Niall Centric One-Shots

Reverie .1.

A.N.: Poorly written fluff (in my opinion) with minor angst-- oops. Sorry for the long hiatus; this is my apology one-shot!

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Harry's always loved thunderstorms. The way the cracking shards of neon purples and porcelain whites crashed through the clouds with a loud entrance. The way the thunder rumbled deeply like a silent purr. The way the rain beat down on everything with its strength, hard enough to wipe away Today and replace it with Tomorrow, and a new sense of hope.

Harry's always loved thunderstorms, and he feels like tonight is the perfect night.

Niall's lying down next to him, chest rising quickly and then relapsing instantly; a continuous cycle of deep sleep.

The lightning explodes in crackles in the sky, sending a flashing streak of jarred pearly whites across Niall's porcelain face.

Harry feels the urge to reach over and touch the skin: run his fingers down the soft texture, pinpoint all of his freckles, tap all of the scars of teenage puberty, and pirouette his fingers over the tinted-pink lips slightly parted.

It's one of their annual sleepovers, one that Niall insists they have every night before Harry's first day of school. Harry can't remember exactly when the tradition started, but he's positive it was around Harry's first day of eighth grade and Niall's first chemo treatment.

He remembers his mum had bought him a dog: a big, slobbery mess of mysterious carpet stains and matted fur that he loved ever-so deeply. Charlie had been his name, and he reeked of the distinct wet-dog smell and frequently chewed up the carpet in tufts, but his big eyes and lopsided tongue made up for it. Harry had been boastful about his gift, but Niall hadn't learned of the dog. So, naturally, Harry invited him over for a sleepover on the last day of summer to introduce Charlie.

That day, Harry learned that Niall had a terrible fear of dogs.

Niall had screeched and fled behind Harry's back, hands pulling his curls and shouting, "G-Get that beast away from me! It's wretched!"

Harry had felt a tsunami of guilt flood into his veins, and, much to Charlie's disappointment, shoved the dog into the backyard. Charlie, however, didn't go down with a fight. After the tedious task, Niall demanded Harry take a shower. ("You smell like that d- thing. Take a shower or bath. I don't want you smelling of old tennis balls and mud.")

"Take a bath with me?"

Harry hadn't meant to say it aloud, but it wasn't the first time they'd taken a bath together. They'd done it for years during early primary, so it wasn't a youthful idea. It was aged and comfortable for the two. Harry wasn't surprised when Niall had ushered him into the bathroom.

Harry hadn't ever noticed how Niall's skin prickled with goosebumps when he shed his clothes, or how his eyes crinkled around the edges when he added a little, too much soap to the bath. Harry hadn't ever realized that maybe he liked Niall until this moment, and it - pleasantly, future Harry would add - haunted him ever since.

However, Niall had brought him out of the terrifying thought of sexuality when his delicate hands lathered soap into his curls. Niall had laughed when His nimble fingers caught in his curls, and Harry had wiped the soap off Niall's cheekbone affectionately at the moment.

That night Niall had coughed up blood again, but he blamed it on the chemotherapy. Harry cuddled him twice as much.

Harry also gave Charlie two treats the next day because he was the cause for the famous bubble bath of '08.