Work Text:
Zayn’s sitting on the couch, wrapped in Niall’s favorite blanket. He looks so soft that Niall’s not even mad at the pseudo-thief. “Hey,” his voice cracks and he clears his throat before continuing, “whatcha doing with my…” He flaps his hand to continue the sentence.
“Mine’s in the wash.” Zayn looks up and pouts. “Was trying to do one of those aesthetic Instagram posts with hot chocolate.”
“We’re out of mini marshmallows. You only like—” Niall snaps his mouth shut.
Zayn shrugs, and extends his arm like a bat wing, inviting him in.
“Plus, it smells like you,” Zayn whispers.