Our Night In Paris

Why did Niall's hair have to be so perfect?

Like, no matter what he did it looked amazing. 

I mean, I've had many a compliment on my own hairstyle and the "sexy" blonde highlight in it and how "amazingly gorgueous" it is.

But at the end of the day, I always find myself staring and admiring that hunk of blonde, messy beauty that rests so peacefully on Niall's beautiful head.

Amazingly, I find nothing sexy about the way my hair looks.

I get up in the morning, slick it up into the quiff and then perfect my highlight.

I leave the house thinking I look like a hot mess. 

But Niall, he looks amazing no matter what he wears or what he does to his hair.

Why couldn't I be like Niall?

Why couldn't I have been blessed with those beautiful blonde locks?

I thought all of these things over as I stared into the mirror of my bathroom. 

I brushed my hand over my soft hair many times but still felt Niall was superior to me.

I sighed as I continued feeling my hair, feeling all of the imperfections of it run through my fingers. 

"Hey buddy! What are ya doing just feeling your hair like that?" a jolly Irish voice boomed through my bedroom.

I shot my hand down onto the bathroom counter as I looked into the mirror to see Niall jog to stand beside me.

He had already see me run my fingers through my hair, so the hand onto the counter was useless and uneffective. 

As Niall jogged to greet me I watched in the mirror his flowing blonde hair that looked even perfect as morning bed hair. 

Niall had just woken up, as had all of us and he still looked amazing. 

Especially his hair.

"Uh hey Nialler. Just you know, checking out my hair." I laughed a little, looking down at my shivering hand on the counter. 

I didn't really understand why I was shaking, but I seemed to always get this way around Niall. 

Ever since that night in Paris, we've never been the same I guess.

But hey, we shared ONE kiss.

No big deal. 

No reason to get shakey around him or anything.

Also, it was a drunken mistake. 

I still remember how perfect his hair looked that night too. 

Flowing in the crisp, beautiful and quiet French wind as his cold Irish lips met my warm Pakistani ones.

It was magical, to say the least. 

"Oh cool. I need to check mine too actually. It looks a hot mess today, don't it?" he chuckled at me as he stared into the mirror and fluffed and messed around with his own hair.

"Hot mess? Niall your hair looks amazing." I smiled at him, landidng a soft pet on his blonde hair. 

It was so soft and I wanted to do it again, but I felt he'd ask some questions to why I was all the sudden petting him. 

But one time was enough. 

Enough to gain a giggle, smile and blush from him. 

He was adorable, and I wanted to tell him but friends don't say that to other friends do they?