Status: This may be continued. Unsure as of yet.
3AM: Soundtrack to Disaster
Incapable of Making Alright Decisions
Niall woke to his phone vibrating. Opening his eyes to the dark room, he realized it was not his alarm. He stared blankly at the caller ID for a few moments before tapping the screen.
“What?”
“Hey.”
Niall could tell from the familiar tone of voice. “You’re baked.”
He was met by silence, then —
“Come over.”
White noise filled the line until there was silence on the other end.
It was three in the morning and Niall knew what Zayn wanted. Yet fifteen minutes later found him on Zayn’s doorstep. Having already written the night off as a lost cause, Niall didn’t stop himself from knocking — didn’t talk himself out of it, didn’t convince himself to turn around, didn’t force himself to seize the last chance to back out...
The door opened immediately and Zayn pulled Niall inside with a hand on his waist, then pushed him back against the closed door, placing a damp, sloppy kiss to the side of his mouth, nearly missing altogether.
“You’re high,” Niall reiterated, but didn’t stop Zayn’s mouth moving down his neck. Niall felt his pulse begin to race and as Zayn sucked a mark onto his collarbone, Niall buried his hands in Zayn’s hair. He already regretted the night to come so he pulled Zayn back up and moulded their mouths together. The smell of the drug invaded his senses, but it wasn’t the high he was looking for.
Afterward, he lay naked, used, and entirely too sober, staring at the ceiling.
Niall ran his fingers through Zayn’s hair as Zayn slept, his head on Niall’s chest. He glanced at the clock, knowing sleep wouldn’t come, then to the half-smoked joint lying next to it on the beside table. He knew this wasn’t a last time, but he wondered if it would be a first; he wondered if he would pick it up this time. But he wasn’t sure whether he’d toss it in the trash or press it to his lips so instead he turned back to the ceiling and watched it reflect the sunrise.
“What?”
“Hey.”
Niall could tell from the familiar tone of voice. “You’re baked.”
He was met by silence, then —
“Come over.”
White noise filled the line until there was silence on the other end.
It was three in the morning and Niall knew what Zayn wanted. Yet fifteen minutes later found him on Zayn’s doorstep. Having already written the night off as a lost cause, Niall didn’t stop himself from knocking — didn’t talk himself out of it, didn’t convince himself to turn around, didn’t force himself to seize the last chance to back out...
The door opened immediately and Zayn pulled Niall inside with a hand on his waist, then pushed him back against the closed door, placing a damp, sloppy kiss to the side of his mouth, nearly missing altogether.
“You’re high,” Niall reiterated, but didn’t stop Zayn’s mouth moving down his neck. Niall felt his pulse begin to race and as Zayn sucked a mark onto his collarbone, Niall buried his hands in Zayn’s hair. He already regretted the night to come so he pulled Zayn back up and moulded their mouths together. The smell of the drug invaded his senses, but it wasn’t the high he was looking for.
Afterward, he lay naked, used, and entirely too sober, staring at the ceiling.
Niall ran his fingers through Zayn’s hair as Zayn slept, his head on Niall’s chest. He glanced at the clock, knowing sleep wouldn’t come, then to the half-smoked joint lying next to it on the beside table. He knew this wasn’t a last time, but he wondered if it would be a first; he wondered if he would pick it up this time. But he wasn’t sure whether he’d toss it in the trash or press it to his lips so instead he turned back to the ceiling and watched it reflect the sunrise.
♠ ♠ ♠
Chapter title from "Why'd You Only Call Me When You're High."