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Zayn, Niall, and Louis have this game. It was probably considered a form of truth or dare at some point, but none of them ever picked ‘truth’ and as they grew up, the game turned into “go make an ass out of yourself because I said so,” and it was usually Louis who would be saying so. Zayn has yelled “PENIS” in a crowded restaurant, Niall has ripped off his shirt and jumped on a park bench and loudly declared his love for eating boogers. As long as these dares don’t get them arrested, or cause them severe bodily harm (excluding that one time Louis told Niall to climb over a barbed wire fence to get their football that Louis had definitely kicked over on purpose), Zayn and Niall do them. So when the three of them are lounging on a bench in the middle of the mall and Louis points towards a shop called LUSH, the other boys sigh and wait for further instruction.
“Zayn,” Louis decides after a moment’s contemplation. “Go in there and buy something we can light on fire.” (Because unless Louis is throwing things off rooftops or lighting things on fire, he’s never satisfied.)
So, okay. Flammable things. Zayn gets up and strides easily into the store, expecting to grab the first shirt or scarf he sees. Except, it’s not that kind of store. It’s a little shop tucked between an Urban Outfitters and a Forever 21, and the only words that are coming to Zayn’s mind when he goes in are pretentious and hipster and cozy. Before he really has time to process all the products in bowls and baskets around him, he’s greeted with a chipper, “Hi, welcome to Lush! Have you shopped here before?”
Why didn’t Lou send Niall, Zayn thinks somewhat desperately, because Zayn despises small talk and pushy retail workers. Niall would have immediately started a conversation and come out with a new friend by the end of it, but Zayn stands like a deer caught in the headlights and manages to grunt out a, “no.”
He’s almost surprised to see a boy when he turns around. He’s surprised that he is surprised, because it shouldn’t matter, but it’s just. The whole shop smells like vanilla and baby powder and something flowery, and the only other people in the store are women with black aprons and teenage girls with their moms. But here’s a guy standing in front of him, with a friendly, expectant smile on his face. He’s probably about Zayn’s age, maybe younger—he’s got these dimples and a mess of brown curls and these green eyes that light up when Zayn answers him, and as cute as he is, Zayn knows that his “no” answer has just give Dimples the chance to jump into a conversation.
“Okay, well, I’m glad you’ve stopped in today! We make bath and shower products from organic, natural ingredients. Are you looking for anything in particular?” His lips curl slowly around his words, as if he’s having a conversation with an old friend instead of a random customer who just wandered into the store. It would be kind of endearing, if Zayn wasn’t ready to turn on his heel and run back to Louis and Niall.
“Uh?” Zayn falls over his words and looks helplessly around the shop. There’s definitely nothing flammable in here—whether or not Louis knew that prior to sending Zayn in is a mystery, but Zayn will be sure to be getting out of here as soon as possible. “Didn’t know this was, like, a bath store. To be honest.”
The boy’s face brightens even more, and he claps his hands together. “That’s alright! A lot of people are a little confused when they first come in. Would you like me to show you some of our top products to get you started? I’m Harry, by the way.” Dimples—Harry—flashes him a crooked smile.
Zayn’s not sure if it’s the boy’s effortless charm or his sudden curiosity of the things in the shop, but he finds himself nodding dumbly and following him down the aisle of soaps and bath bombs. He knows—he knows, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he doesn’t give a flying fuck about any of the vegan-organic animal-friendly products in this store, and he knows that he’s supposed to be looking for something that Louis can use to wreak havoc. And yet he’s standing next to Harry, who’s holding a big, powdery blue ball and going on about relaxing bath soaks, but Zayn absolutely cannot focus on anything else but Harry’s hands, which are easily cradling the large bath bombs in his palms.
“Do you have anything flammable?” Zayn blurts, because if he doesn’t stay on track here he might end up trying to, like, actually have a conversation with Harry.
If the question throws Harry, he doesn’t show it. Instead he pushes his lip out into a pretty little pout and puts the bath bombs down, turning to consider the things in the shop. “That’s an excellent question,” Harry finally says with a goofy smile and, Christ, Zayn needs to leave right now before he does something stupid, like start thinking Harry is cute.
“That’s okay. I’ll take those,” Zayn rushes, picking up the two bombs Harry had been holding and dumping them into the little paper bags next to the display. He mutters a “thanks for your help” before scuttling off towards the register. Zayn thinks, for a tragic second, that Harry is going to follow him and keep talking about their shower gels or soaps or whatever the fuck else it is that he’s trying to sell Zayn, but the dimpled employee just calls, “thanks for coming!” (As soon as he says it, Zayn almost chokes on his own spit) before going back to greet other customers, leaving Zayn blushing furiously as he pays for the two bath bombs.
When he thrusts the bag in Louis’s face and slumps into the backseat of Niall’s car, he’s not surprised at all when he hears Louis snap, “Zayn, how the fuck are we supposed to light these on fire? You’ve failed your mission, my friend.”
“We can throw them off the roof or something,” Niall suggests, but Louis is twisting around in his seat to give Zayn a narrow-eyed glare.
“You never fail my missions. Why did you fail this time?”
“Because you sent me into a hippie bath products store,” Zayn snaps back. “And I got ambushed as soon as I walked inside. What was I supposed to do? Steal a piece of wood from the displays?”
“If that’s what it takes!” Louis cries, throwing his hands up dramatically. “What are we supposed to do with these things, Zayn? Actually take a bath with them?”
Niall, ever the moderator between Louis and Zayn’s snappy fights, pats his friend on the shoulder. “No harm done, Tommo,” he says comfortingly. ”Besides, we all know that you’re just going to use them to torment Liam Payne in some way, anyway.”
::
Liam Payne—because he is never referred to as just “Liam”, because, as Louis says, “they are not and will never be on a first-name basis with that child”—is the young uni student who lives in the apartment below Louis. There was something that Louis just refers to darkly as “The Incident” that made him declare war between him and Liam Payne forever. “The Incident” happened about a month after Louis first moved in, and threw a big housewarming party the same week that Liam Payne had finals at school. It was 2:30 in the morning and there were still many loud, drunk people packed into Louis’s apartment. Liam Payne showed up at the door and asked, very politely, if Louis could maybe keep it down, as Liam had a very important exam the next morning. Drunk-Louis took this as a personal attack to his lifestyle, told Liam Payne that he was not allowed to tell The Louis Tomlinson how to live his life, and slammed the door in Liam Payne’s face. Louis has been trying to make his life a living hell ever since.
It’s a shame, really, because Liam Payne is a pleasant person. He doesn’t deserve to have two bath bombs thrown at his car, but that’s what happens. Zayn and Niall are probably guilty by association, but It’s Louis who yells, “BOMBS AWAY” from the roof of his six-floor apartment building and chucks the Lush bath bombs down at Liam Payne’s car in the parking lot below. There’s a sickening crack on the windshield and then Niall gasps, “Lou,” in a half-shocked laugh.
“I hope he’s got insurance,” Louis says flatly. He turns and gives Zayn a half-smile, but Zayn just regards him with a solemn look and a cigarette between his lips. Louis knows what that look means, and he finally pouts and whines, “fine,” before swinging open the door to the stairwell and stomping down to assess whether or not this stunt is worthy of apologizing to Liam Payne.
“You know, if he’d actually get over his superiority complex, he and Liam Payne might be good friends,” Niall mumbles to Zayn as they follow their friend down the stairs. Zayn turns and gives Niall a surprised smirk.
“Superiority complex? Can you even spell that, Ni?” Zayn asks seriously. Niall is grinning like an idiot under the dim lights in the stairwell and he throws a wink at Zayn.
“I put all of Louis’s symptoms into WebMD. Said he’s either got a brain tumor, a massive crush on Liam Payne, or a serious superiority complex,” he answers as Louis storms through the door that leads to the parking lot ahead of them. Zayn can’t exactly tell if Louis is mad, because this vandalism may have gone a bit too far, or if he’s just excited to see that he’s ruined yet another aspect of Liam Payne’s life. They’re just approaching the car—one of the bath bombs landed on the windshield but, fortunately for Liam Payne and Louis’s wallet, it isn’t cracked, and the other broke in half on the roof—when the door to the building opens and Liam Payne comes out.
“Hi, Lou. Zayn and Niall,” he greets them easily, pre-occupied with digging through his backpack for his keys. Louis looks from him to the car and back again, and tries to make a run for it, but Niall and Zayn each grab an arm and keep him anchored to the spot. Louis lets out a strangled noise—because Louis is the type of kid who only likes causing trouble until he gets caught—and Liam Payne looks up from his bag.
“What--?” He blinks a few times; the broken orbs have covered his car in powder and Zayn’s pretty sure he can see a dent in the roof. “Louis?” he tries slowly, and Zayn’s not sure if he’s talking slowly because he’s angry or talking slowly because he’s given up all hope of ever making peace with Louis. (Two years of Louis putting shaving cream on Liam Payne’s windows, covering his doorknob in Vaseline, accidently lighting one of his textbooks on fire, and ordering strippers to Liam Payne’s door, and the kid is still hopeful that they can be civil. Liam Payne is probably a saint, and Louis is probably going to hell.)
“Just add water, Liam Payne, it’s like a free car wash. You should be thanking me,” Louis says with a forced smile and narrowed eyes. Niall’s still got a firm grip on his bicep, and Zayn almost, almost wants to tell Liam Payne that he has every right to punch Louis in the face, if he so chooses. Zayn gets a distinct feeling from the shit-eating grin on Louis’s face that Louis was never reprimanded very strongly as a child.
Liam Payne looks from his car to Louis, and then reaches into his bag. When he pulls out a water bottle, Louis raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t say anything until Liam Payne walks over to his car and unscrews the cap, pouring the bottle’s contents all over the broken bath bombs. Immediately, they start fizzing up, crackling and bubbling up against the car. He pours the whole bottle onto them, and the four of them stand in silence and watch until the balls disappear, leaving Liam’s windshield a fizzy, soapy mess.
“Huh,” Louis finally hums. “So that’s what they do.” He’s got a tone of awe in his voice, and Zayn knows that he’s not so much shocked by the bath bombs fizzling as he is by Liam Payne’s blatant apathy to the whole situation.
Liam Payne just gives Louis a tight-lipped smile and nods to the trio before ducking into his car. Niall finally releases Louis’s arm and they stand solemnly and watch the windshield wipers on the car push the soapy bits away, Liam Payne smiling at them from inside as he backs the car out.
“Well,” Louis says finally, eyes still trailing the car as it crawls out of the parking lot. “Liam Payne may be more fun than I thought.”
::
Zayn accidently mentions Harry to Niall that night. He doesn’t mean to, really, but Niall has a way of knowing when Zayn’s keeping a secret. Not that Harry is a secret. It’s just….Zayn’s not really a big fan of, you know. Talking about his crushes. Not that Harry is a crush—
“So what else was in that store Louis made you go in?” Niall asks around a slice of pizza.
A cute boy with dimples. “I dunno. It was all, like, bath stuff.”
“And there really wasn’t anything we could’ve set on fire?”
There was a cute boy who was very hot. “Nope.”
Niall throws a piece of pepperoni at Zayn and settles him with a steely glare. Zayn often forgets how aware of everything Niall is, and it’s times like this that remind him that his roommate knows more under that blond head of his than he lets on. “Was there anything flammable in the shop, or did you get distracted?”
It’s pretty much impossible for Zayn to be anything less than truthful to Niall, so it’s with flushed cheeks that Zayn mumbles, ”might’ve gotten distracted.”
That’s all the answer Niall needs. Before Zayn can even try to escape this inevitable interrogation, Niall is dropping his pizza crust onto the coffee table and crawling across the couch. Zayn’s sprawled out on his back, so Niall straddles him and pins his shoulders to the couch cushions. “Tell me all about this distraction.”
“You know, if someone were to walk in right now, this would be a very difficult position to explain to them,” Zayn tries deflecting the conversation, but Niall is having none of it.
“Zayn, you and I both know that if I was gay, you’d be the first person I’d let anywhere near my cock,” Niall tells him dryly, with a tone that suggests that they’ve had this conversation many times before (and they have). “I’m not getting off until you tell me.”
“Fine,” Zayn relents. He still doesn’t understand why his romantic interests (not that Harry is a romantic interest) are so important to Niall, but every potential boyfriend or girlfriend Zayn has ever had has been forced to have a conversation with Niall. He and Louis are just protective over Zayn, is all. “His name is Harry and he sold me the bath bombs. That’s all.”
“Harry,” Niall tries the name, lets it roll off his Irish tongue while his brow furrows thoughtfully. “Is this Harry a friendly fellow?”
“I don’t know, Niall, I talked to him for all of, like, five minutes—“
“But is he a friendly fellow?” Niall digs his knee into Zayn’s lower stomach and Zayn grunts out fuck at the pain.
“Yes, he was very friendly,” Zayn huffs, still trying to squirm out from underneath Niall, who is still asking questions.
“Friendly enough for you to go back and ask him out?”
Zayn hesitates, and Niall’s bony knee is jabbing him in the groin again. ”Fuck, I don’t know, Niall! I think it’s, like, store policy that they have to be overly friendly to everyone who walks in.”
Niall glares down at him for a few more moments before he rolls off of Zayn. “I want you to go back and talk to Friendly Harry,” Niall eventually decides as he tears off a piece of pizza crust and stuffs it in his mouth. He gives his friend a lop-sided smile, a smile he reserves for Zayn whenever Zayn’s unsure about something. With a defeated sigh, Zayn grabs for his box of cigarettes on the coffee table and slumps deeper into the couch. Because even though there’s rarely a time he says no to Louis, he never, ever says no to Niall.
When Niall practically drags Zayn back to Lush, Zayn’s reluctant to go in. He’s not nervous, but it’s different now because he knows what to expect as soon as he walks in, and he doesn’t really want to get reeled into conversation with anyone other than Harry. But Niall obviously isn’t going to let Zayn go anywhere else other than inside the store, so Zayn gathers up the last of his dignity and squeeze by a pack of teenage girls gathered at the entrance.
“Hey, what brings you in today?” asks a girl in a black apron as soon as Zayn crosses the threshold. His immediate plan was to do a quick lap of the store and leave if there were no cute dimpled boys working, but this girl is watching him with expectant blue eyes. Zayn vaguely wonders if it’s required to only hire hot people to work here, because she’s got this short blonde hair layered with hot pink that curls at her shoulders, and her tilting smile is framed by equally pink lipstick. He’s almost as curious about her as he is about Harry, but before he can try to be subtle and smooth he hears himself blurt, “Um, is Harry working today?”
The girl’s smile shrinks into something more private, as if Zayn’s just told her an inside joke. She tucks her hair behind an ear and tosses a look over her shoulder to the back of the shop. “Ahh, another admirer. I’ll go get him,” she chirps, and flounces off before Zayn can tell her he’s not here to admire anyone—except he totally is. Zayn realizes with a jolt that he doesn’t have any real reason to be here other than to see Harry again, and he can’t exactly just ask the kid out, can he? Zayn’s scrambling for an excuse, drifting towards the bath-bombs display like it’s a lifeline, when he hears, “back so soon?”
Zayn tries not to look too enthusiastic when he turns around to face Harry, but he can’t help the smile that creeps across his face when he sees him. Today he’s got a scarf tucked throughout his fringe of curls and under his black apron, there’s a white t-shirt that scoops low enough for Zayn to see the tops of tattoos under his collarbones. “Perrie said you asked for me?” Harry drawls with a smirk, crossing his arms and waiting for Zayn to explain himself.
“The bath bombs you sold me were not flammable,” Zayn says as smoothly as possible.
Harry raises his eyebrows and drops his arms into a half-shrug. “I never said they were. Did you enjoy them otherwise, then?” he asks, and Zayn’s eyes fall to where Harry’s tongue darts out from his mouth to lick his lips before he bites down into a smile.
(Is this flirting? It feels like flirting.) Zayn shrinks back against the shelf behind him. “Um? My friend kind of…threw them off a rooftop. Before I could use them. So.” he gives Harry a quick, toothy grin and comes up with the quickest excuse he can think up, “Came back to see if you could give me any other suggestions.”
Harry absolutely lights up at Zayn’s words and he whips around to the soap display behind him. “So what exactly are you looking for, then? Something like what I gave you last time? Uhhhh….here. Smell this?” Harry offers, holding up a massive chunk of soap. Zayn takes a step forward and leans in. It’s something musky and fresh, the bar a dark blue contrasting against where it sits in Harry’s pale hand. He’s got a cross tattooed in the crook of his thumb and index finger. Zayn’s not sure if it’s the soap or Harry that smells so good.
‘I like it,” Zayn mumbles, and Harry grins happily.
“I thought you would. This is our Dirty Soap,” Harry says. Zayn may or may not be imagining Harry’s eyes skimming up and down Zayn’s frame once before settling back on his face, smiling the entire time. “There’s spearmint and sandalwood and some pine in it that form a really nice lather. I use this one in the shower all the time, and it’s a really relaxing scent after a long day, you know?”
“And I can just use the whole thing?” Zayn asks a little uncertainly, looking from the chunk of soap up to Harry’s face.
Harry pouts thoughtfully. Shrugs. “If it’s too much for you, you can break it up, I guess. This big, it can be a little tricky to handle when it’s wet.”
(This is definitely flirting.)
“I think I’ll be able to handle it just fine,” Zayn purrs back, and Harry is silent for a moment before he lets out a strangled noise that’s something between a scoff and a laugh. He turns on his heel to put the soap back and almost falls flat on his face, but he manages to catch himself on the edge of the table.
“Okay. Well. If you like dirtier things...” Harry begins, but trails off and wanders along the row of shelves before eventually plucking up a bottle of shower gel. “How do you feel about men in the shower?”
Zayn almost—almost—spontaneously combusts. Instead, he stays rooted to his spot and just raises his eyebrows at Harry. The dimpled boy just grins like an idiot before showing Zayn the bottle he’s holding, a shower gel labelled It’s Raining Men. Zayn allows himself the smallest smirk when he looks up at Harry, who’s smiling amicably at him. “This one’s a little sweeter. Easier to use than that big intimidating hunk. Of soap,” Harry tells him with a steady look.
“That big hunk of soap isn’t all that intimidating, Harry,” Zayn tells him quietly, and it makes Harry’s neck blossom a lovely shade of pink.
It’s actually amazing that Zayn hasn’t lost his ability to remain standing. But Zayn has never been one to lose these types of games easily; this may be the only skill that he has over Louis, his ability to draw people in and hold them there for as long as he wants. And Harry…Harry is fun, Zayn can tell already. Zayn knows that Harry knows exactly what he’s doing, he can tell that Harry’s more aware of what’s happening than he lets on, offering Zayn cheeky products and giving him innocent smiles. Zayn doesn’t doubt that Harry is quite the charmer working in this little shop of hippie bath products.
Nevertheless, Zayn leaves the shop $45 lighter, his purchases including dirty soap, It’s Raining Men, and two new bathbombs that he promises Harry he’ll actually use in the bath. Zayn doesn’t remember that he and Niall’s apartment doesn’t even have a bathtub until he’s halfway home.
::
“What the hell are these?”
Zayn and Niall exchange a guilty look as Louis shamelessly pokes through the Lush bag that Zayn abandoned on the kitchen table.
“More…ammo…for Liam Payne’s car?” Niall attempts, but Louis isn’t listening. He’s dumping the contents of the bag onto the table, and the new bath bombs and soap tumble onto the wood. He finally locks eyes with Zayn, who’s trying to burrow himself into the couch cushions to avoid Louis’s inevitable questions.
“Did you go back to that hippie store?”
When Zayn peeks over the edge of the couch and nods, Louis and Niall exchange a look. It’s one of their silent conversations that Zayn hates, because Louis just raises his eyebrows at Niall and Niall shakes his head the tiniest bit and Zayn knows they’re talking about him. “And you’re actually going to use these?” Louis asks in a softer voice, holding up one of the bath bombs.
Zayn tries to fight the heat that creeps up his neck when he shrugs half-heartedly. He really just wants his friends to drop the whole subject—it was embarrassing enough when Perrie rung up his things with a knowing smirk on her face—but he has a feeling that this Harry thing isn’t going to just go away.
“You don’t even have a tub,” Louis points out. There’s an apprehensive silence for a couple beats before Louis sighs, “alright, what’s their name?”
Zayn huffs “nobody,” at the same second that Niall blurts, “Harry!” Zayn pegs a pillow at his roommate and Niall squawks a frantic “sorry!”
“Harry? Harry what?” Louis questions as he uncaps the shower gel and sniffs it. “It’s Raining Men?” Louis gives Zayn an incredulous look. “Zayn.”
“Don’t give me that look!” Zayn bursts. “He made innuendos. With soap. I had to buy it.”
Louis looks absolutely scandalized, and Niall is not-so-subtly beaming with pride across from Zayn on the couch. Because the truth is, Zayn’s never really….done this before. He’s not good at relationships and he’s not good at talking about them.
“Alright, well. You have to date him,” Louis says definitively, and Niall doesn’t hesitate to nod his agreement.
“How come I can’t have a casual, pun-filled friendship with a retail worker without you two trying to fuck with it?” Zayn grumbles around a cigarette. Louis claps him hard on the shoulder over the back of the couch.
“We’re not trying to fuck with it,” Louis tells him with a smile that tells Zayn that they’re definitely going to fuck with it. “We’re just trying to get you to fuck him.”
“I don’t even know if he’s into guys or not!” Zayn snaps, scrambling for anything that will make his friends drop the issue.
Niall snorts a laugh across from him. “Zayn. He sold you a product called Dirty Soap. And I’m pretty sure that pink bath thing is called a Sex Bomb.” When Zayn gives him a murderous look and Louis barks out a laugh, Niall just shrugs. “What? It was on the receipt.”
Zayn decides that he hates this game that the three of them have, mostly because in the last week he’s been the victim of more dares than any of them. But not for any longer.
“Okay, Louis,” he starts, sitting up and glaring at the caramel-haired boy from over the top of the couch. “I’ll go back and talk to Harry but you have to go apologize to Liam Payne.”
“For what?” Louis demands loudly, because this is a discussion they’ve had numerous times before.
Louis already looks like he’s ready to start on his top 20 reasons why he hates Liam Payne, but Zayn settles him with a look that tells Louis that he can’t get out of this one. Louis knows that he’s an asshole to the kid, even though he’s only ever apologized if he has caused Liam Payne serious bodily or financial damage. Louis also knows that Zayn rarely ever puts Louis and Niall up to dares, so there’s definitely no backing out of this one.
Because Louis can’t be trusted to do pretty much anything on his own, Niall and Zayn have to accompany Louis to Liam Payne’s apartment. Louis is too busy glaring at Zayn over his shoulder to knock, so Niall takes a step forward and raps on the door before shuffling to stand next to Zayn behind Louis to stop him from trying to escape. Louis and Niall are quietly bickering when the door clicks open and a shirtless Liam Payne appears in the doorway. When Louis averts his attention away from hissing at Niall (I don’t need to do this, Niall, fuck you) and sees Liam, his breath leaves him in a rush and he squeaks out “Liam Payne,” before clearing his throat.
“Hi, Louis,” Liam Payne says with a warm smile. Zayn realizes that, for the first time since the start of their friendship, Louis Tomlinson is speechless.
“Uh, Louis had to talk to you about something, Liam Payne,” Niall says, shoving Louis forward.
“Liam Payne,” Louis starts a little breathlessly, looking like he’s trying very hard not to look anywhere else but at his face. “I just came. By. I just came by to say something.”
If Zayn wasn’t so focused on Liam Payne’s torso, he would find Louis’s struggle amusing.
“Wow,” is what Louis finally settles on saying, scruffing a hand through his hair violently and smacking himself on the cheek. “Okay. So. Zayn here says that I need to apologize to you for being an asshole for two years. Yeah.”
Zayn and Niall know that that’s about as close to a real apology that Louis is ever going to give, but Liam Payne just nods and grins expectantly at Louis. When Louis offers up nothing else, Liam Payne leans against the doorframe and raises his eyebrows. “Well?...” he asks carefully.
The glazed look on Louis’s face evaporates into an expression of rage. “Well what, Liam Payne? What are you saying? Are you saying you’re too good for my apology?”
“Oh,” Liam Payne starts cautiously, watching Louis with his big confused brown doe eyes. “That…was your apology?”
“Yes,” Louis hisses, bristling up like a cat.
“Oh….kay…” Liam Payne drawls, though he looks hopeful, as if this half-assed apology is a step towards a future best-friendship. “Well, thanks. D’you…um. Do you want to come in?”
Louis sniffs a “no” but Niall and Zayn are already squawking, “Yes” and shoving Louis forward into Liam Payne’s apartment. The two of them are sprinting down the hall towards the elevator before Louis can even hurt them.
Two hours later, Zayn is getting drunk texts from Louis about the potted plants that Liam Payne has in his apartment, and, later, complaints about how Louis will never look as good as Liam Payne does without a shirt. Zayn and Niall high-five.
When Louis tells Zayn that he may have accidently kissed Liam Payne, Zayn isn’t surprised in the slightest.
Zayn’s next trip to Lush, he’s accompanied by Niall, who insists on pretending to be Zayn’s boyfriend to figure out of Harry is gay or not. They stroll into the shop hand-in-hand, and just like his previous visits, they’re greeted by Harry almost as soon as they walk in. This time, Harry doesn’t bother with the store’s greeting; instead, he immediately asks, “I never got your name?”
Niall digs his thumbnail into the back of Zayn’s hand and gives him an accusatory look.
“Zayn,” he finally answers when he breaks the silently threatening eye contact with Niall, giving Harry his warmest smile.
“Zayn,” Harry drawls, letting the name slip syrupy slow off his lips. The two of them stand in silence then, smiling more or less awkwardly at each other, until Niall clears his throat and tugs at Zayn’s hand.
“Oh. Right. Uh. Harry, this is Niall. My…?” Zayn can’t finish the sentence, because he still thinks this whole idea is idiotic, but Niall bursts into a grin and sticks out his hand.
“I’m his Niall,” is what he says to Harry, and somehow that’s the best definition that could be used to describe him.
“Niall,” Harry greets him with a warm smile and grasps his hand, holding it a second longer than he probably needs to before looking back over at Zayn. “What can I help you guys with today?”
They end up at the table of face masks—well, Harry and Zayn do. Niall had made a valiant effort to live up to his role as Fake Boyfriend, clinging to Zayn’s back and laughing and asking do you make organic lube? (which made Harry blush again, and Zayn’s beginning to think that it’s his favorite thing about visiting Harry here), but he’s given up to pursue the cute girl named Jade who was working at the bath bomb table.
Zayn’s seated at one of the little tables at the front of the store with Harry bumping knees across from him.
“Okay, so this is our Love Lettuce face mask….it’s got walnut bits in it to exfoliate, and seaweed and lavender that makes it smell really great,” Harry’s explaining as he scoots closer, holding a little container full of green mush. Somehow, he talked Zayn into letting him demonstrate their masks on him, just like how he convinced Zayn to buy bath bombs when he doesn’t even have a bath, and just like he convinced Zayn to buy a giant hunk of soap that was absolutely unnecessary for Zayn’s shower routine. Zayn thinks it’s the dimples that make him agree to anything Harry’s told him lately. Nevertheless, Zayn sits and obediently holds out his hand for Harry, who takes it gently and scoops out a bit of the mask and smears it on the back of Zayn’s hand.
Zayn’s entirely aware of the way that Harry rubs the back of his hand in small circles, the metal chill of his ring brushing against Zayn’s knuckles as he spreads the green stuff gently across his skin. “Not that you need a face mask,” Harry finally says, shooting a grin up at Zayn as he uncaps the second container he’s brought over, pulling Zayn’s other hand to rest on the table between them. “But they’re still nice to treat yourself with. Did you ever use those bath bombs?”
Zayn blushes and shakes his head while Harry scoops out a clump of the second mask. He doesn’t seem too bothered by Zayn’s answer, because he’s already talking about the product. “Alright. Well, this one is Catastrophe Cosmetic. It’s a little rougher on the skin, it’s got fresh blueberries that might irritate you if you’re sensitive, though.”
Zayn gets that flippy feeling in his stomach that makes him think that they’re flirting again.
“I handled that hunk of soap pretty well,” Zayn murmurs to him. “The things you think are rough…they’re not that rough, Harry.” He’s not exactly the best at subtlety, but it’s enough to make the boy’s fingers slip in the mask and Harry smears a line of it down Zayn’s arm.
“Sorry!” Harry blurts, his face flushed red as he wipes the extra smear of clay off Zayn’s wrist. There’s a beat of silence while Harry sits back and looks at the two smears of clay on the back of both of Zayn’s hands. “Are you flirting with me?” Harry finally asks, avoiding Zayn’s gaze while he screws the lids of the containers back on.
“That depends,” Zayn finally replies slowly. “Are you flirting with me?”
Harry’s lip catches on his bottom teeth in a half-smirk. “That depends. Do you think your boyfriend will be upset?” He’s full out grinning now when he nods towards Niall, who’s holding four bars of soap and clinging to whatever it is that Jade’s explaining to him.
Zayn finds himself smiling, too, when he shakes his head. “Niall’s not my boyfriend.”
“Really?” Harry gasps exasperatedly, feigning shock, “Never would’ve guessed.”
“Was it that obvious?” Zayn pouts as Harry pulls a washcloth from under the table and dips it in the bowl of water between them. Harry just gives Zayn a dimpled smile and a shrug before starting to sponge the patches of dried mask off of Zayn’s hands. Zayn pretends not to notice when Harry slips his fingers around Zayn’s own when he dips their hands into the bowl.
They’re at the register while Harry rings them up, Zayn with a container of Love Lettuce and new bottle of I Love Juicy shampoo, and Niall with his own chunk of soap and Jade’s phone number.
“Would you like to add any Knot-Wraps to your purchase?” Harry asks, gesturing to a display of scarves next to him on the wall. “You can wrap any of your bath bombs or soaps in them for when you don’t want to use them, or you can wear them…”
“Is that what’s around your head?” Niall asks, pointing to the scarf that Harry’s got tied around his head to keep his curls back.
Harry absolutely beams at the question, even though Zayn knows that Niall was more or less teasing him. “Yes! This is our Flirty Floral wrap. It’s one of my favorites,” he says with a dimpled smile as he touches the pink and purple cloth in his hair. Niall tries to hide his laughter in the sleeve of his hoodie but Harry just continues smiling, and Zayn’s pretty sure he’s in love with this dimpled idiot who keeps selling him hippy bath products that he doesn’t need.
::
Every time Zayn goes into Lush, he tries his hardest to not buy anything. Starts not even allowing himself to bring more than $20 in his wallet, leaves his debit card at home. He shows up regularly enough that most of the staff knows him, If not by name, just by “Harry’s boy”. It makes something flip in Zayn’s stomach every time he hears it.
Today Zayn’s loitering by the shelves of shampoo and conditioner when Harry flounces over, a little jar tucked away in his palm. “I have something to show you,” is the first thing he says, grinning mischievously in a way that’s not unlike Louis’s smiles. Zayn just raises his eyebrows and waits, knows that Harry won’t be able to contain his excitement for much longer. Sure enough, Harry lasts about another five seconds before he holds up the tiny glass jar for Zayn to read the lid, Bubblegum Lipscrub. It takes all of Zayn’s willpower to not start laughing, just keep regarding Harry with a blank look until the dimpled boy sighs dramatically and unscrews the lid. “Exfoliates your lips,” Harry explains. “We just made this fresh batch. It’s just flavored sugar, really. Try some.”
Zayn shrugs and reaches forward, dips his pinky finger into the jar and scoops out a chunk of it. His finger makes it halfway to his mouth before it all falls off, not even making it to his lips. He glares at Harry and eventually pouts, scoffs, “what’s the point of it if I can’t even get it to my mouth?”
Harry’s laughing, his face crinkled up and hair falling over his face. “You took too much, you knob.” He tells Zayn, takes his own finger and scoops a lesser amount out of the jar. Zayn feels himself blush when Harry leans forward and pauses, cocks his head and gives him a quirky little smirk as if he’s asking for permission. It makes Zayn breathe out an exasperated laugh, shakes his head and sigh, “you are so weird,” but Harry just giggles and presses his sugary finger against Zayn’s lips.
Zayn is very aware of the fact that they’re tucked away in the corner of the shop, their backs to the windows looking out over the mall, and even though there’s not many other customers there, he can’t help the heat that creeps up his neck when Harry swipes the sugar across his lower lip, finger resting at the corner of his mouth longer than what’s probably necessary.
When he doesn’t move his finger, Zayn’s skin starting to tingle from the cold metal of Harry’s ring pressed against his chin, he closes his lips around the fingertip still at his mouth and rubs his lips together. Doesn’t take his eyes off Harry, the other boy’s cheeks tinted pink when Zayn finally opens his mouth again, licks his lips and Harry yanks his finger away.
“It’s good,” Zayn finally says after he’s licked off the pink sugar, and Harry lets out a strangled little laugh and just says, “yeah,” shoves the jar into Zayn’s hands. “For you. It’s on the house. Can’t afford to have that pretty mouth get all chapped.”
Zayn bites down on his lip, “You think I’ve got a pretty mouth, Harry?”
::
It goes on like that. Harry shows Zayn another lipscrub, two massage bars that Zayn lets him demo on his hands over another bowl of water, Harry doing endless demos just for an excuse to touch the golden boy in front of him who sits so stoically.
“You use those bath bombs yet?” Harry asks him again one day at the register, bagging two more bottles of I Love Juicy shampoo because, even though Zayn would never admit it, it makes his hair soft and smell good and it’s another excuse to go see Harry.
“I don’t actually. Like. Have a bathtub. So,” Zayn mutters down at the counter, fiddles with his wallet. Harry’s ruffling behind the counter stops, and when Zayn looks up Harry is staring back at him with a befuddled, amused expression. “You don’t have a bathtub? What have you done with the four that I sold you?”
Zayn snatches his bag away from Harry and shoots him a wicked grin. “Two ended up on someone’s car, and the other two are sitting in our kitchen cabinet.”
“The kitchen cabinet?”
“They make our apartment smell good! It’s cheaper than buying actual air-fresheners!”
“That’s what you’re going to use them for, then? Air fresheners?”
“Until I happen across a bathtub, yes.”
Harry just smiles, throws two unmarked free samples into Zayn’s bag that they both know Zayn will guiltily end up asking what they were next time he comes in.
“I’ve got a bathtub, you know,” Harry tells him casually as he drops Zayn’s change into the register.
“What are you suggesting, Harry? I come take a bath at your place?”
Zayn ends up going to take a bath at Harry’s place.
He’s not really sure what he’s expecting when he pulls up to the apartment building a week later, after Harry has sheepishly scrawled out an address on the back of Zayn’s receipt and said, “I get off at 6” with a wink. He feels completely ridiculous carrying the Lush bag with his two bathbombs and spare massage bars, lipscrubs, other miscellaneous items Harry has sold him over the past few weeks (and if he maybe purposely brought all the things that Harry has demoed on him, well, nobody has to know). Zayn sits in his car for a solid ten minutes—he’s early anyway, Jesus, when is Zayn ever on time, let alone early—he’s not freaking out. He’s not. It’s totally not weird that he’s going to take a bath in this kid’s apartment. He totally doesn’t coat his lips with that bubblegum sugar before making the walk into the building.
Harry answers the door with a gigantic grin plastered on his face, grabs Zayn’s arm and tugs him into the apartment while blurting out “hello!”
It’s a lot to take in, so Zayn takes in Harry first. It’s the first time Zayn’s seen him without the mandatory black and white attire for Lush, and he’s wearing sweats and a ratty old Rolling Stones t-shirt with the sleeves cut off, hair pushed back half-heartedly out of his face. He looks like he just rolled out of bed, but his energy suggests that he’s anything but tired. Zayn’s still caught on Harry wearing sweatpants, until he’s ushered through the room.
It’s a cozy apartment, a desk pushed up against the wall nearest the door with a big window that floods the room with the soft light of dusk. It’s cluttered with just…things. Things that are distinctly Harry, Lush bags and books and DVD cases and “is that a fucking typewriter?”
Zayn’s question breaks the awkward silence that had been lingering while Zayn wandered around the apartment, and when he turns Harry is grinning sheepishly. “Um. Yeah? My sister got it for me when I moved out.”
Zayn feels himself grinning like an idiot, just shakes his head affectionately and goes back to taking in Harry’s home. There’s a coffee table in front of this worn, navy blue couch. It just looks homey, a series of blankets draped over the back of it and pillows smushed into the corners. A blocky TV propped up on a stereo stand surrounded by CDs and DVDs, Elton John’s Greatest Hits laying on top of an open Grease DVD case next to a stack of every season of Discovery Channel’s Planet Earth.
When Zayn finally puts his attention back on Harry, the dimpled boy just gives him a careful shrug and wanders off into the kitchen nook, pokes his head around the corner a few moments later and asks, “do you want anything?”
Zayn shakes his head and Harry comes back with a mug of tea, sets it on the coffee table and takes Zayn’s Lush bag carefully out of his hands. “Bathtime for Zayn, then?”
Harry leads Zayn to the back of the apartment, through an honest to god bead curtain that separates the living room and kitchen from his bed. There’s another set of windows, and a big four poster canopy bed pushed into the corner, a dresser and nightstand jumbled against the back wall and a door across the way leading into the bathroom. If the front of the apartment was a side of Harry that didn’t really surprise Zayn, the back half is a part of him that Zayn never expected. It’s softer and…organic, in a way that’s different from the trendy, hipster-feeling of Lush or the typewriter on the desk. The bed isn’t made and the dresser drawers are open with clothes spilling out, and it’s all Harry. It makes Zayn feel at ease when Harry leads him into the bathroom.
Harry sets the Lush bag on the counter of the sink, rifling through it making little appreciative noises at the back of his throat when he pulls out the bath bombs and bubblebars that Zayn brought. Harry’s bathroom is a stark contrast to he and Niall’s own, theirs covered with crumpled paper cups and stray Q-tips and messy toothpaste blobs. Harry’s is dark maple floors and lilac curtains pulled over the window above the tub. There’s candles scattered around the sink and edges of the tub, fluffy white towels and bath mats and little bottles of, of course, Lush products lining the counter.
Zayn, needless to say, is impressed.
“So, towels. I assume you know how a tub works. You can light the candles if you want, as long as you don’t, you know, set my place on fire, there’s a lighter in the medicine cabinet,” Harry rambles while he pulls out the big orange bathbomb from Zayn’s bag. “Oh, good! You brought a Fizzbanger. That one’s my favorite, Zayn, you could totally use my extra Sunny Side bubblebar with it, that’s a great fuckin’ bath, it makes the water all gold and shimmery. It’s like, the bath of Gods. It’s all citrus and sharp, reminds me of you, kind of. Wow. I mean.”
Zayn’s laughing too hard to stop Harry, but he manages to take the boy by the shoulders while he shakes his head. “Harry! Harry, you’re not at work. You don’t have to pitch these to me. Whatever you’d suggest, you’re the expert, okay?”
Harry swallows thickly, blushes and nods jerkily as he leans over to turn on the faucet to the tub. “Okay. Well. Um. I’m gonna go have a quick dinner, put on a movie probably. Take your time in here, enjoy it, I’ll try my best to not think about you in my bathroom. Wow. Okay. Bye.”
Harry almost trips over the doorframe on the way out, and Zayn absent-mindedly wonders if that’s why Harry hardly has any doors in his apartment while he sits on the edge of the tub and crumbles the golden Sunny Side into the water, watches it bubble up under the spray.
Zayn only feels weird for a few minutes about undressing, but by the time his clothes are in a heap next to the door and he lowers himself into the steaming water, he almost forgets that he’s in Harry’s bathroom. He drops the Fizzbanger into the water next to his leg, can’t help the smile that creeps onto his face when it blossoms in the water blue, orange, yellow, thinks that it looks admittedly better in a bathtub than it did on the hood of Liam Payne’s car.
Zayn ends up lighting the candles around the tub, because why the fuck not, and edges a cigarette out of the pack he left of the toilet seat. Feels almost guilty when he pictures Harry pouting, probably going off on some rant about smoking kills but can’t bring himself to care all that much. Harry said to enjoy the bath and that’s exactly what Zayn’s doing.
The last time he had a bath, he was probably, like, five. But he settles back easily into the water, slides down until it fills his ears and laps at the back of his neck and all he can hear is his own breathing. Lays like that for a while before he resurfaces and it’s still quiet, just the distant sound of the TV and Harry moving around the apartment. By the end of his first cigarette, Zayn can understand the appeal of this. The water swirls in golden tendrils around him, the glitter coating his arms and stomach and chest and he’s pretty sure he’s got it on his face, too, wonders if it’s going to take forever to scrub it off. Wonders if he should just keep it on until it goes away on its own. He almost drifts off, letting the smoke and citrus in the room dull his senses and the muted sounds from the TV take his mind off of everything else. He’s only roused when his second cigarette burns down to the butt, searing his wrinkled, wet fingers.
He’s not sure what time it is when he gets out of the tub, but it’s dark outside and he’s covered in glitter from the bubblebar. He’s watching the water drain from the tub, leaving a golden ring around it, when he realizes he doesn’t have a change of clothes.
Which, technically, it shouldn’t be a big deal. But it’s just he really doesn’t feel like wrestling his skinny jeans back on or bothering with his sweater.
“Harry?” Zayn cracks the door open tentatively after pulling on his boxers, peeks out into the apartment. Harry appears at the bead curtain in an instant, leans against the wall opposite the bathroom and waits for Zayn to speak.
“Um. Do you have. Maybe like. Pajamas I could borrow or something?” Zayn feels so, so stupid, but he’s still warm and sleepy from the bath and he’d rather walk home in his underwear than try to get his jeans on. Has a flash of jealousy when he sees Harry in sweats.
“Oh! Of course, yeah, I should’ve…before I mean…hang on,” Harry rambles, tripping towards his dresser and pulling out a worn pair of black sweatpants and a t-shirt. He practically throws them at Zayn, who thanks him quietly before shutting the door again.
When Zayn emerges from the bathroom, barefoot with Harry’s sweats and holey white tshirt on, Harry is tucked onto the couch with his mug of tea and a huge bowl of ice cream. He doesn’t react when Zayn comes in, his expression hunched into one of extreme concentration while watching whatever it is that’s on the TV. The characters are speaking Spanish.
“What are you watching?” Zayn finally asks softly, and Harry jumps, whips around to look at Zayn.
“I have no idea. Spanish soap opera? I think?” he looks at the TV again and shrugs, sits up and opens his arms to Zayn, inviting him to sit on the couch. “Was just waiting for you, to be honest. We can watch something else, if you want.”
Zayn is stuck on just waiting for you when he gravitates to the couch, settles himself right next to Harry like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “Don’t really want to watch anything,” he mumbles, and Harry lets out a breathy laugh and leans forward to set his ice cream down on the coffee table.
“So…what do you want to do? Did you enjoy your bath?” Harry’s trying very hard to play it cool, but Zayn knows by now that Harry playing anything as “cool” is pretty much impossible. He watches the younger boy’s Adam’s apple bob a few times before Zayn just hums, “Mm-hm.”
“You smell good,” Harry comments steadily, creeps a hand onto Zayn’s knee. “You look good. And not just because you’re wearing my clothes. You were in there for, like, and hour and a half, and you emerge looking like a greek god or something. Apollo, maybe. You’re all glittery and soft and pretty. Okay. I’m shutting up.”
Zayn rests his forehead on Harry’s shoulder. “Not really all that soft, Harry.”
Harry blinks. “Oh.” Blinks again. “Oh.” He walks two fingers up a bit higher on Zayn’s leg and pauses again. “You’ve got glitter on your cheek. And mouth. And you smell like smoke.” There’s another pause and then Harry gasps, “were you smoking?”
“Maybe,” is all Zayn can squeak out, because Harry’s hand is at the top of his thigh now, squeezing at his hipbone. “You said I should enjoy myself.”
Harry considers this, cocks his head at Zayn again and crinkles up his nose. “I did say that, didn’t I.”
“Yup.”
Harry hums faintly, eyes trailing from Zayn’s face down to his lap, where he’s thumbing at Zayn’s hip under the shirt. Zayn’s anticipating more banter, anticipating that Harry is most definitely a tease, but no more words come. Instead, Harry looks up at Zayn with flushed lips and hooded eyes and Zayn barely gets time to ask what’s wrong before Harry kisses him.
It’s soft and curious and exactly how Zayn would think Harry kisses. And then Harry pulls away, probably to ask Zayn some stupid question and Zayn actually whimpers at the loss of contact, pulls Harry’s mouth right back to his own and presses closer to him, tries to twist his hips to get Harry’s hand to move to where Zayn needs it. Harry obliges quickly, palms over Zayn’s sweats and licks into his mouth. Harry is all vanilla ice cream and lemon tea while Zayn is all sharp smoke and citrus, eager to taste each other while they sink back onto the couch, Harry shifting to sit on top of Zayn’s thighs and slide his hand under Zayn’s boxers.
Zayn’s more focused on getting Harry’s shirt off, determined to finally see what tattoos are hiding on his torso. When the Rolling Stone shirt finally hits the floor, Zayn tries to get Harry to sit up, tries to get him to stop moving and kissing and touching for half a second so he can catch his fucking breath. He tangles a hand through Harry’s hair and tugs at it and Harry gasps on top of him, shudders at it and sits up to glare down at Zayn.
Zayn takes in the sight of the boy straddling him. It’s another new thing to explore, birds and a ridiculous butterfly and leaves on his hips but he doesn’t get long to admire before Harry ducks down again, sucking a bite into Zayn’s neck and making the skin tickle when he laughs at Zayn’s hips bucking up into Harry’s hand.
Zayn doesn’t last long until he comes over Harry’s fist, over those fucking rings, sinking into the couch with a long sigh. He’s about to pull Harry in for more kissing, eager to return the favor, but Harry ruins the moment because he looks down at his hand and starts giggling.
“What? If you’re going to judge me for how long I lasted, Harry, I swear to—“ Zayn bristles, but Harry’s already shaking his head, standing up and disappearing into the bathroom for a moment before returning with a washcloth.
“Zayn,” he’s still giggling, rubbing the cloth into his palm before tossing it to Zayn. “You have glitter on your dick.”
The mood should be pretty much ruined, but Zayn just tugs Harry back onto the couch and crawls into his lap. He feels Harry’s hands go to the small of his back when Zayn tucks his face into his neck, and he rolls his hips against Harry’s once. “Thought about your hands the first day I met you,” he mumbles, nips at Harry’s earlobe and grins when he hears Harry exhale sharply. Thinks about pulling his hair again.
“Zayn, I’m trying to watch my Spanish soap opera.” Harry sounds very unconvincing, and Zayn feels his hands tighten around Zayn’s back.
“You tease me for my glitter dick and then try to watch a soap opera?” Zayn rolls his hips again and Harry tenses underneath him, stays still while Zayn straddles Harry’s lap and pins him to the couch, reaches for Harry’s pants and just wants to kiss him for the rest of the night.
They end up doing just that, really, lazy kissing through the soap opera and two hours of infomercials. Harry’s ice cream melted hours ago and it’s pitch black outside when Harry tucks himself against Zayn on the couch, presses a thumb into a bruise that’s blossomed on his neck.
“I can’t believe I’m kissing a boy who talked about vegan shower gel for twenty minutes,” Zayn tells the ceiling, and he squirms when Harry makes a noise of protest and pinches his nipple.
“I can’t believe I’m kissing a boy who thought bathbombs were flammable.”
“Anything is flammable if you try hard enough.”
“Not bathbombs.”
Zayn sighs, watches Harry’s mop of curls rise and fall with the motion. “You’re so weird.” He reaches up and cards a hand through Harry’s hair, scratches at the scalp and Harry hums and pushes into the feeling happily.
“Glad you finally used those bathbombs, Zayn.”
Zayn pauses, stills his hand over Harry’s head and thinks that baths aren’t so bad. Thinks maybe he should thank Louis for making him go into the store in the first place, but he’ll never actually say it and give him the satisfaction. Thinks that maybe Harry’s worth keeping around if only for his 40% employee discount on Lush products and his bathtub. Thinks about the typewriter and DVDs and canopy bed and bead curtains and maybe there’s a lot that he wants to know about Harry. He’s smiling when he rubs at Harry’s head again, burrows deeper into the couch that smells like vanilla and flowers and replies, “Me too, Harry.”