Archive of Our Own ^beta

It begins with a splutter. A sound that so rudely overtakes the normal, otherwise consistent guttural purr of the engine — one that he’s grown to know so well — one that belongs to the slowing motorbike beneath him, pathetically spluttering before it comes to a final halt.

Zayn, dressed in light-wash jeans with rips at the knees and a black leather jacket, curses underneath his breath as he rests his beaten-up shoes on the asphalt to balance his weight.

His two gang members realise the drop in one and instantly stop. They spin around, their own bikes in perfect form, sounding just how Zayn’s had mere seconds ago. They park just in front of him, the road bare bar the few cars coasting through at painfully slow speeds. Niall, who’d been the last to join their gang but also the only one who’s smart enough (or, as Zayn likes to point out, rich enough) to own a helmet; takes it off and frowns at Zayn curiously.

“Ran out of fuckin’ petrol.” Zayn mutters, flicking his broken dial with his fingers, the loose hands spinning wildly out of control at the sudden force.

“Did you fill up before we left?” Liam asks, his own thick eyebrows etched together in question.

He and Liam have been close since high-school. They’d been in classes together, went on double dates together, even bought their motorbikes together. Zayn loves him, he does. But he can be a real fucking moron.

“D’you think that if I did, we’d be here havin’ this conversation right now?”

Liam juts his bottom lip out, raises his brows and shrugs in response. Zayn just sighs, opting to take the cigarette that’s perched behind his ear to settle between his lips. He lights it with a match, the box fitting in beside the cigarettes, tucked up in the short sleeve of his t-shirt.

“I saw a petrol station a few blocks that way,” Niall says, cocking his head passed Zayn’s direction, “Just before you started slowin’ down, I think.”

Zayn blows out the smoke towards the grey sky before he looks back the way they came. There’s a few stores around this back-end dead street of an otherwise popular town, and in amongst them Zayn thinks he can see through the orange tint of his aviators the opening of a gas stop.

He takes in another drag, and when he breathes out he says, “Who’s ready to push, then?”

It begins with a clatter. A sound that can only be the occupant of the fairly new waiter, all long-limbs and clumsy feet. Louis had no idea what their manager had been thinking when he had seen this mess of a boy on his first day — stumbling into customers and spilling things before he’d even gone out to their cars.

But to Louis’ amazement, the deer-like co-worker had brought more business than most. He had a way with people, a certain type of eagerness that Louis could only dream of having at a workplace as drowsy as this one. Working as a car-hopper doesn’t exactly scream “excitement” from where Louis’ standing.

He glides over on his roller-skates to where Harry has toppled over the tray filled with plastic knives and forks. It’s not such a big mess, but the restaurant has reached a bit of a dull for the day; the time in between lunch and dinner a twilight-zone in the way that popularity goes. It’s only the two of them rostered on for now, and Louis could quite easily tear his hair out from boredom. So, he bends down and starts collecting the plastic between his hands.

“Oh. Thanks.” Harry replies, chuckling to himself. “It’s not a shift with me if something doesn’t spill, right?”

Louis lets out a laugh, too, “Nope, no. It definitely is not.”

They eventually clean the mess up off the floor and Louis tells him to take all the cutlery to the sink to give them a wash and put them back. They should probably throw them out, considering Louis’ not sure when the last time the floor was cleaned, but Louis also knows how much the restaurant is struggling money-wise, and thinks better of it.

“Ooh,” Harry calls from where the tap’s running and Louis looks to him. He points to outside, “I think I hear a car pulling up.”

Louis peers out the window and sure enough, with the roof down and Why Do Fools Fall In Love playing from the radio, a red Chevrolet Bel Air convertible pulls up to the serving window. Sliding over, Louis greets the driver with his professional smile and usual spiel on their specials and prices. They order the usual, the most basic meal: a cheeseburger, fries and a Coca-Cola.

“Coming right up.” Louis smiles after taking the money from their hands and gestures towards the parking bay. “Park anywhere you like and we’ll bring it right out to you.”

Louis spins around and already finds Harry cooking up the burger behind him. He gets to work and places a new batch of fries into the fryer before filling up a cup with the driver’s drink. He chances a look at the time. Four thirty-four. Right, he’s got about an hour left before he gets to clock off. An hour before he’s able to go home, get these goddamn skates off and crawl into bed.

“Order up!” Harry says with a grin, acting as though it’s rush hour and there’s twenty people on tables waiting to be served. Louis just shakes his head — half out of his daze, half in amusement — and grabs a napkin before throwing it in the bag, ready to skate out to the car.

“I am — so… fucking,” Niall pants, his hand bracing against a pole of the gas station, barely able to keep up-right, “Exhausted.”

“Ah,” Liam says with a smile, hands on his hips as he walks towards Niall’s drooping form before slapping his back, “You did well.”

Niall spits and rolls his eyes, hands on his knees, “Wow, thanks.”

The sound of a door opening makes Zayn pick his head up. He wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and locks eyes with a man dressed in a dirty pair of overalls, walking towards them.

Zayn turns to his gang members and straddles his bike, “I’ll be right. Cheers. Get your bikes, I’ll meet you back here.”

Liam and Niall blink once, before shuffling in their positions, locking eyes with each other, and then back to Zayn. Zayn looks back at the gas attendant. He’s getting closer.

“You sure?” Liam asks, already digging into his pocket to grab his wallet, “I mean, I can -“

“Hey.” Zayn tells him, a little sterner than he intended. He places a smile. “I’m good. Yeah?”

They pause for a second or two, and then nod before walking passed him, giving him pats on the shoulder. The attendant replaces their spot a moment later, gesturing to Zayn’s bike.

“Hiya, son.” He greets, “Saw you guys pushin’ this thing. Running low?”

He belly-laughs, a sound that makes Zayn feel compelled to smile at in response. “How much for half a tank?”

The laugh dims and a frown casts his face, “Only half?” Zayn nods. “Uhh, you’re looking at about thirty-six cents.”

Zayn bites the inside of his lip. He looks around, annoyed. He digs in his pockets anyway and brings out all the money he has on him. Five dollars and sixteen cents.

“Yeah.” Zayn sighs, handing him a dollar, “Alright.”

The attendant smiles at him and collects the coins before giving Zayn his change. He watches as the attendant unscrews the motorbike’s cap and starts filling up carefully, not to go the slightest bit over.

He hears the familiar sound of Liam and Niall’s bikes in the distance. He turns from where he’s sitting on his bike and sees them come nearer.

“There.” The attendant comments and Zayn looks to him as he screws back on the cap. “All filled… Well,” He says with a strangled laugh, looking at Zayn weirdly, then mumbles, “Half-way, at least.”

Zayn just stares at him, dead-pan, and then gives him a two-second smile that drops as fast as it appears. “Thanks.”

The roaring engines come to a halt beside Zayn, the soft putt-putt of it all that’s heard as they remain still. Liam’s eyes follow the attendant as he walks away back from where he came and Niall takes off his helmet.

“That was quick.” Liam says.

“Now I know,” Niall begins, gesturing with his hands, “That this trip was only supposed to be a few hours but shit. I feel like I’ve run a marathon after that, boys. Can we get some fuckin’ food or what?”

Zayn chuckles softly. He scratches idly at the growing stubble at his jawline, “I could eat.”

Liam shrugs in response, already craning his neck to scope the area, see what’s around. There’s not much at all, not unless they ride into the middle of this town where everyone who lives here must be. There’s a few stores on this strip, but not much that offers food. Then Zayn looks to the car that turns into the lot one over from the gas station.

“There,” Zayn cocks his chin towards it.

“That’s… They only serve cars there.” Liam says, stating the obvious.

Zayn kicks his throttle, the bike coming alive. He looks at Liam and revs his engine, “So?”

He flies off, hearing the other two follow without another response. It’s a car-hopping restaurant but surely they’d have tables and chairs inside. Or, you know, would serve anything with wheels. Otherwise it’s discrimination as far as Zayn’s concerned.

Mainly, it’s the closest thing around here for fast food. Zayn’s not about to ride around unnecessarily, wasting gas, wasting money.

He pulls up to the restaurants’ window, peering into it. There’s a singular table with four chairs in the corner, a kitchen, a room with a closed door and a bathroom. There’s also a tall boy around his own age skating towards him.

“Hi!” The boy grins, sort of singing the word in a way that makes Zayn look at him, puzzled. Once he’s at the window, he places his hands in front of his lap and his grin falls, replaced with something like sympathy. “Uh, so. I’m really sorry to have to tell you this, but under, uh, ‘management’s words’,” He pulls a face, fingers coming up slowly to form quotation marks, “We really can’t serve anyone who’s not on four wheels.”

Zayn breathes in deeply, runs his tongue over his teeth, tilts his head to one side. “Really?”

“Yeah, I - it’s for safety reasons, actually. For you!” The boy reassures, his name tag reading Harry. “One time we had a woman on a bicycle and we, uh, served her and when she was riding off with the food under her arm she sort of, like, slipped and,” He clears his throat, a closed fist coming up to cover his mouth, “broke her arm. So.”

Zayn looks at him. He sees Harry become increasingly awkward from the glare Zayn’s giving him under his aviators, avoiding his eyes completely and letting his fingers fiddle with whatever part of his uniform he can find.

Then Zayn scoots off without a word before making a U-turn in the drive-thru back towards his gang members who are waiting for him just outside the restaurant. He parks his bike next to one of the posts and looks at them as he turns off his engine.

“C’mon, we’ll go inside.” He says. Niall breathes out a sigh of relief and moves to park his bike next to Zayn’s, Liam closely following suit.

They all hop off their bikes and walk into the only entrance of the building, immediately gaining the attention of a now-fearful Harry.

Inside, the place looks cleaner somehow. The glare of the shiny floors a little hard on the eyes. It’s tiny, the entire place, and it’s no wonder there’s only one person working here. Who, at the moment, is paused from wiping down the bench and looking at the three of them with wide eyes.

“Uh -“

“You said you couldn’t serve us at the drive-thru.” Zayn tells him, taking off his sunglasses and hanging them on the collar of his shirt. “So serve us at the table instead.”

“That’s, um,” Harry glides forward slowly, scratching the back of his head at a loss for what else to do, “That’s actually just for staff. Y’know, for our breaks and… stuff.” He trails off with a light laugh.

“Aw, shit.” Niall says, voice filled with disappointment. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah,” Harry skates a bit more towards them, looking at Niall with apologetic eyes, “I’m really, really sorry.”

“S’alright, mate.” Liam reassures from behind Zayn.

Then a door from behind Harry opens suddenly, making every head turn towards it. A boy from outside glides into the restaurant, and Zayn somewhat and somehow, feels short of breath.

He’s looking down at his skates — brown, tousled fringe falling in front of his eyes as he does so. The hand that’s not resting on the doorknob is poised in a way that can only be described as limp, dangling delicately in front of his slim chest that joins to the defined curve of his back, evident when his body turns to shut the door.

“Oh.”

Zayn picks his eyes up from his embarrassing stare to look at the boy who just spoke. He’s looking directly at Zayn and he feels himself heat up a little.

He looks away immediately.

“What’s going on here?” Louis continues, asking Harry, skating forwards hesitantly.

He takes in the scene before him. Three bikies — Louis assumes, what with the leather jackets and all — which would also explain the motorbike sound he heard as he was delivering food in the carpark. One of them is taller with a bigger build than the other two but has a contrastingly kind face, harmless. Another one is a little shorter, also with kind eyes but with an unimpressed expression. And then there’s the one Louis had seen as soon as he’d come in.

He’s in front of the other two, long, jet black hair styled up and away from his face with a loose strand dangling in front — Louis’ at a loss to whether or not the strand is on purpose, yet either way, he seamlessly pulls it off, the bastard. He’s also got long eyelashes that Louis can see from where he’s standing and cheekbones that could cut like some bloody Egyptian king. His jaw’s currently set in a hard line and his eyes are looking anywhere but him, obviously pissed off.

Which brings him to Harry’s expression — completely helpless and slightly terrified.

“We were just looking for some food, honestly.” The taller one says in answer to Louis’ question. He taps the shoulder of the boy in front of him and turns towards the door. “C’mon, Zayn, we’ll just find somewhere else.”

“You’re welcome to sit in the carpark and eat, people do it all the time.” Louis tells them with a smile. He watches as the one who spoke is torn between gratefulness at the offer yet slightly disgusted at the thought, the shorter one’s eyes light up at the mere promise of food and Zayn’s face completely casts over into stone, gaze burning into Louis like he can’t believe what he’s just heard. Then Louis lets out an easy laugh with a lazy wave of his hand, “I’m just kidding. Here,” Louis says, gesturing to the staff table. “Have a seat.”

The shorter one laughs at Louis’ lame joke, the sound echoing throughout the small building before walking over to the table with ease. The other one smiles in a way that makes his eyes turn to half-moons, following his friend. Zayn, however, looks at Louis for a moment more, eyes hard and inquisitive. Louis just holds his stare, smile never faltering.

Eventually he breaks it and turns to walk to the table. Louis finds himself letting out a breath.

He meets Harry’s eyes, then, who’s looking at him a bit wildly, question marks cascading all around him.

“We’ve got about forty-five minutes left,” Louis says to him subtly, answering the unspoken ask. He looks over at the three boys now settled around the table, “I didn’t want any trouble.”

Harry licks over his lips, nods without a word.

Louis takes in a breath, clears his throat, and starts to skate over to the table. It reminds him of his days at the café, taking orders and clearing plates. It’s surreal, looking at it now, three absolute strangers sitting at the tiny table where Louis and Harry would take turns sitting at when they’re eating. They probably weren’t even going to cause a scene, these bikies. They were just about to leave, actually. But Louis, unbeknownst to his own thoughts, felt compelled to let them stay.

The one who laughed catches sight of Louis coming over first, facing him. He’s sitting on his own, closest to the wall, opposite half-moons. Zayn’s next to him, taking out a box of cigarettes and a matchbox, placing them on the table.

“So!” Louis greets, practiced grin on his face. Two pairs of eyes meet him. It’s not a guessing game to know whose remain plastered on the cigarette he now holds between his fingers. Louis takes out the palm-sized notepad and a pen that he has for writing notes to himself on shifts, mainly about cleaning. Oh, what an exciting job. “What’ll it be, lads?”

The sound of the match striking the box makes his eyes flash towards it. Zayn places it to the cigarette perched in his lips, his cheeks sunken in as he inhales. Louis swallows, looks away.

“Bit of everythin’, do we think?” The shorter one asks the table, mouth down-turned and nodding at his own suggestion. “Just like, burgers, fries?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty hungry, actually.” Kind-eyes replies.

They turn to Zayn who blows his smoke to the ceiling. It gets in Louis’ space and Louis makes a point of coughing. Zayn looks at him, then, but only to give him a bit of an elevator stare with not much of an expression at all.

Hm, Louis thinks, Fuck you too, then.

“Uh,” Zayn says, thinking. He shifts in his chair, rests his cigarette-clad hand on the table. He scrunches up his nose a little bit. “Nah, I’ll just. A drink’s alright.”

“It’s fine, mate.” His friend tells him from across the table. “I got it.”

What Louis doesn’t expect is the sudden glare-to-kill being shot in his direction for even offering to pay. Zayn’s eyes fill with fire as they almost shoot him down. His friend just blinks in response but Louis thinks the poor guy may have stopped breathing.

“Alright,” Louis ends up saying, an attempt to diffuse… whatever this is. “The Lot. Coming right up.”

He skates away quite fast. He doesn’t know what on earth is up that raven-haired, dark-eyed, smoking enigma’s ass, but Louis could say he can’t wait until they’re out of the restaurant and out of his hair.

“Just cook a bunch of different shit.” Louis tells Harry in passing before he goes back to the fryer. “Cheeseburgers, hamburgers… you know.”

He dunks a batch into the fryer before loading up the fries that were already cooked from the order beforehand. He hears a load of burgers sizzling behind him.

“Jesus, how much will all this add up to be?” Harry asks, wiping his forehead with his forearm.

Louis shrugs. “Not a clue, honestly.” He peers over at the table yet again as Zayn holds the cigarette loosely in his mouth as he shrugs off his jacket, revealing a white t-shirt underneath. Louis gnaws at his bottom lip. “Let’s hope they don’t do a runner.”

An abrupt, rattling sound comes from Harry and Louis turns to see him regaining himself. “D’you think they will?”

A smile can’t help but form on Louis’ face, “We can take them on if they do. We’ve got skates.”

He tries not to laugh at how wide Harry’s eyes go at the insinuation, “Lou, they have motorbikes!” He whispers harshly.

“So?” Louis says, “You’re taller than all of them and I throw good punches. We’ll be fine.”

Harry finally looks at him, crestfallen, but then sees Louis biting his lip, hiding a smile and he rolls his eyes, entire body relaxing. “You’re annoying.”

Louis lets out a laugh, louder than expected. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry, darling.”

He strokes Harry’s arm lightly as he passes him, then stops at the drinks station. He starts filling up the first cup, eyes casted down at the machine. He feels someone looking at him, though, and he picks his head up towards the table.

Zayn, turned slightly towards Louis, looks at him with something of a frown. It’s not a harsh stare, either, like what Louis was expecting. It’s inquisitive, searching. Louis feels his heart speed up just slightly at the sudden look. It only lasts for a second, though, the moment they lock eyes Zayn’s turning away, shifting so he’s completely facing the table.

Louis clears his throat, just loud enough for his own ears and looks back down at the near-overflowing drink.

It’s unacceptable — so he’s been told — to be flouncing around, giggling, being cute. Zayn’s never seen anyone like it; all light and smiley— no, scratch that. Of course he’s seen smiley, Niall’s in his gang. He’s just… lively. Buoyant and animated and so captivating that Zayn’s pissed off by it. No grown, respectable man should act or be like this, so he’s been told.

And as he catches his eye, looking up from where he’s pouring their drinks, his eyelashes fluttering upwards as he does so, Zayn flicks his gaze away. The fire in his chest extends and he can feel the boy still staring.

God. Zayn quickly lights another cigarette. He wants to snap it in half.

“Bro.”

Zayn looks up, locks eyes with Liam who’s looking at him with concern. Zayn bites the inside of his cheek.

“What?” It comes out a little more defensive than he’d like. He knows exactly why they’re looking at him like that, knows exactly why they’re even getting his attention right now.

“Dude, are you okay?” Niall asks, then. He’s leaning over the table, whispering, which is good. A little improvement from before. Honestly, who insinuates someone can’t pay for a simple meal when company is right there.

“Yeah,” Zayn tells them, he sniffs, runs a hand through his hair, “Yeah, are you?”

Niall and Liam share a look. Zayn breathes in the nicotine.

“You were, like… Pretty, uh—“ Niall begins.

“Mean?” Liam finishes, or, supplies, rather. “Like, before. To them.”

Zayn sucks in his bottom lip as he takes in a breath. He chances a look back to Harry and Louis. Harry’s fixing up the burgers and Louis’ setting all the drinks on a tray.

He supposes he was. Mean, that is.

He quirks a brow at Liam, “Want me to apologise?”

“God,” Liam exasperates, tired. “No? I don’t know? Just… wanna know what’s going on up in that head of yours.”

“Here’s your drinks!”

Zayn clenches his jaw at the sound. The boy’s gliding to their table, so effortless and graceful, before setting the tray down in the middle of the three of them. Liam and Niall express their thanks as they take one each. Zayn feels a certain pair of eyes on him.

He shifts his gaze and catches the car-hopper’s awaiting stare. On his shirt, his name tag reads Louis.

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles, “Thanks.”

“No problem.” Louis replies, almost a whisper. Then, louder, he says, “I hope you’re all hungry. Harry here has cooked quite a feast.”

“We are, trust me.” Niall replies, grinning. “Thanks again, for this. We know you don’t usually do this shit.”

Liam makes a noise as he swallows his drink through the straw, nodding, “Yeah, mate, you’re great for doin’ this for us.”

Louis stands there, shaking his head and gesturing with his hands slightly as if to say ‘aw, stop’. He fixes his fringe delicately, a small tinge of pink decorating his cheeks as he does so. Zayn feels his stomach flip uncomfortably.

Shit. When will their food be ready so they can hurry up and leave.

“No stress, really.” Louis says easily with a smile, still slightly bashful.

And then he’s placing his hands on the corners of the table, bracing against it as he leans over, arse sticking out with his hip cocked to one side. Zayn definitely does not look at the curve of his back, the swell of his bum, because why the fuck would he? And if Zayn’s face starts to feel warm to the touch, he blames it on the lit cigarette still there between his fingers.

“It gets pretty boring around this time, anyway. Y’know, between lunch and dinner. S’good to have some company.”

Up this close, Zayn can see the natural colour of his lips, the blue of his eyes. They remind Zayn vaguely of the ocean… And if that isn’t the most pathetic, poetic bullshit he’s ever thought of in his life.

But then Louis’ looking at him, eyes bright like the sun, blinding. Zayn finds it difficult to look away this time, something short-circuiting in his brain like he’s forgotten how to act. It gets worse when Louis winks at him—winks at him—and then looks away like it’s nothing.

It’s not until Zayn feels the ash fall onto his hand when he regains his breath.

“Yeah, can imagine.” Niall says, following on from the conversation completely unfazed.

“When do you guys clock off?” Liam asks, swirling his straw around idly.

“Uh,” Louis stands up straighter and Zayn feels as though the strain on his throat has been let up somehow, breathing easier. He glances at the clock above the door, “In about forty-five.”

Zayn’s eyes dart to Niall’s. As guessed, he’s already sharing a glance with Liam. Zayn feels something drop within him, an unsettled feeling exploding in his gut. Please don’t ask, please don’t ask, please—

“Oh! Well, I mean, if you’re not doing anything after—“

Zayn promptly kicks Niall in the shin with enough force it makes him shout. It’s disguised by a very enthusiastic call from Harry, telling the world that their order is ready. Zayn still chances a look to Louis, and before he spins around to collect their food, he catches the confused frown on his face. It’s also accompanied by a slight smirk of amusement.

“What the bloody hell was that for?” Niall whispers harshly, bending down to rub his shin. “Seriously, do you know him or summat?”

“Did you—?” Liam cuts himself off, looking between them, “Wait, did you—?”

“I kicked him, yeah.” Zayn mutters. Liam’s head jerks back with shock, lips parting again to say something, to probably scold him, but Zayn interrupts in time. “I just wanna have some food, get back on our bikes and ride home before sundown.”

Silence falls amongst them and Zayn can see out the corner of his eye Louis reappearing. Niall scoffs, frown still present and obviously still pissed.

“Yeah, sod that.” He says with distaste. Then he’s looking Louis directly in the eye as he says, “Listen, wanna hang out with us when you're done with your shift? Both of ya?”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek and stares at his hands. God dammit, Horan.

Louis places the tray of food on the table. “You wanna hang out?” He asks. And if Zayn wasn’t mistaken, his tone sounds almost suspicious. “With us?”

He hears something fall and shatter in the kitchen. Louis doesn’t even flinch at it.

“Y-yeah,” Liam gets out, “Just to say thank-you. And… Sorry.”

The last word’s emphasised and Zayn can feel it, the apology that’s supposed to be from his own mouth. He keeps his eyes down, though, the smell of Louis’ cologne still noticeable despite the new stench of deep-fried junk.

“That’s nice of you.” Harry says from behind the counter.

“Yeah. That’s really nice of you, actually.” Louis tells them. Zayn clenches his jaw. “How about you enjoy your meal,” He says, slapping the table delicately as he begins to glide away, “and we’ll get back to you.”

“Sounds good.” Niall replies, mouth already filled with fries.

Louis glides back to the kitchen and tugs on Harry’s sleeve as he rolls passed. He takes him to the far end of the restaurant, to the back but close enough to still have a line of sight on their customers.

“What are you doing?” Harry asks.

“Harry, they wanna, like, hang out.” Louis whispers. He watches as Harry’s expression doesn’t change. “I don’t know what that means!”

Then, a frown, “You don’t know what ‘hang out’ means?”

He rolls his eyes to the back of his head, “Mate, of course I bloody know what—“ He stops himself, shakes his head, “Do we trust them, though?”

Harry turns to look at them, too. Currently they’re digging in, stuffing their faces with everything Harry cooked. Well, two of them are. Zayn, on the other hand, is merely nibbling on a fry or two.

Harry shrugs one shoulder, “How bad can they be? I think they’re cool.”

“You do?”

“Yeah.” Harry replies with a smile. It fades, though, still looking at the table. “Smoker doesn’t seem too keen on the idea, though.”

Louis snorts at that, “Doesn’t seem too keen on anything, seems like.”

“Hey.” Harry says, making Louis look at him. He’s got a smirk on his lips and a devilish look in his eye as he nudges Louis twice with his elbow. “Maybe you can change that.”

At that moment, Zayn looks over. He locks eyes with Louis straight away, a look that Louis could capture and sell to any magazine he’d like and he’d make thousands. A look that shoots right through him and makes his mouth dry.

Then it’s broken.

Louis wiggles his nose, rids the smile he was unknowingly forming. He brushes down his pants subconsciously and claps his hands together, decision made. He tugs on Harry’s sleeve again and lets them both roll over to the table.

“What are your names, lads?” Louis asks them, figuring that if they were to hang out, they’d at least have to be on first name basis.

“Shit, we’re on a roll, aren’t we?” Irish laughs, “Me mother would give me a slap if she knew I didn’t introduce meself. I’m Niall,” He points to the boy opposite, “This here’s Liam. And that,” He waves his hand to Zayn, movement a lot more unenthusiastic than Liam’s introduction, “Is Zayn.”

“I’m Harry.” Harry says with a grin before swinging an arm around Louis’ shoulders, “This is Louis.”

Louis laughs, “They probably knew that, love, from our name-tags and all.”

Zayn’s head picks up, and when Louis flicks his eyes to him, Zayn’s brows are furrowed in what now is a familiar sort of frown. Trying to figure something out, still.

“So, how ‘bout it?” Liam asks, smiling, “Wanna kick around after your shift?”

“Yeah!” Harry replies, eyes bright. “We can take my car and drive to a park not far from here.”

Louis’ brows rise from the excitement in Harry’s voice. He really needs to ask Harry if he wants to do anything outside of work more often, he seems desperate to be amongst company.

“Sick.” Niall grins.

“What about our bikes?”

All eyes direct to Zayn. He’s staring at Niall, jaw clenched, making his cheekbones deadly.

“They’ll be safe here.” Louis tells him, unable to help it. He gets Zayn’s attention — big, brown eyes on his own — and Louis preens under it. “You can park them out the back, nobody will touch them. Promise.”

He finishes with a genuine smile. He doesn’t expect Zayn to return it, but he does look at him for a moment longer, then nods twice before returning his gaze elsewhere.

Progress.

The sound of a bell is heard and Louis looks towards the order window. A car that looks like it’s filled with a family rolls up and Louis sighs.

“We’ll be back.” Louis tells the table. He and Harry move, Harry to the kitchen and Louis to the window.

He takes the family’s order and reiterates it to Harry. As he cooks the fries and makes the drinks, he tries, he really does, to not look over to the table.

But it’s just so hard when he witnesses Zayn smiling down at his feet for the first time and Liam throwing an arm around him, bringing him into his chest. Then Niall’s snorting with laughter and Zayn’s eyes actually curl up, teeth showing with his smile and Louis feels like melting.

That’s just not fair, really. Louis accidentally more or less falling in love with an out-of-town bikie that more or less couldn’t give a shit about Louis’ existence. Go figure, he supposes.

Time ends up going faster than expected. After the family order, they clean up a little and another car comes to the window. When that one passes, Liam goes to the bathroom as they clean up the table. And then it’s ten minutes until they clock off.

“Alright.” Niall says as he exhales, walking up to the cash register. Which is, conveniently, placed next to the order window. “How much’s it?”

Louis tallies up the total. In his peripheral, he spots Harry sitting down at the table where Liam and Zayn still are. He tries to overhear their conversation, he bets it’s a good one.

Niall looks at the total and opens out the wallet. He’s got a bulk of notes stashed in there and Louis has to refrain from letting out a low, impressed whistle at all the cash. He hears Harry bark out a laugh at something. What could possibly be that funny?

Louis takes the money and opens the register before handing Niall his change. “Thanks, mate.” He says, slapping Louis on the back. “Hey, look at that.” Niall says, eyes locked on the clock behind Louis, “Five minutes.”

The door opens, then. Louis spins around and sees Sabrina entering. She stops from where she was looking in her bag and notices the boys at the table, slightly shocked. She scans the room and stops at Louis, questioning.

Louis glides over as Harry gets up, too. Harry starts preparing the kitchen for the next shift and Louis explains the situation to Sabrina. She blinks at him.

“Right. And they’re gonna be gone before I start? I don’t want boss to—“

“We’re all gonna be out of your hair very soon.” Louis reassures.

She nods, still skeptical, then walks over to the staff bathroom to put on her skates and get changed.

Louis clears his throat. He joins Harry in the prep and begins to count down the minutes until he’s able to take of these fucking skates and change into something more attractive than work clothes.

“How are we trusting these people?” Zayn asks his gang, shrugging his jacket back on. The sky’s dimmed to a pinky haze, clouds casting over the sun that’s dropped substantially since they went into the restaurant. Niall scoffs at Zayn’s question, to which Zayn glares.

“Oh, c’mon, Z.” He says with a laugh and a shake of his head. He locks his helmet into place and Zayn bites the inside of his cheek, somewhat nervously. “Harry’s a curly-haired klutz that really could not hurt a damn fly, mate.”

Niall straddles his bike. Zayn leans against one of the posts, arms crossed over his chest. Liam’s already on his bike, waiting patiently for them to both start their engines.

Zayn clenches his jaw; goes for nonchalance, “And Louis?”

“What about Louis?” Liam pipes up with an unnecessary wag of his eyebrows.

“Why did you do that?”

Liam resets his face into faux-innocence. “Do what?”

And Niall has the nerve to suppress a laugh into the back of his hand.

Zayn shoots daggers at the both of them, fingers pressing into the flesh of his arms. He’s about to lean off the post, walk towards Liam, demand an answer and warn him to never insinuate anything like that again — but it’s too late when the store’s door opens with a chime of the bell.

He doesn’t turn around, already knowing who it is.

“What’s with the loitering, lads?” Louis’ voice sounds behind him. The hairs on the back of Zayn’s neck stand up. His voice is so high, soft. It irks him. “Are we ready to go?”

Zayn licks the top row of his teeth and stalks towards his bike after mumbling, “Let’s fucking go.”

He doesn’t lock eyes with anyone as he straddles his bike and starts the engine, but nobody else speaks. Liam and Niall’s engine sounds a second later and then the three of them start riding. All Zayn wants to do is keep on riding, keep going until he’s somewhere else. Somewhere quiet and somewhere great and somewhere where he doesn’t have to worry about watching his mouth or the way he acts or how he looks.

Anywhere but home, anywhere but here.

Yet he goes. He rides until they’re around the back of the restaurant, passed the carpark and where the garbage bins are. At least there’s a gate separating it from the rest of the world. He parks just outside it, stopping behind Liam.

Waiting for the other two to catch up, Zayn pulls out a cigarette.

“We could probably try and find someplace to crash for the night while we’re—“

“No.” Zayn says, shutting Liam up.

“Fuckin’ ‘ell.” Niall utters, “Just have your dart and chill the fuck out, will you?”

Zayn just shrugs in response and does exactly that. He shifts so he’s leaning slightly backwards on his bike, hips forward. Niall and Liam start chatting through him about Liam’s tyre, since it had snagged on a nail a few weeks back and they had to pump it up and cover the hole with duct tape. Zayn zones out, though, choosing to focus on how the clouds move slowly above them, gliding lightly through the sky. He wishes he could join them.

“I see you’ve found the gate, then!” Louis’ voice chimes through the air. Zayn remains in his position, unmoved.

He inhales the smoke and blows towards the clouds. He hears a clatter of keys and the sound of something unlocking. Then Niall’s rushing towards the gate in a mumbled state of ‘let me help’ before a loud noise of metal sliding against metal is heard. Seconds later Zayn feels someone’s new presence beside him as he inhales another drag.

“Should you be, like, doing that?” It’s Harry. The slow drawl almost makes Zayn fall backwards with sleep. Instead, he opens one eye to look at him while he slowly lets out the smoke between his lips. Harry blinks, clears his throat. “I mean, you know, since you’re sitting on petrol and stuff.”

He lets out a weak laugh and avoids Zayn’s eye contact. Zayn lets his head tilt forward and looks at him with both eyes. He’s about to reply, something along the lines of how he’s gone this far and it hasn’t caused him any problems just yet, but then Liam’s starting his engine back up and rolling towards the gate.

Zayn flicks the cigarette out between his fingers carelessly in one swift movement and it lands just between Harry’s shoe and Zayn’s wheel. With his eyes widening, Harry looks to the still-lit cigarette and promptly stomps it out, making Zayn smile just slightly.

He kicks his engine back on, ready to park his car besides the garbage. But that’s when he locks eyes with Louis.

He’s now dressed in an oversized, blue button-up that’s rolled up at the sleeves and tucked into the waistband of his jeans loosely. Without his skates, it’s noticeable how much shorter he is, maybe even shorter than Zayn. Replacing his skates are Italian-style shoes, and his pants are rolled up, revealing his ankles.

It takes more than embarrassingly necessary to realise he’s smiling at him. It even takes him longer for Zayn to realise he, himself, is smiling due to Harry’s theatrics seconds before, but he quickly realises Louis must think it’s for him.

He drops his eyes instantly, pretending to check the dial on his dashboard. God, he’s an idiot. A real fucking idiot.

Louis’ just another one of the boys. Just another one like Niall and Liam. He’s never acted weird or thought weirdly around them. Why is he so different? Why is he making him feel awkward and fluttery and everything he shouldn’t?

He parks his bike with ease, reluctantly stepping off of it and walking out of the way for Niall to come in afterwards. He then leans against the wall of the restaurant whilst the other three boys stand in a loose circle, laughing about something Zayn doesn’t catch.

Once Niall emerges, the four of them all turn to him and he claps his hands together, “Alright! Where to now?”

Louis gestures broadly to Harry, “Lead the way, Curly!”

Zayn watches the way Harry smiles at him as though Louis single-handedly just handed him the ocean. Maybe it’s not just Zayn. Maybe everyone’s affected by Louis.

They begin walking, following Harry. The car park is quite small, just enough for five or six spots, and they cross the area in no time. There are trees that are lined up, separating the car park from something else and it blocks their view but Harry heads towards it anyway.

“So, d’your feet fuckin’ hurt after each shift? I’ve never skated before but I can imagine.” Niall asks, loud enough that even Zayn can hear from where he’s trailing behind.

The two workers reply but Zayn doesn’t focus on their responses. Liam turns around slightly and they hold each other’s gaze. He shows a smile with shockingly familiar sympathetic eyes and Zayn’s immediately transported back to high school two years ago.

“It’s alright, you know.” Liam says out of the blue, eyes focused on what he’s writing down. For a moment Zayn doesn’t even think he’s talking to him, but then he sees the way his face is slightly angled towards him, waiting for a response.

“What is?” The confusion seeps into his words but there’s an unsettling feeling in his gut, a part of him already knowing what Liam’s getting at.

Liam shrugs, using a ruler to draw a line in his book. “Having different tastes to everyone else.”

It could mean so many different things. Zayn hadn’t been much different from the average follower around school, though. He tended to blend in, to follow the trends, to try his hardest not to stick out like a sore thumb. He wasn’t sure if Liam knew Zayn wanted to have the strength to be different or if he meant something completely not that.

And with the way Liam finally looks at him, all soft eyes and open expression, a little side smile decorating his face with absolutely no judgement at all — and with the way he adds “It’s okay.” with a final nod and a light tone in his voice like he knows — Zayn understands it’s not about trends at all.

They end up at a park, one that Louis’ visited many times. He had his first kiss here, hidden by the trees down by the lake where they had held hands in secrecy and spoke in whispers. It’s nearing night-time, now, the pink fading into dark. He looks at Zayn, he doesn’t look back.

The picnic table is enough to fit four people but Harry manages to squeeze in beside Liam and Niall, giddy with the close proximity and laughing at the other two groaning from the tight space. Which means Louis’ sitting on the other side and with Zayn walking towards them. With the knowledge that he’ll have to sit in the spare space, Louis’ blood runs a little faster and his body moves a little more sporadic.

He leans over the table and flicks Harry on the nose for something to do. Harry looks at him, shocked, then steps on Louis’ foot under the table.

Louis gasps, “They’re expensive, Harold!”

“What is?” Niall asks with a laugh, startled from the outburst.

Zayn comes to sit beside Louis — well, not so much beside him, more so on the same plank of wood, the furthest distance apart — tentatively, but Louis carries on the conversation as though he doesn’t have a boundless amount of newfound energy coursing through him.

“My shoes, Niall. Harry stepped on them with his filthy sneakers and no doubt ruined them in the process.”

“You flicked my nose!” Harry says with a grin, defensive but all the while amused.

“C’mon, then, let’s see.” Liam says, gesturing for Louis to show the world his shoes.

Louis sighs dramatically, twisting so he’s facing Zayn, and props his foot up on the seat. The boys all look at it, besides one, and laugh.

“There’s nothing there, Lou.” Harry says.

Louis stares at him, “You’re lucky.”

He leaves his foot up there, resting close to Zayn. He’s sitting there, eyes concentrated on his hands like they’re the most interesting things he’s ever seen. Louis’ sure he might burn a hole through them anytime soon.

“So, where’d you guys come in from, then?” Harry asks, a lightness in his voice.

“Shithouseville.” Niall says with confidence. Louis snorts.

“Sounds great.”

“How far are your houses from here?” Liam asks.

“Uh.” Harry twists so he’s facing away from everyone, trying to orientate himself. “See that tall building over there?” He points, over towards the inner-city circle that’s not far from here. “Just behind that.”

“Oh. Close.” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Harry grins. “You’re all more than welcome to stay if you’d like!”

Louis’ brows shoot up. Seemed like just minutes ago Louis had walked back from delivering an order to find Harry in front of three intimidating strangers, shaking in his skates and telepathically screaming for help. Now he’s offering a place to stay in his own house without a second thought.

Though, he can’t help but notice the sudden yet subtle tenseness of Zayn’s shoulders at Harry’s words.

“God, that’s nice of ya.” Niall says, patting Harry’s knee.

Softly, but abruptly all the same, Zayn stands. He slinks out from the table with ease and begins to walk away, towards Harry’s truck, without looking at anyone at all. Louis watches Zayn’s friends look after him with worrying expressions, but neither of them follow.

“Did I…” Harry trails off when Zayn’s half-way between them and the car. “Was it something I said?”

“No, no.” Liam says with a sigh, “He’s… God, I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

“He’s Zayn.” Niall says with a shrug. “It’s what he does.”

Louis frowns. A new conversation picks up but his eyes remain on the fading figure walking away. When he’s completely out of sight, Louis finds the energy that was making him restless and forms it into confidence before he’s standing, too.

“Where are you going?” Harry asks.

Louis cocks his head over towards Zayn. “D’you wanna come? Sorta feel like we shouldn’t leave him alone.”

Niall scoffs, “Mate, if you can get through to him when he’s like this, I’ll personally tip you double.”

Taking that chance, Louis grins. “Deal.”

He begins walking, through the uncut grass and underneath the now darker sky. It’s a while before he finds Zayn — lying on his back on Harry’s truck, one knee propped up, other one stretched out. Louis approaches carefully, silently, nerves spiralling.

He climbs up onto the pick-up truck, laying down beside him. Zayn doesn’t budge, doesn’t flinch, and Louis takes it as a blessing that he’s not wishing him away immediately. His eyes are closed, his breathing’s even and he looks so peaceful like this.

There’s no creases on his forehead, no tenseness in his jaw, no hard lines or steel gazes. His lips are slightly parted, relaxed, and his hands are folded loosely over his stomach. Louis swallows, decides to turn his attention to the sky in case Zayn can tell he’s being watched.

It’s completely dark. Only a few patches not covered in clouds, revealing the stars that shine brighter in this town than anywhere else Louis’ been. The moon’s in hiding, only half of it showing its face, helping to illuminate all that’s below it.

“Does it get tiring?” Louis asks, voice coming out softer than anticipated.

The response doesn’t come right away. For a moment, Louis thinks Zayn might be asleep; pulled under quickly despite their surroundings. Then he thinks Zayn’s making a point to ignore him and he vaguely considers leaving — the rejection something that makes his heart sting. But in the next moment Zayn remains stone-still as he replies, mouth only moving slightly.

“What does?”

Louis turns his head, looks at him, “Pretending you don’t care.”

Zayn blinks his eyes open, his peaceful demeanour shattering with a crack between his brows. They lock eyes and Louis can spot the guard that’s up, shielding the windows to his soul.

“You don’t know me enough to know that I’m pretending.” He says, voice calm but words tough.

“Who knows you well enough, then?”

Zayn wants to roll his eyes. Wants to tell him it doesn’t even matter, that this conversation has no point. They’re both a fleeting star in each other’s lives. By tomorrow they’ll continue without one another and soon they’ll be nobody except somebody they met by accident, ten towns apart.

Despite this, Zayn answers anyway. “My gang, probably.”

“Gang.” Louis scoffs. Zayn watches as he laughs shortly before shaking his head.

Zayn furrows his brows, “What?”

“Just say friends.” He replies, “They’re your friends first. ‘Bikie gang’ second.”

He uses quotation marks and it irritation shoots through him. But then Louis’ facing towards the sky above them and it allows Zayn to take a moment to look at his silhouette, a juxtaposition of fox-like features with sharp angles and the softness of his golden skin and pink-tinged lips. He should be irritated, should snap at him for making fun of him and thinking he can tell him what to do. But instead there’s a sense of calmness throughout him, between them, and Zayn feels like he could stay here forever.

“Okay.”

Silence stretches on and Zayn can’t tear his eyes away from the little smile on Louis’ lips, knowing. There’s amusement in his eyes but they don’t lock with Zayn’s and he desperately wants to know what he’s thinking.

“You’re quite funny, you know.” Louis tells him, answering Zayn’s silence.

“Funny,” Zayn repeats, turning away to the sky, “That’s not what most would describe me as.”

Louis hums, the only sound heard besides the crickets that chirp in the distance. “I’d imagine you’re used to hearing words like mysterious and dark and arrogant.”

Zayn blinks, “You think I’m arrogant?”

“Did I say that?”

Louis looks at him, challenging. Despite himself, Zayn brings a smile. Louis returns it, a light, short laugh escaping his lips. Then he’s turning fully, body towards him. Zayn tries not to make his expression waver, though his own body stills. Louis props his elbow up, head leaning on his fist, looking down at Zayn. Like this, half his face is casted in the pale moonlight, the other half darkened with shadows.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Zayn?”

This makes Zayn look away. It’s a question he’s been asked many times — by his dad, by his colleagues, by everyone at family gatherings — but it’s usually accompanied by a ‘yet’ that makes his skin itch. Everyone wants to know when he’ll finally find love, find a girl that’s wanting to settle down, get married, have children. And Zayn wants to tell them to fuck off every single time.

“A boyfriend?” Louis asks when no response comes.

And Zayn’s entire body is instantaneously overwhelmed with heat at the word. He’s never had someone ask him that, never had anyone even insinuate it. The concept of it makes his stomach flip, cheeks flush. With the added factor of Louis saying it, leaning over him, close — no judgement in his words, just pure curiosity and maybe even a dash of hopefulness — it makes Zayn nervous.

In this moment, Zayn wonders for the first time why it was him that decided to join him here.

“Why did you follow me?”

It’s a question that flies in the air between them — resting there, going stale — before Louis lets a breath out slowly, cheeks puffed, letting it settle down. His eyebrows jerk upwards, looking away. Zayn guesses Louis doesn’t get taken by surprise very often, especially with the way he looks as though he’s uncomfortable with the turn of conversation; shifting into a sitting position and thinking about it.

“Uh,” He hesitates, scratching at his forehead idly before letting his hand drop onto his propped up knee, “I don’t know?” His voice is an octave higher, face scrunched in a way that makes Zayn think this is the most difficult task he’s ever had to go through.

Zayn didn’t think it was such a confusing question. His own mouth betrays him, though, when he splutters out a laugh at Louis’ distress.

Louis’ eyes widen at the sound and Zayn stops as soon as it starts, startling himself. Then Louis looks at him, twinkle in his eye, and his mouth starts to twist into a grin. “That’s funny?” He asks, disbelief in his features, “That’s what’s funny to you?”

Zayn fights the smile threatening to spill. He shrugs in response, “Your face is so expressive.”

“Oh.” Louis says with a huff and a roll of his eyes. “Well, shit. If I knew that’s what would make you laugh I’d have been doing this all night!” He makes a shocked face, eyes wide and open-mouthed with hands placed on either cheek. Then he switches to a frown, mouth all pouty and arms crossed over his chest. He smiles next, a huge one from cheek to cheek that makes the corners of his eyes crinkle, forefingers resting on his cheek where dimples would be.

“Oh, my god.” Zayn groans, attempting at annoyance but failing miserably and he so badly wants to laugh, the energy it’s taking to suppress a mere smile hurting more than if he’d let it show. But he slaps Louis’ knee with the back of his hand to prove a point; more so to himself than anything. “Stop.”

Louis laughs and Zayn finds himself watching him. It’s such a nice sound and it echoes throughout the open space and into the night. Louis rests on his back again, beside Zayn and Zayn watches as his smile slowly fades. But he also catches the growth of his own.

He clears his throat and turns back to the sky. The atmosphere is something Zayn could get used to. It’s completely calm, serene, comfortable. And it shouldn’t be like this with someone he’s just met. It shouldn’t be with someone that makes him smile unknowingly, that has the brightest eyes he’s ever seen, the lightest laugh he’s ever heard. And with the newfound silence that’s overcome them, growing louder with every second — and with the knowledge that this won’t last forever and their time is limited — Zayn realises something.

He coughs once, clearing his throat. “I, uh… I don’t have a girlfriend. Or boyfriend. By the way.”

Louis doesn’t respond. Zayn’s blood rushes through him and he can feel it through the tips of his toes. He holds his breath but the anticipation gets the better of him and he turns to Louis, only to find him looking at the stars, biting his lip with a growing smile.

Louis meets his gaze, Zayn lets out a breath. “I followed you here because I think you’re the most intriguing person I’ve ever met.” Zayn feels his stomach flip. “Like, ever. Those three are so boring.”

Zayn lets out a chuckle and Louis joins him. “I think you’re intriguing, too.”

“Really?” Louis asks, then turns on his side again. He poses, letting his hand gesture delicately to his own body, “What’s intriguing to you?”

It’s supposed to be funny, Zayn knows it is. It’d make Niall laugh, Zayn knows it would. But all Zayn can see is the dip in his waist and the curve of his hip and the skin that’s revealed just above his waistline from where he’s shirt’s been untucked and like this; in dimmed lighting and close proximity, Zayn feels his mind go fuzzy.

He blinks, lets out a nervous laugh, “Could ask you the same thing.”

Louis hums, “Touché”

A question burns throughout him. He plucks up the courage he doesn’t know where he finds and blurts it out. “D’you have one? A girlfriend. Or… Y’know.”

Louis’ knowing smile doesn’t go unnoticed. He rolls onto his stomach, places his chin in his hands as he looks at Zayn and proceeds to wag his feet in the air. “Would be a shit boyfriend, wouldn’t I? Opting to hang out with some random bikie I just met rather than him.”

Him. Zayn swallows harshly, lets out a laugh that doesn’t even sound like his own. “Suppose so.”

“So what’s the desire, then?” Louis asks openly, a change of tone, shifting the atmosphere completely. Zayn’s eyes almost widen at the question but Louis continues, “What’s so great about motorbikes? Why not travel around in cars like normal people and be steady on four-wheels and safe.”

Zayn pauses for a moment, licks his lips. He raises a brow at Louis, “You’ve never been on one?”

Louis side-eyes him. “No… Why are you looking at me like that?”

Zayn shrugs, stretches up his arms to rest behind his head. He closes his eyes, “Didn’t think so, that’s all. Didn’t seem like the type that takes risks and likes adrenaline.”

It takes approximately two seconds before he hears Louis’ gasp, “Excuse you! I happen to be quite fun and mischievous.” Zayn hides his smirk. Louis huffs, “I just prefer it when there’s no chance of dying, is all.”

Zayn opens his eyes and what he sees is exactly what he’d envisioned: Louis, sitting up, arms crossed over his chest, a little v in between his brows with his bottom lip jutted out. He’s so easy to rile up. Zayn tries not to laugh.

Instead, he says, “I don’t believe you.”

Which only makes Louis’ mouth form a perfect ‘o’ as he looks at him challengingly. Then he’s sliding off the end of the truck, landing on his feet. “C’mon, then.”

Zayn sits up slowly, puzzled. “What’re you doing?”

Louis gestures over towards the restaurant with determination, “You’re taking me for a spin and I’m proving you wrong.”

He prays silently that Zayn will say yes. He’s so hard to read, so hard to get through to. It’s like Louis’ knocking down his walls with a sledgehammer and Louis can only peek through a keyhole. But instead of a flat-out no, (Louis’ seen the way he looks at his motorbike, seen how he straddles it like he’s attached, sees how protective of its safety he is) he actually seems to be considering it.

He looks up to the sky, carved-by-marble features ever present as he ponders, fingers scratching the beginnings of his beard along his jawline. “Uh, I don’t know, Lou—“

“Afraid of losing, are we?” Louis asks, brow raised, hands on his hips. He knows exactly why Zayn’s second-guessing, and being proved wrong is not it. But they can only do so much, lying here and talking, and Louis’ desperate to get to know Zayn more, to uncover every stone he has.

“Has anyone told you you’re a real piece of shit?” Zayn says finally, but with the words he’s sliding off the truck, too, and with a sigh he’s cocking his head towards his bike, “Let’s go, then.”

Louis contains his excitement. He wants to jump and clap and grin but settles for biting down a smile and falling into stride with Zayn. “Harry’s gonna be so jealous.”

Zayn looks at him, “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Louis breathes, “I bet he would kill to have a go on one of these.”

Zayn clears his throat, nods. Louis notices him fiddling with his fingers, slightly anxious. Eventually, he picks his head up again but doesn’t meet Louis’ eyes. “Are you and him… Like…?”

Startled by the question, Louis blinks, head jerking back a bit, “Harry and I?”

Zayn flounders a little, “It’s just, you said ‘he’ when I asked you about a girlfriend and you seem pretty close…”

“Oh, no.” Louis can’t help but laugh. “Love Harry. But, er, no. Not for me.”

Zayn presses his lips together, visibly trying to hold back a smile. “Okay.”

“But, yes, I am gay, if that’s what you wanted to know.” Louis states, gauging Zayn’s expression. His eyes widen just slightly, then he frowns, gnawing at his lip. Louis’ gut fills with anxiety and he stops in their tracks, waits for Zayn to do the same. “Is that — are you uncomfortable with that?”

Zayn blinks, looks like a deer in headlights, “No. No, I — I’ve just never, like… never heard someone say it so openly before. Never heard someone say it, ever, actually.”

Louis tilts his head to one side, “Really?” He asks, Zayn nods with a shrug. “That’s a bit sad, then.”

He watches as Zayn’s head falls, eyes to his feet as he lets out a weak laugh, “Yeah.”

Louis takes pity on him. He wants to hug him, hold him. Wants to kiss him, too, but that’s for another time. “Anyway,” Louis says, clapping his hands together and skipping a bit. He points forward, “Off to the bikes!”

They walk in silence after that.

It’s a crazy kind of comfortable that Louis finds strange. Even with Harry he’d constantly feel like gaps in the conversation have to be filled, like without words it’s awkward. Growing up he’d always have something to say, something to do, was always the entertainment.

With Zayn it’s somehow different. He doesn’t have to try. He’d tried, before, of course he had. He’d been racking his brain for something, anything to crack him. But he shortly found out that taking a step back, relaxing into it, going with the waves, is something they both have in common.

They reach the gate and Louis unhinges the key chain from his jeans to unlock it. Zayn waits patiently behind him, until Louis (not dramatically at all) struggles to slide it open. Zayn helps him, the two of them without much body mass struggling against the heavy metal, but it eventually slides all the way open.

“Good thing you didn't play us for fools.” Zayn comments easily, walking in front, “Could’ve killed us and taken the bikes for money.”

Louis leans against the gate, hip cocked out, “Who’s to say I won’t?”

He watches Zayn reach his bike, put a hand on it and look up at Louis’ words. A smirk plays on his lips, “Guess I’ll have to trust you then, won’t I?”

Louis feels his stomach flip, “Guess you will.”

Zayn bows his head at that but Louis’ swears he sees a smile. Then he’s straddling his bike and revving the engine. The guttural sound goes through Louis’ heart and the sudden realisation that he’s going to be on that sets in. Zayn says he’ll have to trust Louis. Louis thinks that goes both ways.

Zayn rides out from the gate and Louis shuts it without help before Zayn’s stopping close to him, the engine still roaring. Louis locks up and turns around, Zayn wearing a smirk proudly now.

“Well?” He says, shifting back in his seat and tapping the space in front of him, “Gonna hop on or what?”

Louis looks at the space Zayn patted, then at Zayn, then nowhere in particular as his brain short circuits.

He hears a low chuckle and it brings him back to earth, seeing Zayn’s eyes light up, “What, you thought you’d be able to take it for a spin alone?”

Louis splutters, “I don’t know! I thought I’d ride on the back, clueless to everything and clutching on for dear life. I didn’t think I’d have to be in control.”

Zayn grins a little more, teeth showing, “C’mon, it’ll be easy. I’ll be right here.” He says it with a shrug but there’s nothing nonchalant about this situation. Not in Louis’ mind, there’s not. “Afraid of losing, are we?”

The question comes back to bite him in the bum, then. Louis throws up a rude finger and Zayn chuckles again but hides his face as he looks downwards. Then Louis sighs, pride too high, and hops onto the bike as Zayn steadies it with his feet.

There’s a soft vibration underneath him but it’s steady and it’s not as scary as he thought. But then Zayn’s arms snake around him to hold onto the handles and his body pressing up against Louis’ back becomes all too noticeable.

“Here’s your throttle.” Zayn says, voice low. It’s enough to send shivers down Louis’ spine. Zayn continues to explain but his voice is like smooth chocolate and he’s so warm against him it’s insanely hard to focus. But then his arms disappear and it’s like the world is back again. “Got it?”

“Uh,” Louis scratches his throat before placing his hands where Zayn’s had been, “Yeah.”

There’s two cars in the carpark, facing away from them. He can’t possibly drive this thing out of the drive-thru and onto the road where it would be a lot better to ride.

Zayn seems to think so, too. “Here,” He says, replacing his arms where they were and his hands fold over Louis’ lightly, “I’ll get us out of here and you can see how it’s done.”

Louis nods, swallows, light-headed, “Okay.”

Zayn revs the engine once, probably something that definitely didn’t need to be done, but Louis gasps anyway, even when Zayn’s feet lift of the ground and the bike sways a bit. But Zayn rights it straight-away and twists his and Louis’ hand, making it go.

They’re off. Louis shouts a little bit in surprise but he’s grinning all the same. Zayn turns the handlebars and they’re going around the corner, passed the drive-thru. The wind flies passed them and it’s not long until they’re out on the open, deserted road. Louis wants to throw his hands up, wants to scream out to the eeriness, but he controls it with the way Zayn’s hands are anchoring his own and how his breath is on the back of his neck, creating goose-bumps.

They stop in the middle of the road, facing an upwards hill. “You ready?”

The question takes Louis by surprise. Right. He has to drive this thing. Zayn’s hands are pulled back and suddenly Louis’ own hands tighten around the handles, fear creeping in. “It’s — um, you’re not… you’re not leaving me, right?”

Zayn laughs once, it’s short and sweet but it’s there right next to his ear and Louis feels like he’s glowing with it. “As much as I should trust you, Louis, I don’t think I’d allow you to ride off into the sunset with my only way of getting back home.”

Louis pouts, “The sun’s already set, if you hadn’t realised. And you don’t have to go home.”

There’s a pause in conversation and Louis turns to see Zayn frowning at him, questioning, “Are you trying to convince me to leave you on your own?”

Louis huffs in defeat, turns back to face the hill, “No.”

Another laugh, “Then the stage is yours. Take it easy, go slow.”

“Go slow. Right.” Louis mutters to himself. He takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly. He remembers the throttle, which means the other one must be the brake. Which is easy, which is fine.

He twists the throttle once and the bike hops. Louis hums shortly. He tries it again, but for longer, and they end up going a few metres, albeit slowly. He tries it again, holds it, before testing the brake and they stop instantly.

“Ha. I think I’m a pro already.” Louis says proudly, straightening his back.

“Not bad, not bad.” Zayn says, humouring him, “I dare you to go to the top of the hill.”

The hill is hardly a hill in Zayn’s eyes, but Louis tenses all the same. Zayn leans back in the seat, hands holding on to the back of it to not hold onto Louis. If he’s being honest with himself, it’s because the last thing he’d want is to sport a semi whilst he’s this close to Louis’ back. And with the way his back is straightened, arse sticking out that little bit more, inches away from his —

Zayn shakes his head at himself. The hill, yes.

“You dare me?” Louis asks unsteadily but he’s turning to Zayn, not quite reaching his eyes and there’s a tone there, something evil.

“I dare you.” Zayn grins.

“Well,” Louis shifts in his seat, bum wiggling back a bit more. Christ. “If you say so.”

And then he’s repositioning his hands on the handles. Zayn looks at them, then to the back of Louis’ head, the little tuffs of hair at his neck, and before he knows it, Louis’ shooting off, full throttle.

Zayn clutches on tightly, shocked. But then Louis’ laughing wildly as he rides towards the hill of the road and Zayn feels a certain type of buzz throughout his bloodstream, electrifying. The wind flies passed and Louis’ laugh rings through his ears — Zayn wishes he could see him like this.

Then it all happens too fast. One moment, Zayn’s grinning, ear-to-ear. In the next, they stop all too suddenly.

The bike jolts forward at the instant movement, causing Zayn to fly into Louis’ back and it’s like a domino affect. Louis presses into the handlebars with the pressure of it all and someone cries out in pain but Zayn’s not sure who it is with all the water flowing through his ears.

Then it settles; the adrenaline, the shock. Zayn edges back in his seat, sees they’re on top of the hill, a few metres beyond it, actually. But he also sees Louis, huddled over the handlebars, breathing heavily.

Zayn acts fast. He kicks down the kick-stop and jumps off the back, crowding immediately in Louis’ space. He places one hand on his shoulder, the other on his cheek to make them meet eyes.

“Fuck. Louis,” He says desperately, eyes searching everywhere, making sure he’s not hurt, “Louis, are you okay?”

Their eyes lock and Zayn watches as Louis nods, sinking his teeth into his bottom lip. Louis’ shoulders start to shake and then it dawns on him. He’s laughing.

“You…” Zayn trails off, incredulous.

It makes Louis unable to hold it in anymore. He lets out a bark of laughter, back of his hand immediately lifting to cover his mouth but hell, if it isn’t contagious. Zayn lets his hand drop to Louis’ shoulder and chuckles softly, at the situation, at the fucking ridiculousness of it all, at Louis.

And they remain there, laughing like a bunch of psychopaths in the middle of the road at night.

“You did dare me, after all.” Louis says, pointing.

Zayn brings the hand that was resting on Louis’ shoulder to his pointing finger and holds it. “Didn’t think you’d stop out of nowhere!”

Louis shrugs one shoulder, grins, “I’m just full of surprises, I guess.”

Zayn sighs and his cheeks hurt from the laughter but he can’t stop smiling, “Guess you are.”

Here, underneath the streetlights, Louis’ casted in a yellowish tinge that would be unattractive on anyone else. But because it’s Louis — all long lashes and sharp angles but soft eyes that are blue blue blue — Zayn can’t seem to draw his attention away.

The little spurts of laughter simmer down and eventually they’re just there in the silence, Zayn’s heart beating in his ears.

Louis looks downwards, smiling, before he flutters his eyes back open again, “D’you want to check if your bike’s okay?”

And, honestly. Zayn hadn’t even cared about that.

“Fuck the bike.”

Louis eyes widen, “Fuck it, hm? Seems like you’re the one full of surprises, Zayn. Who’d have thought you’d care about little ol’ me more than—“

It’s a surge of everything, adrenaline, impatience, curiosity, and it gives Zayn the courage. The courage to lean in and shut Louis up with his mouth.

Louis’ words die against his lips and a surprised noise escapes him instead. Zayn feels like he’s back in his first years at school, nervously kissing the girls and having no idea what to do or how to act. His heart’s beating so fast in his chest and when he pulls back Louis’ lips are still puckered slightly and his eyes are closed.

A shot of fear, anxiety, regret all flow through him at once. The questions fill up his brain, overlapping — did he read it all wrong? Does Louis even like him that way? Had he just embarrassed himself? — but the feeling only lasts a second because then Louis’ lips are curling into a smile and it reaches his eyes, opening them and looking directly at Zayn’s.

“What was that?” Louis asks him, a mixture of surprised and impressed in his tone.

Under Louis’ gaze, Zayn backs away a bit. He shrugs, leans against the bike coolly. “Dunno.”

He crosses his arms over his chest, looks towards the moon. He can feel his cheeks warm up and Zayn prays Louis can’t see it.

He refuses to look at Louis, even when he stands from the bike and walks closer to him. Even when Louis’ soft hand cups Zayn’s jaw lightly, the touch sending heat throughout his whole body. But Zayn’s eyes remain on the sky. It’s safer there.

“Zayn.”

His voice is so sweet, one that tells him it’s okay.

“What?” Zayn replies.

An unexpected chuckle comes next, a laugh that’s so quiet yet so genuine and only for them. Then he sees Louis shaking his head and grinning.

“C’mere, you fucking idiot.”

Louis uses the hand on his face to guide them closer, slowly, slowly. Then Zayn finds himself melting into a kiss, dropping his arms from his chest.

Louis kisses him once, twice. He feels the tension leave Zayn’s body and Louis can’t help but smile against him. He’s so apprehensive yet comfortable all the same and all Louis wants to do is allow Zayn to open up, to experience.

But when Zayn brings one hand up to hold the nape of his neck and the other to his hip, fingers delicate, Louis lets out a shaky sigh; his head finally catches up to his heart and realises this is more than he bargained for.

Louis lets his other hand press against Zayn’s chest yet coaxes him closer. Zayn follows willingly, lips moving against his own, soft kisses between them.

He wonders briefly whether this will mean anything to Zayn. He wonders, when they’re both back home, if he’ll think of this as a moment to remember. He wonders if he’ll even think of him at all.

Something nags at him in the back of his mind and Louis runs his tongue against Zayn’s lips, easing them open, desperate for this to be memorable. Zayn catches on quickly and parts his mouth, surging forwards, the fingers at Louis’ neck feeding through his hair.

A loud, concerning and quite frankly rude sound tears Louis’ attention away. It’s something Louis’ heard many times, pulling up outside the restaurant. He’s made bets with himself of how long it would take for Harry to arrive to work one day and the truck falls apart then and there.

He reluctantly pulls away from Zayn, lips separating. Up this close, Louis can’t believe he’s looking at him. He watches Zayn frown slightly and the hand on his hip loosens. Then Zayn’s looking at him, questioning.

“We’ve been found.” Louis says with a whisper.

Zayn looks passed him, towards the sound. A flash of realisation casts over his face seconds before they hear the loud shout from the back of the truck.

“There you fuckers are!”

Louis breaks away completely, giving Zayn the option to deny anything happened. Niall’s peering out the back, bikes with him. They pull up close, Liam in the passenger seat.

“We were so worried.” Liam tells them.

“Yeah, Lou.” Harry pipes in, eyebrows furrowed.

“What, you thought I killed him?” Zayn asks with a challenging eyebrow raise. Louis stifles a laugh.

Harry’s eyes widen, “‘Course not. We were worried for you, too, Zayn—“

Zayn lets out a chuckle, “S’cool. It’s okay.”

“Well!” Niall says as he leaps from the truck and onto the road. He pats his hands on his jeans and then straightens his back, “Now that we’ve found you, think we best be off.”

Louis’ stomach falls.

“What?” Zayn asks, alarmed, “We’re not staying at Harry’s?”

Niall snorts, “No? I only said that to mess around with you.”

“We’ve all got work in the morning. Remember, Zee?” Liam says, opening the door and hopping out.

Zayn runs a hand over his face. Louis can’t help but look at him sadly.

“Shit.” He says to himself, realisation dawning on him that this is where they part. He then pats his shirt, his pants, frantically looking for a pen. “Fuck.” He calls out to the others, “Anyone got a pen or somethin’?”

A mumbled choir of um’s and ah’s before Harry grins at him and throws a pen out the window. Louis catches it just in time, thanking him. He turns to Zayn, then, and Zayn watches him curiously.

“Er,” Louis starts, somewhat nervously now. He gestures vaguely to Zayn’s arm, “Can I, like… D’you wanna—?”

Zayn smiles at him and takes the pen from between Louis’ fingers before holding out Louis’ arm.

“Or you can. Y’know, either way.” Louis rambles, making Zayn laugh quietly.

He writes his number on the inside of Louis’ forearm as Niall and Liam collect their bikes from the truck. Louis stares at how Zayn’s hand circles Louis’ wrist, keeping him in place. He stares at Zayn’s tongue peeking at the corner of his mouth in concentration. He stares at Zayn, the whole of him.

He’s not sure whether he ever wants to forget this.

“Will you call?” Zayn asks. And it’s the tone of his voice, the subtle worrying of his brows, the way his eyes look all rounded and unsure that makes Louis’ heart flutter pathetically in his chest.

“God.” He sighs, completely overwhelmed. “‘Course I will, yeah. Would be an idiot not to.”

The smile on Zayn’s face is the best prize Louis’ ever won. “I know where you work.”

Louis laughs, “You do, you do. You’re welcome to come and sit at the staff table anytime you like.”

Zayn splutters in surprise, skin by his eyes crinkling. “Maybe I’ll even roll up in a four-wheeler and you can serve me at the drive-thru.”

Louis gasps dramatically, hand on his chest, “Wow, wouldn’t that be a sight to see?”

Zayn remains smiling, even brings his hand up to take a hold of Louis’, bringing him closer. Louis goes easy with it, their little bubble never popping.

“I’ll see you around.” Zayn says, voice soft.

Louis places a hand on his jacket, looks at it before shifting his gaze up to Zayn’s eyes, “You better.”

Zayn meets Louis’ lips softly and Louis breathes him in. It’s great, wonderful, in fact… For about two point five seconds.

“Oh, my god!”

He’d never heard Harry squeal the way he has just now. The sound of it pops their bubble and he feels Zayn freeze suddenly against his lips. Oh, no.

Louis backs away slowly and glares at Harry for interrupting them. Harry’s mouth is covered by his hands and Zayn’s friends just sit there on their bikes, mouths agape.

Zayn turns away, clears his throat. Under the yellow lights Louis can make out the pinkness of his cheeks and Louis thinks that might just be the cutest thing he’s ever seen.

“Get it, Zayn!” Niall cheers, obviously knocked out of his initial shock.

Zayn doesn’t hesitate in giving him the rude finger, cheeks still reddening.

“Alright, alright, lads.” Louis says, waving to all of them as he walks forward, “Aren’t you supposed to be pissing off, now?”

“Damn, what’d he do to you?” Niall replies with a cackle, “Sound just like him!”

Liam laughs with him and then that’s that. Zayn hops onto his bike, starts his engine and the other two follow suit. Louis backs out the way so Zayn has some room to move and Louis ends up besides Harry, who nudges him in his sides.

“Hey,” He says with shit-eating grin, “Told you you’d be able to change him.”

Louis frowns in absolute confusion and looks up to the sky for some sort of clarity, “No, you didn’t.”

But Harry nods slowly, expression knowing, “I did.”

“Bye, boys.” Liam says, shaking Harry’s hand first and then moving on to Louis’, “Thanks again for the food and the company.”

Harry smiles, “Anytime, Li-Li.”

Louis shoots an immediate look to Harry at the sudden nickname, “Do I want to ask?”

Harry just shrugs and soon Liam’s replaced by Niall, opting to get up off his bike to give Harry a hug, muttering stuff into his ear that Louis can’t catch but apparently Harry finds it hilarious.

Then Niall’s bringing Louis into a hug, squeezing him. “Jesus. You’re quite strong, you know that?”

“Yeah,” Niall laughs. Then softer, in his ear, “Just imagine what I’d do if you pissed me off.”

Louis’ brows shoot up to his hairline, surprised. Then Niall’s laughing and patting Louis’ back good-naturedly like he didn’t say a word.

Zayn comes up next, all hesitant yet stoic, bringing his hand up to a fist in front of Harry. In Louis’ opinion, watching Harry fist-bump is quite possibly the funniest thing he’s ever seen.

Then Zayn’s hopping off his bike and walking over to Louis. He wraps his arms around Louis and Louis reciprocates it instantly, holding Zayn’s middle. Louis closes his eyes and Zayn buries his face into Louis’ neck.

“Have a safe journey home.” Louis tells him.

“It won’t be you riding, so, I will.” Louis slaps his back and Zayn chuckles, pulling away, “Ouch.”

Louis reluctantly gives him a smile, “Get outta here.”

He doesn’t expect the once-over Zayn gives him, doesn’t expect the kiss to his forehead, either. “Okay.”

He hops back onto his bike, turns on the engine, and salutes him.

It ends with a smile, one that’s forever planted in his mind.

He watches Harry, his truck, the town, all fade in his rearview mirror. He watches Louis, mainly, his hand waving in the air as Zayn rides away.

His blood still pumps though his veins heatedly, brain still a clouded mess with the events that had unfolded since he got here. He kissed a boy. He kissed Louis. And now his number’s on his arm, waiting to be called.

And as the streetlights vanish and the road disappears, he watches Liam and Niall ride in front, knowing he’ll be getting questions upon questions when they arrive back home. But with the butterflies in his stomach and the familiar feeling of Louis’ lips on his own, Zayn can’t find it in himself to care.

It ends with a disappearing figure, one that rides away so breezily.

The three of them a pack of reckless youth to the untrained eye yet so much more to those who take a second look. He glances down at his arm once they’re out of sight, the number burning into his skin as a reminder, a memory.

He hops into Harry’s truck, one that he prays never falls apart, the back of it something he now holds dear. Lying down underneath the stars, nothing but crickets chirping and soft words between them.

He’ll call him tomorrow—when he knows Zayn’s home safe. Maybe they’ll meet again, maybe Louis will hear the guttural purr of Zayn’s bike outside his home, maybe Louis will visit Zayn instead, maybe they won’t meet at all. But when Louis looks to the sky, sees the moon and remembers how Zayn looked underneath it, something tells him Zayn will be a constant, and not a fleeting star.