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Summary
Ruben’s face is softer in rest. No furrow in his brow, mouth missing its usual armour of a smirk. The whole of his body splayed out on top of his duvet, one leg pressed to the bedroom wall to steal the cool off the concrete beneath the wallpaper.
He’s put on muscle since he started road work. With Ruben snoring away, Niall can look as much as he wants, feeding that ache that sits low in his belly. Niall’s grown an inch over the last year, but even with the boxing lessons, his frame is still lean. Ruben calls him wiry if he’s feeling kind, wrapping his hand around Niall’s bicep after sparring with an approving hum. But he’ll never be as big and broad as Ruben, no matter how hard he trains.
That time they took mushrooms and saw the lake shoot green.