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[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
“Describe it ‘t me. Don’t leave out any import’nt details.” Niall’s voice sounds tinny over the comm, buzzing in his ear.
Or maybe that’s the adrenaline, pumping through Liam’s veins like electricity, making his skin tingle.
“And what the fuck are the important details?” Louis snaps. “It looks like a -- it’s a fuckin’ safe, Horan.”
Niall’s voice stays steady, calm, despite the tinniness. “The locking mechanism, Tommo. What’s it look like? Keypad, dial combination? Talk ‘t me.”
“Send him a picture,” Liam suggests, the words spilling out as soon as the thought crosses his mind. Louis looks at him in surprise, as if he had forgotten Liam was there.
“Cheers, Payno,” Niall says. “Picture’d be brilliant.”
“Glad someone’s keepin’ their head on straight.” Zayn’s voice is laced with amusement, clear even through the comm.
Digging his mobile out of his pocket, Louis grumbles, “Easy to keep your ‘ead on straight when you’re sittin’ in the fuckin’ van, innit?” He accent gets thicker when he’s stressed, the careful façade he’s built up over the years falling away until he’s the vulnerable little boy Liam still remembers. Liam has to clench his fist against the urge to reach out with a reassuring touch. Louis’ll only shrug him off, skewering him with a dark glare.
There’s silence over the comm as Louis snaps the picture, sends it off to Niall. They wait a moment, barely daring to breath, until after what seems like hours -- but can’t be more than a few minutes -- Niall’s voice disrupts the quiet hush they’ve fallen into.
“Okay. Think ‘ve got it. Here’s what you’re goin’ ‘t do.” He starts firing off rapid instructions that Louis follows with single-minded determination, tongue clamped between his teeth as he concentrates. Liam splits his time between anxiously watching Louis wrestle with the safe and anxiously watching the door to Grimshaw’s study. Zayn’s monitoring the re-routed security cameras from the van, he’ll warn them if anyone is approaching, but it’s still a point of vulnerability.
Liam doesn’t like feeling vulnerable.
With a strangled shout of exclamation, Louis finally cracks the safe and the door swings open on silent hinges. From this angle, Liam can’t see the contents, but the reverent look on Louis’ face tells him all he needs to know.
“Holy shit,” Louis breathes in awe.
Not two seconds later, a piercing alarm shatters the silence.
[Funky’s Tavern, Three Months Ago]
It’s a rare sunny, spring day and Liam can almost pretend that the weak afternoon sunlight shining down on his face is from the warmth of a tropical paradise, rather than the perpetually smoggy London air. He closes his eyes, humming under his breath in an ultimately futile attempt to drown out the screeching sounds of rush hour traffic, and lets himself believe, for a moment, that he’s on a beach somewhere hot, quiet, and above all, peaceful.
The peace, however imaginary, doesn’t last long. Louis comes careening into the pub with all the grace of a hurricane, heaving himself onto a bar stool so forcefully he nearly topples over.
Liam regards him cautiously, swiping a damp flannel over the already gleaming counter. Louis’ back is ramrod straight, muscles tensed under the starched fabric of his dark dress shirt. His face is even darker, blue eyes like twin chips of ice.
Without a word, Liam grabs for a glass and fills it expertly, sliding the pint across the bar to Louis. He catches it reflexively, swallows down a slug of beer. Liam watches the way his throat works for a moment before dropping his gaze, eyeing instead the way his knuckles whiten as he grips the flannel harder than what’s strictly necessary.
After a moment, Louis slams his pint back onto the bar, the noise of impact jarring Liam enough to lift his eyes back to Louis’ face.
“Long day?” he asks. It’s not yet 6pm. Louis’ day has barely begun.
“He’s such a fucking wanker,” Louis grouses. He has an unfortunate habit of starting a conversation right in the middle and expecting everyone around him to pick it up. Liam’s adapted, over the years, mostly out of necessity.
“Of course he is. Um. What’s he done now, then?”
Instead of answering, Louis brings his pint to his lips again, gulps down half of it in one go. He swipes the back of his hand over his mouth when he’s done, eyes still angry and unfocused.
Liam glances around the mostly empty pub. The only other patron is a drunk at the other end of the bar, half-slumped over his whiskey. Traffic will pick up later, despite the fact that it’s Tuesday. It’s the sort of establishment that lends itself to night-time dealings, which is how Liam landed the job in the first place.
“He-- fuck. He won’t stop gloating. Got the last piece for his stupid fuckin’ collection, didn’t he, even though he knows -- he fuckin’ knows -- that my dad--”
Louis cuts himself off abruptly and nearly chokes on his next mouthful of beer. With a sudden, resigned sense of clarity, Liam realizes exactly who Louis is talking about and exactly why he’s so agitated. Without a word, Liam pries the nearly empty pint from Louis’ tight grip and refills it.
“Cheers,” Louis says dully, tracing thin fingers over the ring of condensation on the bar.
Setting the refilled pint back on the bar, Liam debates his next words carefully. Louis voluntarily says the word ‘dad’ about once every three blue moons. Any response Liam offers will be like stepping into a mine field, just as likely to set Louis off as to comfort him.
More likely to set him off, actually. Louis is rather explosive, even on the best of days.
“Not sure that Grimshaw’s smart enough to connect the dots,” he finally says. “Between you and your dad, I mean. To him, it’s probably just… well, it’s some collection, innit?”
Louis’ eyes narrow until they’re just icy slits. Alarm bells go off in Liam’s head, but it’s too late now. He’s gone and put his foot in it.
“He knows,” Louis utters with conviction. “He might act like I’m nothin’, like I’m-- irrelevant, or something. But mark my words, Payne. He fuckin’ knows.”
That’s debatable, Liam doesn’t say. He has to forcibly stop himself from wiping his flannel over the bar again, or he’ll probably damage the polished mahogany.
“Okay. So he knows. But you can’t--” he sucks in a sharp breath. ”Look, nothing to be done for it, is there?”
For the first time since Louis stepped foot into the dank pub, his lips quirk up into the illusion of a smile. “Funny you should ask, Li.”
Liam swallows. Walked right into that one.
[Office of Zayn Malik, Two and Half Months Ago]
“Are yah fuckin’ crazy?”
It’s a question Liam has thought to himself alarmingly often the past two weeks.
Apparently the same can’t be said for Louis. He lounges back in the dark leather chair, the image of calm, cool, and collected.
Grinning widely, he replies, “Crazy would be barging in with zero planning. Crazy would be goin’ off half-cocked, with only Liam here backing me up.” He leans forward, gaze boring into Zayn’s. “Crazy would be doing this without your help, mate.”
Zayn steeples his fingers in front of his face in contemplation, looking every part the ridiculously attractive Bond villain. Liam knows more rumors about Zayn than substantiated facts, but the knowledge that Louis is sitting in front of him, smiling the sweet smile he saves for his sisters and sometimes Liam, tells him everything he needs to know.
Zayn is the trustworthy sort, if he meets Louis’ high standards.
“I don’t hafta tell yah that Grimshaw holds a grudge.” It’s a statement, not a question.
Louis answers anyway. “Which is why I don’t plan on gettin’ caught. That’s where you come in, innit? You help us plan this thing, we all walk away richer for the experience.”
That earns a snort from Zayn. “Richer for the experience. You do talk some shit, Tommo. Richer for the jewels you plan on liftin’, more like.”
With a shrug, Louis lets his lips curve in a calculated smile. “Not like you need the money anyway, eh? Got to be gettin’ dull, Z, sittin’ on your arse, watchin’ your fuckin’ stocks all day. Don’t tell me a little challenge doesn’t pique your interest.”
“‘M outta the business, you know. Got the missus to think about now.”
“Bullshit. Nobody gets out. ‘S in your blood, mate. ‘S in that dirty money sittin’ in a Swedish bank account that you pretend doesn’t exist.”
Liam shoots Louis a warning glance, because Louis may think he knows Zayn, may think he’s mates with him, but Liam’s heard the rumors, and rumors like that don’t start from nothing.
Zayn just laughs though, a delighted giggle that takes Liam by surprise.
“All right, all right, ‘m in. But this is my show, Louis. There’s a reason you’re comin’ to me.”
“Because you’re the best,” Louis says immediately.
The answering smile from Zayn is blinding. “And don’t you fuckin’ forget it.”
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
Louis’ hands are frozen, elbow deep in Grimshaw’s vault. He look over at Liam, face pinched in wide-eyed terror.
The alarm is screaming all around them, drowning out whatever Niall and Zayn are yelling through the comm.
“Get out, get out, get out, get out,” Zayn’s voice chants like a mantra, finally cutting through the piercing wail. “F’fuck’s sake, get the fuck out of the study. You’ve got half a minute, tops. MOVE.”
Liam doesn’t need to be told twice. He grabs hold of Louis’ wrist, drags him forcefully behind him to the door of the study. There’s no time for caution, no time to wait for the all clear. He bursts through the door and into the blessedly empty hallway.
It won’t stay that way for long. Liam hesitates, unsure where to go now, but Zayn’s voice comes through again, like some kind of staticky angel.
“Third door on your left. Bathroom with a laundry shoot. Go now.”
Liam goes. The hallway feels endless. They’re horribly exposed, nothing to block them from view once the guards top the steps at the end of the corridor. Liam can hear their footsteps, thundering like a herd of elephants despite the rich, thick carpeting.
When he finally reaches the third door on the left, he practically kicks it open, shoving Louis through in front of him. Breathing hard, he shuts the door behind them, slumping back against it when his knees go weak.
“Holy shit,” Louis gasps. He’s breathing as heavily as Liam. There’s a small velvet bag clutched tightly in his hand.
“Is that...?”
Louis nods, slowly, like he hasn’t fully processed the situation. “We’re not leavin’ empty-handed, Payno.”
Liam makes a sound halfway between a sob and a laugh before slapping his hand over his mouth. There are no doubt guards pouring all over Grimshaw’s study. It won’t be long before they branch out, seeking out the intruders.
“Laundry shoot,” Zayn’s voice reminds them.
Walking on legs that feel like they’re made of jelly, Liam stumbles forward until he can grasp the handle of the laundry shoot. It’s large, considering, but still barely the breadth of Liam’s shoulders. Won’t be a comfortable fit, but he thinks it might just work as an escape route.
Thank god for Zayn and his blueprints.
Liam tugs on the handle, but the door doesn’t budge.
On closer inspection, he realizes it’s because it’s been painted shut.
“Oh, fuck.”
[Undisclosed Location, Two Months and One Week Ago]
It’s a bit of a struggle to imagine he’s in some kind of tropical paradise with the harsh fluorescent lights beaming down on him and the harsh concrete floor unforgiving under his thin-soled shoes.
It’s harder, still, to tune out the incessant sound of Zayn and Louis’ squabbling.
“I told you, Louis, that if I was in, it’d be my show to run.”
“Well, you didn’t fuckin’ say you’d be bringin’ in outsiders, did ya? What the fuck, Zayn?”
Zayn stares Louis down with dark, steady eyes. “You want to lift from Grimshaw without my help, be my fuckin’ guest. Have fun in prison. You want to lift from Grimshaw with my help, you accept the fact that we need a bloody team to pull this off. This isn’t the small-time shit you’re used to, Lou. Grimshaw has serious money, and he’s spent it on serious security.”
Louis’ face turns an alarming shade of puce. Liam thinks, for half a moment, that this is it. Louis is going to call the whole thing off, storm out of this godforsaken warehouse with his usual flair for dramatics, and that Liam can return to his normal life of bartending and the occasional petty theft when the bills pile up.
(The money wasn’t so tight, when Liam was still boxing, but he got tired of the bruises and the broken bones, of the look in Louis’ eyes when Liam would wake up the day after a match, battered and disoriented and hurting. Louis would be curt, those days, barely able to meet Liam’s eye. It was only when he thought Liam wasn’t looking that the mask would slip, naked emotion playing across his features before he regained his rigid control.
Once Liam figured out what it meant, realized that it hurt Louis worse, to see Liam bruised and a little broken, he quit without a backwards glance.
Wasn’t long after when Louis started following in his dad’s footsteps, insisting that a life of crime was in his blood, and anyway, how different was robbery from pick-pocketing, in the end?
He refuses to tell Liam how long his dad’s sentence is, though Liam knows he’s been locked up since Louis was a kid. Louis just fails to reassure him with a goofy smile that doesn’t quite meet his eyes and says that he doesn’t plan to follow him to the penitentiary, so stop fucking asking.
Liam doesn’t think anyone plans to go to jail, but wisely keeps this opinion to himself.)
After a tense moment in which Louis and Zayn stare at each other like they’re in some kind of weird pissing match, Louis’ shoulders relax and the tight line of his lips settles into something resembling a smile.
“Christ, Zayn,” he says. “You’re stingier than I am, when it comes to trustin’ people. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine, yeah? Who you got in mind?”
Zayn’s mouth quirks into an answering smile. “Bloke named Niall. Bloody brilliant with security systems. You’ll like him.”
“Don’t have much choice, do I?” Louis mumbles under his breath.
Liam surreptitiously squeezes his side. He’s rewarded with a smile as brilliant as it is brief.
[Another Undisclosed Location, Two Months Ago]
“Pleasure ‘t meet ya!”
Zayn’s mate Niall is small, blonde, and Irish. He’s got a firm handshake, at least, but it only means Liam is close enough to notice his dark roots.
The blonde is a dye-job. Liam doesn’t know if that makes him more or less impressed.
“So, Zayn tells me we’re doin’ somethin’ super top secret.” He grins like this is all a big joke. Liam’s having a hard time believing that this bright sunbeam of a person is someone dark, quiet Zayn willingly spends time with.
Zayn, though, he’s -- well, for lack of a better metaphor -- he’s like a flower, or something, positively blooming under Niall’s sunny smile. His usually stoney expression eases into something almost casual, and he throws a careless arm around Niall’s thin shoulders.
Louis meets his gaze with a raised brow. Liam shrugs back.
Anyone that can make Zayn let his guard down like that is someone Liam immediately wants to trust. As wary as he is of new people -- a lesson you only need to learn once, in this business -- Liam gets the instinctual feeling that Niall and Zayn are necessary pieces to this operation.
It’s not long before both of them are pressed shoulder to shoulder with Louis, hovering around a bank of computer monitors and bickering companionably about security codes and communication devices and other technological things beyond Liam’s comprehension.
Liam leans back against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, prepared to wait.
It’s Zayn that looks up first, regarding Liam with a cautious smile. “Oi, Louis. Does the walking pair of biceps actually talk, then? Or is he the strong, silent type?”
For a second, Liam gapes at Zayn, until he realizes -- Zayn is teasing him. Niall’s hearty laugh follows a moment later, ringing around the empty corners of the warehouse Zayn insisted they meet in.
“C’mon, Liam,” he coaxes in his Irish brogue. “Swear, ‘snot as complicated as we make it sound.”
Louis looks at him incredulously. “It’s twice as complicated as you make it sound. I don’t think you’re even speakin’ English, most of the time.”
Niall shrugs, lips still spread in a wide grin. “You wankers would be lost wi’out me, eh?”
“And so humble,” Liam mutters. Niall laughs loudly.
He’s not laughing hours later, red-rimmed eyes studying the monitor with resignation. Zayn and Louis are both slumped in exhaustion next to him and even Zayn looks a bit rumpled.
“‘S no good.” Niall shakes his head. “Bressie might b’able ‘t pull it off remotely, but the feckin’ eejit’s outta the country right now.”
“What are you sayin’? You can’t hack Grimshaw’s system?”
Niall bites his lip. “No, not exactly.”
Louis lets out an exasperated breath, apparently not noticing the sharp look from Zayn. “What, exactly, then?”
“Can’t hack it from here. System’s so feckin’ sensitive, any outside attack’ll trigger the security measures.” Niall mumbles the words, half to himself, fingers flying over the keyboard. “‘S the only way.”
“For fuck’s sake-- what’s the only way?”
A pause.
“Need ‘t get inside, introduce a file ‘t corrupt it from within.”
“What are you saying, Niall?” Liam asks, afraid he already knows the answer.
Niall looks up at them with a haggard look on his face. “Someone’s gonna need ‘t go undercover f’ya want complete access ‘t Grimshaw’s security system.”
There’s no question about it. Without complete access, they’re fucked.
Liam, Louis, and Zayn exchange weary glances.
It’s Niall that interrupts the silent conversation. “Know a guy that’d be perfect f’ the job. Bit odd, but I guarantee he’ll have Grimshaw charmed wit’in the hour.
Louis sighs in defeat. “What’re we waitin’ for, then? Invite him to the bloody party.”
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
“Liam?”
Louis’ voice sounds shaky and small. Liam’s stomach falls to his feet.
“Why aren’t you using those big biceps of yours to open the laundry shoot, huh? Now is not the time to dawdle, Liam.”
Liam gives the handle another tug. “It’s-- it’s stuck.”
There’s a perfect, clear moment of silence.
“The fuck d’ya mean it’s stuck?” Niall’s voice, scratchy through the comm.
“I mean the fuckin’ door is painted shut.” Liam doesn’t mean to snap.
Zayn swears softly over the comm. “Drop from the window’s too far. Break your legs if ya tried to jump.”
“Not helpful, Z,” Louis says tersely.
“What about up? Any way ‘t scale the roof?”
“Are you fuckin’ -- do I look like Peter fuckin’ Parker? We’re not climbing up the walls, Niall, for chrissake.”
“‘M thinkin’ outside the box, here. Outside the bathroom, as it were.”
Now is probably a really inappropriate time to laugh. Liam can feel it bubbling in his throat anyway.
A new voice cuts through the static of the comm, deep and smooth with just a hint of chagrin. “Oh. Hello there, boys. ‘M so sorry, but I’ve gone and set off some sort of alarm.”
It takes Liam a second to realize that Harry isn’t talking to them, but rather the guards in the hall.
“Nick said he had an original Matisse in his study, if you can even believe. A Matisse! His paintings only shaped the modern art movement of twentieth century, so naturally I had to see the brushstrokes for myself, and the colors! Truly a master, really, only I think I got a bit too close because now there is a siren?” Harry actually giggles.
“Styles with the save,” Niall cheers quietly.
“He’s only buyin’ yah time,” Zayn reminds them. “It’s still either down the laundry shoot or out the window. No way is Grimshaw clearing the hallway once they figure out the safe’s been cracked.”
Louis procures a knife from somewhere on his person. “Don’t fancy breakin’ me legs,” he says, smiling tightly. “How long d’ya think it’ll take to free that door from it’s paint confines?”
Liam eyes the sharp blade.
“Give it here.”
Louis hands it over without question, blindly trusting Liam to get them out.
Gripping the handle with white-knuckled fingers, Liam fervently hopes that trust isn’t misplaced.
[Âmago Steakhouse, One Month and Three Weeks Ago]
In a change of venue, tonight the crew is meeting not in one of Zayn’s cavernous warehouses or dodgy offices, but rather a fine dining establishment, at Harry’s insistence.
Low-key classical music is being piped in from speakers hidden discreetly amongst what appears to be real ivy growing up the walls and an assortment of tiny candles cast flickering light around the table, producing more shadows than illumination.
Liam eyes the wine menu dubiously. He’s not sure he’s brave enough to try a glass of something he can’t even pronounce.
Quick as a flash, Louis snatches it out of Liam’s hands, grinning toothily at him. Zayn watches them with quiet amusement as Niall flags down a waiter. Harry still hasn’t arrived.
“Yeah, c’n I get a pint? Ta, mate.” Liam sees the waiter’s eye twitch, like he’s resisting rolling them. Possibly this restaurant is too highbrow for pints and eye rolls alike.
The waiter disappears on soundless footsteps, but a moment later a pint silently appears by Niall’s elbow. Liam’s just considering ordering a glass of merlot -- can’t go wrong with merlot, can you? -- when another waiter materializes out of the dim on decidedly less soundless footsteps.
“Sorry ‘m late,” the waiter beams at them, cheeks dimpling like an overgrown cherub.
Niall’s face splits into a wide grin. “Harry! The fuck, mate, we’ve been waitin’ for ages.”
Oh. Not a waiter, then. Harry’s dressed in all black, like the waitstaff, but now that he’s stepped closer to the warm candlelight Liam can see how his shirt is only half buttoned, revealing a deep vee of tattoo-covered skin.
“You’ve got to be fuckin’ shitting me.”
Well, to be fair, they were all thinking it. Louis is just the only one with brain to mouth filter issues.
Harry looks entirely unconcerned, sinking into the empty chair next to Niall with a strange sort of grace.
“No offense -- Harry, is it? -- no offense, but do you understand how shirts work? Looks like you've missed a coupla buttons, there, mate."
Harry looks down at his exposed chest in mild surprise, as if he was unaware of the button situation. Liam can just make out what appears to be an honest to god butterfly inked across his ribcage.
“Ah, piss off, Lou. Harry’s a good lad,” Niall says good-naturedly. He pauses a beat. “Shit sense o’fashion, though.”
Harry looks up at Niall in mild outrage. Liam gets the sense he’s not easily ruffled.
The corner of Zayn’s lip twitches like he’s fighting a smile. “That your plan? Seduce your way into Grimshaw’s with your cleavage?”
At Zayn’s words, Harry’s mouth twists into a smirk, the soft candlelight doing nothing to diminish the cherry color of his lips. He leans forward, movements almost feline, and traces the tip of his finger around the edge of Zayn’s glass of ice water.
Watching the way Zayn’s eyes widen, caught in Harry’s intense gaze, Liam feels almost as if he’s intruding on some private moment. The pink tip of Harry’s tongue darts out to wet his lips and Zayn swallows audibly.
The mood is shattered a second later when Harry accidentally knocks Zayn’s glass over, spilling water and half-melted ice across half the table.
“Aww, whoopseh-daiseh,” Zayn deadpans, lifting up his dripping sleeve with distaste. Niall’s already dissolved into braying laughter, no doubt earning dark looks from both the waitstaff and other patrons.
Louis, however, is eyeing Harry with something like awe on his face. “Oh, you’re just his type. Grimshaw’s going to eat you up.”
“Told’ya,” Niall grins smugly, moving his pint safely away from Harry’s elbow.
For the first time, Liam thinks they have a real shot at pulling this off.
[Surveillance Van, One Month Ago]
“For fuck’s sake, Harry, listen to what I’m tellin’ yah.”
Liam watches the grainy footage over Zayn’s shoulder, pirated from the hotel’s security camera, where Harry is currently giggling sweetly into Grimshaw’s neck. They’re sitting poolside in Grimshaw’s private cabana, brightly colored cocktails abandoned in favor of sharing what can only be described as truly torturous puns.
“Yeh look like a fuckin’ vampire biting at his neck like that. You need to focus. Niall’s going to walk by with a load of towels in approximately 30 seconds. You’ll have about a five second window to knock Grimshaw’s mobile off the table.”
“Mmm,” Harry murmurs, the miniscule microphone clipped to his cross necklace barely picking up the words. “What do you think of knock-knock jokes, Nick?”
The hand he has wrapped around Grimshaw’s back flashes in a brief thumbs-up. Zayn closes his eyes for a second, breathing deep.
“He better not fuck this up.” Louis has spent the better part of the last thirty minutes pacing inside the cramped van. Zayn would have strangled him by now, Liam thinks, if he hadn’t been putting his full-efforts into coaching Harry.
On one of the eight screens Zayn’s been monitoring, Niall comes shuffling into view, dressed in the pressed khakis the employees are mandated to wear, arms piled up to his chin with fluffy towels.
“Twenty seconds,” Zayn says. Harry reaches for his cocktail. It’s a shade of pink that can’t possibly be natural. His lips wrap around the straw, but his eyes don’t break contact with Grimshaw’s.
“Ten seconds.” Harry sips at his drink, blinking coyly at Grimshaw, who appears to be utterly besotted.
“Five seconds.” Zayn’s voice sounds calm, but his shoulders are hunched nearly to his ears and he’s gripping an innocent pen hard enough to snap it in half, black ink leaking everywhere.
“Now.” Still maintaining eye contact with Grimshaw, Harry reaches backwards to place his cocktail back onto the table. His hand knocks into the mobile and sends it skittering off the table and directly into Niall’s path, who promptly trips and drops his towels everywhere.
Niall falls to his knees to gather up the towels. It’s too hard to make out the details in the grainy footage, but they can hear Harry’s self-depreciating laughter and see Grimshaw’s indulgent eyeroll in response.
Adopting a fair imitation of a London accent, Niall apologizes profusely, placing Grimshaw’s mobile back onto the table before gathering up the last of his towels, now a discorded mess.
“Don’t worry about it, mate,” Grimshaw replies in his posh drawl. “Bambi here is a bit accident prone. Not your fault.”
Niall ducks his head, face still hidden behind oversized sunglasses and a snapback, and apologizes one last time before scuttling off.
“Status report?” Zayn barks into his comm as soon as Niall’s out of earshot of the cabana.
There’s a tense moment of silence before Niall finally replies. “Mission complete. Chip’s been successfully planted.”
“You’re not actually Bond, you know,” Louis leans down to talk into Zayn’s mic.
Niall just laughs. “Nah, that’s Liam’s role, innit?”
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
Louis’ hot breath is tickling the back of neck and Harry’s incessant chattering is buzzing in his comm.
Liam blocks it all out, focusing on shoving the tip of the blade into the thin crevice between the door of the laundry shoot and the frame, scraping away years of paint.
Louis won’t quit crowding against him, warm against Liam’s back, making the small bathroom feel even smaller. It’s the adrenaline making goosebumps erupt across his skin, the hair on the back of neck stand. Louis’ breath ghosts over his neck again and Liam represses a shiver.
“Status report?” Zayn barks into his comm. “Harry can’t keep the guards occupied forever.”
“Could blow them,” Niall muses. “Bet that’d keep ‘em occupied for awhile.”
“Is this really the time for blow job banter?” Louis snaps.
There’s a small noise from Harry that could be translated as “it’s always time for blow job banter” if he weren’t otherwise occupied babbling about impressionism versus modern art to growingly hostile guards.
It’s getting harder for Liam to block it all out. Luckily, he’s… nearly… “Done.”
Placing the knife between his teeth, Liam grasps the handle again and gives a mighty tug. For a moment, nothing happens, and he’s afraid that the old wood has warped, that he’s not going to be able to get it open, that he’s going to have to face Louis and see the cold realization dawn in his eyes that this is it, they’re caught with no escape, that Liam couldn’t save him from himself.
With a sudden groan, the door eases open an inch. It’s enough for Liam to dig his fingertips into the gap, tugging with all his strength until it finally swings wide with a low whine, revealing a dark, bottomless chasm.
Liam hands the knife back to Louis. He glances towards the shaft, apprehension swallowing the fleeting exhilaration of victory.
“Zayn. Any idea what’s at the bottom?”
“Basement, few floors down. Shaft should be narrow enough that you can ease your way down.”
“Like fuckin’ Santa Claus.” Louis shakes his head in disbelief.
Liam can hear the smile in Zayn’s voice. “More like the Grinch, innit?”
“If we make it out of here, I’m goin’ to slap you,” Louis promises. He glances back at Liam, eyebrow raised in question.
“After you,” Liam gestures. Louis is going to make it out of here. Liam will see to it.
“Any day now, lads.” Zayn’s starting to sound a bit strained. “Don’t think the guards are big impressionist fans.”
Shooting Liam one last unreadable look, Louis climbs into the shoot feet first. Liam waits for a moment, dread sitting heavily in his stomach, for the sound of a scream or a crash or the crunch of broken bones, but all he hears is, “C’mon in, Li. Water’s fine.”
With one last deep breath, Liam follows after Louis, bracing himself against the narrow walls of the shaft with his arms and legs and wriggling his way down. Once he’s clear of the door, he reaches back to ease it shut.
The light winks out, plunging them into absolute black.
[Yet Another Undisclosed Location, Three Weeks Ago]
Niall shakes his head. “‘S’not enough.”
Blowing out an exasperated breath, Louis flings his arms out in frustration. “Well what the fuck else d’ya want? We can’t just waltz into Grimshaw’s place unannounced. You’ve got access to his mobile, can’t you do your, whatsit, remote hacking from that?”
Niall takes a deep breath like he’s getting ready to point out all the ways Louis is wrong when Harry’s voice cuts through, mild as ever. “Why not?”
“Why not what?” Louis looks like he might actually have an aneurysm at the tender age of twenty-five. Zayn is wisely staying out of this one, ostensibly on the phone with his missus, but Liam hasn’t seen his lips move for the past five minutes.
Shrugging a single shoulder, Harry says, “Why not waltz into Nick’s place?”
“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind? Maybe he’d let you in, but the rest of us he’d have shot on sight.” A blatant lie, but Liam knows better to correct Louis when he gets going like that. It’ll only make him yell louder.
Harry looks completely unruffled by Louis’ outburst. “He’ll definitely let me in. And my plus one. Waltz right through the door and onto the dance floor.”
“Onto the wha--”
Niall cuts Louis off, laughing delightedly. “Holy shit, Haz, do not tell me you got an invite to Grimshaw’s party. Legend, bro.”
Pocketing his mobile, Zayn ambles back over to the group. “Perrie’s got an invite as well. Seems her cousin’s got some sorta connection.”
“Legend,” Niall repeats.
“That’ll get three of us in,” Liam thinks out loud. “Harry for sure, since he’s got the invite. Niall’ll need to get in too, so he can have inside access to Grimshaw’s security system.” He flicks his gaze over to Zayn, who’s watching him with unreadable eyes. “You’ll want to be in the van, away from the action and monitoring everything.” Zayn nods once. “Which leaves either me or Louis as the third.”
Louis shakes his head. “Can’t be me. Grimshaw knows my face. He’ll recognize me as soon as I step foot through the door.”
Cocking his head, Harry says slowly. “The front door, maybe. Nick won’t look twice at the catering staff though, will he?”
A grin slowly unfurls across Louis’ face. “Waltz right through the back door, won’t I?”
Niall is nearly vibrating with excitement. “He’ll have ‘t hire extra security ‘t keep all the guests in check, which means they won’t be as familiar with the layout and protocol. Prob’ly be more of a hindrance than anything.”
Liam looks towards Zayn. “What do you think? Three weeks enough time to put everything into place?”
Biting his lip, Zayn pauses to consider.
“Put on your best dresses, lads. We’ve got a party to crash.”
[House of Zayn Malik, Four Hours Ago]
Zayn’s Perrie is a bright, loud, almost brassy girl with red-stained lips and killer heels.
“See how they’re pointed at the tip? Hell to walk on, but with enough pressure, they’ll slip right between your ribs, deep enough to puncture your lungs.”
Zayn beams like homicidal tendencies is a desirable trait in a spouse.
“Oh. Well, that’s. That’s really…”
Perrie winks at him. “Don’t worry love, ‘ve got no plans to shiv ya with my shoes. Just like practical footwear, is all.”
Liam is not sure what alternative universe Perrie is from that six inches heels capable of killing a man could be considered ‘practical footwear,’ but he will admit that they make her pale legs look endless.
Not within earshot of Zayn, of course. As if he can hear Liam's untoward thoughts, he wraps his arm protectively over Perrie’s bare shoulder. “Liam’s a gentleman, babe. He’ll treat yah right, take yah dancin’, do all the things I never could.”
Perrie throws her head back and laughs, bright and loud. “Oh, shush. You treat me like a princess.” Turning towards Liam, who is beginning to feel like a third wheel even though he’s technically the one on the date here, she adds, “I will accept the offer for a dance, though. This one’s got two left feet and no sense of rhythm.”
Before Liam can respond, Harry ambles into the room, trailed by a somewhat distraught Niall.
“Lemme fix your tie. Please, Harry. You cannot show up ‘t Grimshaw’s like that. Not if I’m your bloody date.”
Harry waves Niall off. “‘S fine. Ties are restrictive. And anyway Nick likes my cleavage. He told me so.”
Niall looks at Liam beseechingly. “You’re sensible. Explain ‘t Harry that he can’t show up ‘t a black tie event without a tie. Please, Payno.”
“It’s not a literal instruction-- forget it. Listen, every moment we waste here is another moment Louis is in Grimshaw’s with no backup.”
Zayn touches a finger to his ear where a communication piece is already nestled. “He’s fine, Li. He’ll stay in the kitchen until everyone’s in place. Don’t worry, everything is going to work out just like we planned.”
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
Nothing is going like they planned.
If Liam thought the bathroom was stifling, it’s nothing compared to the claustrophobic walls of the laundry shoot. The narrow passage forces him to keep his shoulders hunched in and every downward inch gained is the result of painstakingly careful coordination between his knees and hands.
It’s pitch black, too dark to even see his hand in front of his face. Liam’s hearing seems to have heightened to make up for the loss of vision, at least. He can hear Louis slowly shuffling below him, the quiet groaning of the metal walls of the shaft as they ease their way down, the thundering beat of his heart in his chest that threatens to drown out the rest.
Liam’s sweaty palms skid on metal and he braces his knees to keep from slipping.
“All right, Li?” Louis’ words echo around the shaft and buzz in Liam’s ear simultaneously. It’s dizzying. Or maybe that’s from the way Liam’s lungs are stuttering in his chest, shallow gasps that aren’t getting enough oxygen to his brain.
“Breathe, Liam.” Louis orders sharply. “Don’t you fuckin’ -- I need you to listen to my words, okay, babe? Deep breaths, c’mon, in and out.”
“Can’t-- it’s too tight, I can’t--”
“You can, Li. C’mon, focus on my voice. In and out, in and out.”
Liam concentrates on Louis’ voice, lets it wrap around him and drown out everything else. He pulls air into his lungs, deep, shuddering breaths, releases them on a sigh.
The pounding of his heart isn’t nearly so loud.
“All right, Li?” Louis asks again, once the rushing in his ears has passed.
“All right.” He confirms, resuming his slow, downward crawl.
It takes an excruciatingly long time before there’s a soft thump, followed by relieved noise from Louis. “Fuckin’ finally -- reached the bottom. Careful, Liam, floor’s solid concrete."
Liam’s thankful for the warning a moment later when his foot slips free of the shaft and he nearly falls. Bracing his arms, Liam eases himself down another foot or so until his legs are clear before letting himself drop the rest of the way, landing easily on the balls of his feet.
Leave it to Louis to take that fall without knowing what he’d land on.
It’s still too dark to see anything until Liam is suddenly blinded by the bright, clinical light of a mobile screen. He can just make out Louis’ features in the muted glow, face twisted into a manic grin.
Relief washes over him then, making his knees go weak. They did it. They fucking -- they’re going to get out of this mess unscathed, wrists free of the heavy metal clink of handcuffs.
“Okay, Z,” Louis says, still grinning widely. “What’ve you got for us?”
Nothing.
“Zayn? Do not fuck with me, mate. Tell us how to get out of this fuckin’ basement.”
Liam reaches a hand to his ear, frowning when he feels where the comm is still in place.
It’s only then that he notices the quiet hum that’s been buzzing in his ear all night is noticeably absent.
“Fuck,” Louis swears again. He looks down at the glowing screen of his mobile with disgust. “No reception. Fuck.”
Liam looks around the room, but can’t see anything beyond the small circle of light coming from Louis’ mobile.
Fuck.
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Two Hours Ago]
“You look tense.”
Liam startles, looking down into Perrie’s concerned face. She presses a flute of champagne into Liam’s sweaty hand, leans in under the pretense of fixing his tie.
“Relax, love. Nick’ll get suspicious if you keep trying to stare holes through his head.”
Licking his lips, Liam allows himself a small sip of champagne. “Sorry. ‘M just nervous.”
Perrie runs a manicured hand over his shirt, smoothing nonexistent wrinkles. “I’ll let you in on a secret,” she whispers conspiratorially.
“Yeah?” Liam whispers back.
“It’s impossible to be nervous when you’re dancing.” Grabbing Liam’s hand, she pulls him out onto the floor before he can point out that it’s actually very easy to be nervous when you’re dancing, especially if you can’t dance.
Perrie’s a strong partner though, quick feet making up for Liam’s occasional misstep. Her dress is the color of sapphires and the sparkling bodice catches in the light, glittering like a sea of stars.
It’s easy to pretend that Liam is here as nothing more than a guest. There’s a certain Cinderella feel to the whole thing, of course, like the clock is going to strike midnight and Liam’ll be left with nothing more than a pumpkin and a cheap suit instead of the finely tailored tux he’s wearing, but.
Right now, it’s nice.
“Be another hour at least before you need to be in position,” Perrie murmurs into his ear. “Plenty of time for dancing.”
Not a minute later, Niall’s voice buzzes through the comm in Liam’s ear. “Heh, slight problem, lads.”
“You’ve got your inside access, Horan. The fuck’s the problem?”
“Chill, Louis. ‘ve already got Grimshaw’s security camera’s patched through ‘t the van. That’s not the issue. ‘S actually more of a personal problem?” Niall offers.
Liam glances around the ballroom over Perrie’s shoulder until his gaze connects with Harry, who’s cozied up to Grimshaw’s side. Harry catches his eye and shrugs one shoulder.
“Care to elaborate?” Louis doesn’t sound happy.
“Ah, one of my mates is here. Well, ex-mates, rather. We’re not on good terms, exactly.”
“Not seein’ the problem.”
A pause. Niall sounds like he’s choosing his next words carefully. “We, um, used ‘t work together, actually. And I may have, um. Fucked his girl?”
Louis whistles appreciatively through the comm.
“Ow, fuck -- don’t whistle, ya lunatic! Anyway, if Sheeran sees me, he’ll definitely make a scene. And he knows what I do.”
Zayn swears. “Can’t afford that kind of attention. Grimshaw’ll be out for blood once he realizes the jewels are gone. Be like servin’ Niall up on a silver platter.”
“So what the fuck do we do now?”
Liam ducks his head, as if he’s whispering something secret into Perrie’s ear. “I could meet Louis in the study instead of Niall. Zayn’s got access to everything from the van and Niall can talk Louis through opening the safe from somewhere Sheeran won’t spot him.”
Perrie’s hand slips up to cup the back of Liam’s neck, her wrist shielding his mouth from view.
“Fuck,” Zayn says. “It could work. Louis, Niall -- you two up for it?”
“Fuck yes,” they say simultaneously.
Across the ballroom, Harry turns his sudden laugh into an abrupt cough.
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, One Hour Ago]
Niall was right. The extra security Grimshaw hired is inexperienced, patrolling the hallways off-limits to guests in a predictable pattern. It takes no time at all for Zayn to track their rounds, and then he’s giving Liam the all clear to slip down a back corridor, away from the tinkling sounds of the party and into the eerie quiet of the rest of the house.
Grimshaw’s mansion is ostentatiously large. It looks like something out of the movies, richly carpeted halls adorned with paintings framed ornately in gold, vases dripping with fresh-cut flowers that must take a team of staff to water and replace on a regular basis.
Harry claims that Grimshaw’s personal wing is more modern, almost minimalistic, but Liam still gets tripped up over the fact that Grimshaw has his own wing. It’s a lot of house for one person, is all, and Liam can’t find it in himself to feel bad that if tonight goes as planned, Grimshaw is going to find himself one rare collection of jewels poorer.
Zayn directs Liam to a narrow staircase, probably used by servants as there isn’t a single bit of decorative woodwork to be found. He throws that thought aside and concentrates on staying quiet, cautious of squeaky steps that would give away his position.
At the top, he pauses to wait for Zayn’s next instruction.
“Wait for it, wait for it… now. Go!”
Liam eases open the door and into the hall, which is, as promised, security-free. He makes his way through winding corridors, pausing to hide himself whenever someone steps into range, until he finally steps around a corner and comes face-to-face with a grinning Louis.
“Christ, Lou, you nearly gave me a heart attack,” Liam wheezes, hand still clutching his chest.
“I take it you’ve met up with Tommo, then,” Zayn’s voice sounds dry over the comm.
“Affirmative,” Louis agrees, still grinning.
Liam can practically hear Zayn rolling his eyes. “You two have got about three minutes tops to unlock the door to Grimshaw’s study before the next patrol comes ‘round. Should be the second door on your right, just around the next corner.”
“Roger that,” Louis chirps.
Zayn’s able to override the security code on the door remotely, thanks to the file Niall embedded into Grimshaw’s system before spotting Sheeran, and it takes Louis all of twenty seconds to pick the lock.
“I admire a man that still relies on hardware to keep his doors safe from ruffians and thieves. At least, I would if that man wasn’t a bastard like Grimshaw.”
Louis swings the door open on quiet hinges and then they’re in. Liam closes it with a soft click behind them while Louis stalks over to the brightly colored painting hanging behind Grimshaw’s desk.
“Never was a fan of modern art, meself.”
“Matisse is a leading figure of modernism. That painting’s worth more than your flat,” Zayn scoffs.
“‘S hardly impressive. My flat is shit.” Louis swings the painting away from the wall, revealing the safe hidden behind. “What’ve ya got for me, boys?”
“Ah, fuck. Safe’s on a different network than the rest of his security. Grimshaw’s a paranoid bastard.” Louis’ expression darkens at Zayn’s words.
“Translation?” Liam asks.
“Means Zayn can’t help us, not from the van. Niall?”
“‘M here. Zayn’s right; nothing ‘ve got patched will be able to override the security code on the safe.”
“Are you fuckin’-- what do you want me to do, then?”
“Describe it ‘t me. Don’t leave out any import’nt details.” Niall’s voice sounds tinny over the comm, buzzing in his ear.
Or maybe that’s the adrenaline, pumping through Liam’s veins like electricity, making his skin tingle.
[Estate of Nick Grimshaw, Now]
“Well. At least you still have the jewels, right?”
“And what fucking good are jewels, Liam, if we die in Grimshaw’s tomb of a basement?”
It’s a question that Liam wishes Louis would have considered three months ago, before he got the stupid idea in his head that taking Grimshaw’s most prized possession would somehow right all the wrongs in his life. Grimshaw will be pissed, sure, and maybe even a little humiliated. But Louis’ dad will still be rotting away behind bars, no matter how many jewels Louis steals trying to live up to his legacy. And Liam will still be here picking up the pieces when it inevitably goes wrong, because when it comes to Louis, he doesn’t know how to do anything else.
Not that Liam would ever say any of that out loud.
But the way his chest is heaving a bit and Louis is gaping at him with an expression of complete shock tells him that maybe he just did.
The mobile screen dims a second later and then Louis’ face is swallowed by darkness.
Liam scrambles for his own phone, finally unearthing it from the pocket of his carefully tailored trousers, but of course it’s fucking dead because Liam forgot to charge it.
It’s so dark. Liam is rooted to the spot, paralyzed by the thought that if he moves he might never find Louis again.
“Louis? I’m sorry I’m a prick but please turn your mobile back on. I can’t-- I don’t want to lose you.”
There’s a ragged sigh and then Louis’ screen lights up again. He hasn’t moved, but his expression is closed off, eyes dark and unreadable in the soft glow of light.
“If you thought this endeavor was so fuckin’ pointless, then why the fuck did you go along with it?” Louis spits the words out like poison.
“Because I--” Liam swallows. “Christ, Lou, I’d follow you into hell if you asked me to.”
Louis looks incredulous. “And why would I ask you to do somethin’ stupid like that?”
Looking pointedly around the dark tomb they’re currently standing, Liam raises a brow. “I don’t know. Jewels?”
Louis scrubs a hand over his face, huffing out a sound that could optimistically be described as a laugh. The screen dims again, plunging them back into darkness, but this time instead of lighting it back up, Liam hears the soft shuffle of footsteps, followed by the cautious brush of a hand across his chest.
“Probably be best if we, you know, save the battery,” Louis whispers. Liam can feel his breath against the exposed skin of his throat.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice just as soft.
Louis makes a little sound and then he takes another half-step closer, burying his head in Liam’s shoulder and wrapping his arms around Liam’s waist. “Fuckin’ hate the dark. Can’t see for shit.”
Now that they’re pressed chest to chest, Liam can feel the way Louis is trembling slightly.
Louis has never been afraid of the dark. He isn’t afraid of anything.
“Don’t know what I’d do, if you weren’t around to pick up the pieces.” The admission is quiet, nearly muffled against Liam’s shoulder.
“We make a good pair then, huh?” Liam says cautiously.
He feels Louis lift his head, pulling back a bit from Liam’s embrace. It’s not any lighter than it was a moment ago, but Liam could swear he can see the sparkle of Louis’ eyes.
One of Louis’ hands comes up to cup Liam’s jaw.
“Li,” he breathes.
Liam has just enough time to think “this is going to end with someone losing an eye” and dip his head down anyway when he’s blinded by a sudden stream of light.
“Oi, am I interruptin’ something?” Perrie’s laughing voice orients him first as Liam blinks owlishly, eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness.
Louis leaps back like he’s been burned and Perrie rolls her eyes.
“C’mon, then, lovebirds. We need to move it back to the land of the living where the comm works so Zayn can implement his brilliant extraction plan. There’s already a buzz goin’ ‘round that there’s been a robbery. Grimshaw’s so pissed he’d be strip searchin’ the guests, if he thought he could get away with it.”
Liam glances over to Louis, but he won’t meet Liam’s eye. Louis adjusts his collar, slipping his hand into the pocket of his trousers to extract the little velvet bag. Perrie scoops it from his grasp with nimble fingers, making it disappear into her ample cleavage with impressive quickness.
“I told Zayn the hand-off would go just as planned. C’mon, let’s get out of here. This basement gives me the creeps.”
Liam doesn’t need to be told twice. He follows after Perrie and Louis, up into the light.
[Several Hours Later, Tower Bridge]
“I cannot believe we pulled that off.”
“Speak f’yourself, mate. I knew we had it the bag.”
“Would that be before or after you pissed yourself at the sight of Sheeran’s ginger head?”
“Oh, fuck off. That guy holds a grudge like y’wouldn’t believe.”
“Hope she was worth it, Niall. Shitty thing to do to a mate.”
Liam watches the smoke from Zayn’s cigarette dissipate into the night as Perrie’s loud laugh drowns out Harry and Niall’s bickering. The sound of traffic rushes behind them, the occasional honk of a car horn blaring obnoxiously.
Shivering a bit, Liam draws his arms closer around himself, watching the nearly black water of the Thames rushing by beneath them.
Standing next to him at the railing, Louis turns the small velvet bag over and over in his hands, having liberated it from Perrie’s cleavage as soon as they cleared Grimshaw’s.
“What are ya gonna do with ‘em?” Zayn asks, tipping his chin towards the bag.
Louis shrugs. “Too hot to sell anytime soon. Don’t fancy gettin’ caught ‘cause some bloke couldn’t keep his mouth shut if Grimshaw catches wind of a sale.”
“We were promised a cut,” Niall reminds him gently.
Slipping the bag back into his pocket, Louis snorts derisively. “And you promised me we’d get into the safe without setting off the alarm. Didn’t have time to clear the rest of it out, what with the whole alerting Grimshaw’s entire security team to our presence.”
Niall shrugs, easy going as ever. “No matter. ‘S not like Grimshaw keeps everything of value in his safe.”
“Niall Horan. What did you take?” Harry sounds scandalized, as if he didn’t just take part in a heist.
Turning away from the railing, Niall winks. “Got somewhere ‘t be, but gimme a ring if you lads ever need help on a job again. Hate ‘t see how badly ya’d cock it up without me.”
He strolls away, whistling jauntily to himself and Harry follows on his heels like a besotted puppy. “What did you take? Niall, please tell me what you-- oh, bye lads!” he calls over his shoulder, waving enthusiastically.
Perrie blows him a kiss, which Harry promptly pretends to catch and press to his cheek. Zayn watches the exchange with confused fondness before he ducks down to steal an actual kiss from Perrie.
When he surfaces a long moment later, Liam can make out a red smudge of lipstick on his chin. “Well, boys,” he grins. “Keep in touch, yeah? We’ll do this again sometime.” Perrie murmurs her goodbye, looping her arm through Zayn’s before they drift away, in the opposite direction of Niall and Harry.
The sounds of London at night save Liam and Louis from what would otherwise be an awkward silence.
“So what are you going to do with them?” Liam finally asks, for lack of anything better to say.
Louis shrugs. “Sell them off after everything blows over? Start my own collection?” He reaches into his pocket, pulling the bag back out like it’s an infected tooth he can’t leave alone.
“Throw ‘em into the Thames?” he suggests, letting his hand dangle over the railing.
“Lou,” Liam says helplessly.
“The thing is, Liam,” Louis continues, as if Liam hadn’t spoken. “I’ve been thinking. These jewels…” he trails off, fingers running restlessly over the velvet. “What I said earlier. It’s true. Not much point in having jewels, if I don’t have my life.”
He looks up, meets Liam’s eye for the first time in hours. “Not much point in having my life, if I don’t have you.”
Liam can feel his heart thud in his chest. “What exactly are you saying, Louis?”
Louis drops his gaze back to the velvet bag, still hanging over the Thames, before looking back at Liam, determination in his blue eyes. “I’m saying that you’re worth more to me than all the jewels in the world. I’m saying that I’m not sorry Perrie interrupted us, because it turns out I’m a bit of romantic, and when I kiss you for the first time I don’t want it to be in a dark, ugly basement.”
He squares his shoulders. “I want it to be on the Tower Bridge, where--”
Liam doesn’t hear the rest of Louis’ speech because he’s already cupped his hand around the back of Louis’ neck, pulling him up onto his toes so he can slant his mouth over Louis’ the way he wants, kissing him like he’s starving for it.
Maybe he has been, he can finally admit to himself.
When he pulls back, Louis looks a bit dazed, lips red and kiss-swollen.
“Keep the jewels, Lou,” Liam whispers against his mouth. “Throw them in the Thames. I don’t fucking care.” He swipes his thumb over Louis’ slick bottom lip. “Got what I wanted. Don’t need anything else.”
Louis smiles, the sweet one he saves for his sisters and sometimes Liam, and pulls Liam down for another kiss.