Chapter Text
If Zayn had to choose his top five favorite experiences of his young life, he could do it easily. He wouldn't even need to take a breath, he could rattle them off no problem. He won't, because he keeps them close, but he can say this: he considers himself pretty lucky that one of them is an experience that happens every year. He's lucky that not all of his top five are once-in-a-lifetime things, like most people have. No, Zayn gets one of his every May.
It's simple, really, which makes sense because Zayn considers himself to be a pretty simple person, with simple needs and wants. And this is the simplest of all, the drive from his childhood home to the beach, the drive he makes every May, in the shitty truck his uncle gave him for his sixteenth birthday. His family rib him for it, the intense love he has for the drive he takes every year, the journey he stretches from an easy two hours all the way up to four, simply because he likes to "drive with the waves" and go the extra long way.
But it doesn't matter, Zayn lets them laugh at him because he doesn't care. It really is one of his favorite things, about half way through the drive when he sees the ocean and gets to take it down to his favorite place. It's just Zayn, his arm out the window, breezing down the highway, wind in his hair, the promise of summer at his fingertips.
It makes him feel alive.
Since turning sixteen, every May, Zayn leaves his home in Bakersfield to go to beautiful Santa Barbara, California, to work for the summer and save up money for school. His friends think it's lame that he's gone all summer, every summer, but Zayn doesn't mind. His whole family used to spend summer weekends in Santa Barbara when he was young, staying with family friends who lived near the beach. So it always makes him nostalgic, Santa Barbara. He doesn't mind the work, he's a good saver, and he gets to hang out with his "summer friends," his coworkers from the restaurant, on the beach every night, once they close up.
The last year had been rough on Zayn, with school being stressful. He had spent his junior year at college studying graphic design, and while it was fascinating and definitely the route he wanted to take, it was a little too closed up at times. Zayn needed to be outside, in the sun, interacting with his family and friends, not in a computer lab for hours upon hours, only staring at a screen. He needed a balance, he needed to see things, experience things, to actually be able to draw them.
So on the days when he feels overwhelmed with classes and his eyes droop from looking at a computer screen for too long, he thinks of May and of his favorite drive. He thinks of the beach, of drinking until he's sick in the sand with his friends, of the Fourth of July.
No matter what kind of bad mood he's in, Zayn Malik can always think of the Fourth of July and instantly feel better.
***
So it's no surprise that when Zayn finally arrives at the tiny apartment sitting over the best cafe in the world, the cafe that serves the most amazing pie he will ever eat in his life, he's in a great mood. Before venturing up the rickety, wooden stairs that run along the building up to the apartment, he pops his head over to the main window and waves at Grace, one of his all-time favorite people, the owner and landlord who could be his grandmother, the woman who makes him want to have kids someday, so he can be an awesome grandparent too. Her weathered face lights up when she sees him, as she waves frantically. He sends her a quick kiss through the window and she knows him well enough to know he'll be back, after he jumps on the back of another one of his favorite people in the world, his best friend who he hasn't seen since February.
He bounds up the stairs and practically breaks the door down with his excitement, flying through it and throwing his bags onto the floor of his temporary home. He takes a deep breath in through his nose, smelling the familiar sea air, taking in the one main room with the shitty couch, the shitty kitchen, and the shitty eating area. He can only imagine the shitty bedroom and the shitty bathroom towards the back of the apartment, and he can't wait to do stupid, irresponsible shit here all summer long.
"Is that who I think it is?" he hears yelled from the bedroom.
"Who the fuck else would it be?" he laughs, yelling back.
Just then, Louis comes strolling around the corner in just a towel, shaking his ridiculously long hair out of his eyes. He holds his arms up and smiles. "Look who finally made it, you gorgeous fucking bastard. Bring it in, then."
Zayn laughs and runs at him, jumping into his arms, squeezing him fiercely.
"Easy, Malik. I know you've waited a few months to see my naked body, but please, don't knock my towel off just yet. You just fucking got here," he says as they separate.
Zayn laughs again, and stands back with his hands on his hips. "You wish I wanted to see you naked, Lou. Get real. But I'm here, finally! What are we doing tonight?"
"Well, we have this little thing we call work around these parts, maybe you've heard of it," Louis says, making his way around Zayn into the kitchen. He grabs two beers from the fridge and hands him one. "So I figured we'd get you back into the swing of things, make sure you remember how. I'm not confident you remember how the real world works, after you've been at your fancy college all year."
"You know for a fact that I go to a state school, and I worked all year, too. So fuck off," he says, laughing.
Louis laughs with him and continues. "But don't you worry. After close, we're going to kick off your summer down at Becca's place. She already has the booze and I have a joint with your name on it."
"Cheers," he says, raising his beer.
"I'm glad you're back, man. This summer is going to be sicker than last summer, I can tell."
They clink bottles and settle in, talking about the past semester, how Zayn handled school and how Louis handled working in the restaurant, leading the troops. Louis lives in Grace's shitty apartment year round and graciously lets Zayn stay with him every summer. Zayn has learned to love the old brown couch by the front door, and he knows Louis absolutely lives for the summer, for when Zayn comes breezing in again like he never left.
And Louis being Louis, he hangs out in his towel the entire time until they leave for the restaurant, comfortable as ever, because he's ridiculous. Zayn absolutely loves him for it.
***
Walking into The Harbor feels a lot like walking into his childhood home after a long time away: different and yet exactly the same. The atmosphere might change a little here or there, with a new coat of paint or a few new faces to greet him, but it's the same as it's always been, homey and comforting. Zayn loves the feel of the boat house themed restaurant, set far out on the pier, waves crashing against the front window when the tide is high. He smiles to himself, feeling happy all over again that it's May.
Louis high fives various coworkers as he makes his way behind the bar, as Zayn hugs the people he knows from past summers. Most of the guys in the kitchen are the same, guys Zayn has worked with for years, and there are only a few new servers.
Zayn notices a gorgeous girl with long brown hair, about his age, eyeing him, trying to catch his eye so she can smile at him, and he's about to start a polite conversation, to work in how absolutely gay he is, when Louis does it for him.
"Ah, I see you looking at Mr. Zayn Malik there, Michelle. But he loves dick way too much to eye you back, sorry doll."
Michelle blushes furiously and walks away before Zayn can say sorry, or slap Louis, whichever, Zayn's not picky. He gives Louis his classic really, Lou? face and starts getting ready for his first shift.
Just then, John walks in.
Now Zayn can wax poetic all day about how much he loves his Santa Barbara summers, how much he misses Lou when he's away, and how amazing it is to spend his nights getting drunk on the beach with a group of vagabonds like himself. But if he's honest, as of the last two summers, John is the best part. John is their manager at The Harbor. He's in his mid thirties, he's tall with dark brown hair and eyes, and his hands make Zayn weak in the knees. John is just the right side of sturdy and manly, without looking too domineering or intimidating. Zayn smiles and almost runs to hug him, but he doesn't. He holds in his excitement.
John greets the dinner staff, walking around the tables as everyone sets them, chatting, putting on their aprons. It's when he walks behind Zayn that he feels it, the most addicting feeling in the world, the feeling of John's body close to his body. He runs his index finger against Zayn's palm as he passes. It's light, just a small touch, to let him know he's happy to see him. Zayn feels his cheeks redden, as he looks down and smiles. He can't wait to touch John more. But he has to keep himself in check.
Because oh yeah, John is married.
Zayn hates himself for it, beats himself up for it all summer. But not enough to stop. For whatever reason, when they're in the same room, they're like magnets. The first time they realized it two summers ago, when he was only nineteen, Zayn had knocked an entire tray of glasses to the floor in the kitchen, right as everyone walked out the back door to head to their beach party after a shift. John, before walking out to his car to head home to his wife, graciously stayed back to help Zayn clean up the glass.
They didn't even really talk while they cleaned, there was no chit chat, no polite conversation or silence filler. It was like one minute they were sweeping the floor, dancing around each other cautiously, and the next they were on each other. Zayn felt himself be pressed against the wall by the prep table, John's tongue in his mouth, and it was like he was lit on fire. They stumbled back to the manager's office and fucked right there on the desk. John bent him over it so fast, his head was spinning the entire time. And ever since, it was like they couldn't keep their hands off each other. Every summer, after almost every shift Zayn worked, he found himself either bent over that desk, or on his knees underneath it.
It was addicting and he didn't know how to stop wanting it. So Zayn figured until the answer came to him, or until John stopped it, he'd go with it. At this point it felt like he had to.
***
His first shift back at The Harbor goes off without a hitch. It's like getting back into the driver's seat of the one thing he knew like the back of his hand: working a rush. The place is packed with tourists starting to make their way into town for the summer season, the locals out for the night before it gets too crazy. Santa Barbara City College has another week in session, so there are hoards of college kids at the bar, as well.
Louis works the bar like a pro, like he always does, flirting with every girl who looks his way. Zayn, while running a tray of food past him, sees him in action and briefly wonders if this summer will be like last summer, with Louis fucking every girl he meets in his bedroom, while Zayn has to cover his ears with a pillow on the couch. He can hardly complain, what with Louis letting him stay for an obscenely cheap price, but still. He didn't particularly love listening to various girls screaming out his best friend's name on a constant loop. That was the upside of fucking your older, married boss: any and all hookups happen in offices, back seats, or in the alley behind the restaurant. He'd get depressed about it if he let it get to him, so he tries not to think about it too much.
After the last customer leaves, the servers finish their side work and clean up the dining room. Louis keeps up tradition by plugging in his iPod and blasting music throughout the restaurant as he cleans up behind the bar and restocks the liquor. Finally they're finished and everyone laughs and links arms, as they make their way out the back door, heading to the beach not far from the restaurant, to party at Becca's beach house.
Zayn purposefully hangs back, as he sees John quietly walk into his office. Zayn scratches at his neck, leaves his apron and keys on the prep table in the kitchen, and follows him in. John doesn't even let him close the door all the way. He just shoves Zayn against it so it latches, and attacks his mouth with his own.
"I fucking missed you. Thank god you're back," he huffs out, in between kissing and biting Zayn's neck.
"You missed me?"
"Fuck, get on the desk, hurry up," he says, pushing Zayn slightly, rushing them to get a move on.
Zayn smiles as he undoes his jeans and tugs them down to his knees, and then leans over the desk, facing the back wall.
It's not the best situation, he knows it. He knows he shouldn't mess around with a guy who's married, a straight guy who's married, who also happens to be his boss. But they're magnets. And Zayn hasn't felt like a magnet since he was thirteen years old, since his first kiss, when he couldn't hold it in any longer and surged forward towards the lips in front of him, like he couldn't help it, like they had a mind of their own.
Zayn hasn't felt like a magnet since that Fourth of July when Harry Styles kissed him, right there under the pier, when they were thirteen and reckless.
So if this is what Zayn has to do to feel magnetic, to feel wanted and needed, then he'll do it, for now. He'll let John open him up with his fingers like he can't help it, like he can't wait another second. And if he pushes back onto his hand and grips the edge of the desk, willing himself to forget about John's wife Kristin, the lovely woman who brings brownies to the staff sometimes, so be it. Because once he hears the condom wrapper, and once John finally pushes into Zayn with a desperate moan, Zayn can shut his brain off.
He shuts his brain off now, and just rides it out. John grabs the back of his neck and hits that sweet spot, and suddenly, not much else matters.
***
When Zayn makes his way down the beach twenty minutes later, it's with a smile on his face. He hates himself all over again, but he can't help it. It had been a few weeks since he'd gotten laid, and since last summer since he'd gotten laid on a desk, so he lets himself enjoy it for a few minutes.
Louis is already on his way to being completely drunk, which Zayn isn't surprised by at all, so he settles in with the group and has himself a beer from the cooler.
They spend the rest of the night drinking, smoking the joint Louis promised him, singing along to the music playing from Becca's speakers, sitting around the fire. Zayn feels light and happy, like the summer is about to be the best summer yet. Louis must sense it too, because he keeps his arm around Zayn's shoulder as they tell stories from the past year. Louis fucked around with a tourist back in the spring, and they were caught by Grace fucking on the couch in the apartment, when Grace came up to bring him a new soup she'd made for the cafe. Apparently little old Grace didn't see the harm in just entering the apartment she fucking owns, and was met with the sight of Louis balls deep in a girl from Texas, right there on the shitty brown couch Zayn sleeps on every night.
"That's my fucking bed, Lou!"
"Not from September until April, dude. Can't help it, I had to. She was fucking gorgeous, Z. I had to!"
They laugh and laugh, and Zayn wants to take this night and every conversation he has and put it in a bottle. He wants to bottle it and take it back to Bakersfield in August, so he can have it forever and cherish it when he's in a computer lab for too long, or when his mom calls him, complaining about how hectic life is without him living at home anymore.
Just then, a few people on the other side of the fire and the other side of Zayn and Louis, get quiet. Zayn can sense that two people walked up to Becca's straight from the beach, from the direction of the pier. Louis senses it too because they both lean around the fire to get a better look, to see who's joined them.
Zayn about has a fucking heart attack. Because one of the people standing in front of him now, closer to the sandy patio, with fire illuminating his perfect fucking face, is none other than Harry Styles, in his all his tall, grown man glory.
Zayn feels his jaw drop. Louis sees it and doesn't know what's going on, why Zayn's acting like he's seen a ghost. So he nudges him and gives him the what the fuck is happening? face, and Zayn doesn't even know how to react.
The last time Zayn spoke to Harry Styles, was August of his thirteenth year. Harry's family was loaded, infamous around Santa Barbara for owning a massive house near the beach, where his parents hosted clam bakes and cocktail parties every weekend during the summer. Everyone was invited, all the locals and the business owners of the area, so the parties were always quite the big ordeal. Zayn's family went almost every time, dragging Zayn and his sisters along to that huge house, while Trisha and Yaser socialized and pretended they were more well off than they actually were. He remembers going and playing there when he was little, of the Styles kids and how fun they were to swim with, or eat at the kids table with. The two of them became inseparable, every summer, spent together like two little shitheads, playing around on the beach until they passed out from exhaustion every night. But that summer, the one he hit puberty, was different, better.
That was one of Zayn's favorite summers, his thirteenth, the one he spent almost every weekend with just Harry, when his sisters wanted nothing to do with him during Santa Barbara weekends, and Harry's sister was older and more mature, so she disappeared every day to go to the beach. Harry and Zayn were attached at the hip even more than summers before, if you can believe it. They rode bikes along the beach, swam every day, ate ice cream on the pier every night, every weekend the Maliks came to town.
And yeah, sure, they kissed under the pier on the Fourth of July, and it was perfect, and Zayn knew then and there that all he wanted to do for the rest of his life was touch boys, and have boys touch him, but that was it. In August, the Styles went back to Orange County and the Maliks stayed in Bakersfield. Harry gave Zayn a quick hug goodbye before leaving, and Zayn cried in the car on the way home.
The Styles family returned every summer to their beach house, but Harry never came along again. Zayn heard that Harry didn't want to be away from his friends for months at a time, so he had permission to stay with their housekeeper instead, saying he was old enough to be without his parents.
Zayn's not stupid, or unrealistic. Just because you kiss someone at thirteen doesn't mean you have to keep in touch. Sure, he expected Harry to call him or write him like he said he would, but when it didn't happen, he moved on. He found other boys to kiss, boys who wanted to hold his hand under the bleachers by the track at school, boys who sucked him off in the basement when his parents weren't home. Harry Styles was a passing fad. A really good, magnetic fad, but a fad nonetheless.
But to see him again, in the flesh, as an adult, is enough to send Zayn over the edge.
"Harry?" he says, standing up.
"Zayn!"
Harry stumbles over to him and pulls him into a hug. Zayn clutches his back. He smells like cologne and whiskey. Zayn hopes he doesn't smell like the restaurant. He vaguely wonders if he smells like John, but he pushes the thought out of his head.
"How the fuck are you?" he says, stepping back, putting his hands on his hips.
"Good, man. Really good. I go to UCLA. I'm studying law, you know how it is. What about you? Do you live here?" he says, gesturing the beach house behind them.
"Oh no, we're all just hanging out here tonight. I'm only here for the summer to work."
"Work?"
"Uh, yeah at the restaurant on the pier. The Harbor. I'm a server there. Remember it?" he says, smiling. Luckily Louis has busied himself with talking to the girl Harry walked up the patio with, so Zayn is saved the embarrassment of trying to get High Louis to be nice to a stranger Zayn thinks is hot.
"Oh, you work in a restaurant. On the pier. That's… that's really good," he says, with a tight smile.
Zayn can immediately sense that something is amiss here. Sure, Harry hugged him and seemed excited to say hello, but he also seems twitchy. He's talking too fast and his eyes keep darting around. Zayn also gets the sense that Harry really doesn't think him working at a restaurant is good, that he thinks it's the opposite of good.
Zayn tilts his head and stares at Harry, trying to take it all in, trying to figure out what Harry's saying without saying anything.
Just then Louis introduces himself to Harry, so Zayn is saved from having to talk again for a moment. It's while his thoughts are swirling that he hears Harry and the girl, Sam, are staying in the pool house at his parents' place up the beach. Louis says something to him, so he snaps out of it.
"What?"
"I asked how you two knew each other," Louis says easy as anything, because he's curious.
Zayn's about to answer, to say they knew each other as kids, that their families used to hang out, but Harry beats him to it.
"My parents used to throw parties and invite the people who didn't have places to stay, people who didn't actually stay here in Santa Barbara, so we'd invite Zayn's family. They used to come over. To those parties. Sometimes," Harry says, with a defiant look on his face, as if he's challenging Zayn to say more.
Now the whole thing is weird, and Zayn is finally starting to catch on. Clearly Harry doesn't want to say that they were friends, that their families were friends, or that Zayn was someone he gave even a small shit about. Zayn looks at his face, the face he used to know so well as a kid, and all he sees is a snob, a kid he used to know, who now wanders the beach in search of people to brag about UCLA to.
"Yeah. Yeah, that's how we know each other," he says, glaring back at Harry. "We didn't actually stay here for the entire summer, because my parents had jobs, you know. Had to work. So we came on the weekends, and the Styles were just so nice to invite us over, to let us eat some free food. Throw us a bone."
Louis looks at Zayn, and then at Harry, back and forth, his head snapping each time. He feels the weird energy too, it seems.
Harry tenses up and Zayn sees his entire body lean forward. He's pissed.
"Yeah, you guys sure loved to eat that free food. Your sisters liked our pool too, bless them," he sneers.
The girl with Harry, Sam something, gives Louis a look and grabs Harry's arm, to pull him back towards the beach, to leave. Zayn gives them a tight smile, to send them on their way.
"Well it was sure great seeing you, Harry. If you have time, feel free to come to the restaurant on the pier. You know the pier, you remember where it is," he says, crossing his arms. He's not evil, he won't give away what Harry clearly seems to think is a secret, the fact that he kissed Zayn, but Zayn won't let him forget it. Not in a million fucking years.
Harry just glares at him and shakes his head, walking backwards, stumbling into Sam. They finally get back to the beach and on their way, when Louis rounds on him.
"What in the ever loving fuck was that about?"
"It was nothing, Lou."
"That wasn't nothing, that was something. That was some grade-A hatred if I've ever seen it. Shit," he says, running a hand through his hair, settling back down by the fire. Zayn sits with him and continues drinking his beer.
"Just drop it."
Louis isn't a moron, so he does, thankfully.
Zayn lights a cigarette and leans back, looking at the sky, listening to the waves. All he can think now, after his perfect night was ruined, is fuck Harry Styles. Fuck Harry Styles and his stuck up ass, and fuck his house, and fuck his UCLA law degree.
If he wants to pretend like Zayn is a piece of trash, a kid he used to take pity on, then fuck him.
Fuck Harry Styles.
***
That night, as Zayn tries in vain to fall asleep on the shitty brown couch in the apartment, he can't help but think of his first kiss again. Harry had said standing under the pier at night was fun, that the waves hitting the wood made a cool sound, so Zayn followed him. Harry always had the best ideas. He was so adventurous and courageous, Zayn was constantly in awe of him.
The fireworks weren't meant to start for another fifteen minutes, so they laughed and ran around the wooden beams, splashing water like they were five again.
They only stopped running because Harry had grabbed Zayn around the middle and tugged him closer. Zayn was breathing heavy and he saw Harry's curls blow around his face, from not just the wind, but from Zayn's breath as well. They stared at each other for a moment and then it was like time stopped. It was like magnets. Harry leaned forward and it was like Zayn's entire body also had to lean in. Their lips touched and Zayn almost keeled over from relief. He knew he had a crush on Harry, that Harry made his stomach feel funny, but he didn't anticipate this. He didn't think boys did this, especially not boys like Harry, who had girls following him around everywhere he went that summer.
Zayn's first kiss was with his first crush, and it was more than he ever could've asked for. They held hands and kissed until the fireworks started, when they came out from under the pier and watched from the sand, the waves licking their toes.
Zayn falls asleep that night, thinking of kisses and fireworks.
He also thinks, it's too bad that Harry went away, and an asshole came back in his place. It's really too bad.
***
Zayn briefly wakes up a few hours later, to the sounds of screeching tires and crunching metal. It sounds close, but far at the same time. It sounds like a car wreck, and Zayn briefly thinks to himself, in his sleepy haze, that it's a shame that people get in car wrecks in the middle of the night, when people are too sleepy to run outside.
He rolls over and faces the back of the couch, sleep taking over again.
***
The next day, while setting up for the lunch shift at work, Becca runs in and asks if he heard the news.
"What news?"
"That guy, the guy who came to my place last night, the one you hugged. The Styles kid, he crashed his fucking car last night, going down Cabrillo!"
Zayn stops rolling silverware and stares at her. Because he heard it, he heard that crash the night before, and just went back to sleep.
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah, he wrapped his fucking Maserati around a pole, though." Zayn lets out a harsh breath as she continues, "My dad said he heard the Styles were absolutely pissed about it. Apparently he's quite the little shithead and they brought him here this summer for him to get his shit together. Just thought you'd want to know!"
She bounces out of the dining room towards the kitchen, leaving Zayn standing there alone. He can't believe he was just concerned about Harry, the prick who showed his true colors the night before. He wants to tell himself to roll his eyes and not care.
But in the end, he doesn't know how to feel. He's glad Harry wasn't hurt. But then he tells himself to stop thinking about him, and he forces himself to roll his eyes, to make himself feel sorry for the probably gorgeous Maserati on its way to the junkyard.
***
The next day, during his second shift, Zayn sees Mr. Styles walking into John's office, with a concerned look on his face.
And the day after that, as he's helping Louis set up behind the bar, it's like his entire fucking summer crumbles like a piece of paper he's about to toss in the garbage.
Because in walks Mr. Styles with Harry trailing behind him, a sour look on his face, and a cut on his forehead above his right eye.
John calls everyone to the bar for their pre-shift meeting, just as the staff all notice the intrusion, the obvious look of rich people wandering into their midst.
"Everyone, this is Harry. He's going to be joining us as a server for the rest of the summer, so we're going to want to make sure he's good and comfortable tonight, so he can get a feel for the flow of the dinner rush."
Zayn's jaw drops and he stares at John like it's a fucking joke. Then the glances at Harry, who is wearing a look of utter and complete disgust. Clearly he finds himself to be above the whole thing, an Orange County trust fund baby who is being forced to do this by daddy.
Zayn doesn't have time to babysit someone who's never worked in a restaurant before, and he certainly doesn't have time to deal with Harry Styles or his bullshit. So Zayn silently vows to himself that this will not ruin his whole goddamn summer. John keeps talking about what to expect for the shift, as Mr. Styles leaves and gives Harry a stern look that basically says don't fuck this up or there will be hell to pay.
Zayn wants to throw himself off the pier.
Harry rolls his eyes at the whole thing and looks at his shoes, zoning out and not even listening to a word John is saying. Zayn's hands start to shake with fury, as he looks at Louis and shakes his head. This is not going to be good for his temper.
Fuck Harry Styles.