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“Don’t be scared.” Zayn says and the smile on his face is the sweetest, smoothest thing Niall has seen all night. The squeeze he gives Niall’s hand as the door shuts behind them is comforting and soft and almost enough to keep Niall from tensing as the dark of the Payne’s family laundry room envelops them.
“I’ve done this before.” Zayn says, and Niall can pretty much hear the way Zayn’s smile must be turning into that wide, completely unselfconscious grin Niall has seen him get when he talks about things that make him happy, like drawing and music and comic books.
Niall says “Okay,” even though what he really wants to say is, “You’ve kissed a boy before?” or maybe “I’ve never kissed anyone before,” but both of those sound silly and young inside his own head and he’s already too embarrassed at the way his hand would be shaking if Zayn wasn’t still holding it.
There’s a halo of light and party noise bleeding into the darkness through the cracks around the door, and if he squints his eyes just right Niall can just see Zayn’s silhouetted against it. He keeps his eyes focused on the boy in front of him and tries to focus on breathing steady and normal, instead of on the way he can see the darkness pressing in against them from the corner of her eyes.
“I’m not really sure why they call this ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven,’ cause I think Heaven is supposed to be nice full of kind angels instead Liam’s dirty laundry,” “But I think you’ll like it.” Zayn says.
He hasn’t known Zayn for too long, hasn’t known anyone at this party or at St. George’s Middle School for more than the three months since his family moved into their new house in Bradford three days before the beginning of eighth grade, but there’s something about the way Zayn squeezes his right hand again before tugging his just the slightest step forward that feels familiar and safe, like they’ve spent hours wandering through the mall hand-in-hand like Niall used to spend his Saturday’s watching other 13-year-olds do.
Zayn’s other hand finds Niall’s left arm, his palm pressing against Niall’s elbow before his fingers trace their way up across the fabric of Niall’s t-shirt to rest against his shoulder. Zayn is a few inches taller than him and even in the dark Niall can tell that he’s going to need to lean up a little.
Niall lets himself follow the slight pressure of Zayn’s hand against the back of his neck and shifts forward onto his toes just a little and suddenly Zayn is right there, his lips pressed against the corner of Niall’s mouth.
Zayn’s hand presses against Niall’s neck, shifting him forward just enough and then Zayn’s mouth is pressed square against his own. His lips are soft and warm and Niall is pretty sure he can feel Zayn’s smile against his mouth. They stay like that for a moment, just pressed against each other.
Niall surprises himself when he shifts forward, lifting onto his toes and pushing harder against Zayn’s mouth. Zayn squeezes his hand again, and Niall wonders if maybe he managed to surprise Zayn a little too. Zayn’s tongue presses against his bottom lip and Niall maybe forgets how to breathe for a few seconds.
Niall opens his mouth, partly because it’s what he knows you’re supposed to do, but mostly because it’s what feels right. It’s a moment before Zayn’s tongue slips inside and against his own, slow and wandering and not at all pushy like Niall expected. It’s like Zayn is taking his time, just having fun and enjoying himself, and Niall briefly thinks about pulling away and giving Zayn the biggest hug he can manage. Except that Niall is also really enjoying this kissing thing too.
When Zayn pulls back he says, “You smell good,” Niall’s pretty sure it’s not what he would have imagined hearing after his first kiss ever, had his imagination ever made it past the actual kiss. But it’s also one of the nicest things anyone has ever said to him, which makes perfect sense, because he’s pretty sure that Zayn is one of the nicest people he’s ever met.
“Thanks,” Niall says, and he just knows there’s a bright deep blush working its way across his cheeks and down his neck. He squeezes Zayn’s hand again, because it feels like maybe the best way to explain that he’s talking about the kiss too.
“You’re welcome,” Zayn says and tugs Niall behind him as he turns back toward the party on the other side of the laundry room door.