Opposite of Me (Ziall Horlik)

Zayn is 22, he's an artist in uni and the only thing he's ever cared about is his art.

Niall is 21, he's studying music and has always cared about everything

Zayn had a colder heart, not caring much for others or animals and was selfish. Niall's heart was warmer, he wanted to make the world happy, and was selfless.

When Zayn first met Niall his eyes recognized him as art, and that's what struck Zayn's interest.

When Niall first met Zayn his ears recognized Zayn's voice as music, and that's how Zayn became another person in his life

With the two so opposite, yet so fascinated and inspired by one another, what could happen?


2. 2

Zayn's POV

I groaned as I rolled out of bed, and messed up my already scruffy hair. I tugged down the ridden up legs of my fitting boxers and stretched so my joints clicked in all the right places

I showered first, and began to get ready for the morning. I made sure to look good, so I could feel that extra bit of confidence.

I grabbed my bag which already contained my supplies, and picked up my phone. I walked from my studio to uni, my earphones in my ear.

People looked my way, most did. I never understood why, maybe it was just how I presented myself. I didn't see anything wrong with how I was, but other people seemed to without ever telling me what the problem they have with me is.

But that's their loss I suppose

I rolled my eyes when I heard people yelling out the same name to one person I hadn't yet identified.

I walked along the art block, stopping in my tracks when I heard the snap of a phone camera

I looked down the hall, seeing a blond with a pixie cut and their phone in the air facing my painting

What the hell?

I examined their body and decided it was a boy. But hot damn, I would love to have my chance on that.

Hopefully his face was pretty

I watched him just stand there and stare at my artwork. He reached out, as if he were going to touch it, but I could see him hesitating to do so.

He examined my signature, and I watched how softly he moved. How feminine.

He put one hand in his hair, brushing his fingers through it in an almost delicate way. He was paler than me, but the word pale didn't seem appropriate enough for such an uncommon yet beautiful skin tone

I was so lost in watching him that by the time I snapped out of my trance, he'd already walked away. I walked to my own painting, taking a look at it

Why did he take a picture of it? Why did he look at it for so long? Did he not like it? Or did he like it?

"Hey, Niall" I heard someone nearby

"Hey" I heard a happy voice

I turned and saw the blond smiling, wow he's pretty. My eyes were wide, I knew that.

Since when did he go here? Surely I'd have noticed him at some point.

Niall... What an interesting name. Strong to the ears, but soft to the tongue.

I liked it

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