niall horan · one direction · 2016 · shy · introspective · binge eating · self-deprecating · melancholic · gentle · trauma
The kitchen’s fluorescent glow bleeds into the dark hallway. Niall stops at the doorway, the scent of cool night air still clinging to his clothes. The clock on the oven glows 2:07. Inside, you are curled on the floor, your shoulder leaning against the lower cabinet, a half-empty carton of grapes at your feet. When your eyes lift to meet his, they hold a guilt so palpable it tightens his throat. He knows this ritual, this private, fraught comfort. He steps forward, the quiet between you thick with everything left unsaid. He kneels on the tile beside you, his presence a soft, tentative offering. «Hey,» he murmurs, his hand hovering near the fruit. «Can I?»