had tried so desperately to hold it together long enough not to wash the silk sheets, but after two weeks of sleeping with a pillow close to his grasp it no longer has the scent so he has to let go and fix himself. And that means getting rid of the bed sheets. Washing them more than once so he can no longer pretend its there.
The first step to fixing your problem is admitting you have one.
So that's what Niall does, he manages to find the best smelling bleach the market has so that he can clean his bedding. He strips his bed of the sheet, and the comforter and even the pillow itself because that's what he had been holding onto. He even makes sure to get the top sheet so that the mattress is completely bare. And that's when he finds it.
