your whispers are voiceless

Mirrors

This is, uhm, pretty boring. a LOT boring. *shrugs* I tried a new writing style because wth and it was fun at first but turned out pretty badly. 

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Niall never really understood it, why Liam would choose him of all people. Okay, sure, he can look good at the best of times (which are rare) but to him it doesn't feel natural. It isn't natural. Because he actually needs to exert effort on wearing those shades and ripped jeans and cut-off flannels, his supras admittedly a little too tight on the bone jutting out at his ankle, his tanktops uncomfortable and itchy around his shoulders. He isn't that. He's blond hair and goofy smile and snorty laugh and coffee at 4 o'clock in the morning because his shift starts at five. He's ugly loose sweatshirts in the middle of the day and plaid gray boxers at night and seven marshmallows on hot chocolate during winter. He's ugly sobs and guitar strings and calloused fingertips. 

Somestimes he thinks maybe Liam's in love with his idea of him. The false him. The one with the shades and the smug smirk and the quiff. Because sometimes he can't help but feel a little rejected and down in his loose gray sweatpants and pudgy stomach when Liam excuses himself in the middle of a snog because his mother is calling, or his boss needs to have him finish paperwork or whatever.

And he knows Liam isn't like that, just ditching on Niall without being completely, utterly honest with his reasons. Or maybe Niall just trusts him too much. 

Liam can have anybody he wants, really. His adorable brown eyes and thick, perfectly lined brows and this intense necessity of his to apologize whenever he feels he's done something wrong can win anybody over. Surely. Hands down. Liam is handsome and pefect, and sometimes it's like Niall's out of his league when he looks at pictures of them standing side by side. 

Why him? 

He could have had Zayn, really, his ex-boyfriend. He's a model and admittedly he has the jaw models wiould die for, his nose all pointy and his eyes sultry. He walks with ease like he know exactly who he is and who he's not and Niall can never achieve that kind of confidence, of perfection. 

Why would he choose him? 

Sometimes, though immaturely so, he thinks he's just some sort of charity case for Liam. Like maybe Liam's just trying to help him stand up on his feet and then would break up with him once he figures he can handle the world on his own. These times are mostly when they're cuddled up on the couch with the telly on and pizza boxes stacked high like the Leaning Tower of Rome or whatever and he's on top of Liam, the brunet's arms wrapped securely around his waist in three day-old sweatpants and band tees, and Niall wonders why him? How did he deserve this? Why why why. 

His nose is a little too large on his face, ears a little too curved at the shell and his eyes a little too twitchy when he laughs. His tummy is still a slight swell of fat, with just the ghost-y lines of supposed abs, despite his attempts to flatten them and give them even just the lightest depth of muscles (fifteen curls at dawn and ten at night while Liam is asleep). He sucks his stomach in and runs rough fingers at the dip, up his rather undefined chest. Feels the unsatisfactory jut of his ribs and the flat line at the middle of his chest where the dip would've been if his pecs were a little more pronounced. 

The doorknob to the bathroom opens, startles Niall. He whirs around and sees Liam poke his wet head out, brown fringe stuck to his forehead. "Hey, babe," he says, a small smile on his lips as he fully steps out the bathroom in a loosely-tucked towel and moves over behind his boyfriend, wrapping arms around his bare stomach. He looks at Niall through the mirror, and maybe the crease between his brows is carved too deeply or maybe the insecurities in his eyes are pronounced too loudly because Liam notices. Or maybe he's just really good at noticing all things Niall. "I thought you were going to sleep, babe. You okay?"