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“Fuck me!” Louis laughs through his disbelief, shaking his head. “I’m bloody soaked!”
His hair sticks to his face.
“Unbelievable!”
He lifts his hair off his eyes, running his fingers back and through.
“Alright, mate?”
He locks eyes with his friend. Something new’s there. A question?
Those deep wells, darker now, framed by eyelashes somehow more luxurious sopping wet.
He walks toward Louis, focused. Louis keeps talking, he thinks. He doesn’t move.
Zayn’s eyes don’t let him.
Here now. Silent. Staring.
Louis stills.
Zayn’s lips on his. Solid. Soft.
Sure.
Louis startles.
But not from surprise. What, then?
Oh.
Relief.
