Archive of Our Own

-

The house has always been sickening to Louis.

It’s an obnoxious and dramatic building; complete with a garage fit for three and fake foliage decorating the front lawn (an actual fucking palm tree. They’re not even near any beach whatsoever). The house is alien, not belonging on Louis’ street at all. It’s like everyone else is suburban living, and then there’s this multi-million dollar estate in the middle of it—looking like it belongs on some island in the middle of the ocean instead.

He remembers scoffing at it as a child when it was being built—he had to watch three houses get torn down in order for this one to be developed—and he remembers scowling at it when it was completed. He’d walk home and picture throwing a rock through one of the fancy windows, decorated with pretty black linings, just to see who would have to fix it or who would yell at him.

Now he’s in high school, his last year, and he sort of thought nobody would ever move in. The house has been up and completely furnished for around thirteen years now, yet nobody’s even looked at the house, nor has it ever been up for sale.

Louis tells his mother he thinks it’s some kind of pathetic joke, like some rich kid has ordered for a massive, stuck-up house to be built in some poor, middle-class street just to say ha-ha, look who has it better than you .

So, when he turns into his street on his skateboard, headphones in his ears contently humming along to a summer tune he’s been replaying ever since it came out, he’s extremely surprised to see cars parked in the large driveway with bulky men walking in and out of the house, their arms filled with duct-taped cardboard boxes.

It’s strange to see, really. There’s actually going to be someone living next to him, someone who can afford this house.

He skates closer, curious to see who it is. He’s already made a mental bet with himself that it’s a famous celebrity, maybe someone old who’s basically retired, needing this house as a sort of getaway. But it really wouldn’t be preferred, actually, now that he remembers he’s got a perfect view of their pool from his window. 

He shudders at the imagery. 

“Where’d you want this, mum?” 

Louis blinks at the voice. It definitely does not belong to someone in their sixties. It sounds like someone Louis’ age—a boy, too. 

He’s closer to the house now, stopping abruptly once he reaches his own front lawn. He scans the neighbour’s driveway until his eyes land on the voice, and his balance embarrassingly falters on his usually trustworthy board at the sight of him. 

The stranger looks like someone Louis would, admittedly, make up in his dreams. From the dark complexion that looks golden underneath the sunlight, to the opaque features of his eyes and hair. Louis also doesn’t miss the way the boy’s tattooed arms appear to bulge through his shirt as he holds up a cardboard box filled with possessions. 

And Louis feels his mouth go dry, staring blankly at the boy, at this ethereal beauty. He blames the sweat that’s appeared on his skin on the weather.

“Just put it all inside the house, love, we’ll deal with it later.” A woman—the boy’s mum, Louis assumes—tells her son. She walks passed, phone to her ear, into the house.  

The boy shifts the box in his grip and turns towards the doorway. Louis’ chest sort of flutters at the fact that he’s helping the movers. It’s a small act, Louis knows, not something he should bloody swoon over, but he’s glad. At least he’s not some snobby, spoilt teenager who sits back and gets everything he needs from the snap of his fingers. 

And Louis finds himself unable to tear his eyes away. He’s a curious soul—always has been—but he immediately regrets it as soon as the new neighbour glances his way.
 
He stops, too, like he’s confused as to why someone’s staring at him. And Louis can see the slight furrowing of his brows from where he’s standing.
 
Louis blinks, quickly debating whether or not to greet him in some way or another. But it seems that his flight or fight response kicks in and he’s fleeing, breaking their brief eye contact, and stepping on his skateboard to flip it up and catch it.
 
He disappears into his own house without another chanced look.

“Shit,” He says to himself once he’s inside, door closed.  

He wonders how he must’ve looked to the stranger, running off like that as though he’s never seen another person before. And honestly, he thought as a person who is singularly known for his outspoken character, he’d have a little more charm when it comes to strangers.
 
Though, obviously, this one’s intimidating. He’s probably powerful and insanely business-smart. Also, Louis guesses, his devastating attractiveness is a small factor to consider, too.

-

He definitely does not look out his window where he can see the boy’s house once he’s showered and has a million other things he could do. And he definitely does not keep looking when the boy’s outside, in nothing but shorts, lying next to the pool as the sun surrounds his body.
 
It’s a crime, really, to look that good and to be a constant presence in Louis’ eyesight. This boy is something like an undoubtedly oblivious and inconsiderate tease, someone who’s entered Louis’ life like a tornado in disguise, and he’s ultimately, inconceivably destroying Louis’ confident demeanour the more he looks at him.
 
It’s been a week since he and his mother moved in. And he’s been sitting by the poolside more times than Louis can keep count.
 
It’s not like he has been keeping count, of course—that would be insanely obsessive, and an obvious realisation that he needs to perhaps find another hobby—but it just so happens that mostly every time Louis enters his room, the boy’s also there.
 
And today he’s stretched out on the banana lounge, his arms placed above his head, sunglasses covering his eyes from the strength of the rays in the sky. He looks so incredibly desirable and carefree, as though getting an even tan is his biggest worry.
 
It should make Louis fume, make him close his blinds and mutter something like stupid rich kids —but it doesn’t. Instead, Louis leans a little closer, inspecting him a little more.
 
He’s got tattooed art scattered around different parts of his chest and arms, ones so strategically placed it makes his body look like some sort of professional collage, adding to the other elements of his already artwork-like self.
 
Though, when the boy shifts his position to turn onto his stomach, face down, his back muscles glistening under the heated rays, Louis rolls his eyes at himself and lands, face down, too, onto his bed.
 
He knows he’s making things worse for himself already. He convinces himself that the only reason why this stranger has so quickly entranced him is because of his endless boredom—his time spent doing nothing except skating around town and procrastinating study.
 
It’s possibly very pathetic of him to even scope out his new neighbour through a window—possibly a little perverted, too. Though, he’s allowed to admire someone from afar, isn’t he? Especially when his form of eye-candy is right there.
 
He runs a hand down his face and picks up the phone on his bedside table, replying to a text one of his friends had sent him around two hours ago complaining about his family holiday. They can talk about meeting up again, and stuff. Things that’ll make him stop feeling like a jittery, swooning mess over a person he doesn’t even know the name of.
 
-
 
The boy’s name is Zayn Malik and he apparently happens to be a big deal. The Malik’s, so he’s been told, own a couple of successful companies under their name, ones that have branched out to America, ones that Louis has seen advertised many times.
 
“The girls were all excited when Trisha joined the circle,” Louis’ mother continues to explain to him, talking about the local Woman’s Book Club that she attends every Thursday, “We hit it off, actually. Even went out for coffee afterwards.”
 
She says the last bit like she’s proud of it, or as though Mrs Malik took her to a posh café, and she didn’t have to pay a cent. Probably both.
 
“Lovely, she is.” His mother goes on, unpacking the groceries that are placed on the kitchen bench. “An extremely hard-working woman, also. I sort of admire her actually.”
 
His mother lets out a small laugh and Louis bumps his hip against hers softly, “Hey, you’re the hardest working mum on earth.”
 
She gives him a sweet look and pinches Louis’ cheek, making him grin.
 
“Well, just letting you know, she’s invited us all over to their house for dinner on Monday. And I know you’re not doing anything so I already said you’re coming.”
 
Louis’ eyes almost bulge out of his head, “You—mum, why ?”
 
She pauses her movements and frowns questionably at him, “Is that a problem?”
 
“Like, it’s just a bit weird, is it not?” Louis replies, swallowing deeply. He’s had dinner with other families before, but they’ve been his friend’s families, ones he’s known for years. He’s never even met any of the Malik’s before. He’d feel like an intruder—like an out-of-place, underprivileged intruder.
 
“Yeah, a bit,” She agrees, turning back to her groceries, “But don’t tell me you haven’t fantasised about being in that castle of a house before.”
 
Louis snorts and rolls his eyes. He won’t admit it, but he definitely has thought about trespassing and peering into their windows just to see how large and pretentious it is.
 
“Yeah, alright, I’ll go.” Louis says.
 
-
 
Their house definitely is something of a castle, like a mansion built specifically for a member of royalty. It looks even classier and more unattainable at night, with the huge, golden porch lights illuminating the intricate detail and cleanliness of each pattern and design. Louis almost feels guilty for stepping onto the wooden stairs leading up to the house in his cheap, on-sale shoes.
 
When Charlotte, his sister, rings the doorbell, a melodic, loud tune is heard and it rings throughout the house. Louis’ not sure whether the echo he hears is created by the spaciousness of the room or if it’s programmed to do so. Either way, he’s never felt more nervous standing outside someone’s door.
 
Seconds later, the door opens, revealing an older man in white gloves and a suit.
 
“Evening,” He greets, eyeing up Louis and his family, “Name?”
 
The man looks nothing like Zayn, or his mother, and Louis assumes he must be their butler, or someone else that rich people have.
 
Louis’ mother opens her mouth, sort of stunned by the formal, exclusive greeting, “Uhh, hello, we’re—“
 
“Oh! Is that Johannah?” A voice appears, a few spaces behind the man at the door. “Let them in, this is the family I was telling you about!”
 
The butler nods once, then opens the door further, revealing an extremely posh interior, with objects and furniture that could be shown on display in a museum or art gallery. The colour scheme is red, gold and shades of black and white. There’s a chandelier hanging from the ceiling of the living room and a fireplace that takes up the entire wall. Louis breathes out impressively, eyes wide.
 
And as he’s too busy staring at it in awe, he doesn’t even notice the woman hugging his mother until she’s in front of him.
 
“You must be Louis?” She asks, giving a pleasant smile as she looks at him.
 
“Y-Yeah, uh, Trisha, is it?” Louis replies, not as poised as he would’ve liked to be. God, maybe it’s only the rich and powerful aspect of this family that makes him a nervous, stuttering mess.
 
“Yes,” She says, her styled dark hair bouncing slightly around her face as she nods, “I see you’re also the only male within a family of sisters.” She lets out a small laugh, “It’s like my own son, he’s surrounded by three of them!”
 
Louis raises his eyebrows and nods once or twice, not knowing what else to say. Thankfully, Trisha moves onto Félicité and lets Louis simmer in his own thoughts, mostly completely captivated by the money that would’ve been spent to obtain everything his eyes are seeing.
 
After Zayn’s mother greets everyone individually, she leads them all into a different part of the house, the dining room. On the way there, the girls all gasp and make cooing noises as they spot everything in sight. Louis would be slightly embarrassed, since they’re making it seem like they’ve never seen anything like this before, but he can’t blame them, honestly. This house is beautiful.
 
“Zayn should be coming home soon, his work called him in unexpectedly this morning, but he finishes in a few minutes.” Trisha explains as they all take their seats around a very long, massive dining table.
 
Louis silently questions why in god’s name Zayn would still work when he already has all the riches he could ever need. Maybe it’s for the family’s company.
 
“How’re the girls and Yaser?” Louis’ mother asks Trisha once they’ve all seated.
 
Meanwhile, Phoebe and Daisy are sitting with straight backs, hands clasped in their laps, chin up. Louis eyes them sceptically.
 
“They said they need to be proper because it’s the ‘rules’, apparently.” Charlotte explains to him, rolling her eyes.
 
Louis scoffs, “Of course.”
 
Trisha and Louis’ mother talk about how the Malik girls are staying with Yaser as he finishes some business over in America, and is expected home later this week. Louis’ mother and Trisha talk about how Louis’ step dad is taking care of the little ones at home, not wanting to have them disrupting dinner. For a few moments, they’re the only ones talking; the rest of the room stilled in silence, the girls noticeably becoming impatient and hungry.
 
Louis’ stomach grumbles just as the sound of the front door being open hits everybody’s ears. It’s not as sudden to everyone else as it is to Louis—the sound of a particular person entering the house—but his body stiffens instantly, his hand coming up to fix his fringe like he does when he’s nervous.
 
Félicité eyes him off, noticing something off-kilter about her brother but Louis just pulls a funny face at her, her face changing to a small smile and a roll of her eyes. Louis hears the butler greeting Zayn and taking his coat. Louis’ stomach clenches at the anticipation of seeing him.
 
It’s not a minute later when Zayn finally enters the room, a smile on his face as he nods to the room collectively, then bends down to press a kiss on his mother’s cheek.
 
Louis locks his eyes on him immediately, scoping him out as quickly as he can before Zayn returns his attention to the rest of the table.
 
He’s wearing a normal t-shirt with jeans; his hair styled briefly, up off his face, his features so visible to Louis, since he can now see more than his body and the definite outlines of him. He’s got incredible eyes, a colour so warm and inviting, a colour so contrastingly different to Louis’ blue ones. There’s not a flaw on him from what Louis can visibly see—and it’s not like he’s searching for them, but it’d be comforting to know that he has one, or any, so that Louis doesn’t feel so out of his league.
 
He quickly summarises that it’d be impossible to scope a single imperfection on this boy. He radiates light and natural beauty and—fuck, Louis has to stop looking at him.
 
Converting his gaze to the white, sheer tablecloth instead, he focuses his whole attention on it, his fingers playing together in his lap.
 
The window behind him is covered by thin, creamy coloured curtains that still allow the moonlight outside to creep in faintly, the glow of it flooding into the room, brighter than the dim lighting.
 
Conversation flows around the table but Louis doesn’t say a word. He does feel eyes on him, though, eyes that burn up Louis’ cheeks.
 
The sound of somebody else entering the room makes Louis break eye contact with the cloth, and looks towards the butler from before, arms filled with full plates. And as the girls share their excitement for food, Louis still feels the eyes from across the table, dark and intrigued, locked on like they’re yelling at him to notice.
 
He doesn’t meet them, though, knows who they belong to and would hate to have a clumsy, hesitant greeting the first time they speak. Instead, Louis thanks the butler when one of the plates are presented in front of him, and tries to keep his head down for the remaining time of dinner.
 
“So, what are your plans during summer, Louis?”
 
Louis swallows at the direction of conversation, silently thankful it was Trisha, not Zayn. He looks at her and attempts to not be distracted by the stillness of the boy directly in front of him, the gaze so hot it could burn.
 
“Not too much, Mrs Malik, to be honest.” Louis tells her, a polite smile as he talks, “All my friends have actually left me on my own, seems like all their family’s wanted a vacation at the same time.”
 
He says it with character, light-heartedness, and Trisha lets out a small laugh.
 
“That’s a shame.” She says, “Leaves you more time to get all that studying done, then.”
 
She winks at him kindly and Louis laughs and nods, very carefully trying to suppress the colour appearing on his cheeks from the never-ending attention he’s receiving from Zayn. Really, is Louis that interesting to him?
 
Or maybe he’s trying to figure Louis out, only knowing him as the boy who ran off.
 
“Louis doesn’t study,” Daisy chips in, a hint of mischievousness in her voice.
 
Louis turns to her, eyebrows raised, mock-offended, “Way to make me look good, missy.”
 
He grins at her as he brings up his hand and messes up her hair. She giggles loudly and knocks Louis’ hand away.
 
“Well, you’re more than welcome to come by anytime.” Trisha tells Louis, “Zayn would love the company, I’m sure.”
 
Louis’ smile falters slightly, tearing his eyes away from Daisy, looking at Trisha. She’s staring at him expectantly, kindly, and Louis feels the eyes from across the table lock onto the side of his face.
 
“Yeah, course.” Louis says, voice slightly soft and croaky.
 
He chances a look at Zayn, just one tiny peep, that’s it.
 
He doesn’t know what else he expected, to be honest. But when he’s met with Zayn’s eyes it makes him swallow harshly, and when Zayn’s lips tilt up into a small smirk, Louis has to shift into his chair.
 
“Sounds good.” Zayn says, eyes never leaving Louis’.
 
And Louis knows his cheeks disobey him, burning up as he smiles shyly before dropping Zayn’s gaze, going back to the table.
 
He doesn’t say anything else after his conversation with Trisha, except another small thank you when the plates are cleared. But Zayn talks during dinner, his smooth and delicate voice filling up his ears.
 
Louis learns that Zayn’s only working casual shifts at the bookstore down the road, doesn’t say why. He also learns that Zayn can charm everyone in the room with a mere look, judging by the way Louis’ mum and sisters all seem to stay silent and utterly compelled by every word Zayn speaks.
 
He’s glad he didn’t catch Zayn’s eyes—not if it had meant he’d be a cooing mess for the entirety of dinner.
 
“Did you all want some dessert?” Trisha asks the table, followed by the girls cheering.
 
Louis’ mother laughs softly, “I don’t think we should, the girls need to be up early tomorrow. It’d take them hours to become quiet if they have sugar.”
 
Trisha hums and nods in agreement, “Well, we don’t want that to happen now, do we?”
 
They all make their way out into the main room again, Zayn not following. Louis’ glad that he didn’t, or else he’d feel obliged to say good-bye, maybe.
 
They all thank Trisha and leave the house, the moon sitting in the clear sky, the stars beaming down.
 
It’s colder tonight than it is during the day, but it’s a relaxing coldness, refreshing. It clears Louis’ mind, even though the girls are yapping away with their thoughts on the house, the food, Zayn.
 
“Did anybody else notice his eyelashes?” Phoebe says, “He didn’t even have mascara on and they were still longer than Lottie’s!”
 
Félicité laughs as Charlotte pouts and Louis tries to block out the noise.
 
His cheeks still feel warm, left over from the heat Zayn was directing at him, giving him something of a hot flush. Or maybe it was just in Louis’ imagination, that Zayn’s eyes were burning into the depth of his soul, maybe he’s only being conceited, wishing that it happened.
 
When they get home, Louis says goodnight and falls on his bed as soon as he enters his room. He doesn’t bother turning on the light, just lets the shining glow of the moon wash over the floor, giving him enough light to see.
 
When he closes his eyes, though, it’s a different sort of light, one that fills his mind, one with strong yet calm features, a soft voice, a hard gaze.
 
Boredom; is what this is.
 
-
 
It’s Tuesday, a new day. Louis doesn’t wake up refreshed, or keen to leave his bed at all. Instead, he awakes to blinding light, nature’s way of saying get up you lazy shit and it works, because he’s got no choice but to keep his eyes open—brightness like stars covering the darkness of his eyelids if he tries to get back to sleep, making it impossible.
 
He does lie in bed for a few more minutes, though, blinking slowly and letting his mind adjust. He picks up his phone, disconnecting it from the charger, and replies to all his friends’ messages that they must have sent him when he was at dinner over at the Malik’s.
 
Louis sighs, his arm flopping over his eyes, resting there for a moment or two. It feels like such a task, getting out of bed. Especially since he’s got no plans for the day at all. Maybe he’ll skate over to the local swimming pool, cool off a little in the summer sun.
 
Although… there is another, much closer pool he could go to.
 
”You’re more than welcome to come by anytime.” Trisha’s voice floats through Louis’ mind, blending in with Zayn’s hazel eyes, his small smirk…
 
The thought flies out of his mind before he can even address it properly. He shakes his head, and flings his legs over the edge of his bed before rubbing at his eyes. Once up, he draws back the curtains to open up his window, letting some cool breeze in.
 
And, what a sight he’s met with.
 
Zayn Malik, stretched out on the pool longue, arms above his head, flawless body haunting Louis the more he tries not to stare.
 
This time, though, Zayn’s got something like oil all over him, his gorgeous skin glistening beautifully. The impeccably clear and desirable pool having zero competition to the boy next to it.
 
Zayn fidgets around on the longue, arching up his back, lifting his hips up as he does so. The sun shines on him gloriously, the oil making him wet and slick, his defined muscles clenching at the movement.
 
Louis rubs at his eyes again, “Jesus,”
 
It’s like he’s watching a pornographic video play out in real life—right outside his window. Zayn looks like a fucking model , and as he stretches out and readjusts his swim shorts, pulling them down far enough to expose the skin under his hipbones. Louis lets out a shaky breath.
 
He’s definitely not awake enough for this. Except his cock definitely seems to be.
 
A hand instinctively wraps around it, making Louis let out a small sigh.
 
He blinks as soon as he does it, though. He looks down at Zayn again then curses at himself for being such a goddamn creep , and disappears into the bathroom.
 
He continues in the shower. He convinces himself it’s not as bad if he wanks when the person he’s wanking over isn’t in front of his eyes—instead only in his mind.
 
Waiting until the water’s at the right temperature, he steps underneath it and touches his cock automatically, letting his eyes flutter shut.
 
He thinks of his naked-self crossing Zayn’s backyard, catching his eye. He pictures Zayn gesturing him to come closer, his intense eyes selflessly admiring Louis’ exposed body, staring hungrily at him. He thinks about sitting on Zayn’s lap, rubbing his hands down Zayn’s oiled up chest, the feeling of Zayn’s cock pressing into his arse.
 
Louis strokes himself faster; thumb swiping at the tip, his other hand bracing himself against the shower tiles. His quick breaths coming out in pants.
 
He imagines kissing Zayn, his lips on his own, Zayn’s soft hands caressing Louis’ back, holding his arse, grinding up into him, smooth voice moaning Louis’ name, his thick fingers gliding their way down Louis’ lower back…
 
“Zayn,” Louis finds himself panting, eyes squeezed shut.
 
He pumps himself faster, revelling in the intense stares, picturing himself being pushed against the pool lounge by Zayn’s strong hands, his cheeks hollowing and mouth wet as he takes Louis in—
 
It’s enough for Louis to come with a gasp, a moan of Zayn’s name, his vision going blurry for a minute or two. And, afterwards, as he’s regaining himself and proceeding to rinse off, he starts to think that this isn’t boredom at all; but a deep, seriously worrying infatuation with the boy next door.
 
-
 
“Louis, love, could you do me a favour?” His mother calls from downstairs, her voice reaching from where Louis was actually trying to read some crappy textbook for Geometry class without falling asleep.
 
He shuts the book anyway and tosses it on the floor. If he stops studying for his mum, then he won’t feel guilty, you see. He opens up his bedroom door, meeting her eyes from the top of the staircase. “Yeah?”
 
“Could you water the garden while I’m out today? Forgot how rare rain is this time of year.”
 
Louis nods to her and she thanks him before heading out the door with the twins.
 
Even Doris and Ernest have more of a social life than he does. Fuck, maybe he should call up someone from one of his classes, like hey we don’t really talk much but we’ve worked on assignments together before so do you wanna hang out? But Louis second-guesses that idea partly from the fear of rejection, partly from the awkwardness of the situation he’d be in.
 
So, he enters his room again and changes out from his pyjamas and into his summer shorts and a singlet that’s been hiding underneath a stack of scarves and jackets for months now, and puts on a pair of sunglasses and a bit of gel in his hair before he steps out of the house.
 
The shed in their backyard is in need a serious clean-out—so much useless stuff that Louis’ pretty sure never gets used. Luckily, the watering can is right near the entrance, already half-filled.
 
He turns the outside tap on, the pipes taking a few minutes before they start to produce water, and he fills the plastic container to the brim, the sun hot on his back.
 
Louis welcomes the heat; closing his eyes and tilting his face up towards the sun, letting it touch and warm him up. If there’s anything he aims to achieve during these holidays, it would be to at least obtain a decent tan.
 
Once the watering can’s filled, he starts on his mother’s home-grown tomatoes first, thinking that he’d start from one side of the backyard to the other, doing the boundaries first. They’re tiny, bright red tomatoes, growing great, it seems. The colour of them so vibrant, fitting into the atmosphere of the equally vibrant sun.
 
It’s not long until Louis figures out that he can, in fact, see over the fence.
 
He completely forgot—despite the fact that he’s had to water the garden many times, always daydreaming about invading and taking a swim in the all-too inviting pool—that he could legitimately see all of the neighbour’s backyard.
 
Meaning, yeah, he can definitely see Zayn.
 
There’s music playing softly next to him, from his phone, probably, and he’s wearing sunglasses so Louis’ not actually sure whether Zayn’s heard or seen him yet.
 
Of course, Louis doesn’t wave at him, or call out his name, he just gives Zayn a few once-overs, and then returns back to the garden.
 
But it’s pretty awful, really, because about two seconds later, Zayn’s getting up.
 
He must have noticed Louis, must have seen him checking him out and not even saying hello. Shit, can he see Louis’ window from here?
 
He turns his head and looks at his own house, trying to find his specific window, when—
 
“Hey,” His voice, calm like the ocean, “Louis, right?”
 
Louis turns to him and tries to act the complete opposite of breath-taken. His eyes lock with Zayn’s, though, so he’s basically fucked from here on out, anyway.
 
“Yeah, uh, Zayn… was it?” Louis asks him, because it’s in his nature to play dumb, apparently.
 
Zayn cracks a smile and Louis swallows deeply, realising that the vibrancy of any tomato or the sun couldn’t compare to the sight in front of him. Shit.
 
“Yeah.” He says, nodding once, his sunglasses slightly falling from where they’re perched on his head. “We didn’t really, uh, get to talk last night.”
 
Louis’ hand comes up to rub at the back of his neck, clearing this throat. “Sorry, I think I was just having a moody one, to be honest.”
 
He’s lying, but Zayn doesn’t have to know that. It’s actually ridiculous, though, that he looks even more outstanding when he’s righthere — shirtless and shiny, the sun beaming down on him like a spotlight. He’s more visible like this than in the night-time; inside with ceiling lights as the only light to show him. Here, there’s no shadow. Yet, here, Louis’ brave enough to look him in the eye.
 
Funny, that.
 
“And here I was thinking you didn’t like me,” Zayn tells him, hand coming up to rest on the top of the fence. Louis glances at his fingers before glancing away just as fast. But then Zayn’s hand brushes against Louis’ shoulder as he says, “You should come over again, though.”
 
Louis locks eyes with him, brain going fuzzy for a few seconds, like static on a screen. He’s sort of taken aback, really. Because, one, Zayn’s been thinking that Louis didn’t like him, for god’s sake. And two, he’s just invited Louis over. And touched him.
 
He blinks, then realises that he’s still watering these damn tomatoes and almost drops the watering can. “Uh, yeah, alright.” He ends up saying, flicking his fringe out of his eyes out of habit.
 
Zayn eyes search him, as though trying to figure something out, his eyebrows pressing slightly together. “’Course, you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
 
Louis’ eyes widen, “No! Yeah, I mean, would be good to get to know each other, at least.”
 
Zayn nods, giving him a kind, half smile, “I think so too.”
 
Louis nods, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. “So, um, what day would be good, then?”
 
He watches as Zayn’s fingers move from Louis’ shoulder to below his own waistband near his hip. It exposes his skin, the dip of his hipbones, before Zayn brings out a cigarette. It’s only then that Louis notices the box of them in Zayn’s pants.
 
“Do you want it?” Zayn asks him, holding the cigarette between his fingers.
 
Louis pauses. He stares at Zayn’s perfect features, his incredible, bright disposition. “I don’t smoke.”
 
But Zayn just grins at him, takes Louis’ hand, gives him a look as if to say you don’t need to , and places the dart into the palm of Louis’ hand.
 
Louis takes his first glance towards it, notices a number written on it with pen.
 
“You write your number on all your cigarettes?” Louis asks him, eyes still fixed on it, rolling it between his fingers, his insides fluttering pathetically.
 
“Nah,” Zayn says, “Just this one.”
 
Louis just nods. There’s something in the back of his mind saying that it’s bad, he shouldn’t get any closer. But Louis still palms the cigarette and saves it in the pocket of his shorts.
 
“Send me a text whenever you wanna hang out, yeah? Having no friends around on summer holidays must get pretty boring.”
 
Louis nods again, his throat dry, “Yeah,” He says, letting out a breathy laugh, “I’ll, uh, text you tomorrow?”
 
“Sounds good,” Zayn tells him, lifting off the fence, taking a step back with a smile just for him, “I gotta go, but, I’ll see you ‘round?”
 
Louis finds himself smiling, too, “Okay.”
 
When Zayn disappears into his house, Louis leans his back against the fence, tilting his head backwards as he lets out a small groan; the cigarette feeling like it’s burning a hole into the side of his thigh.
 
-
 
He makes it until tomorrow afternoon. He’s been thinking about texting Zayn ever since he added his number into his phone. He thought about it when he woke up, too, but didn’t want to come off as too eager.
 
But it’s around twelve thirty now, and Louis decides to tap out the first text: Hey, it’s Louis
 
He throws his phone on his pillow and turns towards the bathroom to have a shower. Before he opens the door, though, his phone starts to buzz. Louis frowns. That was quick.
 
Hey :) 
 
A second later it buzzes again.
 
Bored? X
 
Louis swallows. He ignores how his stomach seems to flutter at the kiss at the end.
 
Yeah, a bit haha. You free ?
 
He contemplates adding a kiss, too, but decides against it. Maybe Zayn’s was a mistake.
 
Course. I’ll come over in a bit xxx
 
Maybe not.
 
Louis sends back a quick OK and hops into the shower.
 
Zayn arrives at his house fifteen minutes later. The sound of a fist knocking on wood is heard and Louis accidentally drops his phone from being startled. He’s changed into a better-looking shirt and he’s fixed his hair into a bit of a quiff.
 
He grabs his phone and wallet and takes two steps at a time when heading down the stairs. Pausing for a moment, he decides to put on his sunglasses that are on the table next to him. One of his friend’s said he looked cooler with them on—“ like a young Leonardo DiCaprio, Lou ”—so it must be true.
 
When he opens the door, Zayn looks up from his shoes and flashes Louis a smile, brown eyes slightly crinkling.
 
Louis has to look away, he has no other choice. “Hey.”
 
“Hey.”
 
“So, I was thinking, like, I’ll show you the school? You’ll be going there, yeah?”
 
Zayn nods as Louis shuts and locks the front door. He’s decided it’ll be better hanging out in the open air, walking around town instead of being cooped up in Louis’ house with its subtly dim mood lighting and captivity. Which means that if Louis makes a fool of himself, or if something goes wrong, he has a million and one places where he can escape.
 
It also may have something to do with the fact that he’ll be able to breathe a little easier.
 
“Yeah, pretty nervous, like, starting school.” Zayn says, running a hand through his hair. “Mum tells me you’re graduating this year, though.”
 
“I am, yeah.”
 
“Sort of a shame, I reckon.” Zayn says, the two of them walking side by side, the sun hot on their shoulders, “I would’ve liked to be in classes with someone I knew, you know?”
 
Louis looks at him. Zayn’s looking downwards, his profile unbelievably astonishing, his skin practically glowing underneath the earth’s light. He wonders how much younger he is than Louis. Maybe he’ll talk to his mum and slip it in the conversation.
 
“You’ll be alright.” Louis reassures him.
 
Zayn meets his eye, then, a smile growing on his face. Louis returns it and they look at each other for a second too long before Louis clears his throat and says:
 
“Right, uh, we have to cross the road, here.”
 
They spend the day strolling slowly around town, mainly talking about their past and futures, with Louis filling Zayn in on his stories about particular areas around town. Louis talks about his friends and Zayn talks about his own, how he misses them and how he wishes they’d moved with him; to which Louis boldly follows up with “well, you’ve got me now, haven’t you?”
 
It’s a comfortable sort of vibe Louis feels with Zayn now. They click in a way that Louis didn’t think was possible at all, what with being in different socioeconomic classes, different ages and different exterior personalities—but Louis quickly finds the more they talk that they’re not that different at all, that they’re quite common in a way that’s sort of uncanny, like they could’ve grown up together in a different universe.
 
“This is, like, where I spend most my time, usually.” Louis tells Zayn.
 
They’re sitting at the local skate park, looking over it as they sit side by side up the top of where it dips down. It’s still hot but the sun’s sort of covered by the clouds in the sky. Louis’ legs are crossed as he fiddles with the hem of his shorts, something to do with his hands. Zayn’s legs hang over the edge, his feet bouncing off the cement lightly.
 
“Can you do heaps of tricks and stuff?” Zayn asks him, leaning back on the palms of his hands.
 
He shrugs in response, “A few, yeah. You should see some of the guys here, though. They’re incredible.”
 
“Saw you, like, when we first moved in. You were on your skateboard and you flipped it up and caught it.” Zayn says, hand coming up to scratch at the stubble growing on his jawline. “Thought that was sick.”
 
Louis laughs nervously, the sound unrecognisable to his own ears. “Could teach you, if you wanted?”
 
Zayn hums, “That’d be cool.”
 
They watch as cars drive past, the sounds of their motors and tires rolling on the road being the only sound they hear. It’s so silent in this part of town especially. Sometimes, when Louis’ feeling up to it, he’ll take a walk after dinner, after it’s just turned twilight, and he’ll revel in the quietness. It’s a break he takes when the noise at home becomes too much.
 
“Must be cool being rich,” Louis says idly, picking off a loose string on his clothes, “Your house is incredible.”
 
“House is incredible just like the boys who skate here are incredible, yeah?” Zayn says, a smile in his voice. “What a large vocabulary you have there.”
 
Louis blushes and he hates himself for it. He turns away but a smile creeps on his face anyway, “Shut up.”
 
Zayn lets out a small laugh, tongue in between his teeth, and he pats Louis’ arm, “Just messin’.”
 
It’s a small interaction but Louis knows that after being with Zayn, he likes to do that a lot. Likes to touch and joke around and tease, something that Louis usually does to his friends all the time. It’s an odd concept to grasp—how Zayn is so similar to himself that Louis acts differently around him than he does to anyone else.
 
“It’s good, though, not gonna lie.” Zayn admits, “Sort of annoying at the same time, like, you never know who’s just in it for the money.”
 
Louis turns to him at that, his face softening. “You’ve encountered that? Like, people using you for your money?”
 
“Oh, tonnes.” Zayn tells him, meeting his eyes. Louis stomach sort of drops.   “It’s taught me how to distinguish the good from the bad, though.”
 
“Yeah?” Louis says, licking his lips quickly, “And what am I?”
 
Zayn cocks his head to one side, his eyes trailing over Louis’ face. Louis thinks he imagines the way they lingered on his lips.
 
“Not sure yet,” Zayn tells him, “I’ve been trying to figure it out.”
 
Louis drops his eyes, wringing his fingers together. “How, like, how do you usually find out?”
 
“Instincts, usually,” Zayn tells him, leaning forward now, elbows resting on his thighs. “Like, you can get vibes. Also, they never are interested in what you have to say. Which is, like, really easy to notice.”
 
Louis hums low, “Sorry you have to deal with that. Like, I can imagine that getting really annoying.”
 
“Yeah,” Zayn says, his fingers tracing the stitches of his shorts, “I really wanted to move into a normal house, you know? Like, yours is great, I think. Bargained with my mum, though, that’s why I’m allowed to go to a normal school.”
 
Louis blinks, a smile slowly forming, “Ever been to a normal school before?”
 
Zayn shakes his head; his big, brown eyes lock onto Louis’, a sense of question staring at him.
 
“Well, you’ll get a shock, I’ll tell you that.”
 
Zayn cocks a brow, “Why?”
 
“I’m sure it’s a lot less posh than your other schools. Like a lot.”
 
“Posh, hey?” Zayn says, his lips curving, “How do you mean?”
 
“Like this,” Louis says, then proceeds to wiggle his bum a bit on the cement as he adjusts his position, ending up with the straightest back he’s ever had and his hands folded perfectly in his lap. And with an up-tilted head and a snobby accent, “Hi, I’m Geoffrey and I have about five thousand poles up my ass.”
 
Louis slumps back into his normal position and turns to Zayn, who’s grinning as wide as he’s ever seen, his eyes curving up into little moons as he does so. The sound that comes out is even better, his head throwing back as he laughs out loud.
 
And Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t feel privileged.
 
“That’s actually… so spot on.” Zayn says, shaking his head. “My butler’s name is Geoffrey and everything.”
 
Louis’ eyes widen and his hand flies up to cover his mouth, laughing guiltily, “Fuck, it’s not, is it?”
 
Zayn nods, grinning, “Swear to god.”
 
They both laugh loudly at the irony and the accuracy of it all. And Zayn, unsurprisingly, looks even more cute yet hot as anything in the way that his eyes shine as he laughs.
 
“Shit,” Zayn still grins, sort of sighing as the laughter dies down, and then he leans back on his hands like before, eyes still on Louis, “Is everyone at this school like you?”
 
And Louis scoffs, “No way. I’m one of a kind, Malik.”
 
He finds Zayn looking at him with more softness than before, his eyes kind and his mouth spread into an almost fond smile, “Yeah.”
 
-
 
The sun dips under the horizon, the sky transitioning from shades of purple and pink into blackness, the moon full as it lights up the side of Zayn’s face while they’re walking home. Louis’ not entirely sure how long they’ve spent around town, how long they spent sitting at the skate park, just talking and breathing in the summer air—but it didn’t feel once like the conversation was dull or that Louis had to try extra hard to make it not awkward—it was casual, flowing, and now they’ve lost track of time.
 
“Should we call it a night, then?” Louis says, approaching their houses.
 
It’s strangely intimate, this moment, as though it were an end of a romantic date, walking each other home. And it may be that thought that makes Louis’ stomach feel like it’s filled with cotton candy and clouds, nerves suddenly hitting him.
 
And Zayn sort of hesitates, like he wants to say something else but doesn’t know how, or doesn’t know what. So Louis throws him a life raft.
 
“Or,” Louis says, “You could stay at mine?”
 
“Yeah?” Zayn says, face lighting up, “That’d be cool.”
 
So Louis and Zayn enter Louis’ house, the murmuring sounds of his parents talking in the next room, the peacefulness of all the little ones being in bed. It’s sort of an embarrassingly large contrast to Zayn’s home—a lot smaller with less exotic furniture and expensive lighting, but Zayn doesn’t comment at all, or frown at all. Actually, his face is still lit up, gazing around Louis’ house in wonderment.
 
“It’s nothing special, of course,” Louis comments, feeling as though he needs to fill the silence, “But it’s homey, you know?”
 
Louis leads him to the old stairs as Zayn nods, “It definitely feels lived in. Like… reminds me of my old house. This new one’s still, like, strange to me.”
 
Louis looks at him as he reaches the top of the stairs, and goes to say something but decides against it, changing the topic.
 
“When’s the rest of your family coming home, do you know?”
 
He opens the door to his bedroom and Zayn follows, scoffing at the question.
 
“Never.”
 
Louis frowns immediately at that. “What? They’re never coming home?”
 
Zayn blinks, “No, like, I meant we never know when dad comes back. He usually tells us a day earlier, if we’re lucky.”
 
And Louis nods, tries to keep the mood light-hearted because even though Zayn doesn’t look too fazed, Louis can’t help but feel his heart break a little because, doesn’t he keep in contact with his father? Or his sisters?
 
A whistle comes out of Zayn’s mouth and Louis draws his attention back to him. He’s looking at the pile of papers on Louis’ desk, something that Louis should probably get to very soon.
 
“College applications?” Zayn says, letting his thumb flick through the pile.
 
Louis nods, “Yeah, such a pain.”
 
He collapses onto his bed, moving to take off his shoes.
 
“Where are you thinking of going?”
 
“Uh, well, there’s one in Newcastle that mum thinks would be good for me. So, there, probably.”
 
There’s silence in the room for a second too long, and it makes Louis cast his eyes over to Zayn. He’s suddenly quiet, his eyes towards the floor.
 
“England?”
 
Louis swallows, nodding. He lets his shoes fall to the floor beside his bed. “That it is.”
 
Zayn ponders over the applications for a moment, before his thumb drops off the papers and his eyes meet Louis’ again.
 
“Better make the most of the summer then, shouldn’t we?”
 
There’s energy in his voice that wasn’t there before. And there’s something off about him now, something different. Louis doesn’t say anything, though, feels like he’d be intruding or being a nosy little bastard. They’re hardly close enough at all to be delving into each other’s emotions, really.
 
“Exactly!” Louis says, smiling and matching the same amount of excitement. He hops off his bed and takes a pillow from it, “But, for now, young Malik, sleep calls for me. I don’t know about you, but I’m utterly exhausted. You can take the bed because I’m the most lovely host ever.”
 
“Are you sure?” Zayn asks him, brows furrowed.
 
Louis nods, “Yeah, ‘course.”
 
A warm smile forms on Zayn’s face and he watches as Louis goes to leave the room.
 
“See you tomorrow, yeah?” Zayn says, still standing in the middle of Louis’ room.
 
He looks so out of place here with his top-of-the-range clothing and immaculate appearance. The mess around his bedroom glares at him now, whereas before Louis wouldn’t even notice it.
 
“We’ll plan something exciting, alright? Me and you.” Louis tells him, watching as the crinkles at the sides of Zayn’s eyes return.
 
He nods. “Goodnight, Lou.” His eyes shift to the bed, “And thanks, man.”
 
Louis chuckles softly, “No need for that.” He begins to shut the door, giving Zayn a final smile, “Night, Malik.”
 
He sleeps on the couch that night, the house warm. He thinks about Zayn without surprise, and falls asleep with the question of his peculiarity in his mind.
 
-
 
Louis wakes in the morning, expecting Zayn to be there.
 
“He’s already left, love.” His mother tells him once Louis goes back downstairs from checking his room, looking completely untouched, bed made.
 
Louis frowns, “He did?”
 
She nods once, “He asked me to tell you thank you and that he’ll text you to meet up later today. Such a charming boy, he is.”
 
-
 
Another week goes by and Louis can honestly say it’s been the most boring and uninteresting holidays he’s ever had. Zayn hasn’t sent him a text ever since he stayed over and it also seems to be the time of year where everyone goes away and nobody throws parties, apparently, and Louis just hadn’t gotten the memo.
 
Though, at least the weather’s been oddly pleasant, shining every day like the summer sun’s supposed to. Louis tries to get out amongst it as often as possible, soaking it up as though it’s the only time he’ll experience heat.
 
He’s gone without a shirt today, lying down on a deck chair in his backyard, with nothing but shorts and sunglasses on. His eyes are closed, seeing the kaleidoscope of floating colours falling like snowflakes, projected from the glare of the sun directly above him.
 
So when a familiar voice is heard, calling his name, Louis has every right to jump like he does, almost falling off the chair.
 
At least the laugh that follows is rewarding enough.
 
“You alright?” Zayn says, leaning against the fence, grinning with amusement.
 
Louis swore he had work today, he knows Zayn’s schedule now, he’s supposed to be out of his house.
 
“Be a bit more courteous next time, will you?” Louis says, a joking flare in his voice. “I’m trying to relax here.”
 
“Yeah, I know,” Zayn replies, “You’ve been doing it for about an hour now.”
 
“Fuck, really?”
 
Louis was only meant to lie for about ten minutes—God knows how burnt he’ll be.
 
Also, has Zayn been watching him? For an hour?
 
“I considered interrupting when I came home but you looked asleep,” Zayn tells him, answering his unspoken question.
 
“Surprised I wasn’t, to be honest.” Louis says, swinging his legs on the side of the chair, standing up. He feels so bare, skin on show, Zayn’s eyes scanning him like they were the night of dinner. “How was work?” Louis asks, wanting to distract himself.
 
He leans against the fence, too, their faces close enough that Louis can see the hair that’s now growing around Zayn’s jawline, the off-centre brown speck near his pupil. Louis thinks maybe he’s too close—but Zayn doesn’t edge away.
 
He considers asking why he hasn’t contacted him since he told his mother he would. Then he considers that it’s probably a bit obsessive of him to, and convinces himself in his mind that Zayn’s phone went dead for the entire week. It’s believable.
 
“Hey, are you still free every day?” Zayn asks him instead of answering Louis’ question, his body inching closer.
 
Louis’ breath almost hitches in his throat. He shrugs, “Might have to check my schedule.”
 
Their eyes lock and Louis watches as a small smile creeps on Zayn’s face. “Come over tonight.”
 
The invitation is something Louis would’ve seen as innocent, playful, if he hadn’t heard it in that tone before, hadn’t witnessed what happens when certain boys ask him the same thing, what their intentions are.
 
Maybe it’s the fact that they’re so close, or how Zayn’s eyes are intense and waiting, how there’s unsettled tension in the air that Louis’ unsure is felt by both of them.
 
Or maybe it’s the fact that Louis’ half-naked and has been having dirty thoughts of Zayn ever since they locked eyes the first day he moved in next door.
 
Either way, there must have been too much hesitation on Louis’ part, since Zayn starts to try and convince Louis.
 
“Your family can come, too, if they want.” Zayn says, shifting a little away. “Like, mine’s having a little, like, party, I guess? My dad and sisters are coming down today, so.” He’s not looking at Louis anymore, instead at his hands where he’s fingering his ring, as though he’s suddenly nervous, “There’ll be alcohol, too.”
 
“Alcohol? Really?” Louis asks, hiding his smile, looking off as though he’s contemplating it, “See, if it was only you to occupy me I would’ve said no, but now there’s alcohol involved—“
 
Zayn lets out a small laugh and shoves at Louis playfully, “Shut up. You coming or not?”
 
“Yeah, alright. What time?”
 
-
 
The summer rain falls lightly on top of the tin roof, making melodic, calming sounds that echo softly through the house. It’s still sunny, and the air is still hot but the rain makes the windows look foggy and the sky almost dark with clouds. Louis’ sure they’ll be a thunderstorm tonight.
 
“Love this song, man.” Zayn tells him, nodding along to the sultry sounds of a rhythm and blues artist singing slowly through the speakers of Zayn’s impressive stereo. He takes another sip from his drink, pausing the rhythmic bop of his head to do so.
 
It’s about an hour into the party, the first hour being the Malik’s catching up with each other, which didn’t really last too long, with Mr Malik and the three sisters being way too tired to talk, instead collapsing on couches and flicking on the T.V. Louis’ family, except his mum, went home about half an hour in, with Louis and Zayn already drinking and seeing how many drinks they can sneak passed their parents.
 
So far they’re up to five beers. He’s drinking faster than Zayn—actually, he’s no idea what can he’s up to. Maybe he should slow down a little.
 
“Hey,” Louis says, rolling out a soccer ball from underneath Zayn’s desk, “You never told me you play?”
 
They decided to get away from the old music and the rest of the scene, would much rather be alone with each other. Louis thinks if this is what it’d be like if Zayn and Louis went to a school party together—if they’d seclude themselves from everyone else, alone in a room or a space in the backyard where it’s so black the only thing seen is silhouettes from the light of the party.
 
He wonders what type of drunk Zayn is; emotional, loud, flirtatious, quiet, mischievous, horny, talkative…
 
“I don’t.” Zayn says, laughing at the thought of it. And, right, Louis asked a question. “I like to think I’m good but all I can do is balance it on my knee, to be honest.”
 
“Could teach you, if you wanted?” Louis says, already fiddling with the ball between his feet, “I’m quite good, if I do say so myself.”
 
Zayn raises an eyebrow at him, “Always willing to teach me things, aren’t you?”
 
Louis shrugs, “Could say I’m quite talented, then.”
 
Zayn shifts his position on the couch, bringing his leg up so his foot is tucked under his thigh and he places his arm across the back of the couch, a perfect invitation for Louis to snuggle into.
 
He’s wearing all black tonight; black skinny jeans, a black t-shirt that dips a bit lower at the chest, exposing the dip of his collarbones and the tip of tattooed wings—unintentionally gorgeous, like the rest of him.
 
“Seems like it,” Zayn replies, eyes studying Louis, carefully eyeing him up and down shamelessly, as though he’s trying to figure him out, always trying to figure him out, “Maybe I should teach you a thing or two,” He smiles slightly, almost to himself, “You look like you’d be a fast learner.”
 
Louis instantly feels his cheeks warm up. He blames it on the alcohol. But he feels so exposed like this, standing up in front of Zayn, who’s sitting and staring at him like Louis’ the most interesting person he’s seen. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t love the attention, though.
 
“Anything you think I could show you?” Zayn asks him, his fingers tracing the lines of the couch. He looks so relaxed, so comfortable in his own skin yet so in charge; dressed in rich clothing and surrounded by rich necessities. He also looks like he’s waiting for Louis to put on a show, sitting and watching like he paid for something good—but maybe that’s the liquor talking.
 
“Oh, y’know,” Louis begins, waving his hand around, “Probably your bank account.”
 
He hides his smile by taking another long sip from his beer, keeping his eyes locked with Zayn’s, his mouth agape as he looks playfully offended.
 
“Asshole.”
 
“Snob.”
 
The first crack of thunder booms through the sky and Louis almost spills his drink at the shock of it. Zayn snorts in laughter and Louis glares at him.
 
“God, hope it’s not this bad tomorrow at work.” Zayn says, looking out the window where the droplets of water have become thicker, louder as they hit the glass.
 
“Why do you even work, anyway?” Louis asks him, sick of standing so he sits on the couch next to Zayn. He could’ve probably chosen to sit on the bed, or the desk chair, or the bean bag, but…
 
“It’s cool to earn my own money,” He says, shrugging, “Think it also keeps me grounded, too, which is good.”
 
“Yeah,” Louis agrees, nodding along, “Otherwise you’d actually truly be a snob.”
 
Zayn cracks a smile and shoves at Louis, making Louis let out a laugh.
 
It’s when Louis’ laughter fades out, when he looks at Zayn again and he sees the fogginess of his eyes, the lax of his jaw, the gentle stare. Louis has to shift in his seat, swallowing deeply. It’s like just by sitting here, Louis finds that Zayn has a quality of masculine confidence that’s a thousand times more intoxicating than the mere attractiveness of any other boy he’s met. Zayn, with his utterly perfect good looks that leave Louis stunned, this kind of erotic charisma goes straight to his knees, it seems.
 
Or, actually, in this case, to his dick.
 
He knows he’s a horny drunk. He doesn’t think he’d hook up with as many guys as he has at parties if he wasn’t. And he’s out-rightly obvious whenever he is drunk—he’s clingy, loves to touch, kiss and cuddle, and always, always, ends up in amongst everyone dancing somehow.
 
He quickly adds up that it’s probably not a good idea to drink around someone who affects him so badly.
 
“Got work tomorrow morning, have you?” Louis tries, his voice betraying him, coming out unsteady.
 
Zayn blinks lazily at him, the corner of his mouth tilting up slightly, somehow doing so with no connection to the question. “Yeah.”
 
Louis’ suddenly all too aware of Zayn’s arm placed behind him and of the situation currently arising in his pants. He shifts again, pulling at his jeans as subtly as he can manage. Zayn’s eyes don’t leave Louis’ face so hopefully he hasn’t noticed.
 
“Good idea to be drinking, then?”
 
Zayn shrugs again, and intentionally or not, shifts a little closer, “Few beers can’t hurt.”
 
“Yeah,” Louis replies, almost immediately, a nervous laugh escaping his mouth, “S’pose not.”
 
Zayn takes another sip from his beer, his cheeks hollowing out softly, his lips pressed against the lip of the bottle. Louis shifts again, directs his eyes to the window instead.
 
Droplets fall down it, making patterns on the glass. The rain is hardly heard over the music in Zayn’s room, but the sky is slowly falling into darkness, the majority of it filled with clouds. Outside is lavender skies and heat despite the rain. Inside is Zayn and close warmth despite the cooling.
 
Louis feels restricted, almost, and as a distraction he drinks the rest of his the substance in his bottle. The last part, he feels, affects him the hardest, cringing a little at the bitterness that lingers on his mouth. When he opens his squeezed eyes, he looks at the corner of them and finds Zayn’s eyes on him.
 
This has become a habit, then.
 
“You like what you see?” Louis asks him, finishing his sentence before plucking up the courage to meet his eyes.
 
Zayn’s grinning at him; his nose crinkling a little as he does so, “Could say that.”
 
And he talks again before Louis can possibly let those words settle in his mind. “You’re done?”
 
He’s gesturing towards the empty bottle in Louis’ hand, his fingers out and ready to take it. Louis nods, surprising himself at how hard it suddenly is to form any words.
 
Zayn takes the bottle, fingers brushing against Louis’, and stands up from the couch, throwing the bottles into the bin beside his desk.
 
“Not much of a footballer, but you got skills on the basketball court, I see.” Louis says, moving his body again to get into a more comfortable, compromising position.
 
Zayn throws his head back and laughs, shaking his head at Louis’ statement, looking at him with a sort of fondness Louis’ never experienced before.
 
“Joker, are you?” He challenges, cocking a brow, his stance almost towering over Louis.
 
Louis looks up at him and visibly gulps—he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t feeling even more turned on by the assertiveness Zayn’s showing him right now. Or maybe it’s the alcohol again; making himself seem like everything and anyone is attractive and sexual. If he gets any harder, he’s sure the denim will cut him, why the fuck did he choose his tightest pair of jeans?
 
“Always,” Louis tells him, realising he has to say something soon before it gets awkward.
 
Zayn hums in his throat, tilting his head to the side a little, “Aggressive, too, I bet.”
 
“ Aggressive ,” Louis says, almost surprised, his brows flying up as he pretends to think about it, “Sounds a bit like me, to be honest.”
 
In response, Louis earns a smirk, “Looks like I’ve met my match, then.”
 
Louis lets out a breathy laugh, dropping his gaze, “Looks like you have.”
 
“Do you wanna swim?”
 
This makes Louis look at him again, letting a frown cross his face, “Swim? Like, now ?”
 
“Yeah, why not?” Zayn says, shrugging, “We’ll sneak more beer and, like, skinny dip. It’s still hot outside.”
 
“We’re also in the middle of a storm.” Louis chances, flicking his gaze towards the window again.
 
Zayn eyes him down for his lack of excitement about his idea. Louis quickly learns that Zayn is most definitely an adventurous, split-second-decision-making drunk.
 
Louis stares back at him without a word until Zayn sighs heavily and drops his gaze, folding his arms over his chest.
 
“And here I was, thinking I met someone who’d be as equal as me, who’d be fun and interesting , someone who wouldn’t be such a granny, someone who’d—“
 
“Fuck, Jesus, alright, I’ll go swimming with you.”
 
And Zayn beams at him, tossing him a wink before grabbing Louis’ wrist and dragging him out of the room.
 
-
 
Outside is definitely hot, a sort of muggy that sticks to his skin. The rain has lightened up, nothing but soft drips of water that fall on him unnoticeably. They’ve managed to get a drink each—not beer, though, as there was only two more left and Zayn’s dad would’ve definitely noticed—instead they’ve managed to mix together vodka and soda, a drink of choice for Louis, usually.
 
“Really isn’t a good idea to mix drinks, you know.” Zayn says, investigating the drink as he swirls it around in his cup.
 
Louis hums, “Who’s the granny now, huh?”
 
Zayn’s eyes flicker to Louis’, and then he chugs the alcohol down in one go, as if trying to prove a point. Louis raises his brows at him, lets out a whistle. Zayn wipes his mouth afterwards, tossing Louis a wink, and then sets his cup down on the pavement. Louis thinks Zayn’s preparing to dive into the pool then and there, until he starts unbuckling his jeans.
 
“Wha—what are you doing?” Louis asks hesitantly, hating himself for how hard it is for him to tear his eyes away.
 
“D’you even know what skinny dipping is?” Zayn replies, casually and cool, everything Louis was .
 
He shrugs in return, realising that Zayn actually did say they should skinny dip. “Never tried it, myself.”
 
Zayn drops his pants to his ankles, exposing his evenly olive skin, his thigh tattoo, his Calvin Klein underwear. Louis swallows deeply, his grip around his glass tightening. He watches as Zayn kicks his jeans to the side, then as he takes off his socks, and especially looks when Zayn tears off his shirt.
 
Louis subconsciously bites his lip, admiring the definition of Zayn’s torso, the tattoos scattered everywhere in such a close view, the way his bicep pulses as he runs his fingers through his hair.
 
“Wanna take a picture?” He says with a laugh, startling Louis’ gaze.
 
But before Louis even has a chance to defend himself or say anything, Zayn’s already pulling down his underwear in one swift movement and jumping into the pool, water splashing out far enough to hit Louis. He steps back a bit, taking a large sip of the alcohol in his hand.
 
Zayn arises a few seconds later, hair and body drenched, his eyelashes clumping together, the glow of the moonlight being the only thing illuminating him, and Louis should probably learn to not stare. Honestly, his mother brought him up better than this.
 
“Gettin’ in or what?” Zayn asks him, floating on his back a bit, a smile on his lips.
 
There’s something nagging in the back of his mind, telling him it’s a bad idea, he’s already gotten too close. He can’t imagine how things will be if he fucks it up—he doesn’t want to lose Zayn as a friend, but he doesn’t want to only be friends.
 
It’s a complicated decision that Louis will eventually have to put to bed, preferably before school starts up again; he doesn’t know how he’ll cope with everyone desiring over Zayn and with Zayn picking someone else over him.
 
It’ll probably happen anyway, but the knowledge that Zayn knows is better than him being blinded by what’s literally right there.
 
“Are you chickening out on me, Tomlinson? What’s happening out there?”
 
“Yeah, I—“ Louis cuts himself short, bites the inside of his cheek, then says, “Give me a sec.”
 
He downs the rest of his drink, a hideous feeling at the end of it that almost makes him gag. He’s aware of the set of eyes on him as he starts to undress himself, but the attention is sort of familiar, being that it doesn’t make him sweat and splutter like it used to.
 
Louis doesn’t make a show of it, but he definitely unbuttons his jeans a little slower, definitely makes a point of having to squeeze out of them, letting his tight-fitting boxers sit a little lower on his hips. He crosses his arms over to lift up the bottom of his shirt, stretching up so he knows his body is showing the way he wants it too.
 
And, of course, he’s totally forgotten about the bulge that’s been fattening up since he was in Zayn’s room.
 
When he looks at Zayn, he sees his eyes zeroing in on it, jaw slightly slack.
 
“Should give you a camera, too, then.”
 
Zayn blinks, dropping his eyes, a slight flush entering his cheeks from being caught in the act. Louis smirks at him and Zayn dips below the water.
 
Given the opportunity of no longer being watched, Louis strips from his underwear and kicks them off to the side, cupping himself and he walks over to the pool.
 
Instead of jumping in like Zayn had done, Louis takes the steps, gliding into the massive pool with ease. The water glistens under the night sky and Louis’ head is a clouded mess, his body warmer than it should be from the alcohol swimming throughout it.
 
He has an overwhelming desire just to move up to Zayn and kiss him, but something holds him back. His sanity, Louis supposes.
 
“I don’t usually swim.” Zayn tells him after a beat of silence, his eyes entranced on the ripples he’s making in the water with his hands.
 
Louis frowns at him, “Why not?”
 
“Never learnt how to, to be honest.” Zayn laughs a bit, his teeth not quite showing. “That’s a lie. I’m actually—I’m pretty scared of it?”
 
Louis studies him for a moment or two, “And how’s it going for you right now?”
He looks around the pool, weighing up the pro’s and con’s, “It’s alright. Isn’t like it counts, though, I’m standing at the shallow end.”
 
“It does count.” Louis tells him, making Zayn look up from the water, “Also, why did you jump in here if you’re scared?”
 
“Dunno, actually,” Zayn replies, frowning at himself, “Alcohol, maybe? Or maybe I wanted to be tough for a moment there.”
 
Louis snorts, “Fearless.”
 
Zayn grins at him in response, his smile bright.
 
It’s sort of like a metaphor, Louis thinks. To jump right into something is both exciting and terrifying, nerve-wracking and relieving. It’s taking a risk without foreseeing the outcome, and it’s stupid yet rewarding at the same time.
 
It’s jumping straight into water despite the fear of it.
 
“I’ve actually—this will sound pathetic, but I’ve actually wanted to get into this pool for so long.”
 
Zayn lets out a laugh, “Really? Glad I could make it happen for you, then.”
 
“Another thing to cross of the list of things to do before I move to England, isn’t it?”
 
His eyes are on the water, now, entranced as his fuzzy eyes catch up with the motions his hands make in the water. A minute later, he notices Zayn’s silence.
 
Louis looks at him, seeing something misplaced in Zayn’s eyes, something similar to what he looked like in Louis’ room a few nights ago.
 
“Alright?” He asks him, watching as Zayn’s head picks up.
 
“Huh? Oh, yeah,” He forges a smile. Louis waits.
 
And then he sees Zayn’s eyebrows furrow as he thinks, and he shakes his head. “When… When are you leaving?”
 
“Well, if I get in I’ll be leaving a few months after I graduate. You know, to set up my dorm and that. Want to do a bit of sightseeing and stuff before I go to my first class.”
 
Zayn nods slowly, his eyes downcast.
 
But as fast as it comes, it goes. He looks to Louis again, this time with something like determination in his eyes, and moves a little closer.
 
Louis’ breath dispels for a moment as Zayn closes in on his space, backing him up against the edge of the pool.
 
“What—?”
 
“I wanna do this before it’s too late, like…” Zayn says, trailing off a bit, his hands coming up either side of Louis’ shoulders, almost barricading Louis.
 
“I won’t mind.” Louis swallows, a shaky breath leaving him, “Like, at all.”
 
Zayn’s eyes glance up from where they were trailing down Louis’ neck. He brightens, “Yeah?
 
“Yeah,” Louis hums, “Actually didn’t think you felt the same, if I’m honest.”
 
“Bullshit,” Zayn tells him immediately, giving him a kinked smile, “Been wanting this since I first saw you, I reckon.”
 
Louis exhales, his eyes retaining the features in front of him—hard edges yet soft all over, wet eyelashes and pouty lips, matted hair that blends into the darkness surrounding them—he holds his eyes, too, until Zayn presses a searching kiss onto Louis’ lips.
 
It’s light, tentative, and when Zayn pulls back again he’s looking with question, uncertainty, waiting for a voice of consent or for Louis to react, to do something. Because he’s almost sure he’s a stilled soul at the moment, lost in the sight in front of him, overwhelmed by the touching of their skin and the intimacy of the moment.
 
“You good?” Zayn asks him, his thumb running over Louis’ hipbone softly.
 
Louis thinks back to the first time they spoke, the voice in his head telling him it was a bad idea to take the cigarette with Zayn’s number on it. He feels it again, but there’s something about Zayn, something about the liquor on his lips that makes Louis unable to resist him.
 
And Louis trusts him.
 
“Great.”
 
They kiss again, the feeling of Zayn’s mouth on his own is warm, electrifying.   They get a feel of each other, both going slow and it’s the sort of intimacy Louis’ never gotten the chance to feel before—all his kisses being rushed and sloppy, only eager to get their pants down, dick sucked. But with Zayn it’s like they’ve got all the time in the world.
 
He takes Zayn’s bottom lip into his mouth experimentally and it earns a low moan from the back of Zayn’s throat, hitching Louis up from the waist until Louis wraps his legs around Zayn’s hips—moving closer, closer, until he can feel Zayn’s excitement pressing into his thigh.
 
Louis opens his mouth and Zayn licks into it eagerly, pulling Louis in closer to him just to feel more, more, more. He bucks his hip up and Louis goes dizzy with the movement.
 
Zayn kisses him desperately, Louis’ cock being pressed against Zayn’s thigh, so, so impatient. He tightens his grip into Zayn’s hair and Zayn lets out a soft moan. He leaves Louis’ mouth to kiss down Louis’ jaw, his neck, until he finds a sweet spot that makes Louis roll his head back with a startled breath.
 
“ Shit ,” He curses, the word coming out no louder than a whisper as he grinds his hips up, his dick gaining fiction from rubbing up against Zayn’s wet body.
 
Zayn sucks and bites and licks until Louis’ fingers release and clench at Zayn’s hair, his hips moving rhythmically now, desperate to be touched the right way.
 
With the water flowing calmly throughout them, they have to hold on tighter, closer, just to feel as much as each other as possible. If either of them weren’t so eager, they’d put it on hold until they were in Zayn’s bedroom. But neither of them want to stop.
 
The lips on his neck pull off but it’s not long until they find themselves attached to his mouth again. They kiss faster this time, pushing at each other more, with movements and gasping moans of each other’s names.
 
And when Zayn’s hand palms Louis dick, Louis tears off of Zayn’s mouth to let out a broken noise, his hand then slipping over the wet skin to wrap around his cock.
 
And then he’s grinding into Zayn’s hand, trying to find as much friction as one can amidst water; his breathing speeding up, his eyes glazing over.
 
“You’re a loud one,” Zayn says, watching as Louis throws his head back with a groan to further prove his observation. “Bet you’re not afraid of anyone in this street hearing you, hm?”
 
He strokes the tip of Louis’ cock with his thumb, then strokes downward, slowly, teasing.
 
“Bet you’d love the spotlight on you, everyone watching as you come undone because of me.” Zayn murmurs, his voice sounding like a low hum, something that creates goosebumps on Louis’ skin despite the heat flowing through his veins. “I’ve dreamt about how you’d orgasm, you know. Whether you’d be loud or whether you’d be a soft, whimpering mess. And by the looks of you now, I’m thinking it’s both.”
 
He speeds up, and flicks his wrist the right way, making Louis curse out loud, possibly too loud, but the noise just makes Zayn do it again, and again. And if he continues, Louis will come any second, just from this, just from wanting it for hours, days, weeks.
 
“Zayn, please,” Louis tells him, almost panting, his voice unrecognisable in his own ears.
 
Zayn hums softly, “Mm? What do you want, Louis, tell me.”
 
“I want, fuck —”
 
He breaks off into a broken, choking mess when Zayn’s fingers find his nipple, squeezing softly. The stimulation is almost too much, too fast.
 
“Huh?” Zayn urges, tightening his grip on Louis’ dick as he moves down Louis’ chest, his teeth pressing softly on his nipple. He sucks, bites, licks, until Louis’ fingernails claw at his back in need . “Tell me.” Zayn murmurs against his chest, pressing a soft kiss at Louis’ over-stimulated nipple.
 
“You. I— shit , Zayn, just fuck me.”
 
He notices Zayn’s hand slowing for a second or two before returning back to his normal pace, “Yeah? You’d like that?”
 
“ Yeah ,” Louis tells him, his voice fading out into a soft moan. He forces his eyes open, watches as Zayn’s wide eyes watch him, then takes him into a kiss, drawing back with Zayn’s bottom lip between his teeth. “Wanna feel your cock, babe.”
 
It’s like he’s running on something other than energy, like a sort of high that devours every other sense or feeling except the way they feel together. If his mind was pure fog before, now it’s a thick cloud of smoke with Zayn being the only coherent, visible thought.
 
“ Jesus , I bet you do,” Zayn says, voice low like a growl, a gravelly sort of tone that makes Louis shudder, “Bet you like the feeling of being fucked, yeah? Taking it in that perky ass of yours.”
 
Louis nods, his hips frantically thrusting into Zayn’s hand, his dick leaking at the top, begging for it. Zayn pushes his own hips up and Louis feels his dick immediately, brushing up against his own. They both moan in unison, the sounds of it filling the empty air, exposing them.
 
It’s so fucking dirty and hot and Louis doesn’t think he can hold up much longer.
 
They kiss again and it’s sloppy but passionate, with them both tugging hair, moving up against one another, breathy sounds mingling into one. Zayn’s stubble brushes against Louis’ cheeks and the roughness of it adds to the overwhelming sensations he feels, growing closer and closer towards his inevitable orgasm.
 
The fluidness of the water makes it easier for them to slide together, for Louis to hold himself up around Zayn, moving together like waves of an ocean, yet never crashing.
 
“I need more,” Louis says, words that would be inarticulate to anyone else’s ears.
 
“Yeah,” Zayn breathes, the hand on the flesh of Louis’ arse squeezes once, and then he lets his fingers slide until he reaches Louis’ balls, moving upwards to where his crack ends in one soft stroke. He repeats the motion once or twice until Louis feels himself exploding.
 
“ Please ,” Louis groans harshly, shivering at the touch. Zayn’s fingers are longer than his own, thicker, and if they don’t fuck into him soon he’ll lose his mind, “Zayn, fucking—“
 
“Yeah,” Zayn says again, swallowing. And when Louis picks his head up from where it’s rested on Zayn’s shoulder to look him in the eye, he realises Zayn’s nervous .
 
“Have you done this before?”
 
Zayn’s eyes are hooded, pupils enlarged, lips fatter and redder than before. He shakes his head, “Only seen it in, like, porn.”
 
They’re still rutting up against each other, Zayn’s fingers still nearing so close to Louis’ hole. He’s being an unknowing tease—something Louis’ known him to be ever since they met.
 
“You’ll be good,” Louis says, giving Zayn another kiss, his dick throbbing impatiently, “But for the love of god please do it soon.”
 
Zayn smiles against Louis’ lips and gets to work, slipping in one of his fingers, the motion easy with the water yet so rough at the same time. Louis grips onto Zayn, chests flush together, as Zayn moves into him, pressing in to the knuckle. He goes back and forth for a bit, and then he kisses up Louis’ neck.
 
“Feelin’ good?”
 
Louis hums, moving lazily now, a rhythm being created, moving forwards to gain attention to his dick then moving backwards onto Zayn’s finger.
 
“More, babe.”
 
Zayn obeys and slips out his finger before immediately following with two, stretching Louis open that little bit more. It burns slightly, with the water not acting like lube, but it still sends a rush to the heated pit of his stomach, knowing his peak isn’t far.
 
When Zayn starts scissoring his fingers, Louis cries out, his movements picking up the pace.
 
“Yeah, yeah,” Louis almost screams , his eyes fluttering closed, revelling in the sensations, “Zayn, curl them slight— fuck ! Yeah, like that…oh, god .”
 
Louis continues whining nonsense, not stopping his sounds once with the way Zayn’s curling his fingers to hit Louis’ prostate every time as though it was with practiced ease. He can feel himself getting close, and he wraps a hand around his cock, thrusting up into it.
 
“You’re so hot like this, babe.” Zayn whispers to him, mouth close to his ear, breath hot and heavy, “Look at you. Could fucking come just by watching you get off.”
 
“Zayn,” Louis pants helplessly, gasping when he stutters his movements and the tip of his cock brushes against Zayn’s hip.
 
“So fucking hot,” He says, pressing a kiss behind Louis’ ear and letting his fingertips stroke lightly down his arm before dropping his voice to a low whisper. “Come for me.”
 
And Louis does, a few strokes later and he’s coming. His eyes squeeze shut and he goes lax in Zayn’s grip, a high-pitched moan—something like a scream, rips out of him as he throws his head back, Zayn’s fingers coaxing him through it, making his vision turn white.
 
When he comes down from it, he feels Zayn slip out of him. When he opens his eyes again, he sees Zayn already holding his gaze.
 
“Shit.” He breathes, somewhat stunned. He’s got a hand on himself, pumping fast, his breathing quickening and hitching.
 
“Are you close?” Louis manages to ask, head still in a daze.
 
Zayn nods twice and Louis untangles his legs from around Zayn’s waist. He presses a wet kiss to Zayn’s mouth, then swims so he’s away from the pool’s edge.
 
“Lean back,” Louis says, and Zayn follows, turning around so he’s in the same position Louis was.
 
And then Louis holds his breath and dips underwater.
 
He knocks Zayn’s hands away immediately once he can see clearly and grips his own hand to Zayn’s hip, the other around Zayn’s cock. Then he presses his lips to the tip of it, to the sides, before kissing up the length of it—teasing, slow. He feels Zayn’s fingers in his hair, gripping it when Louis wraps his mouth around him, licking and sucking.
 
It only lasts a few seconds until Zayn’s coming, a low, muffled groan being heard from the surface. And Louis sucks him off until he’s dry, swallowing his come along with the water that’s filled his mouth.
 
When he reaches the surface, Zayn looks spent. His mouth parted slightly, both arms resting on the pool’s edge, sweat or water or both trickling down his forehead, his eyes closed, his chest drifting up and down.
 
Louis’ only seen this in his dreams, and the knowledge that this is real life sort of stuns him a bit, still exhilarated from his orgasm.
 
He moves closer to Zayn and fits into the space next to him, his head leaning on Zayn’s shoulder, his arm wrapping around his waist.
 
Zayn drops his arm to hold him, his body warm and comforting, a place Louis never wants to move from. The night starts to turn cold, the moon sitting in the middle of the sky and Louis wonders how late it is, how long they’ve spent out here.
 
They’re both quiet for a few moments, not needing words to fill the silence.
 
A gust of wind sends a chill through Louis’ body, but it’s refreshing in a way that it breaks the humidity, the stickiness of the heated atmosphere.
 
And then they hear it, the crack of thunder in the dead of the night, hard-hitting rain following a second after. The storm’s returned.
 
“Probably should get out, shouldn’t we?” Louis says, making no move to get out, though. The heat next to him warm enough to sleep against even through a thunderstorm.
 
But Zayn hums in agreement, “Should get into bed, actually, got work in the morning.”
 
Louis feels his face drop, slightly. He says it dismissively, like he wants to get out, wants to leave Louis’ side. He’s about to wallow in his self-pity, when:
 
"Come with me." Zayn says, his fingers brushing softly against Louis' skin, sending thrills down his spine as he does so.
 
"Where to?"
 
"Like, stay the night with me." Zayn invites, voice smooth and sincere, Louis smiles at the sound. "Have to sneak you in, of course. Parents won't allow anyone in the same bed as me, sadly."
 
Louis nods, understanding. He tries to hide the excitement in his voice. "Yeah, alright. That'd be nice."
 
Zayn smiles at him and Louis smiles back, their eyes connecting not long before their lips do, pressing softly and sweetly, enough to send fireworks off in Louis' chest.
 
He's truly in his element, right now. He doesn't know whether it's the alcohol wearing off, or the high from literally having sex in a pool where someone could've easily walked out and seen them, or if it's purely Zayn—perfect, sweet Zayn, who's making Louis feel like this all isn't real, like he hasn't met the boy next door and hasn't already shagged him with such love he could burst.
 
He wishes he was exaggerating, he really, really does.
 
"You know how to be quiet, now, Tomlinson?" Zayn asks him when they pull apart, his hand reaching down to pinch Louis' bum cheekily, winking as he does so.
 
Louis' cheeks turn pink, pushing away, the water around him splashing his chest, rain falling on his hair. "Not if you keep doing that, Malik."
 
Zayn laughs loudly, grin splitting his face. It's a sight to see, his perfectly whitened teeth standing out in the dimness of the night, his eyelashes clumping, raindrops falling off them as he blinks. He’s like a dream and Louis has to turn away before he wills himself to say something stupid.
 
They get out of the pool and dry each other off, Zayn sneaking in a few whips to Louis' bum, both trying to suppress their giggles. It's light-hearted and almost magical in a sense, and Louis' never felt so filled with something so buoyant, like he could fly.
 
It's not until they're at least a bit dry, towels draped around their waists, when Zayn shushes him with a kiss and urges him into the house, telling him to run up the stairs and wait there without being seen.
 
Louis nods before saluting him, trying to be as serious as he can manage. Zayn rolls his eyes and slaps Louis' hand away, shoving him through the double doors that lead inside.
 
"Wish me luck, commander." Louis whispers, leaning his head back onto Zayn's shoulder. He feels drunk despite being sober—it's a nice feeling.
 
"Oh my god," Zayn says through a small laugh, "Go!"
 
Louis covers his hand with his mouth to hide his laugh that's threatening to spill, and then goes for it. The stairs are directly to the left of him, but Zayn's parents are watching television, having a quiet, in-depth conversation, seems like, so Louis flies up the stairs easily without drawing attention.
 
Not a second later, Zayn appears inside, towel wrapped around his waist. He’s on the first step when his parents turn from the couch.
 
“Zayn, love?” His mother says, and Zayn quickly glances up at Louis, who’s hidden from view, and then turns to meet them both.
 
“I’m just about to go to bed.”
 
“Has Louis already gone home?” She asks him, “I didn’t see him leave.”
 
“Uh,” Zayn clears his throat and Louis tries not to laugh, “Yeah, we went for a swim then it started to rain so he went back home to dry off.”
 
“Oh, alright. Well, goodnight, darling.” She smiles at him and Zayn smiles back.
 
“Night, mum.”
 
“Remember to be up early for work, Zayn.” His father calls to him, a lot more sterner than his mother had been. Louis frowns at it.
 
But Zayn takes it in his stride and gives his father a curt nod. He waits until both his parents tune back to the television before walking up the stairs again.
 
When Zayn does reach the top step, Louis takes to tickling him and Zayn can't fight the grin that appears, rolling his eyes.
 
He guides Louis backwards into his room by pressing his hand to Louis' chest. "Go hide, you wanker."
 
"You want me to wank you off? Is that what I heard?" Louis says, putting his hand up to his ear.
 
"Shut the fuck up," Zayn whispers, still grinning as he shuts the door behind them. "You're the worst."
 
"Hey, I got up here without any disturbances, didn't I? Unlike someone ." Louis tells him, already making his way to Zayn's bed as Zayn snorts. "So, am I sleeping naked or will you lend me some of your, presumably, Versace pyjamas?"
 
He sits cross-legged on Zayn's mattress, towel sitting low on his waist, looking at Zayn as Zayn looks at him.
 
"They're not Versace ." Zayn points out, opening up one of his drawers, taking out a matching pair of pyjamas. "They're Louis Vuitton ."
 
Louis gawks as Zayn throws the clothing to his lap, the silkiness of them brushing up against his bare skin, feeling like heaven.
 
"You actually   have designer bed wear. You wear these. To bed."
 
"That I do." Zayn replies, dropping his own towel as he fetches out another pair of pyjamas.
 
Louis admires the view.
 
When they're both dressed (Louis in Louis Vuitton, fittingly, and Zayn in Dolce&Gabbana) they crawl into Zayn's equally silky soft sheets with ease, fitting together almost automatically. Louis' pressed up against Zayn's side, Zayn's fingers coasting slowly through Louis' hair.
 
It's so unbelievably relaxing and dream-like that Louis feels the overwhelming need to pinch himself.
 
Outside, the storm has picked up again. And for a moment the only sound they hear is the rain hitting the roof, surrounding them with pitter-patters and a warm sense of security.
 
Louis blinks against Zayn's shoulder, Zayn's chest rises and falls with every soft breath.
 
It's sort of fucking perfect and Louis never wants to leave.
 
"Could stay here forever." Louis mutters, his fingers trailing underneath Zayn's shirt, feeling the way his skin turns to Braille underneath his fingertips. "This bed feels like a cloud."
 
Zayn lets out a soft laugh, "I feel that, too," he says, his fingers stopping their movements in Louis' hair only for his hand to drop around Louis' shoulders, "Don't think it has anything to do with the bed, though."
 
And it warms Louis up more than it should, and he can't even form a simple reply. So instead he tilts his head up a tiny bit, presses a kiss to Zayn's lips, and cuddles him a little more.
 
Louis' sure he'll remember this; the summer rain, the designer pyjamas, the silky sheets, the feeling in his chest, Zayn .
 
He's absolutely exhausted but this is enough for Louis not to want to fall asleep—since, for once, his reality is better than any dream.
 
-
 
When he awakes in the morning, the space beside him is empty and cold. He opens his eyes and quickly notices that Zayn's already gone.
 
Louis frowns. He knows Zayn had to get up early for work, but he could've woken Louis up, too. He'd rather be grumpy and woken up to Zayn's face than to feel refreshed and wake up with nobody beside him.
 
Though, he's still buzzing from the night before. His headache is minor and his mouth tastes horrible, but his mind and his entire being   have never felt better.
 
He stretches with a smile, revelling in the bed that feels like paradise, and fills his thoughts with Zayn's smile, Zayn's eyes, Zayn's touches, Zayn's  everything —
 
The bedroom door suddenly swings open, Zayn entering the room before slamming it closed again. His hands clench at his hair, and he starts to pace.
 
The sound alone makes Louis sits up abruptly, eyes wide.
 
His heart's pounding from the shock, but it quickly drops when he takes in the sight before him.
 
He's never seen Zayn like this before. Zayn—with his usual laid-back character, his usual hooded eyes and casual smirk, his bright energy, his soft and carefree demeanour—has now totally disappeared and replaced by creased eyebrows, distressed expressions, and hard hands digging into his hair like he wants to rip it out.
 
Louis' about to speak up, about to ask what on earth's happened, about to stand and comfort him as best he can but doesn't get the chance to.
 
Zayn’s eyes catch sight of Louis and his face darkens immediately, squinting at him like he's filled with hatred .
 
"What the fuck are you still doing here?" He growls.
 
His eyes are fiery, wild. His mouth’s stiff, hardly moving when he talks.
 
Louis frowns, curling in on himself, "Are you—?"
 
"Get out." Zayn demands, his entire body stilled, his words snapping through gritted teeth.
 
Louis feels his stomach plummet, his eyes beginning to water.
 
"Zayn, what—?"
 
"Are you deaf?" Zayn retorts, eyebrows furrowed so deeply, so inconceivably angry.
 
" Zayn —"
 
"Louis, fuck's sake." Zayn sighs, frustrated. He looks away from him, and for a moment Louis spots something else flicker on his face, something too quick to catch. "Leave."
 
And despite Louis' completely dumbfounded expression and his own anger boiling in his chest, he starts to move out of Zayn's bed.
 
He ignores the way he wants to break down at the way Zayn said his name, as though he had to spit it out like venom.
 
He also ignores the way his throat is suddenly choked up, emotions threatening to escape.
 
Louis has to leave, that much is obvious.
 
And he tries, stepping towards the door, planning to not say another word. But Zayn's hand flies up immediately to stop him, eyes still not meeting Louis'.
 
"Leave through the window." Zayn orders, like Louis' nothing more than a mere servant. He blinks, and then turns his head away. "You're not supposed to even be   here, remember?"
 
And Louis scoffs, blinking in disbelief. "Are you fucking serious?"
 
But Zayn doesn't reply. He doesn't even flinch at Louis' words, as though he's suddenly not acknowledging Louis at all.
 
Louis swallows, hoping the lump in his throat would disappear. It doesn’t.
 
"We're just gonna leave it like this, then, are we?"
 
Silence.
 
"Un- fucking -believable." Louis says under his breath. He takes a step backwards, then says, "You know, if you only wanted a shitty one night stand then you could've told me that instead of making me think it was something else, asshole."
 
Zayn does flinch at that. His face drops, shoulders slumping. Good.
 
"Just leave, Louis."
 
This time it's softer, weaker. He says it but this time he leaves the room, entering his en suite. And Louis' left alone, standing in the middle of Zayn's bedroom, feeling absolutely disgusting   for even still being here.
 
So, without another word, he lets out a huge sigh, turns around, and cracks open Zayn's window.
 
-
 
For the next week, Louis occupies himself with study.
 
He’d never thought it’d happen. Hell, he was putting it off for a reason. But he needs to stimulate his brain, he learns, otherwise he’s forced to think and dwell and hate himself for it.
 
He even finished his college applications. It might have something to do with the fact that he can’t wait to leave this shitty town and finally live in a big city with so many people.
 
The day he left Zayn’s room, Louis had to jump from Zayn’s roof to his own. It wasn’t a long jump, but his legs had felt weak, his entire body feeling like it didn’t belong to him somehow, like he could’ve just lied on the tiles contently and stayed there, feeling worthless enough.
 
He spent the rest of the day avoiding everyone. He cried in the shower, then cried again for being so pathetic. He stared at his phone that night, hovering over Zayn’s contact, and even though he burnt with such hate , he couldn’t bring himself to delete it.
 
On the third day, his mother had asked about Zayn around the dinner table.
 
“You haven’t met with him for a while, is everything okay?”
 
“It’s been three days.” Louis had replied, not meeting anyone’s eye. The conversation shifted after that, which Louis had been grateful for.
 
It’s been six days now. Louis hasn’t seen Zayn at all and he couldn’t care. Even though he was everything Louis ever wanted, even if Zayn made him the happiest and most carefree he’d ever been. He doesn’t care.
 
-
 
At 3AM, Louis’ phone buzzes obnoxiously next to his ear.
 
When he glances at his phone through a squinted glare, he almost throws it across the other side of the room.
 
Zayn Malik 3:01AM
Come outside
 
Louis rubs at his eyes, blinking at the text about a million times before it even makes sense in his brain.
 
It's three in the morning and Zayn has the decency to not only call him six times, apparently, but also texts him to get out of bed to go outside without any explanation whatsoever? Even after the way he had told him to leave his house? Through the fucking window ?
 
Is this boy even real?
 
But before Louis can even think to reply, his phone lights up again, with Zayn on his screen, calling.
 
Louis contemplates picking up. He weighs up the alluring option of turning his phone off and getting some precious sleep, denying Zayn any chance to crawl back into his life again. Though, Louis knows he didn’t delete his contact for a reason and he quickly results that he won't be able to fall back to sleep any time soon, and if Zayn's this desperate to reach him then it must   be serious.
 
He answers. "What?"
 
"Don't sound so pleased to hear from me, Tomlinson, take it down a notch."
 
Louis ignores the flutter in his stomach at the sound of his voice. "It's three in the morning, make this quick."
 
"Yeah... I know, I— Come outside? Please?"
 
There's something different about Zayn, something... off. He sounds broken, sad, almost. But right before Louis feels any sympathy for him he remembers the reason why they haven’t spoken for six days.
 
He tosses up the reasons for the call, what on earth Zayn would want. Then something clicks in his mind, his body boiling with irritation.
 
"Is this a fucking booty call?"
 
"What? No!" Zayn shouts immediately into the receiver and Louis has to bring the phone away from his ear. He hears Zayn breathe out something in disbelief but Louis doesn't catch it. "Louis, please, I just, like... I need to talk to you. I'm out the front."
 
"Well, we're talking right now, aren't we?"
 
"Louis," Zayn pleads ,  voice cracking, "I’m sorry, I am. I just, like… Please, Lou. I need you."
 
Louis ignores the lump growing in his throat. "Should've thought of that before you kicked me out, hey?"
 
There's a pregnant pause, then a sigh.
 
"I'm at your door, okay? Come out or not, whatever, but I'll be here waiting."
 
What the fuck?
 
"Hope you brought a mattress, then. Night."
 
Louis hangs up and the guilt that pours out of him as soon as he does is impossible to ignore.
 
He drops the phone to his side and immediately rubs his face with his hands, groaning for a long period of time before he feels utterly exhausted.
 
He knows he can't just leave Zayn out there all night, the fucking idiot, (honestly who does that when their house is literally right next door?) and truthfully, the curiosity of what Zayn has to say to him is already bubbling inside of him vigorously.
 
Damn it.
 
He lets out a sigh—one that signifies the disappointment in himself and the annoyance of Zayn being an absolute disturbance like a toxic tornado that's destroyed every dream of how his summer was supposed to be spent—and he gets out of bed, his feet finding his slippers instantly.
 
He really doesn't care what he looks like when he reaches the front door. He's wearing his non-designer pyjamas and fluffy slippers and his hair's a mess and his eyes are probably puffy from sleep but Louis really doesn't care.
 
He doesn't care what he looks like in front of Zayn, and actually wants him to know   how dishevelled Louis looks because of him.
 
But when he opens the front door and finds Zayn pacing across the driveway in steady strides with a cloud of smoke trailing his every direction, Louis' heart (dare he admit it) sort of breaks .
 
"Zayn?" He says it softly, cautiously. The last time they spoke and Zayn was like this, he switched into a completely different person and broke Louis in more ways than one.
 
Yet this time, Zayn's head snaps upwards immediately at the sound of Louis’ voice, stopping in his tracks, face and eyes softening dramatically as he spots Louis—his shoulders relaxing and the corners of his lips curving upwards, happy.
 
Louis swallows, his insides turning to goo. He's never seen anyone look so relieved to see him.
 
"You came." Zayn says, voice hardly audible, like it's stuck in his throat.
 
Louis nods, "Had to, didn't I? Could hear your worrying from a mile away."
 
Zayn flashes a thankful smile and drops his head, nodding slowly, his cigarette burning out between his fingers, forgotten.
 
"I won't keep you, it's—I'm sorry I woke you up."
 
Louis inhales and sighs heavily, stepping outside before closing the door behind him. He walks until he reaches the steps and sits down on one, Zayn watching his every movement.
 
He catches his eye, "What is it?"
 
Zayn swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He shifts his weight onto one foot at a time, uneasy and filled with trepidation.
 
"Something's happened and I need to tell someone. You're the only person in this town—the only person in my life , really, that I actually feel comfortable sharing this with. Because I trust you a lot, actually, and feel free to kick me off your property or, like, abuse me if you want—"
 
" Zayn ," Louis interrupts, watching as Zayn rambles, the stress filling his eyes once more, his hands clenched by his sides. It's shattering to see, something awful has happened and it's taken a huge toll on the boy. "I haven't got all night, yeah? Come here."
 
He pats the space on the step next to him and Zayn blinks at the gesture, hesitates as though Louis' teasing, like he doesn't mean it.
 
When the punch line doesn't come, Zayn raises a brow, "Yeah?"
 
Louis nods, tapping the space once more. Zayn visibly swallows, then cautiously walks towards him before sitting down on the same step, the furthest space away from Louis.
 
Ouch.
 
They sit there in silence for a bit. The smoke from Zayn's disregarded cigarette fills the air and Louis uses the pause in their conversation to inspect Zayn.
 
He's dressed in formal attire, as though he's come from a business meeting and still hasn't slept. His suit is creased everywhere and the buttons up the top of his shirt are undone, the sleeves pushed up messily. It's unseen; the Malik's being anything but flawlessly presented, and it shocks Louis, makes the burning question in his head burn even harder:  why ?
 
But the most shocking part about Zayn isn't his clothing. It's not even the way his hair possibly looks worse   than Louis'—strewn apart in countless directions, messed around as though it's been pulled at constantly.
 
No, the worst part is Zayn's eyes.
 
Around them are lines that imply he hasn't slept in  days , there's redness around the rim and his pupils look distant, disconnected. They're puffy, too, like he's either been digging his palms into them harshly or crying for hours.
 
Everything about him is so not Zayn and it’s hard for Louis to swallow, his throat becoming extensively dry and weak. Zayn looks so helpless and he came to Louis for help.
 
"My parents got divorced."
 
The air grows with tension, the flame at the end of Zayn's cigarette has burnt out, Louis' stomach drops.
 
"Crazy, right?” Zayn says, almost laughs. "They have been for years, actually. Which is funny, because I never thought they were anything else but in love. And they couldn't tell anyone, you know. They chose to keep it a secret. For eight years."
 
Louis' eyes widen; Zayn lets out a laugh. He brings his cigarette to his lips and tries to smoke it, pouts when he realises there's nothing of it left. It's only then, that Louis realises Zayn's been drinking.
 
"They said they didn't want to tell us for Safaa's sake, didn't want her to find out so young. She's thirteen now, and now she’s been distraught ever since. Perfect parenting, right?"
 
Louis lets the information settle. He remembers the stiff kisses on cheeks Zayn’s parents gave each other when his father came home. Remembers the in-depth conversation they seemed to be having while they were watching television.
 
"They told us over a 'family meeting'." Zayn scoffs, his fingers digging into his pocket, "Turns out dad didn’t actually want me to go to work, said this was more important. I thought they were telling us about a holiday they’d planned, you know? Thought we'd actually get to spend time together as a family now that dad's finally fucking home for once." He takes out another cigarette, lights it, then takes a drag. "They said it so calmly , like they haven't been keeping it hidden all these fucking years."
 
Louis wants to scoot closer, wants to wrap an arm around him and press his fingertips underneath the worn skin of his eyes, wants to soothe him until he's sober.
 
"My sisters, they lost it immediately. Tears everywhere, like a fucking waterpark. I was frozen, shocked that they could even put on an act like that. When I asked them why they kept it from us for so long they gave me the most fucked up reason." He takes another drag, blows out the smoke. "For the company, they said. They wanted to stay 'married' for the sake of the  company . Can you believe that?"
 
"Why would they do that?" Louis asks, quiet.
 
Zayn’s eyes coast to Louis, surprised, almost. Like he didn't know Louis was listening.
 
"They built the business while they were married, built it from scratch. The higher-ups loved the concept, would rave on about it, would talk about the married couple who were in love and were working together, successful together." Zayn rolls his eyes, "I don't know. Rich people, right?"
 
This sparks a small smile on Louis' lips, makes Zayn's eyes look a little more kind.
 
"And so if their split became public, then the business would collapse." He continues, a little easier. "Like, I understand that part but  fuck , they couldn't even tell their own family? What kind of bullshit is that? They're hypocrites, too, would always preach to us about keeping our work separate from our home life. Guess that doesn't apply when you're both lying pieces of shit."
 
"You don't mean that." Louis whispers.
 
Zayn sighs, shaking his head, "I don't. I'm just—still mad."
 
He looks out onto the street as Louis looks at Zayn. It's completely pitch black, the only sources of light being the dimness of the porch light and the streetlights in the distance. The moon is full tonight, shining brightly in the cloudy sky. It's still warm, humid, and nice on Louis' skin.
 
It’s possibly morbid how Zayn’s off-loading has resulted in Louis feeling slightly giddy, being trusted with this sort of information. He said himself that Louis’ the only person in his life that he feels the most comfortable with.
 
It's weird, how any anger he felt has evaporated just by one more encounter with Zayn. He hates himself for it but he doesn't—he's missed   Zayn.
 
"I'm so sorry, Louis." Zayn tells him suddenly, voice sincere, his eyes meeting Louis', water pricking at the corners. "They told us the morning I," he swallows harshly, "kicked you out." He shakes his head at the memory, frowning deeply, "I shouldn't have done that.  God , I was such a fucking dick to you."
 
"That you were." Louis says, watches as Zayn's eyes drop. "But I get it," Louis adds.
 
Zayn looks up again, eyes filled with something like hope, or complete disbelief at Louis' words. "You do?"
 
This time, Louis looks out towards the street, Zayn's eyes locked onto his profile. "Mum's divorced twice now. It's odd, when it happens. You never suspect a thing then, bam, your dad at the time is no longer there anymore and mum's depressed every day. I remember feeling how you feel right now." He shrugs, "It happens, I guess."
 
When he meets Zayn's gaze, it's softer and something like sympathy crosses over his face. And then Zayn's scooting a little closer, cigarette forgotten again.
 
"I haven't slept well since that day. Half because of my parents, half because of you."
 
Louis’ chest flutters. He can’t help the small smile that creeps on his lips. "Thought you positively hated me."
 
Zayn shakes his head, "Don't think I'd be able to. But I did think you hated me."
 
"Oh, I did." Louis tells him, "A lot."
 
Zayn breathes out a small chuckle, "I'm surprised you didn't break my window, or something.
 
"Is that why you couldn't sleep? Because you were lying awake, anticipating a brick flying through your room?" Louis asks with a smirk.
 
"Could be," Zayn says, "But mostly it was because I couldn't forgive myself. So, like, I understand if you can't, either. Forgive me, that is."
 
Louis sort of melts and it's definitely not   because Zayn looks absolutely tragically beautiful despite his less than perfect appearance.
 
"I think I can," Louis tells him, "But it will take a lot of head massages and favours. Also, you'll have to be my designated sunscreen applier."
 
Zayn lets out a laugh, the sort that relaxes his entire face, brightening his eyes. It echoes throughout the soft serenity of the town and Louis falls in love with him that little bit more.
 
"I can definitely do that." Zayn says, lips twitching up into a smirk. "I kind of miss you."
 
Louis' eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, contorting his face into false offence, " Kind of ?" He shakes his head, "No, that won't do."
 
"Terribly." Zayn says, "I terribly, undeniably and indescribably miss you, Louis."
 
Louis smiles greatly, Zayn mimicking. "Miss you too, Malik."
 
And it's like all the tension in Zayn's shoulders disappear and suddenly he's wrapping his arms around Louis, bringing him into a warm hug and Louis hates himself for falling into it so easily.
 
He wraps his arms around Zayn, breathing in the scent of smoke, whisky and Gucci, and buries his face into the familiar crook of Zayn's neck.
 
"Thank you." Zayn tells him, quiet.
 
Louis doesn't know what for, but somehow he understands. He doesn't reply, just squeezes him once before letting his eyes fall shut.
 
-
 
This time, when he wakes, the spot next to him is warm and filled. He had told Zayn to stay the night, and after a fair bit of convincing, Zayn agreed.
 
They hadn’t stayed up for too much longer after they entered Louis' bedroom, both of them realising how exhausted they actually were.
 
"I didn't, like, expect you to be like this." Zayn had said as he looked aimlessly around Louis' walls and furniture.
 
"What, poor?" Louis asked, both eyebrows raised.
 
Zayn almost fell at the question, eyes blown wide. "No, I—didn't mean your room, I meant  you . Like, didn't think you'd be so forgiving and, I don't know, kind."
 
Louis sort of frowned at that, "It's what anyone would do."
 
To which Zayn had scoffed, "Maybe here, but.."
 
He sort of trailed off at that, and then changed the subject to making Louis fill him in on how he spent their time apart. Which was confronting and embarrassing at the same time, really, because all Louis did for a bloody week   was think about Zayn and wallowed in his own thoughts, simultaneously never leaving his house by studying.
 
Now, as Louis blinks open his eyes and is met with Zayn's face, so peacefully asleep and utterly gorgeous—he sort of wants to stay here for days, just drinking in Zayn underneath the sun's glare.
 
"Can feel you staring, Tomlinson." Zayn mumbles after a few minutes, a smirk forming.
 
Louis blinks. "You're awake?"
 
Zayn shifts, turning to face Louis, his eyes unopened. "Sort of."
 
Louis clears his throat, "Well, I wasn't  staring , actually. I'm hardly awake meself—"
 
"Shh," Zayn tells him, his eyelashes spread out delicately over his cheeks, "Don't speak, just lay with me."
 
And, yeah, Louis can definitely get used to this.
 
-
 
They spend the day around town, ending up on the school's football oval, Louis promising Zayn he'll teach him how to play.
 
The sun beams down and Louis can already feel himself becoming burnt where his singlet doesn't cover but he hardly wants to leave. Because Zayn's running around, chasing the ball, smiling largely and sweaty as anything.
 
And Louis stands there, watching him, sort of proud   in more ways than one. It’s been proved, rather quickly, that Zayn's not some stuck-up rich guy who will feel completely out of place in a suburban public school—he's a normal teenager, and Louis can already see him now, fitting in with the crowd.
 
"You're a natural!" Louis tells him once Zayn's run up to where he's standing, out of breath and beaming.
 
"Yeah?" He says, picking the ball up and tucking it under his arm, "Still not as good as you, though. You're a pro, like, David Beckham pro."
 
Louis lets out a shocked laugh, "Take the unrealistic compliments down a notch, there, Malik. You sound like an arse-kisser."
 
Zayn's smile shifts into a mischievous smirk, stepping towards Louis before he says, in a low voice, "Maybe I am."
 
And Louis has to throw back his head and cringe, "Oh my god, stop."
 
Zayn takes Louis in his arms, wrapping them around Louis' waist. Louis pretends to try and squirm away but he fails miserably and gives in, ends up lacing his hands around Zayn's neck.
 
"You're absolutely incredible." Zayn says, his eyes so close to his own, so vibrant, so soft.
 
"And you're absolutely sweaty." Louis states, his thumbs brushing slightly at Zayn's hair at the back of his neck, "Get off me."
 
Zayn quirks a brow, "That's an awfully large demand from someone who adores me."
 
"What on earth gave you that illusion?" Louis asks him, scoffing.
 
Zayn bites his lip, looks up at him with hooded, seductive eyes. It's supposed to be corny, intentionally overdone, but Louis would be lying if he said he wasn't completely turned on.
 
"Something I like to call body language."
 
Louis raises a brow, "Never heard of it."
 
Zayn tilts his head; "Maybe you're familiar with this, then?"
 
His hand comes up to place underneath Louis' chin, bringing him forward. Louis comes effortlessly, pressing his lips against Zayn's, humming ever so slightly as he does.
 
Zayn's other hand brings Louis closer to him, his arm wrapping tighter around his waist. Louis feels absolutely enveloped amongst Zayn and he couldn't be more pleased.
 
When they part, Zayn's tongue darts out to lick his lips and Louis tracks the movement, nodding slowly to himself.
 
"Yeah, that rings a bell."
 
Zayn chuckles, low and soft, before meeting Louis' lips again.
 
-
 
"Ready to go back home?" Louis asks Zayn as they walk hand in hand, the sky a transitioning blend of pinks and purples, showing the beginning of a sunset.
 
Zayn lets out a soft sigh, "Yeah, probably. Don't think I'm angry anymore, like, I think it'll be alright."
 
"Yeah, I think so, too."
 
Zayn smiles at that, looks at Louis meaningfully, his eyes shining a crimson colour underneath the darkening sky. And Louis smiles, too, squeezing Zayn's hand.
 
Zayn squeezes back and it shouldn't send such a flurry of emotion in Louis' chest, but it does.
 
"I'm seeing you tomorrow." Zayn says, without question.
 
They stop outside Louis' house. "Do I get a say in that?"
 
Zayn pretends to think about it, then shakes his head, "No."
 
Louis rolls his eyes but leans in to kiss Zayn anyway, a smile forming as he does so, silently wishing he could go with Zayn. He knows he can't, though; Zayn has some family discussions he needs to get through, first.
 
"Goodnight, Lou." Zayn says, giving him a warm hug, his hands sliding up and down Louis' back, comforting.
 
"Goodnight, Zayn." Louis says, pressing a quick kiss to Zayn's cheek before letting go of him.
 
Louis opens the door to his house, ready to step into it before he feels a hand grab his wrist delicately, telling him to wait. He looks behind his shoulder, and meets Zayn’s sheepish eyes.
 
"Just wanted to thank you. Again." He says, a small smile appearing. "You're a good person, Louis. A really good person."
 
And Louis' heart swells so much he's surprised it doesn't burst.
 
"So are you, Zayn."
 
Zayn gives him a lop-sided grin, dropping his hand around Louis' wrist before shoving both his hands into his pockets, nodding modestly. "See you soon."
 
And Louis watches as Zayn turns around and makes his way down the porch steps. He can't help but sigh, can't help wondering if this sense of endless gratitude towards an act so normal means that Zayn's never had someone in his life that cares so much about him. Never even had a real friend .
 
And that night Louis texts him, just in case, and hopes that this town brings him endless friends and extensive loyalty. Something that Zayn most definitely deserves.
 
-
 
They see each other regularly after that. Louis sometimes visits Zayn at work, where they’d then walk around the streets hand in hand and talk about whatever’s on their mind. They’d see each other every day—Zayn would sleep over and Louis would sometimes watch him play with Louis’ little sisters, how easily they got along, the squeals of laughter and sounds of tiny feet running on the floorboards filling the house. Or Louis would sleep over at Zayn’s, when nobody would be home, and they’d fuck until morning, when the sun rises, staying in bed all day.
 
It’s perfect, Louis thinks. He’d wake up and it’d be a short walk over to see Zayn. Or sometimes he’ll be surprised with Zayn already in his bed, playing with his hair as his way of saying good morning.
 
The days fly passed, and Louis and Zayn have rapidly become so accustomed to one another, as though separation would be a death sentence to them both. Some may think that’s dangerous, unhealthy, but Louis’ never felt so at home with someone like Zayn before.
 
Now, it’s a day before school starts up again, the end of summer holidays nearing, and they’re lying on a huge hammock in Zayn’s backyard, bodies close and wrapped in each other. Louis’ curled by Zayn’s side, his leg and arm swung over him, practically completely on top of his body. Zayn doesn’t seem to mind, though, never seems to mind.
 
“Are you still nervous to start at a new school?” Louis asks him, curled up to his side, playing with the light hairs on Zayn’s chest.
 
“Haven’t even thought about it, to be honest.” Zayn says, tearing his eyes away from his magazine to look at him, “I’ve got you now, anyway.”
 
Louis feels his smile grow. He blinks softly up at Zayn, and Zayn closes the gap between them, pressing a kiss to his lips, like a gesture of finality—sealing an unspoken promise. And it turns Louis into mush, a sort of giddiness, knowing that this isn’t just a summer-time fling.
 
-
 
Zayn picks Louis up from his house the morning of school. He’s dressed in the uniform, looking so pristine and unbelievably attractive—pulling off a colour that Louis thought nobody could. He’s smiling widely once Louis opens the front door, excitement and nerves surrounding his body so much that Louis can feel it.
 
“Ready?” Louis asks him, taking Zayn’s hand into his own, squeezing it firmly.
 
Zayn nods at him, “Just promise me you won’t leave me.”
 
He lets out a short laugh and Louis lets his free hand rest comfortably on Zayn’s bicep as they walk together down the porch steps.
 
“Could never, Zayner.” Louis tells him.
 
Because, realistically, he plans on spending every day with Zayn at school. Despite not being in the same classes, he knows Zayn will fit in well with Louis’ friends, and he knows Louis will fit in well with Zayn’s. He’s not entirely sure why he’s so sure, but it’s a gut feeling—one so prominent he must be right.
 
When they reach the school gates, the bell rings on time and Zayn and Louis are forced to separate.
 
“I’ll see you at break, yeah?”
 
“Alright,” Zayn says, turning to face him, “C’mere first, though.”
 
Louis smirks at him as Zayn’s hands grab at Louis’ waist, bringing him closer. Louis laces his arms around Zayn’s shoulders and leans into him, pressing a sweet kiss to Zayn’s lips.
 
Zayn hums pleasantly, “Miss you already.”
 
Louis scoffs, “You sap.”
 
Zayn grins, kisses him again. And, god, if Louis’ not absolutely, inconceivably in love.
 
-
 
At the end of the day, Zayn meets Louis near the school’s car park. Louis can see him coming out of one of the classrooms, walking with someone else that Louis’ never seen before. They look like they’re getting along well, Zayn smiling as he talks.
 
Louis’ heart sort of warms at it, totally flips as soon as Zayn’s eyes lock onto him.
 
He watches as Zayn pats his friend on the back and they part ways. “Hey, babe.”
 
“Hey,” Louis says, giving Zayn a kiss. “Who was that?”
 
“He’s been in most my classes today, seems like a good guy.” Zayn tells him, placing his hand on Louis’ lower back as they begin to walk back home, his warmth radiating off him. “How was your day?”
 
They talk as they walk, and afterwards Louis stays at Zayn’s. They watch TV and eat and fuck and shower together, being so in tune with each other, so compatible, and Louis sort of wants to move in with Zayn already.
 
It’s a scary thought—so he never says it out loud. He also never tells Zayn he loves him, either. Zayn never says it to Louis, but it’s obvious that they both do—it’s in the air, somehow.
 
Though, Louis’ never regretted his own silence more.
 
-
 
It continues like that for around three weeks: Zayn picking Louis up, walking to school together, spending their breaks together, walking home, hanging out until dinner or later, and then they’d meet up again the next morning.
 
Weekends are different, Zayn still has work, Louis still has study to do. They make the time, though. Louis visits Zayn after work, Zayn helps Louis memorise the coursework.
 
Louis picks up smoking, from Zayn, of course. And they sit on the roof, looking out over the stars, smoking cigarettes and playing games. It’s almost dream-like, completely unreal. So Louis cuddles Zayn that little bit tighter, leans in a little more closer, just to make sure his dream doesn’t fade away.
 
They’re partners, best friends, and in that moment in time, Louis was certain they’d be inseparable.
 
-
 
By the fourth week, the stress of finals builds in Louis, realising how badly he needs to knuckle down if he wants to achieve the right score in order to get into his desired university.
 
So he texts Zayn, telling him he’ll be in the library after school finishing off some work and that he’s welcome to join. What Louis doesn’t expect is a text back telling him that he’s got other plans anyway, but he’ll see him afterwards.
 
And Louis frowns at it, wonders what other plans he had and why Zayn never said anything about it all day. But he brushes it off, texting back with hearts and kisses.

...

 
He sees him in the hallway every now and then, walking with a group of people Louis’ never spoken to before. It used to be nice, seeing him. They’d stop in their tracks and Zayn would wrap him in a hug, even kiss him sometimes, and Louis would feel like he was riding on a cloud.
 
Louis’ mother had once said to him, “This is serious, isn’t it?” And he had responded with an infectious grin and bashful eyes, “Yeah, I think so.” And they hugged in the middle of the kitchen, telling him she’s happy that he’s found someone worth keeping.
 
It was gradual, Louis and Zayn’s separation. Like a slow transition from lovers to strangers, and Louis knows why.
 
Conflicted schedules, different groups, new after-school curriculums.
 
They had ended up getting to school at different times, not being able to have their usual chats in the morning, and Louis would go days without talking to him, without knowing about Zayn’s day, his friends, his issues with teachers. They’d text on and off, too, until the conversations got too repetitive, boring. He hasn’t sent a text to Zayn for over a month now.
 
He was busy, too busy, was the thing. He had finals coming up, he was graduating soon, and he had senior parties to attend and college applications to fill out.
 
And two months later, time flew by without Louis noticing, and all of a sudden, but not suddenly at all, Louis and Zayn would walk past each other in the hallway without even a touch of acknowledgment—no eye contact, kisses, or anything in between.
 
But Louis deals with it, he has to. It hurts sometimes, when the rush of the day dies down and he’s lying in bed, missing the familiar warmth beside him. But Louis deals with it.
 
And if his classmate comes by one day to work on an assignment and looks out of Louis’ bedroom window, mouth agape as he says, “Louis, who the hell is that?” Then Louis won’t even look up—doesn’t even hesitate to know who they’re gawking over. He’ll just say, “My neighbour,” And his friend will whistle, shake his head, “He’s fucking gorgeous .” But Louis won’t reply, just like he did when his sisters were cooing over the same boy. Instead, he’ll tap his pen to the book he’s reading and say, “Can we get back to this, please?” despite the burning in his chest.
 
It’s like a secret neither of them promised to keep—an untold story with an unfinished ending, something of a quick, fantastic dream and Louis sometimes finds himself wondering if that summer was even real .
 
But that’s okay; Louis understands that nothing lasts forever.
 
-
 
At graduation, as he’s sitting on the chairs laid out on stage next to his friends and other classmates, facing the crowd of the rest of the school, he listens to the principal for a maximum of two minutes before his attention fades away.
 
As he scans the crowd in front of him, he thinks of Zayn.
 
He thinks about the conversation he had overheard one night, one that his mum and Mrs Malik were talking about while Louis was in his room. They were talking about him and Zayn, something that they usually do now and then, saying how much of a shame it was that people drift. This particular conversation was different, though.
 
“—It’s always been the way he copes with it, always acted this way when he knew Yaser was leaving, too.” Mrs Malik had said, voice solemn.
 
Louis’ mum had hummed in response, “Suppose it’s easier to let someone go by detaching, isn’t it?”
 
And Louis remembers how it made his stomach fall, how he had zoned out for a bit, letting it process and making himself understand. From then on, Louis didn’t want to rekindle his and Zayn’s relationship, understanding that Zayn needs someone constant, reliable.
 
And Louis’ built up such a wall for months now, he’s too afraid to meet up with Zayn, just knowing that with one word he could knock it all down.
 
But then Louis’ mind drifts back to the graduation, the principal’s monotone voice filling his ears. He turns to one of his friends and reaches for his hat, knocking it off his head. His friend scowls at him and Louis laughs, knowing that his annoyance could occupy him for hours.
 
-
 
“Today’s the day, mister.” Louis’ mother weeps, her hands placed on either side of Louis’ face, her eyes glassy from the tears she’s trying to keep in.
 
Louis breathes out steadily, excitement and nervousness coursing through his veins, “It is.”
 
His mother wraps him in a hug and she holds him tightly. Louis hugs her close, knowing it’ll be a while before he returns back home. He’ll be in another country, with new people, new surroundings, new everything.
 
“Behave yourself, alright?”
 
Louis gives her a smile, “When have I ever done differently?”
 
She throws him a look and his smile turns to a grin as she slaps him playfully. She sighs at him, “Now, are you sure you’ve got everything you need?”
 
“ Yes , mum. We’ve been over it a hundred times.” He says, a hand resting on her shoulder.
 
They hear a car toot from outside and his mother’s eyes immediately start to well up. The taxi’s here.
 
“This is it.” Louis says, almost to himself, breathing in.
 
He grabs his suitcase and carry on luggage before heading towards the door. Before he opens it, though, he feels a soft hand on his wrist. He turns to his mother, her nose red as she sniffs back the tears.
 
“Give me a hug now, then.” She says, gesturing for him to come closer, “Don’t think I’ll be able to handle seeing you drive off.”
 
He smiles softly, and then embraces his mum again; letting her take all the time she needs despite the impatient taxi driver’s tooting. She eventually pulls back, tells him to call her every night, and wishes him good luck.
 
Louis exits the house, his suitcase trailing behind him. He’s heading to university, finally, ready to study something he’s actually interested in. It’s taken him long enough; really, his patience has been wearing thin ever since he knew what he wanted to do in his second year of high school.
 
He nods to the taxi driver as he gets out of the car, walking behind it to pop the boot. Louis’ about to help, when the sound of someone’s voice catches his eye.
 
“Alright, see you tomorrow.”
 
Zayn.
 
The car he just waved to is parked in front of the taxi, starting its engine, ready to drive off. And Louis watches Zayn, slinging his backpack over his shoulders. He’s grown a fair bit, now that Louis looks at him closely. His shoulders look broader, his face slimed out even more, his stubble filling up his jawline. It’s a hard sight to see.
 
He remembers the time when he thought they’d grow together. It’s pitiful, thinking back. Of course they’d have to leave each other sometime, it was inevitable yet he still dreamt of forever.
 
Then Zayn stops in his tracks and Louis swallows deeply.
 
He notices the taxi first, his eyes scanning it, placing things together in his mind before catching sight of Louis.
 
It should send excitement through his body, should reignite the flame that was once there, should feel a pang of hurt, even. Just something to remind himself of their history, of their once profound love. But there’s nothing.
 
He stares at Zayn and Zayn stares at him but Louis doesn’t feel a thing at all.
 
Louis notices the creases on Zayn’s forehead, frowning at the fact that Louis will be leaving for good. He notices how Zayn opens his mouth, then closes it—like he’s got a million and one things to say but doesn’t—and a smile stretches on his lips.
 
It’s small, quaint, but Louis understands the meaning.
 
He lifts up his hand, gives Zayn a short wave. Then Zayn nods once, short and final, his way of saying something like “good luck” or “good bye.” And Louis contemplates walking over to him and wrapping his arms around Zayn’s middle, hugging him for the last time.
 
Instead, their eyes drop from each other, continuing on opposite paths. And the notion of it being the last time they’ll hold each other’s gaze is evident in the forefront of Louis’ mind.
 
Everything turns into a blur, then, until he hears the taxi driver call out to him.
 
When his luggage is packed away, he gets into the car and sits down on the leather seat. He breathes out a steady breath, hands suddenly feeling sweaty as he places them on his knees.
 
He shifts slightly, and he feels something digging into his side—something small, something squashed. He fiddles around in the pocket of his summer shorts until he finds the object, a familiar feeling between his fingers and his stomach drops at the realisation.
 
He thinks it’s just another one of his own cigarettes, one that he must’ve shoved in there, forgotten. But when he takes it out, his mouth goes completely dry.
 
As he stares at it, an avalanche of memories corrupt his mind all at once.
 
The cigarette’s bent, the writing’s smudged and the relevance of it weighs him down like an anchor—the way Zayn held it casually, his melodic voice, “Do you want it?”, the innocence of it all, the butterflies accompanied by the nervous sweat on his palms—it makes him rethink England, rethink the months of each others absence, rethink everything he’s done since school started, and wonders whether or not it’d be too late to mend.
 
He knows the memory of Zayn’s silhouette, the raven hair, the intriguing eyes, the contagious laugh, will haunt him in his mind—imprinted like a tattoo. He’s an idiot for thinking he can get over it, an idiot for suppressing his emotions, covering it up like a mask.
 
An idiot for never telling Zayn how he truly felt, the words “I love you” never leaving his mouth. An absolute fucking idiot.
 
And maybe that’s why he’s felt numb for so long, because he knew this would have to end sometime soon. He didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to fall too hard, didn’t want to feel too much.
 
But now it fills him up, bubbling up throughout him, ready to release it all, ready to sob until he’s sore.
 
He vaguely wonders if Zayn will feel the same, whether he’ll wake up one morning and realise his chance to make Louis stay has gone. Wonders whether that’s why they became distant—because in the back of their minds, they both knew that one day whatever they had would eventually be discontinued.
 
Louis remembers how silent and stiff Zayn went whenever college was mentioned. He didn’t say a word on it, didn’t even ask Louis to stay or to study somewhere closer. And it’s not like Zayn didn’t want Louis, he knew that, but it was because Zayn didn’t want to stop Louis from doing what he wanted, must have seen the excitement in Louis’ eyes, the determination. And it hits Louis like a knife to the chest.
 
He feels his throat become tighter, his eyes become wetter. It only gets worse when he realises that they never even took photos together, no videos or visual memories for Louis to go back to. Only the moments in his mind… and that’s scary to him, knowing that inevitably, those memories will be replaced, lost.
 
But the other half of him knows that it’s for the better, really.
 
So Louis drops the cigarette like he drops his gaze and lets it fall between his seat and the door, ready to be forgotten.
 

And when the engine starts and the taxi begins to move, his body betrays him. He suddenly lets out a small, wrecked sob as he looks at his neighbour’s house instead of his own, and he watches as the boy he once knew disappear like the stranger he once was.