Archive of Our Own ^beta

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holy, holy ghost
where have you gone?
in the middle of the night
i feel your presence taking control

- active child; evening ceremony

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The air is filled with smoke. His lungs are corrupted with something other than cannabis and cancer—something that could kill him faster, yet slowly. He tries to hide his mouth, pull his sleeve over it to stop the smoke from entering, but his lungs feel congested, unable to breathe at all.

The air is filled with smoke and he can’t see a thing. It’s all grey, grey, grey and nothing is visible. He keeps his eyes to the ground, tries to find his feet throughout all the thick mist, but can’t. It’s like a black hole with nowhere to go, nowhere to move and with nobody to find him.

He coughs once, and it’s enough to make him fall to the ground. He hears sirens in the distance, telling him that they’re on their way; they’re coming to help save him.

The door breaks down just as everything around him fades to darkness.

.

Zayn hates this building, hates what they’ve made out of the empty lot. It’s not just one cosy home fit for a small family anymore, now it’s filled with a couple or one singular person for them spend their days and nights. It’s boring, unloving, lonely.

It’s a grey, bland block—and Zayn hates that colour. They couldn’t have picked something brighter, like green or blue or white, something water based, calm. 

He watches different residents come in and out of these apartments, live in them for a month or two before they earn enough money to move out into a house. They definitely could’ve rebuilt his family’s home, Zayn thinks. Could’ve rebuilt it and had another loving family live there again—ones who had dinners around the table, family time in the lounge room, backyard soccer and Christmas around the fireplace.

An apartment block doesn’t even give half the representation of what it used to be. Now, it’s disjoined—no connection whatsoever.

He remembers when a couple moved in one year, bright and happy and obviously in love. Zayn liked watching them the most, used to sit on their kitchen bench and see how they glanced at each other, how they liked to joke around and cuddle on the couch. He remembers that morning when the girlfriend had woken up by surprise, holding one hand to her mouth, the other to her stomach, and ran towards the bathroom. A week later, Zayn watched as she told her boyfriend that she was pregnant. Zayn was so excited, thought there would finally be a family in this place.

When they spoke about moving and began packing their things in boxes a few days later, Zayn resented being invisible, wished that he could’ve made them stay.

Nobody’s been that interesting since. They’re all businessmen, or busy women, mostly. Who only spend their times in their apartment when they’re not at work.

It’s been two hundred years since the fire and Zayn can’t bring himself to leave.

He would leave this world, if he could. All his other family member’s did, they were sent through straight away. But he’s accepted the fact that he can’t go on to something else. He can’t leave this particular spot, either—since every time he tries, he has to go back. The furthest he’s gone is to the end of the street. There’s always something pulling him back, something stirring in his stomach like guilt or anxiousness, something that causes him to turn around.

He sits on the roof of the building. The only thing he likes about it is the view he can get from this height. It’s around sunset, where the sky blends into pinks, reds and purples, slowly darkening as the moon comes to rise.

He likes to watch the consistency of it, likes to observe how the sun and moon do the same thing every day, every night. How the stars still shine even after all these years, how the lights from the city over the hill still glow. It’s settling, he thinks, how they’re the only things that don’t change.

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It’s in the afternoon when a car pulls into the car park. Zayn looks down over the edge of the roof, still drowsy from his nap, and blinks a few times before his eyes focus on the little red vehicle.

The sun’s shining forcibly on top of Zayn’s body, it doesn’t bring him any warmth but he still likes to think it does. He watches as two boys exit the car and wonders how hot it is on these visitors.

He wonders who they’re coming to see. It wouldn’t be the grumpy middle-aged-man, these boys seem younger and much too full of life for a man like him. Could it be the younger couple? Or maybe it’s the single, fresh out of university lady they’re visiting.

The blonde one pops open the boot, and—oh. They’re moving in.

Zayn flies down until he’s sitting on top of their little red car, curious. He always likes to observe the new residents, get a feel about what they’re like, where they’re from. He looks at the blonde one first, he seems about nineteen years old, a happy boy with laugh lines around his eyes. He brings out a suitcase and a pot plant.

“You don’t need to help me, Niall. I’m a grown man now.”

Zayn’s eyes switch to the other boy. He feels his breath hitch in his throat. He’s sort of hidden behind the boot, but Zayn can still see his eyes—blue like the sea. He sees his sun-tanned skin, the way he smiles at his friend, a lovely smile with lovely teeth and it’s the brightest sight that Zayn’s seen in centuries.

The boy takes out another smaller suitcase, already with a bag hung on his shoulder with a pillow. Then he closes the boot, pulls out the handle of the suitcase, flicks the hair out of his eyes, glances up, and—

“AHH!”

He yelps, clutches his hand to his chest, eyes wider than anything, dropping the bag hastily to the floor. The beautiful colour from his face has drained to replace with whiteness and his eyes...his eyes are directly staring at Zayn.

No, they can’t be.

“Shit, Lou, what is it?” Niall asks, almost as scared as his friend from the outburst.

Zayn can’t do anything but stare right back, amazed. His eyes are alarmed, looking back at the boy in disbelief.

He looks completely frozen, “Wha—who the fuck are you?”

Zayn doesn’t know what to do. He blinks and tries to speak but no words come out. He hasn’t come in contact with anybody in what seems like a lifetime, wouldn’t even know what to say if he did.

Niall looks at his friend completely confused, “Louis, what the hell?” He says, then shakes Louis’ arm, “Snap out of it, man, there’s nobody there.”

Louis’ still frozen, his eyebrows pinch together, mouth slightly gaping open.

Right, nobody is there. Because Zayn shouldn’t be seen, shouldn’t be able to be seen by anyone.

He acts on it and flies back up to the roof, quick enough that would look like a flash to Louis. He darts behind the edge of the roof so that Louis can’t see where he’s gone. He peeks out from behind it and sees how Louis’ eyes follow him, bringing a hand up to his eyes to block out the sun.

“Can we go inside now, please? It’s stinking hot out here, if you haven’t noticed.” Niall tells him.

Louis seems to breathe at that. He nods slowly. “Yeah, y—yeah. Let’s go.”

They start heading towards the entrance and Niall slings an arm over Louis’ shoulder, “What was with that back there? You look like you've just seen a ghost.” He laughs.

Louis tries to laugh, too, but it comes out strained and weak. “Yeah, I—I don’t know what it was, to be honest.”

Zayn watches them until they disappear into the lobby. Something flutters inside his stomach, something important, something unreal. This boy—Louis—can see him. And only him, as it seems, judging by the way he had reacted.

Zayn looks up at the sun and touches a hand to his arm, rapidly feeling warmth—only to have it disappear again. He thinks about what that means.

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To be safe, Zayn makes sure to only hover at the window of where Louis and Niall are unpacking. He’s cautious, always cautious, and only peeks enough so one eye can see them both.

He observes Louis mostly—well, entirely—and takes note of his every move. He’s like all the other residents that have moved in, he’s human enough, doesn’t look like he has any special powers or inhuman characteristics. Except, of course, noticing ghosts when nobody else can.

“Alright, I think you’re all set, mate.” Niall tells him, dusting off his hands and standing back with his hands on his hips.

They’ve unloaded everything from both suitcases that were filled with clothing, shoes and toiletries, and a gaming set of some sort for the television that hasn’t arrived yet. They haven’t opened up the other bag, though. Zayn thinks that that’s where he stores all his valuables, the more precious, sentimental things.

“Yep, it is.” Louis says, answering Niall, his voice coming out as though he wished he wasn’t ‘all set’. “All that’s left is the stuff I left with the movers.”

“They said they’ll come first thing in the morning, didn’t they?” Niall asks.

“Yeah, something like that.”

Zayn can sense Louis’ uneasiness from outside. It’s so evident that even Zayn feels it in himself, similar to the feeling he gets when he tries to leave, but stronger. Louis’ playing with his fingers, adjusting his top every two seconds and sometimes fiddling with his hair more than necessary. Zayn doesn’t know if Niall can feel it, though, and if he does then he’s not doing a very good job of helping Louis through it.

“Well, welcome to your new home, then.” He tells Louis, clapping him on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to it, I gotta get back home, you know what it’s like.” He says it so casually, and Zayn can sense the quickening of Louis’ breaths, his heartbeat, the way that his body sends a shock of fear down it. Zayn almost doesn’t want Niall to leave as much as Louis does. “Just call me if you need anything, yeah?”

Louis doesn’t respond, he just looks at Niall. It’s like he’s deciding whether or not to plead for him to stay. Niall doesn’t move, either. He’s waiting for Louis to say something before he leaves, but nothing happens.

“You... you’re alright with that, aren’t you?” He asks Louis.

Zayn scoffs at Niall's naivety.

“I think I...” Louis scratches at his forehead and shifts his weight onto one foot, “it’s a bit scary, isn’t it? Living on your own.”

“Sure, Lou.” Niall says, “But plenty of people do it. You’ll be fine, won’t you? Besides, you’re all grown up now.” He slaps Louis’ shoulder again and Zayn finds himself hardening his gaze.

“Yeah, I—I guess so.” He laughs, nervously, maybe. He shakes his head and looks to the floor. “Would you mind, uh, staying with me for the night, though? Just so I, you know, settle in and stuff?”

Niall pauses. Zayn fills with anticipation and hope, looking at Niall with watchful eyes. The blonde boy leans back and scratches at the back of his head with uncertainty, he scrunches up his face a little bit and looks around the room. He glances in Zayn’s direction and Zayn’s ready to hide, for once, but Niall obviously doesn’t take any notice of him.

“Yeah, ‘course, Lou.” Niall finally says. Zayn and Louis let out a sigh of relief. “It’s your first night in a new town, I’d be scared, too.”

Louis’ beaming, smiling like he was when they were down at the car. He wraps his arms around Niall, embracing him in a hug. Zayn feels something like a weird mixture of feelings deep in his stomach (gratitude, cheerfulness and... envy?) and it overwhelms him with a sense of confusion. He stops hovering and flies up to the roof, lying down so he faces the sky.

He closes his eyes and focuses on his breathing, clearing his mind and body until he doesn't feel anything at all.

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“Have you decided yet?”

Zayn wakes to the sight of stars. It’s early in the night, he notices, as the moon isn’t completely up into the sky yet. He rubs at his eyes and rolls over on the roof, crawling to the edge of it at the sound of the voice he just heard. He peeks out from the roof and spots Niall and Louis leaving, the sound of car keys dangling in Niall’s hand.

“How about Chinese? Haven’t had that in a while.” Louis responds, walking towards the red car.

They’re leaving.

Zayn flies off the roof and stops in front of Louis’ window of the apartment. His things are still there, still unpacked. So, he’s not leaving completely.

But he’s also getting into a car. Cars drive in and out of this street every day and every night, Zayn knows, he watches them. He couldn’t care about the other residents that leave every morning and sometimes come back every night in cars but with Louis—with Louis it’s different, somehow.

They reverse out of the car park, the car eventually leaving the lot completely. Zayn follows with his eyes as the car drives out of the street, turning left, and then ultimately going out of Zayn’s sight.

He grabs the edge of the roof unknowingly and his knuckles turn white against it. He swallows harshly and decides to try and distract himself.

Louis’ a person, a person who’s allowed to go out and have a life outside of living inside of Zayn’s lot. He’s his own person, doesn’t need Zayn to watch his every move, look out after him. And it’s not that he doesn’t even need it—he doesn’t want it, either. He saw it in the way Louis looked at him, like he was a monster, like he could’ve killed Louis if he tried.

Truth is, Zayn looks entirely human just like everyone else. He died in a fire, sure, but he died burn-free. He looks normal, in Zayn’s opinion.

Though, appearing suddenly on the roof of someone’s car isn’t the best way to introduce yourself, either.

Something tightens suddenly in Zayn’s chest. His stomach feels uneasy, making himself feel sick. He’s sitting directly on top of the roof, he’s where he’s supposed to be. Although, it’s not.

He looks in the direction of where Louis went, left. Something strong burns inside of him and Zayn bites his lip. He contemplates leaving for the first time, letting the building out of his sight. He swallows again, drums his fingers against the roofs tiles, and then lifts himself off it.

He flies quickly to the end of the street and waits for the feeling to get stronger. He looks back at the building, but the feeling seems to soften a little more.

The sky is dark, the only thing illuminating it is the lights from inside buildings, the moon and the stars, the bright lights from the town and the street lights. He rises higher, getting more of a bird’s eye view of the town. He tries to spot Niall’s car, but the streets are busy at this time of night, it seems.

He feels more at ease like this, away from his lot, and Zayn takes this as a sign to keep moving, so he does. He follows the road, left, until he finally spots the familiar car. He follows closely, but not too close, and flies above it.

Taking the chance to glance around, he notices different people, different buildings, a completely different scene to the one he’s so used to. There’s laughter, and music, and lights on the buildings that he’s never been able to see from his roof.

He also notices other ghosts floating around him, chatting in groups. He hasn’t seen a ghost in years, not since his funeral.

Louis and Niall drive until they find a parking spot near the main part of town. Zayn quickly makes sure he hides behind some restaurant’s outside dining table before Louis gets out. He couldn’t imagine the reaction he’d get if Louis saw him again; let alone flying above his head.

They enter a small Chinese restaurant, one with decorations and small, golden cats with waving paws out the front. Zayn follows them as soon as Louis and Niall step inside, and takes a moment to appreciate it all, touching the little cats and the hanging decorations. 

It’s not until he looks back into the restaurant where he finds that his queasiness has settled completely. He doesn't question it.

Zayn waits until Louis and Niall have been seated, and follows in after them. He holds his breath in order to pass through the closed door, and doesn’t think about the bell that goes off when his head touches it slightly.

The waiter who allocated Louis and Niall’s seats glance up towards the door, ready to serve another customer, but he frowns instead and blinks when he sees nobody there.

Zayn stops flying and lands on his feet instead, glad that Louis’ seated and facing away from him. He strolls into the restaurant and into the kitchen, looking at all the food that’s being served. There are multiple chiefs walking around, deep frying things, cutting up particular meat and cooking up rice. The head chief, Zayn guesses, is on the verge of falling asleep. He’s shifting rice around in a massive pot, stirring it lazily, his eyes drooping.

Zayn moves back into the dining area. It’s pretty, he thinks. A collection of red and gold, decorations filling the roof and windowsills with pretty table cloths and Asian letters on all the posters and menus.

There’s a booth next to Louis and Niall, one that faces Niall, away from Louis. The booths are big enough to block out any sight of the customers next to each other, which is perfect.

Zayn flies over quickly, sitting in the booth next to them, back to back with Louis.

He’s not absolutely sure why he is. Doesn’t even know why he’s here in the first place. Doesn’t know why he’s so interested in a boy that has just moved in and knows nothing about. But he’s out, isn’t he? He’s finally out and he doesn’t feel the slightest bit of anxiousness at all.

“Are you seriously having fried rice and that’s it?” Niall asks, sincerely shocked.

“Not really hungry, if I’m honest.” Louis tells him. Zayn finds himself frowning at that, noticing that there’s something off in Louis’ voice about the honestly part.

“Alright, suit yourself.”

The waiter comes over a few minutes later with a notepad in his hand. He’s not like the other workers in the restaurant, he’s Caucasian with dark hair and eyes, tall, too. He smiles at the two of them pleasantly.

“What would you boys like tonight?” He asks them. Zayn watches him carefully.

“Uh, I’ll have three wong tongs, two dim sims, and uh—chuck in some fried rice as well.” Niall tells him.

The waiter turns to Louis and gives him a different sort of smile, and his eyes roam over Louis when he isn’t looking. Zayn’s fists clench unintentionally at his sides.

“I’ll just have the fried rice, thanks.”

“Very nice choice.” The waiter says. Zayn wants to hiss at him. “Anything else?

“Oh! Yeah,” Niall says, a grin in his voice, like he’s just remembered something, “give us some beers, will you? Louis here’s just moved into this town and I think that deserves a celebration.”

The waiter raises his eyebrows and looks at Louis, a twinkle in his eye. “Oh, really? That definitely deserves a celebration. Where did you move into?”

Zayn inhales a deep breath and slowly breathes it out. It doesn’t calm him, though, something uncontrollable burns inside him, something that makes him grit his teeth together, eyes completely fixed on the waiter.

“Uh, just down the road, actually.” Louis replies, “You know that apartment building a few streets along?”

The waiter thinks for a little bit, and then his eyes light up, “Yeah, I do! I live a street down from you, then.”

“Oh,” Louis says, letting out a shaky, nervous breath.

“Alright, well, I’ll leave you to it and I’ll bring you your drinks.”

He throws them—mostly Louis—a wink, before he turns to walk off. If he had walked in Zayn’s direction, he would’ve made sure the waiter’s face was cemented into the floor.

But Zayn blinks as soon as the waiter is out of sight. He looks down at his fists, unclenched now. The burning has stopped and he’s no longer gritting his teeth together.

It’s like all of that emotion has vanished, as though it was never there. It shocks him, how he can turn like that so suddenly and can’t switch it off. He closes his eyes for a few seconds, leans his head against the booth.

What’s happening to him?

“I think you might pick up tonight, Tommo.” Niall tells Louis.

Zayn’s eyes fly open.

Louis laughs, “At a dead Chinese restaurant? Yeah right, Niall.”

Niall huffs out a breath, “Should’ve seen the way he was looking at you, mate. Wanted to eat you for dinner.”

A different type of burn shoots through Zayn and suddenly he’s alarmed. He sits up straight and alert, scanning the room for anything, everything. When nothing comes, he settles again, just like last time, as though nothing happened.

What the hell?

The waiter comes back, two beers in hand, and approaches their table again. “Here you go, guys. And congratulations, Louis.”

“Oh, what’s this?” Louis asks him, surprised.

The waiter places another beer down on the table, “It’s on me, just for the celebration.”

“You bought me a drink?” Louis says, almost in disbelief.

“Yeah, of course I did.” The waiter smiles, Zayn thinks it looks cocky. “My name’s Aiden, by the way. I can give you my number, if you want? You know, if you ever need a tour of the town or anything. I know what it’s like moving somewhere new, it’s a scary time.”

Zayn feels the burn from his chest reach up to his neck, his cheeks. He’s almost shaking with—fury? Annoyance? Distrust?

“That’s nice of you, thank you.” Louis says, genuinely appreciative. Zayn takes that into consideration.

Though, when Aiden walks back in Zayn’s direction, Zayn maybe or maybe not, sticks out his foot the tiniest bit, making Aiden trip ungracefully.

Aiden, unfortunately, catches himself and regains his balance, red starting to appear in his cheeks, and pats down his shirt whilst clearing his throat as he looks around to see if anyone’s noticed, then finally walks off.

Zayn crosses his arms over his chest, somewhat pleased.

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Dinner doesn’t go for very long. Their plates get served at the same time and although Louis ordered less, Niall’s scoffing down his meal faster than the time it takes Louis.

Their conversation is light, and Zayn doesn’t try to hear it at all, attempts to distract himself in order to not push any privacy boundaries. He wonders if Louis knows that someone’s behind him, can sense that there’s a person there. Because Zayn’s a person to Louis, he’s valid.

“You ready to go back home, then?” Niall asks Louis. Zayn reacts immediately.

He flies up over the edge of the booth and escapes into the kitchen before Louis can turn around.

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It’s approximately eight o’clock when they reach the apartment, Zayn guesses. He usually guesses from where the moon sits in the sky, same as the sun.

He waits at the same window again, watching, the same as he does with everyone—yet outside, through the window. For some reason, it makes it worse. Like, when he’s inside it’s as though he’s allowed to be in there, like he’s accepted. But now, since Louis knows he exists, it’s...it’s creepy, really.

“Now, they said that there would be a mattress in the wardro—ah, there it is. Niall, help me with this, will you?” Louis tells him, carrying a mattress that’s almost double his size. Something uncomfortable stirs in Zayn’s stomach, like that’s not what Louis should have, shouldn’t be sleeping on an old mattress, shouldn’t be in a small apartment, shouldn’t have a slack moving crew.

Zayn stops his train of thought. He blinks and frowns a little, then decides to stop viewing them, flying back on top of the roof. He shakes his head at himself. He doesn’t even know Louis.

“Snap out of it, Zayn.” He scolds himself. He’s only bored, that’s all. He’s bored and he doesn’t feel ill when he leaves his home, like Louis gives him an aid, medicine, a cure.

He also lets him feel things, emotions that come and go like a storm. It’s sort of...like Louis’ making him feel alive.

“Thanks for staying with me, Ni. Just for tonight, yeah?”

He hears Louis’ voice as clear as he could hear it from outside their window. He waits to hear Niall’s response but he can’t.

A few seconds pass.

“Yeah, sure, go ahead.”

Zayn frowns, that was Louis again. Clear as day.

He peeks out from the roof, makes sure that the window isn’t open and Louis isn’t sitting by the window sill. It’s completely closed with no sign of Louis near it. Zayn’s never been able to hear anything from up at the roof.

“I reckon I would’ve been able to sleep here on my own tonight, you know.” Louis says. A few seconds of silence, then. “Well, d’you remember earlier back at the car? I know I must have been...I don’t really know why I saw him—it. But it was right there, like, a real...person? I’m not sure. But he was looking directly at me. Was bloody terrifying.”

Zayn swallows. He squeezes his eyes shut.

“Yeah, I know.” Louis says, “Should lay off the weed, shouldn’t I?” He laughs and it echoes in Zayn’s ears.

Something flicks a switch in Zayn and he’s suddenly flying off the roof.

He keeps flying in the direction of the hill, going so fast he knows the wind is breaking from it. It doesn’t touch him at all, doesn’t feel the coldness touching his skin in the slightest. He gets about one kilometre from his home when the feeling pangs in his stomach. He looks back at the apartment block, almost out of sight. It probably took him two seconds to get from there to here, could take him the same about of time to get back there, too.

“Wanna watch a movie?”

Zayn looks around, darts his eyes around the darkness.

“Uh, I’ve got some on my laptop? Your choice, Niall. It’s my gift from me to you.”

It’s like Louis’ right behind him, in front, all around. His voice is heard from his left and right ear, like he’s right there beside him, but inside him all the same. Like it’s inside his head but also like he’s hearing his voice through a pair of headphones.

“Good decision, great decision! This is why we’re friends.”

Zayn darts back home faster than before, and peeks into the window as soon as he reaches it without hesitation. Niall and Louis are lying down on their chests on the mattress in the middle of the room, facing away from the window. Zayn can see the movie showing on Louis’ laptop from here.

“Oh! I’ve got food in my bag, actually. Some nice munchies for the film, what d’you say?” Louis asks Niall, already moving from the mattress to fetch the bag that he hasn’t opened yet.

“You know I’m down.” Niall tells him. “We should’ve bought some groceries to stack the fridge today. I want breakfast in the morning.”

Louis takes out a packet of what looks like Maltesers and a packet of flavoured potato chips. He throws them onto the mattress next to Niall. Then, he takes out something else, wrapped in brown paper. He unwraps it slightly and Zayn moves closer against the window, trying to see properly. Louis’ object is rounded, made out of glass with something like a circular base. He shakes it once and something white floats around in the glass. It’s a snow globe. Louis smiles fondly at it, then wraps it back up and carefully places it back into his bag.

His attention turns back to Niall and he shrugs, “Oh well, gives me a chance to see which place in this town has good breakfast’s, doesn’t it?” He says, then crawls back onto the mattress. “I really hope someone has good waffles, though.”

They end up watching the movie, Zayn ends up watching it, too. It goes on for about two hours, and Zayn finds himself getting tired, almost forgetting to keep himself hovering. His eyes droop a little and Zayn has to blink awake.

He figures that Louis and Niall will be tired, too, which means Louis will be sleeping soon. Which means he won’t be speaking—which means Zayn won’t have his voice in his head.

Zayn flies up to the roof, settling down on top of the tiles, closing his eyes, ready to earn some shut-eye.

“You ready for bed?” Louis asks Niall. It’s not loud in Zayn’s head, it’s soft, sleepy. “Alright, let me just brush my teeth.”

It’s almost nice having him speak—comforting.  He won’t be lonely anymore, at least.

A few minutes pass, then, “Goodnight, Niall.”

Zayn settles, letting the faint glow of the moon and the stars fade over his eyelids.

.

He awakes earlier than normal. The sun has hardly risen yet, the town only half-awake. It’s breakfast time. Which is, oddly, the first thought that comes to mind.

He blinks once or twice, then flies slowly down until he reaches Louis’ window. Both still asleep, a blanket covering them, their legs flopping out and their heads buried into their pillows. Louis’ mouth is slightly open, still in a deep sleep, and would be impossible to wake.

Zayn feels like going for a shop.

The local supermarket runs twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, to which Zayn had no idea. He strolls in and isn’t surprised to see it completely empty, besides one or two workers walking around, unpacking their stock.

He grabs a red basket from the entry and makes sure that nobody sees him. He walks down the first isle, where everything is in fridges. He picks out a carton of ice-cream, ‘only the best!’ it says, and Zayn thinks that’s good enough. In the second isle, there’s a selection of blueberries, blackberries and strawberries. He doesn’t know what to pick so he picks them all, and puts them in the basket. In the fourth or fifth isle, that’s where he finds the packet of waffles, a packet of six. He then picks out a bottle of maple syrup and a bottle of golden syrup, not knowing what people prefer these days.

Looking down at the basket, he realises he’ll need something to carry it all in when he exits the store. Because, yes, he has common knowledge of how supermarkets work, he’s observed humans long enough to know that they unpack their groceries from plastic bags instead of these baskets.  

Luckily enough, he finds a vine-made holder with a big, blue bow on it, and he can’t help but think that the blue looks like Louis’ eyes. He transfers all the contents into the other basket and places the original one back to where he got it from.

He returns back home by the time the sun has appeared completely. He walks down the hallway of the second floor and stops until he’s at the correct door. He places the basket in front of the door and turns to leave.

He pauses, knowing that something is missing. He flies into another residents room, one that he knows has paper and pencils everywhere. He takes a slip of paper from a notepad and scribbles down a few words, then folds it, and flies back to Louis’ room. He slips the paper beneath the bow, and then returns back to the roof, waiting.

.

 “Niall! We’ve gotten a gift!”

Zayn’s eyes fly open from where he was sleeping. He’s down at the window in a second.

“What?” Niall asks from the mattress, just woken up. Louis’ at the door, bending down to collect the note.

Zayn can only just see from the window to the doorway of Louis’ room to the front door. He watches as Louis reads it, his lips curl into a smile and Zayn feels something flutter inside him.

“Aw,” Louis says, still looking at the note, “it’s from one of our neighbours.”

“Who?”

“It...” Louis frowns a little, and turns the paper around, trying to look for a name, “it doesn’t say. All it says is, ‘for you’ on the outside and ‘from one neighbour to another, enjoy’ on the inside.”

“Ooh,” Niall says, getting up from the mattress, “what’s in the basket?”

“Breakfast.” Louis says with a grin, looking at Niall. He looks towards the window, as something—someone—catches his eye and frowns again. Zayn’s eyes widen and he flies up towards the roof. “What the hell?” Louis questions, almost inaudible.

“...What?”

“Nothing, just thought I saw—nah, never mind. Let’s get these waffles on the way!”

Zayn breathes heavily, hand on his chest.

.

A big truck pulls into the car park when the sun’s in the middle of the sky. Zayn flies down to where it’s decided to park and sees two men exit the vehicle, both in a brownish uniform.

“You go up and tell him that we’re here, I’ll start unloading his things.” One of them says, the older, stockier one.

The other boy, around Louis’ age, Zayn thinks, nods once and makes his way up into the apartment.

Zayn’s torn between following the taller guy or watching as the other one unloads Louis’ things, making sure he does it with care. He watches the younger one as he walks into the lobby and disappears behind sliding doors, but he doesn’t look threatening, or mean. Besides, he can always hear Louis in his head if something goes wrong.

And ever since Louis spotted him at the window earlier today, Zayn’s been feeling emotions that aren’t his own again. He only has to guess once to know who they belong to.

The back door of the truck is pushed upwards, revealing a long, grey room filled with furniture and closed cardboard boxes.

“I don’t know, maybe it’s the neighbour who gave us the basket.” Louis’ voice says.

Zayn stops paying attention to the way this worker is handling everything and concentrates on the noise inside his head.

“Oh! Hello.” Something warm swims around in Zayn’s belly, something like excitement and...attraction? “Great, thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”

The worker unloads a box, putting it next to the three other boxes he’s already taken out. Zayn wants to help, make it ten times easier and just fly up into Louis’ room instead of having these two men carry everything up two flights of stairs. But, of course, he can’t imagine that seeing objects flying around by their own would go too well with humans.

He hears a soft, almost whispered, “Oh, my god, Niall.” In his head, followed by a, “Did you see him?”

Zayn’s fists automatically clench and anger stirs in his stomach. That emotion was definitely his own.

The boy that went into Louis’ room finally comes out and Zayn walks beside him to get a good look while he tries his best to ignore Louis’ obvious cooing in his head.

He’s got long hair like Louis, but long enough that it’s put into a small bun. He’s a little bit taller than Zayn and he hates him for it. He’s as pale as anything, with weird coloured eyes, and has now rolled up his t-shirt sleeves, showing off his arms and tattoos that cover them.

Zayn rolls his eyes.

“Why do you look so giddy, huh?” The older one asks his partner, smiling at him. “Has Harry got himself a crush?”

“Shut up, man. He’s coming down soon.”

Zayn flies up to the roof and stays there as he watches Louis and Niall leave the apartment, he watches how Louis sneaks a look at Harry every chance he can, watches at how Harry does it back. Then he lies down onto the roof and tries his best to sleep, despite the sun, and tries to rid himself of that stirring fury within him—trying to replace it with Louis’ happiness instead.

.

An hour passes and it’s possibly the most annoying hour Zayn’s ever had to sit through. His head filling with Louis’ voice, flirting and laughing at things that probably aren’t funny at all—his body filling with things that he shouldn’t be feeling at all, something that sits uneasy within him.

He’s even too scared to look into the window again, afraid that Louis will spot him.

“Alright, I’ll walk you out.” Louis says suddenly. Zayn pays attention to that, hopes it’s Harry that’s leaving. “Thanks for all your work, guys. I won’t be a minute.”

The sun is beaming bright, the clouds almost vanished from the sky. It’s only in summer you’d ever see weather like this in England, but Zayn wonders why it’s never been this sunny since his death.

“Yeah, I reckon I might see him again, actually.” Louis’ saying, “He’s a bit of a cute one, isn’t he? Maybe the other one can be for you.” Laughter. “Ow! Okay, no. But don’t worry, I’ll find you a nice lady down here so you just have to keep visiting me.”

Zayn sits at the edge of the roof, on the corner of where the lobby’s entrance is, and where the car park is located. He hangs his legs off of the roof, dangling and swaying them in the wind. Louis and Niall exit the building, and Niall shoves at Louis’ shoulder, earning a growl from Zayn at the rough contact.

“You should invite him to stay the night, he’s so keen I reckon he would.” Niall tells Louis. Zayn reckons Niall should shut up.

“Yeah, maybe. That’s a bit desperate, though, isn’t it?”

Niall shakes his head. “Nah, he’s probably been fantasising about sleeping in that bed with you ever since you helped him put it in your room, anyway.” Niall laughs and this time Louis shoves at his shoulder. Zayn looks around the roof, wishes there was something he could throw at Niall’s head.

“I dunno, maybe I’ll call him later.” Louis says. “Depends whether I’ll be sleeping on my own tonight or not.” They reach Niall’s car. “Which reminds me, thank you, mate, for staying with me. Means a lot.”

“Don’t worry about it, you would’ve done the same for me.” Niall says, unlocking his car. “Besides, it was pretty fun.”

“Yeah,” Louis smiles. “Well, I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“’Course, Lou.”

They hug and Niall puts his head in the crook where Louis’ neck and shoulder meet. Zayn doesn’t feel anger at all, doesn’t feel jealousy or anything at their show of affection. Instead he looks on and finds himself feeling happy at the comfort it gives Louis.

Louis eventually waves Niall off as Niall’s car reverses out of the drive-way of the car park and Louis doesn’t stop waving until Niall disappears down the street. Zayn continues to watch as Louis heaves out a deep breath, placing his hands on his hips. He tilts his head up at the sky, probably soaking up all the sun.

He turns around then and glances up at the sky, still. He pauses for a few seconds, then brings a hand up to his forehead and Zayn can see him squinting.

“Hi!” Louis says, and waves.

It takes a moment before Zayn realises he’s waving at him.

Zayn’s breathing quickens. It slows down the slightest bit when he remembers that humans don’t have the sight that ghosts do. Louis’ probably looking up at a pair of feet and tiny figure up on the roof.

So, Zayn waves back.

“Do you live in here?” Louis asks. He’s shouting and Zayn wants to tell him that he really doesn’t need to, that he can already hear him clear as day inside his head.

Zayn hesitates for a moment, then nods, but realises that Louis probably couldn’t track that movement. So, he clears his throat. “Yeah.” He calls back.

Louis stands there for a moment, just looking up at Zayn. Zayn immediately feels hot on his cheeks from the interaction. Then Louis nods, and says, “Okay, well, I’ll see you around, then.”

Zayn doesn’t know what else to say so he just waves again, watching as Louis starts to walk back into the building. He relaxes and lets out a breath when Louis disappears.

He lies down on the roof tiles and, for the first time in a long time, feels the sun against his skin. He falls in love with it and is too relaxed to even wonder why.

.

It’s two-thirty when the movers finally leave. Zayn knows this, because someone must have asked what the time was, in which Louis responded with, “It’s two-thirty.”

He misses half the conversation, but the summary is that Harry and Louis are planning on meeting up after today. It’s innocent, from what Zayn’s hearing on Louis’ perspective, but Zayn’s very sure of what this Harry guy’s intentions are. Same with what that waiter, Aiden’s, were.

Zayn quickly realises that he’ll really have to get a hold of his negative emotions whenever someone shows an interest in Louis. He has a feeling that there are going to be a lot more boys to come.

The apartment is silent, as well as Zayn’s head. He decides not to peek in on Louis, decides that Louis deserves that much, doesn’t deserve someone invading his privacy while he’s alone.

Though, when the sun sets and the moon starts to rise, Zayn’s thoughts fill of nothing but Louis. He remembers how close he got to him from down at the car, remembers the colour of Louis’ skin, his hair, his eyes, his lips. Remembers how he smiled, remembers his face when he was frightened.

It itches at him like bee sting, craving, craving, craving to be scratched, to be paid attention. It’s like he’s wide awake in the darkest hours and the only thing that’ll keep him from staying awake is getting what his mind wants.

He flies down softly until he reaches the window, the debate in his head finally giving in. The curtains are drawn but they’re faint, and Zayn can see through them, see all the lights are off and Louis in bed. The room looks nice from where he can see, all the furniture in place, looking like a real home.

And if Louis’ asleep, then there’s no real chance that he’d be able to spot Zayn, is there?

Zayn takes his chance and holds his breath, moving through the wall safely and releases once his feet reach the floor. It’s much clearer without the curtain in the way. The bed is up against the right wall, with two bedside tables on either side, one with a lamp, the other with nothing but the snow globe. He looks out passed Louis’ bedroom, sees the kitchen filled with appliances and the lounge room with a small television and a two-seater couch. There’s a bookshelf next to the front door but it’s not filled. It doesn’t have anything on it, really. About three books in total, plus a few CD’s and a couple of DVD’s. Zayn stands on his tip-toes and notices the bottom rack stacked with video games.

He turns back to Louis, completely unaware of anything except for the dreams inside his head. He’s on the left side of the bed, closest to Zayn and the doorway. Zayn steps closer, just a glance, he tells himself.

A few more steps and he’s at Louis’ bedside. Louis’ head is turned the opposite direction though, away from Zayn. He admires Louis’ neck, the delicateness of his hands and wrists that peek out from underneath his covers. The blue light of the moon washes in through the window, casting over Louis’ bed sheets and his face, creating light against the shadows.

Zayn leans over the bed, just enough to see Louis’ profile, looking dark and wonderful all the same.

Louis makes a sound and frowns, then starts to move, groaning and starting to stretch out. Zayn flinches, taken aback.

He accidently bumps into the bedside table behind him. He curses under his breath and doesn’t lose it until he hears the sound of something breaking, smashing against the harshness of the wooden floor.

He looks down and his stomach drops when he sees the snow globe—the one that Louis had packed in a separate bag, the one that was wrapped up in brown paper, the one that Louis smiled at when he shook it.

“What the fuck?” Louis mumbles, voice thick with sleep.

Zayn immediately flies out the window without a sound, without a struggle.

He stays there in time to see Louis turn the lamp on, look down over his bed, and glance down at his broken snow globe. The one that Zayn broke. Zayn watches as Louis’ face drops, saddened and confused all the same. He collects the broken pieces and holds them in his hands for a few seconds before he opens the drawer of his bedside table and puts the pieces in there.

Zayn flies up to the roof, he stays there for a while until he can’t. He flies until he reaches the hill again. From there, he lands down onto it and forces himself to walk to the apartment back on his own, without flying. He doesn’t deserve to watch Louis, doesn’t deserve to sit on his roof. He drops his eyes to his shoes as he walks, hands in pockets, guilt in his stomach, and vows to not return until the sun rises again.

.

He’s not greeted with the sun the next day. It’s gloomy and filled with rain, pouring over him but not really, hitting his skin but not so he can feel it, the raindrops sliding off him like he were made of glass, not skin.

Zayn knows it’s Louis’ first day of work, he had heard Louis talking to the mirror as he was getting ready for work. He was talking to himself, prepping himself up and telling him that he’ll be great. He doesn’t need to do that, Zayn thinks.

Zayn’s been lying on the rooftop since the early AM, since he walked back home. And when he was awoken by Louis’ words, he at first refused to listen—blocking his ears, making nonsense noises over the top—but nothing worked. He tilted his head, tapped the other side like you do when you get water in your ears, but nothing happened, the words didn’t spill out like waves, didn’t empty his mind.

And he’s quickly become aware of how Louis likes to talk when nobody else is around.

“Alright,” He says, softly, “since my stupid accident last night I’ve gotta get... glitter... glue—uh, wait, no, super glue, yeah. Uh... that should be it, shouldn’t it? Let’s just check...Yep, should be all.”

Zayn bites his lip. Louis thinks the broken snow globe is his own fault.

He wonders why he didn’t feel that emotion in his own body. Maybe they’re not as connected as Zayn thought.

He slowly hovers down near the window, peeking through behind the brick.

Louis’ finished scribbling down shopping items on a piece of small paper and sticks it on the fridge with a magnet. He puts his hands on his hips and then nods once, getting himself ready. He throws on his jacket and wraps a scarf around his neck. He then picks up a coffee—or tea—that he must have made when he got up, and throws on his bag full of the things he needs for the day.

Then he exits the flat, and Zayn remains where he is.

He waits until he’s out of sight and ignores the pain in his chest, his stomach, his veins. It doesn’t feel like anxiousness anymore, it’s like something tearing him apart, stretching every fibre of his body. But he stays put, refuses to meddle with Louis’ life anymore. Instead, he vows to fix it, fix what he’s already broken.

He flies in through the window and heads straight towards the list on the fridge and folds it to put in the pocket of his jeans, then flies out of the flat without peeking at anything else.

.

He’s become more familiar with the town now, since the first night Louis arrived, to the second day when Zayn went grocery shopping. He still has to walk a strip to find the closest arts and crafts store, but once he finally does, he’s careful not to accidently hit the bell when he flies through the door like he had done at the Chinese restaurant.

Smaller stores are harder to steal from, he decides. There’s nobody in the store except for an older lady behind the counter, who’s reading the newspaper, her glasses slowly slipping off her nose. There’s light music coming from the speakers, but if Zayn makes any sudden sound or movement in front of this lady’s eyes, it could possibly send her into shock, and create controversy across the entire world.

He carefully unravels Louis’ shopping list with the two items he wrote down and glances at the first dot point. Glitter. He searches though the aisles, making sure not to knock anything mistakenly, and finally finds a collection of different colours and patterns of glitter that he can choose from. Zayn wishes this stuff was affordable while he was alive, he would’ve gone crazy over this with all his artworks.

Louis’ voice still echoes in his head, his cheerful words as he introduces himself to everyone, saying yes to different jobs and making sounds in his mouth to tell the person that he understands everything.

He picks a white and silver glitter, knowing that’s exactly the two colours that shook and fell inside Louis’ snow globe. He finds the superglue seconds later and shoves them both underneath his top, knowing that they would turn invisible, too.

.

Sitting on the floor with glass at his fingertips and glitter all over himself is definitely not something that he has ever pictured himself doing. Luckily, only one half of the globe was broken off and the glass that was shattered are big pieces, easier to glue.

He’s already poured the glitter into the bottom of it, making it look like snow. There’s a miniature tree inside, with a small red car that is half covered when the ‘snow’ surrounds it. Zayn inspects it closer and sees two miniature figures, two small boys, sitting against the tree covered in snow gear with smiles on their faces, cheeks slightly red from the cold.

“Hello, everyone! I’m Mr Tomlinson, your new teacher for the year, how’s everyone doing?”

Zayn smiles, he’s started teaching his first class.

Louis’ voice fills his mind again, and Zayn uses it as music to occupy him throughout his task.

“I’m gonna be absolutely honest with you all, I’ll probably forget all of your names by tonight and end up giving you all nicknames instead.”

Zayn waits until another piece of glass has dried against the glue, waiting for it to turn completely clear before he starts on another piece.

“Now, for today, I was thinking that we do some light warm-up games  to start off with, you know? Like, something to get us all comfortable, ‘cause I can see some of you being a little shy, I see you.” Louis laughs, and it sends something fuzzy in Zayn’s stomach, making him forget about the endless strain within him for a second. “This is drama class, you know what I mean? We can’t have you afraid to speak out. By the end of this lesson I want you all to be so annoying that I have to bring in a whistle just to make you all shut up.”

Another piece dries and Zayn places the glue around the edges of the last shard. His hand begins to shake as he brings it up to the globe, if he accidently drops it in, they’ll be no way to get it out. It’s like a pick falling into the mouth of a guitar, but the mouth is shut—unable to open any further. He concentrates hard, and decides a new method after Zayn drops the piece on the floor suddenly.

He puts it on the wooden floor, away from all the glittery mess, and spreads the glue of where the piece is meant to go instead of the other way around. He lies on the floor, getting closer to the shard of glass and rolls the snow globe perfectly so that the gap meets the puzzle piece exactly.

“Alright, stubble boy and blondie, come over here. Okay, I want you to act out a scene for me. Blondie, you’re a flight attendant and Stubble Boy over here is the shittest passenger you’ve ever had to deal with and you end up having an argument. But, each sentence has to rhyme. Okay, action.”

Zayn stares at it in anticipation, but makes sure not to hold his breath, when the glue completely turns to clear. He brings it up slowly from the floor—the glass within it stays where it’s supposed to and Zayn sighs in relief. He swipes his hand over it a few times, making sure, and smiles to himself as he admires the final result.

Despite the pain throughout his entire body and soul, he feels happy and worth something when he looks at the mended snow globe.

It looks untouched, like it was never smashed on the floor, thanks to him. He places it back to its rightful spot on top of Louis’ bedside table, making sure it’s more in the middle instead of the side where it’d be prone to falling again.

“Good! Good! That’s exactly what I want to hear.” Louis’ voice says, pleased. “Now, we only have fifteen minutes left, so what do you guys want to do?”

Zayn wonders when he’ll get to talk to Louis. He wants to see him close up how he speaks with his mouth, lips forming each word as he pronounces it, his eyes and facial expressions changing animatedly, depending on the mood he’s in. He wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to see Louis talk passionately about something, see his eyes light up and his mouth talking at a million miles per minute. Zayn wonders whether he’ll get any of that, or if he’ll have to settle listening to conversations that don’t involve him.

He must have been sitting there for a while, since, apparently, according to Louis, it’s been fifteen minutes already.

“Okay, guys! Good work today. We’ll be here again tomorrow, as far as I’m aware?” Louis asks the class. “Yeah, tomorrow. Sick. I’ll see you all later, then. Bye!”

Zayn glances on the digital clock on the opposite bedside table, reading the green, illuminated numbers that read 12:09. He knows that a normal school day ends at around three, so Zayn’s got a while until Louis’ finished for the day. He decides to clean up any traces that he was here.

He starts to collect the bits of glitter all spread out over the floorboards, putting them into his cupped hand.

“You think so? Yeah, I mean, they’re great kids to work with, I think it’ll go really well.”

Zayn smiles, picking  up each trace of glitter, it warms him to know that Louis’ enjoying it.

“What, now? But it’s only twelve?” Louis asks, confused. Zayn wants to know who he’s talking to. “Well, you’ve got a point there, actually. I might as well, shouldn’t I? Thank you, Mr Payne.” Louis stops talking for a second and Zayn finds himself narrowing his eyes at the male pronoun. “Oh, we’re on first name basis now, are we? Well, I’ll see you again tomorrow, then, Liam.” He purposely extenuates the name and Zayn’s chest sort of restricts. It doesn’t seem that strong over all the other pain, though.

.

Zayn’s waiting on top of the rooftop when he spots Louis turning into the street. Immediately, he feels at ease. All sense of pain dispersed, calm. He watches Louis carefully, pushing down any urge to fly down, protect him, pick him up—even, and carry him all the way into his apartment since he knows what a day he’s had.

Instead, Zayn moves around so he’s completely out of Louis’ vision, as the only thing he’d see if he looked up was maybe a dark head of hair, forehead and a pair of eyes. But then Zayn realises again that his sight isn’t anywhere near as strong as Zayn’s.

A car drives down the other direction, driving towards Louis. Zayn picks his head up unintentionally and his body sets into an alarmed state, ready to react when needed. Though, the car passes peacefully, and Louis continues walking. Zayn settles back down into his original position.

He walks into the apartment’s lobby and Zayn flies down to Louis’ window. He waits until Louis walks in, then watches as Louis drops his bag to the floor, takes off his jacket, and turns the kettle on. He undoes a few buttons on his shirt and enters the bedroom, Zayn swallows harshly; not preparing for him to get undressed.

But then Louis glances at his bedside table. He returns his attention back to his shirt for a moment, frowns, and then looks back, like a second take. He looks scared at first, inspecting the snow globe with astonishment. Then he picks it up hesitantly, turning it around, and brushes the globe with his fingers.

Zayn hopes he did a good job.

Louis, as though answering Zayn, smiles. He seems confused, but happy.

He looks around the room, probably trying to find traces of who has come and taken the time to fix it. Louis looks up at the window and almost catches Zayn, if it weren’t for Zayn’s excellent reflexes.

He’s up at the rooftop in a split second; it would’ve looked like a vague blur to Louis. Louis comes to the window anyway and opens it. He looks downwards, first, and turns his head both ways. Then he looks upwards and Zayn hides.

“Huh.” Louis says, then closes the window.

.

 “Zayn, you look terrible!”  She says, fingers delicately brushing back the hair from his forehead. “What happened, love?”

Zayn shrugs, he doesn’t say much, doesn’t want to stress her out. “Not a lot, mum. Just been one of those days.”

She sighs, Zayn knows she wants to ask questions, but she keeps silent because she knows better than to press any further. “Well, then, why don’t you have a lie down? You look tired, that’s all.”

He nods, and fixes a smile on his face just to make her worry less. He enters his bedroom and doesn’t bother changing out of his clothes, just flops down onto his bed and closes his eyes.

It’s hazy when he wakes up, everything grey and suffocating. The smell is undeniable, surrounding him without an escape. Smoke, smoke, smoke, everywhere. It smells like ash, like fire, like burnt everything—

Panic rushes through him like a jet, startling him awake at the memory, at the smell.

He can see grey, the first thing he can see when he wakes again, floating out from one of the apartment’s windows. Zayn doesn’t have time to react, doesn’t have time to widen his eyes or gasp or to think at all. He knows it’s a fire, and that’s all he needs to know.

He flies into the apartment immediately, getting to the kitchen and bypassing the smoke to smash open the fire extinguisher in the hallway. Zayn puts out the fire without a second thought at all—just solely focusing on the main issue, to put out the fire, the fire.

The smoke still lingers and the memory of it all makes him feel weak but he doesn’t stop. He grabs the nearest blanket and waves it, letting the wind that it creates direct the smoke out the window, until there’s only a small amount seeping out of the oven.

Zayn finally relaxes against the wall, closes his eyes and swallows, composing himself.

“You’re the—You’re in—You’re actually...” A pause. “Real?”

He opens his eyes and finds Louis standing there, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, towel clenched in his shaking hands. Zayn feels something inside him speed up—Louis' heart, maybe—and blinks a couple of times, again not knowing what to say at all.

“Holy fuck,” Louis breathes. He looks towards the window that Zayn flew in from, to the smoking oven, to Zayn again and his face looks as pale as it did the first time he saw him. “Get... get away from me.”

Zayn moves off the wall—a tiny movement—and Louis acts fast. He backs further away and grabs a chopping knife, aiming it at Zayn. Zayn holds up his hands in defence and hears Louis’ shaky breaths, sees his wobbling hands and knees.

“I won’t hurt you.” Zayn says calmly.

“Get out!” Louis screams and throws the knife.

Zayn holds his breath quickly so the knife passes through him, wedging firmly in the wall behind.

This seems to make things worse, apparently, because now Louis’ bracing himself against the counter, looking like he’s having a mid-life crisis, repeating the words “oh, my god” over and over again.

There’s not much else to do but follow Louis’ wishes, so Zayn leaves. He flies out the window and catches one last look at Louis, who hasn’t moved.

For the remainder of the night, he can hear Louis’ rambling voice in his head. Half the time, he can’t understand what Louis’ saying. It’s a jumble of words, a mixture of everything in one. He’s freaking out, that’s understandable, Zayn supposes. He can’t imagine what he’d be like if he saw a ghost while he was alive. He’d probably try and get to know him actually, that way he’d have a friend.

It’s about four in the morning when Louis finally crashes, letting the both of them sleep.

.

Zayn wakes up screaming in pain. He’s clutching at his stomach desperately, his eyes squeezed shut and teeth gritted together. It’s like a thousand—no, millions—of knives and claws attacking him at once. It’s like a burn, but then it turns into a cut, and then a sickness, and it changes every time Zayn tries to cope with it.

He already knows it’s because Louis’ gone. He can hear his voice in his head, talking to his room of students fine, getting them to do some improvisation and anything he feels like doing.

It should aggravate Zayn, it should make him so angry and frustrated that he should fly into Louis’ room right now and destroy everything in sight. Because why should Zayn feel like he’s being torn in half while Louis’ out there continuing life unaffected?

But he doesn’t feel aggravated, not at all. He’s tucked himself into a ball and the pain is excruciating, sure. But he can’t find it in himself to feel a touch of hatred towards the boy.

He doesn’t know why the pain is stronger than it was yesterday but he guesses it’s because they interacted. Right, Louis spoke to Zayn last night.

He remembers the pure shock horror written on Louis’ face, the way he held the knife in shaking hands, and then threw the knife without a second thought. Zayn doesn’t know what would’ve happened if he didn’t hold his breath to become see-through, he guesses it would’ve hurt a little though, having a knife buried into his chest.

Zayn hopes that Louis’ still thinking about it, doesn’t feel like it was some sort of illusion and that he’s going crazy. He hopes that Louis lures him out, calms down a little and trusts Zayn enough to know that he’s not going to hurt him.

“Fuck!” Zayn suddenly screams again, burying his teeth into his shoulder, clutching his middle tighter as a shock of pain shoots through him. It’s like it’s attacking his bloodstream now, infesting his insides. It reminds him of when he died.

He drops to his knees before he can walk any further. The beeping of the fire alarm is loud enough to cover up any form of screaming. He calls out to his mum, to his dad and to his three sisters. But he can hardly hear himself, can hardly scream loud enough as the smoke clogs up his entire throat and fills up his lungs. Then he drops to the ground, face buried amongst the ash-filled carpet. He’s coughing and the weakness of his entire body makes him close his eyes.

The pain is unbearable. He’s unable to stop the coughing, can feel the smoke enter him every time he does so. It’s like drowning, but there’s no surface like an ocean. It constricts him, everything. Tears start to form at the edges of his eyes, his hand weakly grasping at his chest, feeling his heart slow down remarkably despite his hysteria and terror.

He blinks his eyes open lazily in time to see a blurry sight of the door breaking in half, and men dressed in yellow with a hose barging into the burning house. Then everything fades to black as he inhales his last breath.

Zayn feels like he’s about to pass out from the pain. Louis needs to come home immediately, he doesn’t know how long he can cope with it before he shoots off and finds Louis himself.

“Okay, guys, I’ll see you all again tomorrow. Remember to practice what we learnt today!” Louis tells his class, dismissing them. Zayn breathes a sigh of relief, knowing that Louis’ done for the day and will finally return home.

But he groans loudly when he hears Louis presumably on the phone, to... “Harry! Hi,”

Zayn frowns. Harry? As in that mover Harry?

“Yeah, it’s Louis, how are ya?” He asks Harry, and he sounds nervous. “Listen, I was wondering whether you wanna do something today? I’ve just gotten off work, if you’re free?”

Zayn lets out an even louder groan and rolls his eyes in frustration. He already knows Harry isn’t going to say no to that. Who would ever say no to Louis?

“Oh, great! Yeah, that sounds wonderful. Uh, I’ll text you the address of it, yeah? Perfect. See you then!”

Zayn shakes his head. “Fuck this.” He hisses, and then musters up all the strength he has left and shoots up into the sky. He’s wobbly at first, weak and disorientated, but he eventually straightens out and flies off into the clouds.

.

Harry’s house is average, to be fair. It’s small and cottage-like and definitely not Louis’ style. The furniture and decor and colour choices are completely different to Louis’ apartment, and far too tidy for Louis to feel at home. Zayn’s not entirely sure how he found Harry’s house, he just flew and flew and followed the direction in which he felt more and more comfortable. He thinks he and Louis may have some sort of magnetic connection, or something.

“So, this is me.” Harry says as they pull up to his drive-way.

Zayn finds a desk somewhere in Harry’s lounge room and flies swiftly behind it, crouching down so he doesn’t get seen.

“This is a nice place.” Louis says. There’s something off in his voice. Zayn thinks he’s lying.

“Thanks!” Harry says sincerely.

“He didn’t mean that, idiot. It’s called being polite.” Another voice says, neither Harry or Louis. “Pretty boy’s just being polite.”

Nobody replies to the third voice. Zayn frowns.

“So, uh,” Harry says to Louis, jiggling the keys into the lock at the front door. He swings it open and lets Louis enter first. “Would you like something to drink?”

“Yeah, some vodka would be swell, babe.” The third voice says again. Zayn picks his head up from the desk curiously and peeps a little more over it, just in time to see somebody fly in above Louis and Harry’s heads.

Fly.

He flew. Zayn’s mouth gapes open, watching as the ghost takes a seat on the couch casually after brushing Harry’s hair with his hand. Harry doesn’t react, only pulls a face, something like annoyance, and turns his attention back to Louis.

Louis’ looking at the now empty air, obviously feeling the gust of wind that previously flew above him. “Uh, I think I’m good, thanks. Not that thirsty.”

Zayn can’t believe his eyes. There’s a ghost sitting on Harry’s couch, a ghost that Harry has obviously seen before and has had to put up with him for some time, and he’s not freaking out at all. It’s like this ghost is a normal person, something that Harry’s able to comprehend and accept.

Zayn wants to talk to this ghost, wants to know his secret.

“So, um.” Harry leans his hip against the counter in his kitchen and licks his lips as he looks at Louis. Zayn looks at Louis, too. He’s looking at Harry like he wants to devour him. Something odd happens to Zayn’s stomach then, like it’s escaped his body somehow, dropped. “Did you want me to give you a tour?” Harry asks, then laughs a little, “There’s not much to see but I want to show you something.”

“Yeah, your penis!” The ghost calls out. Zayn snorts at that. “Dirty boy.”

Louis turns, confused, at the sound Zayn made and Zayn quickly ducks behind the desk again.

“Sounds good.” Louis tells Harry. And they leave the room.

Zayn waits until he can’t hear footsteps anymore and he stands up, stretches out his legs. He almost jumps when he catches the ghost’s eyes, locking with his own.

He’s looking at Zayn sceptically and blinks a few times, arms crossed loosely over his chest. “Why are you hiding like that?” The ghost asks.

“Uh, I...” Zayn clears his throat and feels hot underneath the ghost’s suspicious eyes. “I didn’t want Louis to see me?”

“Is that a question?” The ghost shoots back.

Zayn sort of stumbles backwards and bumps into the wall behind him. “Well—no. No, it isn’t.” 

“Right, well.” The ghost flies speedily until he’s in front of Zayn in a flash, holding out his hand. “I’m Nick.”

He wipes his suddenly clammy hand vaguely on his pants and holds Nick’s hand with his own, giving it a firm shake. “I’m Zayn.”

“Pleasure to meet you, love! So, you’ve imprinted on Louis, then?”

Taken aback, Zayn flinches away from Nick, pulling his hand away from their only contact. “What?”

Nick grins, “Never heard that term before, huh? And how long has it been since you’ve died?”

“I—I died two hundred years ago. Why?”

Nick’s eyes blow wide, an impressive whistle escapes his mouth. “Wow. You’re ancient, aren’t you?”

Zayn frowns, and doesn’t know whether he should be hurt by that or not. “Well, what about you, then?”

“I died a year ago, today, actually.” He says, and brushes the fact away. He looks Zayn up and down, “Hm, come to think about it, I should’ve known about your D.O.D, considering your outfit and all.”

“What about my outfit?” Zayn asks, glancing down at himself.

“Well, for a start, you’re about twenty something,” He braces a hand around his mouth and leans into Zayn, like he’s whispering even though nobody’s around, “in human years, of course. You’d be, like eight-two, or something, right?”

This time, it’s Zayn’s eyes that blow wide. “Well I definitely don’t feel that old!”

Nick throws his head back and laughs, “Relax, you’re not. That’s just, like, a technical age, you know? Anyway, back to your outfit.” He steps back and his eyes roam over Zayn’s clothes, ”Look at you, you’ve got a suit jacket on and high-pants with suspenders that make you look like you’re about forty-five. Though, to be fair, quite a lot of this stuff has come back into style.” Nick tells him, fiddling with whatever piece of fabric that Zayn’s wearing without asking, inspecting it closely. He stops suddenly, his eyes focusing on something else other than Zayn’s attire, concentrating hard on something going on in his head. He makes a gasping sound and frowns, “That little fucker.”

“Wha—“

“C’mon.” Nick tells him, and grabs Zayn’s wrist. He starts flying upwards and Zayn only has minimum time to react and hold his breath in order to successfully fly through the roof smoothly.

Nick leads him, hand on his own, until they’re at a certain part of the roof. Zayn can hear Louis release sounds of awe as he dishes out compliments and Zayn starts to grow impatient—wants to know what Louis’ talking about, what he’s getting up to with Harry. He’s not sure if he likes Nick yet, but right now he’d rather not be on a roof where he can’t see Louis at all.

“Yeah, this, uh... view is great, Nick. But I sorta wanted to—“

“Sh.” Nick shuts him up abruptly, placing a finger to Zayn’s lips. “Watch the roof.”

And on cue, the roof starts to move. It’s the only flat part of the whole structure and as Zayn and Nick sit and sort of hover over the pointy parts of the tiled roof, they watch on as the flat part splits down the centre, beginning to separate. Zayn gapes when he sees how underneath the tiles, there’s nothing but see-through glass, showing them Harry’s entire room. Plus, Harry and Louis that are both looking upwards—Harry with a smug smile, Louis with an open mouth and big eyes.

“Honestly, you’d think this trick would get old by now, wouldn’t you?” Nick asks. Zayn’s too busy looking at the moving roof to respond. “Oh, god. Don’t tell me it’s working on you, too. Jesus Christ, it’s a bloody idiot magnet, isn’t it?”

Zayn blinks, then turns to glare at Nick. “Are you calling Louis an idiot?”

Nick only grins at him, “Knew that’d get your attention.” He looks back down at the couple and breathes out a dismayed sigh. “You know they’re gonna fuck, right?”

Zayn doesn’t know how to react. He’s pretty sure his face changes in a matter of point three seconds, changing from alarm to doubt to dejected, until he finally looks back to Nick who’s now got sympathy in his eyes.

“Thought I’d tell you now before they start doing it and you fly off your handle and kill my soulmate.” Nick explains to Zayn, quite seriously.

“Your soulmate?” Zayn almost spits, looking at Nick peculiarly, “If he were your soulmate, he wouldn’t be doing that with somebody else. Sorry to say.”

Nick laughs. It comes out sort of like a bark. He wonders whether Harry heard it. “Then why is Louis doing the exact same thing?”

Zayn rolls his eyes, “Because Louis isn’t my ‘soulmate’, maybe? If that even is a real thing.”

“Oh, but he is.” Nick says matter-of-factly. A smirk plays on his lips, “Sorry to say.”

Zayn pushes that thought to the back of his head. Well, tries to.  He looks down at Louis, now brushing his finger delicately up and down Harry’s arm. The word soulmate makes him cringe, makes him have a bitter taste in his mouth as he watches Louis flirt with somebody else.

But that’s why he feels like that, isn’t it? That’s why he feels anything, really. The emotions that aren’t his own, the burning fire when Louis talks to somebody else that isn’t him, the agitated feeling he gets when he’s suspicious that Louis may be in danger, the overwhelming desire to be with Louis at all times, the sickness he feels when he’s not, the reason why he hears Louis even when they’re miles apart—the word ‘soulmate’ makes him cringe, but it’s also the reason why he’s left the place of his death in two hundred years, the reason why he finally feels.

“What do we do about it, then?” Zayn asks, hardly audible, eyes not leaving Louis.

“Not much we can do, I’m afraid.” Nick tells him solemnly, “It’s solely up to them, they make the choice whether they want to be with us or not.”

Harry’s hands come up to hold Louis’ face, then their lips meet. Zayn swallows, “Great.”

.

They’re still on the roof, now on the other side of where Harry and Louis are. They decided to move as soon as the two started kissing—neither Nick or Zayn wanted to witness anything of the sort. Zayn may not be able to see, but hearing it clear as day isn’t any better.

He wants to distract himself, needs to, or else he’s pretty sure the anger creeping up into his veins will be enough to smash through that stupid glass and take Louis away.

“So, uh,” Zayn clears his throat as Nick absent-mindedly chews at his nails, inspecting them even though he’s dead. It’s funny, Zayn thinks, how things don’t change much even after you’re no longer living. “Harry’s comfortable with seeing you around, then?”

Nick shrugs, “He’s gotta be, doesn’t he? S’not like I’ll be going anywhere anytime soon.” He states, then looks up at Zayn and quirks a brow suspiciously, “Why? Is Louis not so keen on the idea of you?”

“Well...” Zayn sort of trails off. He runs a hand through his hair and smiles sort of sheepishly, “Not really. I mean, I think he knows I exist, but I think he’s mainly scared—“

“Holy shit.” Nick curses at him, mouth now hanging open, eyes wide, “You mean you haven’t even spoke?”

Zayn looks around, frowning a little. Well, they’ve definitely had conversations, but nothing pleasant. It’s impossible to have it any other way. “No? No, he’d run away. Definitely. I can’t just talk to him.”

“Sure you can!” Nick exclaims, throwing his hands up, “’Course you can! Do you think it didn’t scare the shit out of Harry at first? He’s moved houses twice ‘cause he thought it was haunted! But it’s not like I can help it, it hurts like hell when I try and leave, you know? And he’s aware of that now, so he lets me stay.”

Zayn looks down at his hands. He wishes he was that brave, just to introduce himself to Louis pleasantly, not afraid of the reaction he’ll get. He wishes he could just suck it up and be friends with Louis, make him aware that Zayn’s there, he’s dead but he’s alive, and he’s not scary at all. He’s like Casper the friendly ghost, but... Zayn.

“Don’t think Lou would be that understanding.” Zayn tells Nick. He doesn’t know when he started calling Louis, Lou, but it slipped out and it felt normal.

“Well, he better be soon,” Nick says, his tone warning, almost, “or else that won’t be good news for you, love.”

“What?” Zayn frowns, now alarmed, “What do you mean?”

“Shit, it’s lucky you found me, innit?” Nick lies down on top of the tiles, resting his head on his hands, and closing his eyes. Zayn waits patiently for Nick to continue, but it seems longer than necessary because now he can hear the sounds of Louis saying Harry’s name. “Don’t know what better way to tell you this then to just say it, yeah? So, uh, basically, if you and Louis, y’know, don’t interact on—let’s say—a daily basis, then, uh, then you’ll be, like, dead, for real.”

It takes a moment for it to properly register in Zayn’s mind. Dead? He’s quite sure he’s already dead. How could he possibly be more dead-like than a ghost?

“You’re not making any sense.”

Nick lets out a sigh. He opens his eyes and squints at the sun that’s beaming down, completely ignoring Zayn but shining all on Nick. He notices how Nick’s skin absorbs it and how Zayn’s skin deflects it.

“Think of it like a second—wait, no. Think of it like a life-line, yeah?” Nick says. Zayn nods slowly, trying to understand. “So, for two damn centuries you’ve been waiting around while you’ve probably watched your family die—“

“My, uh, family died with me.”

“Oh.” Nick blinks. “Well, are they ghosts, too, then?”

Zayn shakes his head, “They disappeared. I was the only one of them that was left on Earth, I think.”

“Right. So they were passed through to...wherever dead spirits get passed to, okay? But, you, you were given something like a second chance. Louis is your pathway to a second life.”

Zayn stays silent for a while. Nick’s completely serious. But Zayn can’t help but bark out a laugh anyway, startling Nick a little bit.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry, but,” Zayn places a hand on his chest, trying to recover, “you’re having me on, aren’t you?”

Nick cocks an eyebrow, “Not at all, love.” He pauses for a few seconds and Zayn can tell that Nick sees right passed Zayn, can see that he’s still not convinced. He shifts so he’s sitting now, sitting directly in front of Zayn. “Look, Louis’ noticed you before, right? How many times?”

“Uh, like, I think... twice?”

“And when he does, does anything change within you? Anything grow stronger, any out of body sensations? Tell me.”

Zayn’s eyes travel, thinking. He eventually nods. “I, like, I feel more—connected? To him, I mean. It’s weird, I don’t know. And I also feel things that I felt when I was human, like the sun and stuff. Haven’t felt that in a while, though.”

“Those are all normal, they’re signs, you know.” Nick tells him, “And your significant, what’s that?”

Zayn frowns again, “My what?”

“Your significant. Like, mine’s that I can read Harry’s mind,” Nick rolls his eyes dramatically, “fucking annoying, that is. And, uh, my friend Meg can close her eyes and see exactly what her soulmate is doing at that time. And yours?”

“Uh, I guess it’s, well, sometimes I can feel Louis’ emotions?”

Nick looks amused, “Well, that’s interesting. Yeah, that’ll get stronger. But, I’m telling you, Zayn. You gotta interact with the boy, yeah?”

Zayn shrugs, “I’ll try.”

Nick smiles at him, slaps his shoulder in encouragement, “Thatta boy,”

Things go silent after that. Well—as silent as things can be with Harry and Louis kissing and moaning in Zayn and Nick’s heads. They lie there together, facing up towards the sky and watching the sunrise. Zayn has about a billion questions to ask, but he feels like he’ll forget all the information he’s learnt today if he learns any more.

The sky looks like a mixture of orange’s, pink’s, red’s and purple’s and the sun is dipping behind a mountain, slightly covered by a thin sheet of clouds. Zayn starts to wonder when Harry will come to his senses and reciprocate Nick’s feelings finally. He wants Nick to be happy, Zayn decides. He also wonders whether he’ll see him again.

“Do you reckon we’ll meet again?” Zayn asks him, just as Louis cries out in his head.

Nick turns his head to face him, a small smile on his lips. “You know where I live, don’t you? I’m sure we’ll bump into each other.”

“Yeah,” Zayn smiles back, “Yeah.”

He closes his eyes and tries to find some calmness within him, but as soon as he does, Louis orgasms and it’s the loudest thing he’s ever heard. Zayn feels as though he might be sick.

.

Days pass and things continue to how they were. Louis goes to work, Zayn stays on his roof. He can’t bring himself to make another appearance, yet. He knows Louis will freak out like he did the night of the fire; he doesn’t want to experience that mixture of fear and shock again. That was too extreme, too much at once.

So, he cowardly hides behind the window, the roof, just listening to the conversations Louis has with everybody he meets. It’s amazing, really, how Zayn probably knows Louis better than anyone else just by hearing the way he interacts with everybody and the emotions that he feels.

Harry hasn’t come up into Louis’ life again since that night and neither seem affected by the lack of communication. Zayn especially feels overjoyed, not only because Louis’ body isn’t being touched by somebody else anymore but also because there’s a chance that Harry’s finally woken up and is happily with Nick now.

Although, because one boy is out, another boy comes into play, of course. His name’s Liam, Louis’ co-worker. He not only talks to him at every break they get, but also on the phone at night-time, the time where Louis seems to get his most irritable. Zayn finds him cautiously glancing out at the one particular window every now and then, and occupying himself with things to do, probably so he doesn’t think about Zayn’s face. Louis’ even cleaning, which, is definitely a good thing.

Then, one night, Louis dials someone’s number that doesn’t belong to Niall or Liam. It’s a Saturday night, and Louis’ finished all his paperwork for his classes and has done everything he thinks is possible. He’s drumming his fingers impatiently as the phone rings, waiting for the other person to pick up.

His eyes light up when someone replies. “Eleanor, hey! How are you?” He listens for a little bit, then speaks again. “Well, I’ve been feeling a bit of an Eleanor night, what do you say?” He grins at her response. “Oh, sick! Okay, I’ll see you soon.”

.

Zayn doesn’t know how long it’s been before a car pulls up into the drive-way, but the moon is almost in the centre of the sky. The car’s nice, looking quite expensive and black. Zayn flies down, inspecting it when the door opens. Eleanor, Zayn remembers, comes out of the car. She’s tall, her height mostly visible from her legs, and has brown, fluffy hair. Zayn follows her as she walks to the apartment block, judging her face and everything about her. She seems innocent enough, and Zayn doesn’t get any off feelings when he’s near her, so, she can stay.

When Louis lets her into the apartment, Zayn lingers at the window as Louis embraces Eleanor into a hug. They both seem excited to see each other, as though they haven’t met up in a long time. Louis asks her multiple questions at once, seeming like he’s only thinking up another bunch of questions during Eleanor’s answers, and not really paying attention to them. Eleanor picks up on something about Louis, Zayn can see it written on her face, but she doesn’t say anything about it.

They end up on the couch, popcorn between them with a glass of something alcoholic each, and a movie on. They’re mainly silent throughout the film, except for the few moments of commentating on what the character’s doing and who looks fit and what else they’ve seen that specific actor in.

When the movie finishes, Louis’ quick on his feet again, collecting empty bowls and glasses and returning them to the kitchen. It’s like he’s avoiding conversation, or something, and Zayn watches as Eleanor seems fed up by it.

“Come here.” She orders him, tapping at the spot next to her on the couch.

“Yeah, just a sec, I’ve just gotta—“

“Louis,” Eleanor stresses, looking at him sternly.

Louis conforms and sits back down, now biting at his nails. All she does is look at him for a moment, maybe waiting for Louis to crack and explain everything on his mind, but Louis stays silent, besides the nervous laughter.

Eleanor sighs, “Okay, what is it?” She asks, but gets no response from him.  “I’ve been waiting for you to tell me this whole time but it’s been, like, two hours and you haven’t said a word about your odd behaviour. What’s going on, Louis?”

Louis laughs. Eleanor looks unimpressed. “What do you mean? It hasn’t been that long, has it? This is what I’m always like, El, honestly. It’s like you hardly know me.”

He acts mock-offended, a hand on his heart as he gapes his mouth at her. She slaps his knee.

“Stop being childish.” She tells him, frowning a little. “Tell me.”

“It’s nothing, really, I’m just a little homesick—“ Louis stops mid-sentence when he locks eyes with Eleanor, who’s obviously not buying anything Louis’ selling right now. Louis lets out a huge, dramatic sigh and adjusts his position on the couch. He takes a while, but he eventually speaks again. “Before I say anything, you have to promise not to laugh or, like, send me into a mental institute or anything.” Louis laughs nervously again and Eleanor makes the motion of sealing her lips, then holds out her pinkie finger, letting Louis wrap his own around it.

“Okay, well,” Louis starts, voice not entirely stable, “I’ve been, like, ever since I moved here, I don’t know. I saw a boy...thing on top of Niall’s car, just, staring at me. And obviously I brushed it off because he—it, left straight away. But ever since, like, I’ve just been getting all these weird feelings like I’m not alone...but I’m not scared at all? It’s a strange—“ He cuts himself off, laughing again and he shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I don’t know what I’m talking about. I’m going crazy, aren’t I?”

Eleanor’s surprisingly quiet for a while. Her gaze is fixed on Louis’ face, like she’s trying to figure something out, speculating. She moves forwards and places a comforting hand on Louis’ shoulder, which makes Louis meet her eyes.

“Lou,” She says, voice soft, “you’re not going crazy but, you definitely do need to snap the fuck out of it before you do.” Zayn’s eyebrows rise at that, the curse word sounding abnormal for that to come out of such a delicate mouth. “If you over think it, it’ll only get worse. I’m saying this because I love you, okay? You also need to confront what’s bothering you, look it dead in the eye and figure it out. If it’s a ghost—“

“Ghosts aren’t real, Eleanor.”

Zayn feels it like a kick to the stomach. Interestingly enough, he watches as Louis places a hand over his own stomach.

“If it’s a ghost,” Eleanor repeats, ignoring Louis’ claim, “then talk to it. If you’re not scared, just a little suspicious, then what’s the harm in getting an Ouija board or something and figuring out what it wants?”

Zayn likes Eleanor. Zayn likes Eleanor a lot.

“You’re making this worse.” Louis pouts, wrapping his arms around himself, scared. “Since when did you get so spiritual, anyway?”

“My grandmother had the same issue and is now the happiest person alive since she spoke to whoever it was that was looking over her. It works, trust me.”

“You’re a weird, weird person.”

She scoffs at that. “Says the boy who spotted a ghost on top of a car.”

“Hey!” Louis frowns, shrugging Eleanor’s hand off his shoulder, “You said you wouldn’t judge, you mole.”

“I’m not, and I’m not saying it’s weird, either. I actually think it’s sort of cool.”

There’s a beat of silence after that. Something like a heart pounding fast is felt inside Zayn’s chest and Zayn’s sure it’s not his own.

Louis visibly swallows and looks up at Eleanor, his voice hesitant, quiet. “Do you wanna do an Ouija board with me, then?”

.

The room is filled with candles and every single light is off. The couch is pushed to the furthest side of the room and Eleanor and Louis sit in the middle of it, the board placed between them. It’s ridiculous, really, how humans assume this will automatically bring ghosts out of their hiding spot and communicate.

If only they knew they were here all the time.

Admittedly—more than Zayn would like to admit, actually—he’s scared too many teenagers to count while they try to summon ghosts with a board. It’s stupid, to be fair, when they freak out and get scared when the pallet moves, as though they weren’t just spending fifteen minutes anticipating anything. Zayn gets so much joy out of it.

But he doesn’t feel like messing around with Eleanor and Louis, not even for a laugh. He’s not even sure if he’ll show up or communicate at all, he already knows how that will go.

“Oh, my god.” Eleanor says after Louis’ ramble. “Keep your eyes on mine if you’re so bloody scared, then.”

 “I’m not fucking scared, alright?” Louis bites back, defensive.

Eleanor just rolls her eyes, “Fine, whatever. Okay, what’s your first question?”

“Uh, okay, are there any ghosts in this room?” He asks half-heartedly, clearly masking the fact that he’s shaking in his boots. He raises his eyebrows and looks around the room. “See? Nothing. Ghosts aren’t real, what did I tell you?”

“Shut up.” Eleanor tells him, “Of course he’s not going to come out right away. It could be shy.”

Zayn lingers at the window, his fingers involuntarily twitching at the thought of showing himself, flying into Louis’ apartment and just revealing that he exists, just to say, hello! Yes, I’m here, I’m real. But the consequences fly around in Zayn’s mind like a tornado.  

“You have to be more formal than that, listen,” Eleanor persists. Louis rolls his eyes as Eleanor clears her throat. “Good evening, ghost or ghosts, I am Eleanor and this is Louis,”

Louis leans into her. “They don’t care,” He whispers.

 “Sh.” She frowns at him, like a warning. Then returns to her summoning. “We were hoping, if you’d like, for you to speak with us.”

Zayn’s hands press up against the cold window softly, everything in him screaming to fly in. Nick’s words echo in his head, the danger if they don’t interact. Eleanor and Louis wait patiently.

Zayn flies in as soft as possible, nerves flowing through his entire body. He makes sure to not bring attention to himself, breathing as steadily as he can manage. When he reaches the board, he involuntarily holds his breath, making himself turn invisible completely, even to Louis eyes, he knows.

Because Louis’ looking around again, now, and makes no sign of spotting Zayn right next to him. He sighs loudly, giving up. “See? It’s not gonna wor—"

He hovers over the two of them and presses a finger to the palette, moving it slightly and always checking to see that Louis won’t notice. It’s helpful, anyway, since the second it moves, Louis freezes and squeezes his eyes shut.

Eleanor inhales a breath, smiling excitedly at the movement.

Zayn moves it so it’s over the YES. Louis still refuses to move and Eleanor exhales, almost with relief, nodding to herself and biting her lip, containing her enthusiasm.

“Incredible,” She breathes.

Louis swallows and Zayn can hear it. “That’s not funny, El.”

Eleanor ignores him. “Thank you, ghost. My next question is, are you good or evil?”

Louis lets out a petrified noise, eyes closing even more. “You didn’t tell me it could be evil.”

“Sorry, it never came up.”

Evil ghosts aren’t even a thing, Zayn’s pretty sure. Ghosts can’t even be evil—sure, they can be bitter like those old men you see, scolding at everyone. But they can’t do evil things, like possess somebody’s body or destroy a planet or anything. They’re just like people, mostly, besides the supernatural part.

Zayn moves the palette to G.

“What does it say?” Louis asks Eleanor, voice strained.

“He’s good. He’s a good spirit.” Eleanor’s grinning now, relief spilling over her. “Do you have a name, ghost?

“How the fuck are you so calm about this, honestly.”

Zayn makes the palette move until it reaches the Z, his finger millimetres away from Louis’. He then moves it to A—and then, of course, the one moment he decides to look away from Louis, is the moment that Louis’ eyes open.

Zayn’s the one that doesn’t move now, realising that he’s not holding his breath anymore, and he swallows in anticipation. He watches as Louis looks with alarm at the finger next to his own, then to Zayn’s arm, shoulder, face...

“HOLY FUCKING SHIT!”

Louis’ at the other side of the room in a split second, jumping backwards until he reaches the wall, sitting by it. His face has turned completely white, hair damp from the sweat that’s already been produced on his forehead. Zayn reacts as fast as Louis had done, flying behind the kitchen counter, away from Louis’ sight. He feels endless amounts of fear course through his veins, the adrenaline almost too much for him to handle, worse than anything he’s felt before, but not in a painful way. He crawls into a ball, his own feelings of guilt and shame filling him.

“I just felt him fly pass me.” Eleanor says in disbelief after a moment of nothing but heavy, hysterical breathing from Louis.

A second passes.

“Shut up!” Louis yells at her, voice cracking and startling Zayn. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

“Lou,” Eleanor replies, contrastingly calm, “What the—“

“How—how dare you be so fucking great about this! You don’t see him, you don’t see him!” His voice is worn out now, as though he were on the verge of tears. “This was your fault; this was all your fault. Now he’s in my apartment, he’s in my fucking kitchen for god’s sake!”

“Okay, I know this is extreme, I know.” Zayn hears her standing up, “But you need to breathe—“

“Fuck breathing! For all I know I could be dead soon because of this fucking zombie fucker!”

“He’s a good ghost, Louis. He won’t hurt you.” Eleanor tries, somewhat offended. Zayn feels like crying, too.

“What the fuck do you know?” Louis accuses, standing up to meet her. “What the fuck do you know, Eleanor? What, just because your grandma magically found a creepy ghost and made her feel on top of the world that’s just what every spirit in the world is like?”

There’s silence for a moment and Zayn is hurt in every part of him that can feel. Louis’ losing it, and he’s doing so because of him.

“Do you see him now?” Eleanor asks. Zayn huddles himself further against the counter.

“Do I see—What kind of question is that?”

“Do you?”

“I—No, I don’t. What’s your point?” Louis asks her, impolitely. His voice is shaky but not as bad as before.

“He’s scared.” Eleanor says. Probably in an attempt to make Louis aware that Zayn’s not about to plot Louis’ death in any way. It doesn’t work.

“He’s scared!” Louis shouts again, tone high, breaking. “Bullshit, bull-fucking-shit. He’s probably planning on ways to kill me in my sleep, right now, the haunted prick!”

Zayn suddenly can’t cope with being in the same room. Doesn’t want to hear Louis talk about him this way, even though Zayn knows he’ll hear it inevitably. He still flies out the window, though, as fast as he can, ignoring the gasps he earns at the sudden movement from both Louis and Eleanor.

He doesn’t know if Eleanor says anything else, but he does know that Louis doesn’t speak another word for the remainder of the night.

Zayn feels like utter shit. To put it blandly, he does. He feels worse than he does when Louis’ away from him. How could Louis think so terribly of him when he thinks of Louis as everything?

He lies down on the roof tiles and stares up at the moon—big, bright and bold—staring back at him, inviting him. Maybe Zayn should stop trying to interact; maybe it wasn’t meant to be. Surely other ghosts must have gone through the same experience as him, their ‘soulmates’ (pfft, what is that term, anyway?) not wanting them back. Surely, other ghosts like Zayn aren’t as lucky as other ghosts like Nick.

He turns over on his side, away from the moon.

There’s no harm in persisting, though, is there? If they’re destined to be together, time will only tell, won’t it?

Zayn closes his eyes. There’s no surprise his thoughts are filled with Louis.

He has two options, he concludes. One, he can ignore Louis, let him continue on with his life without Zayn, and Zayn can wait until the deadline, to which he will then fade and disappear into nonexistence. Or, option two, communicate and keep communicating until Louis surpasses this initial fright and starts to fall in love with him.

In his head, the second option seems so far-fetched that it’s almost not worth trying. But the first option... The first option leaves him feeling bitter, like that is a horrible choice, like if he chooses that—it’d be the end of the world.

He decides to let tomorrow figure it out for him, maybe after Louis’ had a night’s rest and after Zayn’s hurting calms.

.

The next morning, Zayn waits at the doors of the apartment block. He’s waiting until Louis appears, determined to change his mind.

Eleanor’s already left, did so early in the morning, which is what woke Zayn up. He heard the sounds of the electronic doors opening and it startled him awake, afraid that it could’ve been Louis. His mind’s made up, basically. He can’t even think about the other option, letting the both of them die—one metaphorically, the other literally—and all that he has to do now is make Louis believe in him, trust him.

Zayn leans against one of the street lights that face directly to the opening of the front doors of the apartment’s lobby. He’s looking down at his shoes when the doors open. Zayn’s head snaps up, unprepared. He breathes out a sigh when he hardly recognises the face of somebody else, a middle-aged man that moved in a couple of weeks ago.

He places his hands in the pockets of his old-fashioned trousers and waits. It should be around half passed seven now, and Louis usually leaves around this time, to get to the school in time for his class.

Then a few minutes pass and the doors finally open. Zayn doesn’t move, just looks at Louis and waits for Louis to notice him. Louis’ looking down at his shirt, his outfit, and then at his bag in which he flips over his shoulder. In that same movement, he looks up and his eyes lock onto Zayn’s.

It’s a completely different reaction than last night’s. Louis doesn’t flip out, doesn’t scream, doesn’t turn white or sweat. Instead, his eyes linger on Zayn’s for a few more seconds, swallows dryly, then eventually blinks, turning away.

“Not real, not real, not real. He’s not real, he’s not real.” Louis repeats, shaking his head slowly, beginning to walk down the footpath.

Zayn exhales another sigh and stops leaning against the street light pole, persisting to follow Louis, lingering behind him. He notices how Louis speeds up, walking faster. Zayn doesn’t bother matching his pace, instead remains walking leisurely behind him.

He feels, inside himself, Louis’ uneasiness. There’s confusion, too, because despite the constant queasiness in Louis’ stomach, due to a ghost following him, he’s not scared anymore. The fear that was there last night has completely disappeared.

Zayn keeps that in mind. He doesn’t let his hopes get the better of him, though, since this could be solely on the fact that Louis’ now in denial.

“He’s not real, he’s not real.” Louis repeats to himself, whispering. It’s loud in Zayn’s head. “He’s not real, he’s not real.”

“My name is Zayn, actually.” Zayn says, calmly.

Louis jumps at that, spinning around, eyes wide. “Stop following me!” He half-pleads, half-cries. He says it as though he’s been waiting for Zayn to say or do anything, this being his go-to response.

They’ve both stopped and they’re facing each other. Louis’ heart is beating fast; Zayn can feel it in his chest.

“I’m not.” Zayn tells him, smiling slightly. “I’m not real, remember?”

Louis lets out a shaky breath. He looks like he’s tossing up between killing Zayn and running away from him. He closes his mouth tightly and his jaw pulses, trying to keep his calm.

“If you weren’t already dead, I’d kill you.” He grits out, letting the words sting Zayn everywhere.

His eyes linger on Zayn’s for a few more seconds as he starts to back away from him. When he notices Zayn staying still, Louis turns around and walks speedily until eventually turning the corner.

Zayn lets out a huff of frustration and flies up angrily towards the roof. If he has to deal with the pain for now, he will.

.

The sun is warm on his skin—so, so warm. It’s strange to feel it, like the shield has, not entirely, but partially, vanished. He flies around a little; loving the way the wind brushes passed his face, lets his hair whip and how it slightly stings his eyes. He wants to fly up to the sun, close enough to touch. It feels incredible.

He’s been in hibernation for years, unable to feel anything. And to feel emotion, to feel the weather, to feel the way things brush against his skin is unbelievable. He wants Louis to come back now, he wants to fly over to Louis and hold him, and test the way Louis feels against Zayn’s body, watch how his shield disappears completely. He wants to feel human.

It’s almost been a full day. The sun is off-centre from the sky, meaning that it’s around one hour before Louis returns. Zayn’s veins rush with anticipation.

He uses the time—despite the excruciating pain he’s also had to deal with— to think about what to say to Louis. How to convince him, how to make him stop being so fucking scared.

It’s infuriating, really, because Zayn’s not scary at all. He can’t exactly say that to Louis, though, because Louis thinks Zayn’s nothing but scary. So, Zayn figures he’ll have to slowly coax himself into Louis’ life, appear everywhere he looks, make him used to Zayn’s presence. He wants to be able to have what Nick and Harry have—for Louis to look at Zayn and acknowledge him, not to be horrified but to be used to the idea that, oh, okay, Zayn’s here again.

He’d rather Louis become annoyed with Zayn’s antics than to be so petrified that he’d wish for Zayn to fade away from his life.

.

When Louis returns back home, Zayn lingers at the window for a few moments, watching. Louis looks terrible, if Zayn’s honest. Well, as terrible asLouis can look, really. He dumps his bag on the floor as soon as he enters his apartment, then walks lazily over to the couch, falling into it.

He looks emotionally, physically and psychologically drained, or distraught. Zayn wants to scream. Nick had told him, if they interact properly, it will be beneficial for them both, and Louis wouldn’t be feeling like this.

He flies in softly, careful not to wake Louis from his much needed nap. He walks over towards the bookcase and picks up one of the three books on it. It’s the only novel there, To Kill A Mockingbird, and Zayn wonders whether Louis’ actually read it. Zayn’s read it about twelve times in his life, a fair amount of time between each. He glances over towards Louis, so peacefully sleeping, mouth partly open, eyes shut.

Zayn returns the book to where he found it and looks at the others beside it. One is a bibliography, David Beckham: Fame, Football and Family,  and the other is a collection of short stories, 150 short bedtime stories, and Zayn can’t help but chuckle softly at that one.

“Why are you here?”

He looks at Louis, now awake, backed up in the furthest corner of the couch, timid, tired.

Zayn turns to him, “We need to talk, Louis.”

He prays with all his might that Louis will accept, let Zayn say what he needs to say and take it on board. Maybe even let Louis stay the night, or four. He prays that Louis will stay calm and treat Zayn right. He prays, but apparently God’s not listening. 

“Please get out.” Louis says, almost a whisper.

His knees are brought up to his chest, arms wrapped around it. He buries the lower half of his face in amongst his knees and looks at Zayn with wide, hesitant eyes. Zayn feels the need to obey Louis, to do everything he says. He also feels tears prick at the sides of his eyes, unsure whose they belong to.

“Louis—“ Zayn tries, but Louis interrupts him.

“No, Zayn!” He says, not having a bar of it. Zayn can see the tears on the sides of Louis’ eyes, too, making them shine. “You have to—you have to respect my privacy! You can’t come into my apartment, you can’t watch from the window, you can’t follow me everywhere I go! Do you understand that? Do you understand where I’m coming from?”

A tear rolls down his cheek and Louis wipes it on his knee, sniffing. Zayn feels his stomach drop, his knees weak and his heart destroyed. He made Louis cry.

Zayn understands Louis, of course he does. He does.

His eyes drop to the floor and he nods once, “Yes, Louis.”

“Okay, good.” Louis eventually says, voice broken. “Just...” He sniffs, “Just leave me alone from now on.”

.

Louis leaves that night, a packed suitcase trailing behind him as he meets a car in the drive-way. He greets the driver with a kiss on the cheek and disappears around the other side of the car, sitting in the passenger seat with his suitcase in the back. He leaves Zayn without a warning, choosing to live with somebody else.

Liam, his name is. The teacher that Louis works with, and is obviously fond of. Zayn’s heard their phone conversations, the way Liam makes Louis laugh and vice versa, probably. He also heard their conversation shortly after Zayn agreed to leave Louis alone. It consisted of something like a plea from Louis’ end, then an agreement. And Zayn had to remain lying on the tiles of the roof, unable to peak into Louis’ window to watch him pack his bag.

He did see Louis leave, though. And the pain comes as soon as the car turns around the corner.

Zayn lets out a shout of indescribable ache, clutching at his stomach, at his chest, at his limbs. It’s hurting everywhere now, not just in one part of his body, and it’s heightened. There’s more power behind it, like it’s tearing his insides to shreds, leaving it open and discarded. It’s also like this shouldn’t be for one soul, like it’s a paired endeavour.

When it reaches morning, Zayn hasn’t moved. He’s had to listen to Louis speaking to Liam, telling him how grateful and thankful he is for letting him stay for a couple of days—a couple of days, that made Zayn curl into himself—and it hurts him because Zayn would’ve let Louis stay forever.

When it reaches morning, the sun shines and Zayn can still feel it but it’s not enjoyable. He feels it but it’s like a thousand pricks to the skin, hurting him on the outside, whilst Louis’ distance destroys him from the inside.

When it reaches midday, the clouds roll over the sky, some white, some grey, some darker than grey. Zayn knows that it’ll rain, knows that he’ll get wet and cold, but he still doesn’t move.

The rain starts when the sun starts to set, coming down in light droplets at first, dropping on Zayn’s hair and body delicately, covering him like a sheet of rain. After a few minutes, the rain becomes heavier, pouring down from the black clouds and drenching Zayn’s body in less than a second.

He’s shivering and he’s hurting and it’s all a bit laughable, really. Because of one person, he’s possibly dying his second death right now. Nick did say they had to interact in order for Zayn to stay but he didn’t specify how. What if the chosen soulmate doesn’t want to talk to the ghost? What if he tells it to leave, never to speak again? Is there a deadline? Guidelines?

The unknown is scary but Zayn would rather he be dead. If he dies, Louis will be better off. He won’t be distraught, or terrified, or forced to leave his home. He’d be with Liam, a human, and he’d be able to live his life without Zayn with ease.

Zayn tries to sleep and his mind fills with blue eyes and a shaky, beautiful voice, telling him to get out.

.

By the third day, Zayn cries.

It’s not like he hasn’t experienced Louis with other guys. He’s watched it with his own eyes, Louis and Harry together. But somehow, this is worse. All he can hear is Louis kissing, moaning, saying Liam’s name.  He’s there and he’s with somebody else while Zayn is fading away, returning back to his old self, and hopefully disappearing for good.

He can’t feel anymore. Louis’ emotions are becoming distant, unable to decipher and are mixing into one. The sun doesn’t exist to Zayn, either, the shield is back and he’s unable to find anything that makes his senses react at all. It’s like he’s not a part of the world again, nobody can see him, nobody knows that he’s here. With Louis gone, he’s invisible.

.

By the seventh day, Zayn is infuriated.

He’s mad, he’s angry. Seven days have gone and he’s still here. Why is he still here? It’s been a week without any interaction with Louis at all. Even Louis’ voice in Zayn’s head has left; it’s faded like it could be a stranger’s voice in a crowd of people and Zayn’s still on the Earth.

Had Nick lied to him? Is it not possible that Zayn could finally be free?

The pain is unbearable, and Zayn thinks it’s gotten worse from the prolonged time. Not worse in altitude but worse with the duration. The power has drifted, at least, and he thinks it’s because his and Louis’ connection has weakened and his shield has strengthened. But he’s still furious.

He hasn’t pulled up the strength to move, yet, either. He’s afraid that if he changes his position, the hurt will come with it.

By late afternoon, though, the hurt starts to fade a little. Zayn guesses it’s because he’s had to deal with it for so long that his body has become used to it being there. It doesn’t entirely feel like a slaughter machine is attempting to sever every vein and organ in his body, and instead feels the underlying, sickening feeling that’s always there with it.

And when a car turns the corner, the feeling disappears instantly.

“No,” Zayn whispers, watching as the car drive down the street, “No, no, no.”

Because Louis can’t be back—not now that Zayn was supposed to die.

He flies upwards towards the sky, shoots up like a rocket until the apartments look like a speck to him. The hurt begins to return and it feels like a relief. Then, he hears it.

“Thanks, Liam. I’ll, uh, I’ll call you.”

His voice. It shouldn’t affect him as much as it does but, it does. It makes him float back down, close enough until he sees Louis, taking out his suitcase.

He can’t leave him. He can’t leave Louis alone, he can’t separate from him. It’s impossible, he knows that, it’s impossible. Louis is here. How could Zayn ever think of leaving?

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? Louis left, not him.

And that thought alone is enough for Zayn to have a rush of aggravation. He flies through the roof of Louis’ apartment and makes himself at home on Louis’ couch, trying not to notice how the place still smells of Louis. It fuels him like a car with gas, and also makes him hungry with want and need and everything else that Zayn was lacking after those seven days. He’s feeling again.

It’s not long after until Louis opens the door to his apartment. When he locks eyes with Zayn, he doesn’t get a chance to say anything before Zayn talks.

“Thought you moved out.”

Louis eyes dilate when they see Zayn. He pauses at the doorway, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. His face looks like he’s in pain. Zayn wants to growl at that, tell him he doesn’t know what pain feels like.

His mouth open and closes a few times, but no sounds come out. Then, he drops his eyes, his voice as soft as a mouse. “Why are you here?”

Believe me, if you hadn’t come back, I wouldn’t be here. Zayn thinks he should say that, but he doesn’t. Instead he clenches his jaw and leans back further into the couch.

“It’s my home, where else am I supposed to go?”

Louis inhales a sharp intake of breath, eyes widening a little. He shuts the door behind him and drops his suitcase on the floor, then throws up his hands.

“You’re a ghost, you could go anywhere!” He drops his hands and slouches a little. He still looks tired, fed-up, as though spending a week at Liam’s did no good. “Why here, Zayn? Why here?”

“Can’t go anywhere else, actually. Hurts too much.”

Louis huffs out a sigh, “Right, well. Would you mind leaving, then? What did we talk about?”

Zayn drops his gaze and looks down. He knows he’s disobeying Louis’ orders of leaving him alone. He’s rebelling, isn’t he? And now that he’s here, now that he’s in front of him, all sense of anger and recollection of how much he was hurting has gone. He wishes it wasn’t gone, though, so he could find it in himself to tell Louis how it is, how it should be.

But before he can get up off the couch and leave without another word, Louis talks again.

“If you’re looking for an apology then, sorry.” He says. Zayn looks at him again, and he notices something different in Louis’ eyes, like—guilt, regret? “At first, I was fucking—it was unbelievably frightening for me, you have to understand that. But after seven days of thinking about it, I, like, I don’t know. I felt...bad? For treating you like a murderer, or whatever. Eleanor’s already yelled at me, saying how if we’re enemies you might—you know, turn on me. So, I’m sorry, really.”  

“I wouldn’t hurt you.” Zayn tells him, firmly. “Enemies or not.”

Louis pauses at that. He takes in a deep breath, nodding. His eyes are shocked, though, his brain trying to process everything that’s going on. Zayn realises his brain must be working over-time, hence the weariness.

“I’m—well, that, uh. That’s good. Thank you for, uh, that.” Louis says, flustered.

He shifts his weight onto his other leg and avoids Zayn’s eyes. He brushes an uneasy hand through his hair and Zayn just wants to cross over to the room and hug him, pat his head and tell him it’s okay. He wants Louis to just hurry up already and love him.

“You want me to leave now, I’m guessing?” Zayn says instead, already moving.

Louis looks up and blinks. He nods slowly, like he’s sad for kicking him out. “I—if you wouldn’t mind? I just, like, I need to do some...things?”

Zayn thinks it’s nice of him to lie. He looks at Louis for a few more moments, not knowing if this could be the last time he gets a proper look at him. Then, he drops his head and flies out the window.

When he reaches the roof, he hears Louis breathe. “Wow,” He says.

.

The next day, Zayn finds himself flying. He hasn’t slept at all and he can tell in the way his eyes aren’t adjusting as properly as they should, and how drowsy his body is when he takes flight. The sun and wind are back but it’s not as refreshing as the first time he felt it, he feels like it shouldn’t be there at all, feels like there’s no point in getting rewarded with such privileges if the reason why he’s getting rewarded doesn’t want him here at all.

It’s Monday, he knows. Because it was Sunday when Louis left and Sunday when he returned.  The air is colder today, and Zayn finds goosebumps on his exposed skin, likes the way they feel when his fingertips brush over them.

He’s flying towards Harry’s house. He passes other ghosts on his way but they pay no mind to Zayn. They’re either talking to other ghosts, following the humans on the street who must be their soulmates, or walking hand in hand with their soulmates as though there weren’t ever a problem that they belonged to two different worlds. Zayn wants to fly down and tell those ghosts how lucky they are that they’re accepted, that they can hold hands with them and not have it be controversial. Oh, what he would give to be able to hold hands with Louis, just once, and preferably for the rest of their lives.

He shakes that thought out of his head. He has to stop fantasising and getting his hopes up. Stick to reality and you won’t get hurt, Zayn thinks.

Harry’s house looks the same as it did when Zayn first saw it. He’s hoping that Nick and Harry are awake, would hate to be intruding or annoying, and rings the doorbell.

He waits a few seconds, hearing the muffled sounds of talking and clattering of kitchen appliances. The door opens and it’s Harry. Zayn goes to talk but he soon realises that he won’t be able to hear him. Harry frowns and looks at nothing, then steps out a little, almost bumping into Zayn, to look around the corner.

“Stupid children.” He mutters under his breath.

Zayn spots Nick behind Harry but he’s not looking towards the door. Harry then shakes his head and blocks off Zayn from the house, locking the door again.

“Who was it, babe?” Nick asks Harry.

“Knick-knockers. Bit early for pranks, innit?”

Zayn flies into the house and stands almost directly in front of Nick, trying to get his attention. Nick eventually glances up, and doesn’t even seem the slightest bit shocked to find Zayn suddenly there. It’s a nice vacation for Zayn—to not be greeted with traumatized looks and screams.

“Haz?” Nick says, locking eyes with Zayn and pointing upwards towards the roof. Zayn nods. “I’ll just be out for a minute, okay?”

Zayn flies up until he reaches the roof and lies down where they lay the first time he was here. He waits until Nick flies up to meet him, and he sits beside him, smiling.

“We meet again, old Zayn.” Nick greets, bending his legs and hanging his arms over his knees to lace his fingers together.

“Hey, Nick.” Zayn returns his smile, and then cocks his chin towards Harry who’s leaving the house, coffee in hand and in the work clothes that Zayn saw him in at Louis’ moving day. “So, uh, you and Harry are together now?”

“Yeah,” Nick says, grinning automatically. Zayn looks at him and he notices a glow about Nick, it’s in his face and eyes and skin; and it makes him look alive. “He finally gave in to my fantastic charm.”

Zayn claps Nick softly on the shoulder, “I’m happy for you, man.”

“Thank you, Zayn. Now,” He inspects Zayn’s face a little and his eyes turn soft, “How are you and Louis doing?”

Zayn sighs at that. “Terrible. Went exactly how I thought it would, he’s impossible.”

Nick places a comforting hand on Zayn’s knee, “Tell me everything.”

He explains the scenarios that have repeated over and over in Zayn’s head ever since they happened. Nick doesn’t interrupt once, only nods and makes tiny sounds to Zayn’s words. He’s a great listener, Zayn notices, and it’s great to talk about Louis to someone else. And Nick seems to know a lot of other ghosts, so it would be nice for him to tell Zayn that he’s met plenty of ghosts that haven’t exactly gotten far with their soulmate at all. Even if he doesn’t know any ghosts in the same position as Zayn, Zayn would still like it if he told him he did.

“Holy shit, I’ve never heard anyone struggle so much to get through to their soulmate.”

Zayn stays silent, honestly seeing that coming. He sighs.

“Are you...are you sure he’s the one?” Zayn asks hesitantly, “Like, maybe it’s only because he can see me. Maybe in a few days somebody else comes along and we’re actually soulmates, not me and Louis. Because I’m positive Louis hates me, like, one hundred percent.”

Nick tilts his head and he’s looking at Zayn like he’s something to feel sorry for. “Oh, Zayn.” He says, voice soft, “I’m certain it’s you and him and nobody else. He’ll get there. It might take him years, months, who knows? Don’t be so hard on yourself.”

“I have a question.”

“Sure.”

“If we—if Louis and I... don’t, you know, interact like you said we should, then... what’ll happen to Louis?”

Nick pauses before he answers. He’s speculating Zayn, as though he’s trying to figure out why he would ask that, why he would even consider not interacting.

He’s slow with his answer, carefully picking out the right words. “Nothing as extreme as us but ultimately he’ll have to live life without you.”

Zayn instantly sighs with relief, like a weight lifted off his shoulders. “Oh, thank god, it doesn’t hurt him.”

Because a life without Zayn is a life better lived for Louis, isn’t it? No more tired eyes, no more near heart-attacks, no more sleepless nights. With that fact now in his mind, he could fly across the world and die there, no strings attached.

“You could assume that, but,” Nick says, stopping Zayn’s thoughts. Zayn’s heart skips a beat. There’s always got to be a ‘but’. “Ah—Zayn, I’m not sure whether I should tell you this...”

Zayn grips at Nick’s ankle, suddenly serious. “Nick, please, what happens to Louis?”

“If you disappear forever, with no way of getting back,” He begins, slow again. There’s desperation in Nick’s eyes, like he’s hoping the words sink into Zayn’s ears, “You’re abandoning him, aren’t you? You’re leaving him without happiness, with no way of letting him fill that void inside him. He’s going to live the rest of his life searching for something, without him knowing that he should be searching for you.”

“I—I wouldn’t be abandoning him,” Zayn protests, “I’d be helping him. Trust me.”

“No, Zayn. Trust me.” Nick stresses, his eyes not leaving Zayn’s, “If you go, everything goes with you. Louis will have no recollection that you ever existed. Nothing. Louis’ given you a lifeline and you’re giving Louis everything he’s ever wanted. There’s no way of turning back once you’re gone. Remember that.”

Zayn swallows. He drops his eyes to his feet.

Abandoning sounds like such a harsh word. He imagines Louis living life without Zayn. He’d be living it with Niall and Eleanor and Liam, maybe. Maybe he’ll give waiter Aiden a call in the future, maybe they’ll get together. Zayn wonders who Louis will end up marrying, if he ends up marrying, and whether he’ll move back to his hometown or get promoted as something other than a high school drama teacher. Maybe Louis will buy a house somewhere, maybe with a family. A husband and adopted kids, and maybe a dog running around, too. Zayn wonders how Louis will look when he gets older, whether his laugh lines around his eyes and mouth will become permanent, where he’ll grow his first grey hair, or if he’ll need glasses.

Zayn blinks. He’ll never get to see any of that.

“And...and if we do end up like you and Harry, does that mean—“ He cuts himself off, his throat on the verge of being choked up. He frowns a little and turns to face Nick, who’s looking at him again like Zayn’s something to fix. “Nick, are you about to turn into a human again?”

“Eventually, yeah.” Nick says it with a smile.

Human—what it was to be human. What it would be like to be human again.

“Thanks, Nick.”

“Anytime, Old Zayn.” Nick says, then pulls Zayn into a hug.

It fills him with such warmth that it soothes the familiar pain of departing Louis inside him. He hasn’t had this type of contact in a long, long time. They remind him of his mother’s hugs, how they seemed to have comforted him despite whatever situation he was in. He’s grateful for Nick, he really is.

When they pull apart, Zayn looks at the sky. From what he can see through the clouds, the sun is in the spot where Louis should already have been home for an hour or so. Zayn supposes he should leave, too, since he knows that Nick’s probably in pain as well.

“Hey, uh, before I go,” Zayn says, “why didn’t I see you when Harry came to Louis’ apartment?”

Nick throws him a wink, “I do have a social calendar, you know. Got other ghosts to attend to.”

“What about, like, all the pain? Don’t you find it gets stronger the more you interact?”

“Of course,” Nick says, like it’s nothing, “But we’ve all had to deal with it, haven’t we? If I’ve already been killed then what’s a little pain?”

Zayn wonders how Nick died. He feels like that’s a bit prying if he asked, though. “Yeah,” He says instead, smiling a little, as though the pain he’s experienced in this past week alone hasn’t pushed him to the verge of tears.

“Zayn, where are you?”

It’s like a shout. Like Louis has grabbed a megaphone and shoved it right into Zayn’s ear, yelling into it so it surrounds his entire world.

He’s been hearing Louis’ voice all day, but it’s something that he can control—but this, just then, the sound of Zayn’s name, coming from Louis mouth, it’s—

“Nick, I have to go.” Zayn tells him quickly, flying off the roof, “Thanks for the chat!”

And then he’s darting. He’s splitting through the air the fastest he’s ever gone. He’s like a rocket, an arrow, shooting off with such power and force that it whips the air out of him when he stops.

He’s a few metres away from Louis’ window. He can feel Louis’ anxiousness from here, feel it stronger than anything else. Then, the window opens. Louis’ head sticks out from it and tilts his head upwards to see the roof.

“Zayn?” Louis calls, sounding distressed. When he gets no response, Louis hangs his head. “Jesus Christ, Zayn, where have you gone?”

He closes the window and Zayn now feels emptiness swirling around within him. Louis’ looking for him. It’s remarkable, really. And Zayn’s stomach flips at it, making him buzz with electricity.

He approaches Louis’ window slowly, and looks inside. Louis’ pacing around the apartment, one hand in his hair, the other firmly on his hip. He stops walking and stands in the middle of the room, placing both hands on his hips and looking up towards the ceiling, squeezing his eyes shut and letting out a sound of frustration.

Zayn brings his knuckles up to the glass and knocks on it three times. Louis turns to it instantly, and his face—his eyes—light up at the sight of Zayn.

Zayn’s never felt this happy in his life.

Louis hurries towards the window and opens it. “Zayn,” He breathes, smiling, “where have you been?”

“I—you wanted me to leave, so I did.” Zayn tells him, truthfully.

Louis hesitates for a moment. Then, as though he wasn’t just smiling with joy, he puts on a stern face and puff out his chest a bit.

“Right. I did. So, why are you here?”

Zayn looks Louis in the eyes and it’s the first time they’ve been this close. Louis’ relaxed, standing close to Zayn, and Zayn can see every part and every detail of Louis there is. He wants to hug him like he hugged Nick, wants to feel him close and keep having him close, if Louis will let him, of course.

“I heard you saying my name.” Zayn answers.

Louis’ face is no longer stern, now, instead looking at Zayn with something that Zayn can’t interpret.

“Come inside,” Louis says, his voice suddenly quiet, “please?”

Zayn nods, and flies in delicately, careful not to bump into Louis at all. Because yes, Louis was searching for him and yes, he’s not screaming or yelling at all but, Louis’ reactions to Zayn are forever embedded into Zayn’s head like a movie on repeat. He will never be able to shake those overwhelming feelings of shock and unfathomable fear—no matter how many memories he has from now on.

He takes a seat at the edge of Louis’ bed and waits patiently for Louis to say whatever he needs to say. But so far he’s not saying anything, just clenching at his hair and pacing up and down the same strip of wood in front of Zayn.

He eventually stops, and then turns to him, “It was so weird.” He says, eyes darting around the room, not entirely looking at Zayn. “So weird, ever since, like. Ever since the Ouija board, I think, I’ve, like, something goes on. It’s terrible, like, it’s horrible. It’s been driving me absolutely crazy and I thought, like, pushing you away would make it better but it made it worse? I went to Liam’s house because I thought the apartment was giving off bad vibes, or, whatever, but I had to come back because fuck, it hurt. Like, really hurt. And when I came back, and you were there, it...went. And now whenever I go to work or when you leave, like you did, it comes back. And I—I don’t know why.”

Zayn wants to cry. He wants to fly up on the rooftops and curse at the sky but shout in celebration all the same. Because on one hand, Louis’ had to cope with what Zayn’s had to cope with and it was brutal. On the other hand, it’s a clear indication that Nick was right, that it is supposed to be them two and nobody else.

“I get it, too.”

Louis stops stressing, focusing solely on Zayn, “What?”

“That feeling you’re talking about, I get it, too. I’ve gotten it ever since I saw you and you saw me. And it happens every time you leave.”

Louis bites his lip, “So...that’s what you were talking about when you said—“

“That I couldn’t go anywhere else because it hurts too much? Yeah.”

Louis walks slowly towards Zayn, “Wow,” He says in wonderment as he sits down beside him.

He brings his elbows to his knees and rests two of his fingers on top of his lips, looking forwards, trying to comprehend everything.

He turns to Zayn, flashing him an apologetic look, “I—I’m sorry for all those times I pushed you away, then.”

Zayn cracks a smile, shaking his head softly, “It’s my fault for creeping you out, really.”

Louis smiles too, calmly.

It goes silent after that, the atmosphere in Louis’ room suddenly becoming all too surreal for Zayn. He’s sitting right next to Louis and it’s all a bit intimate, in a way, because now Louis’ not looking at him as some sort of predator. He’s something more now, and that means more to Zayn than Louis could imagine.

“You can stay here, if you want.” Louis tells Zayn, “Obviously, you know, you’d have to sleep on the couch and all that but at least we’re together? And, uh, you can follow me to work and wherever, really. As long as it keeps that horrid pain from reoccurring.”

If Zayn were alone, he’d be shooting off like a party popper, up through the roof and into space.

On the outside, though, Zayn keeps his cool. He tilts one side of his mouth into a smile and nods once, “I can do that.”

.

The apartment feels extraordinarily cosier now that Louis’ welcomed Zayn into it. The couch isn’t the most comfiest thing he’s ever had to sleep on but for the majority of his time being dead he’s been sleeping on  roof tiles and stranger’s spare bedrooms, so a couch feels like a king-sized bed to him now.

They don’t converse much after their talk on Louis’ bed. Louis had said that he needed to get some work done for the class he teaches and Zayn left to give him some privacy. Louis didn’t end up leaving his room until seven.

“You hungry, Zayn? Was just about to grab myself dinner, if you wanted some.” He had said, crossing over to the kitchen.

Zayn declined politely without explaining to Louis that he doesn’t actually eat. The food didn’t look all that appealing, anyway, some macaroni and cheese in a packet that was heated up by a microwave. Zayn takes note that Louis probably needs some more nutritious food in his kitchen, or maybe some cookbooks, or maybe some cooking lessons. Zayn could provide all of that.

Louis had then returned back into his room and didn’t emerge from it throughout the whole night. Zayn didn’t take it to heart, though, he’s still buzzing over the fact that he and Louis have finally developed into something other than misjudged strangers.

He starts to thank the pain that he so forcefully hated before. Since, without that, Louis would never have invited him in. Hell, Louis possibly would’ve never stayed at his apartment again, would’ve packed up for good and stayed at Liam’s house for the rest of eternity. Zayn would be nothing by now, not even a speck of thin air, just someone that once was.

The thought of that creates goosebumps on Zayn’s skin. This time, it’s not caused by the weather.

In the morning, Louis leaves his bedroom with sleepy eyes and messy hair. He’s wearing a t-shirt and loose pants and blue slippers that make a sound every time he takes a step on the wooden floor. Zayn’s heart fills with something new, and he wants to wrap his arms around him.

“Good morning, Louis.” Zayn greets him from behind the counter.

Zayn’s been awake for hours now, and it shows in the way that he’s much perkier than Louis. Louis stops rubbing at his eyes and takes Zayn in for a few minutes, pausing and blinking. Then like a recollection of events spirals through Louis’ mind, he realises why Zayn’s there and a soft smile grows.

“Oh,” He says, on his way to the bathroom, “Morning, Zayn.”

When Louis disappears into the bathroom, Zayn decides to make Louis lunch. He remembers hearing Louis complain about the lack of variety in the school’s canteen. The shower starts to run as Zayn looks through the pantry and fridge, tossing up his options. He settles on a few candy bars, a juice box, and two sandwiches filled with ham, cheese and tomato. He puts it all into a paper bag that he finds somewhere in the pantry and rolls up the top so it’s easier to carry.

He could probably make Louis’ daily morning tea, too, but he’s learnt that Louis only likes it a particular way. At least that’s one thing he managed to learn after that traumatizing week he spent at Liam’s.

The shower stops and a few minutes later the hairdryer starts up. Zayn starts to wonder what the school looks like, what Louis’ class looks like. He’s going to be following Louis around all day without a second suspicion and it sends all sorts of excitement through his body. He’s also worried that he might mess up, though. He’s walking on a tightrope here, one wrong move and he could fall to the point of no return. One wrong move and he could instantly go back to the way things were. Louis could banish him again and Zayn would have to leave. They’d have to deal with the pain for quite some time, but eventually Zayn will go and Louis would have no memory of it ever happening.

“What’s this?” Louis asks curiously, picking up the paper bag and inspecting it.

Zayn didn’t even hear him come out of the bathroom. Louis’ dressed in his clothes again, a simple button-up with black jeans, his hair styled in the way he does it every day. Zayn swallows, suddenly nervous.

“I thought I’d make you some lunch.”

Louis raises an eyebrow, “For me?” Zayn nods.

He starts opening the bag and sifts through it, amazed. “Wow, thanks, Zayn. Are you sure it’s not for the both of us, though?” He laughs a little, “I’m only there for one class today.”

“Oh,” Zayn looks down, feels something on his cheeks. He rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t know how much you usually have.”

Louis smiles at him genuinely, eyes sort of twinkling at Zayn and Zayn has to push down his overwhelming urge just to touch him.

“This is very thoughtful of you, though, Zayn.” He says as he moves to put on the kettle, “Plus, I never eat at that school anyway, the cafeteria’s food is horrible.”

Zayn nods in agreement, “I know.”

Louis pauses from where he’s taking his favourite cup out of the cupboard and looks at him. “What?”

“Uh, nothing.” Zayn quickly says, turning away. He knows Louis’ not ready to be notified that Zayn hears everything Louis says.

Louis moves around Zayn for a few more moments, collecting everything he needs for the day, until eventually telling Zayn that they’re ready to go. They leave the apartment and the block until they reach the footpath. Zayn’s unsure of whether he should walk beside Louis or linger behind him as though he weren’t really there. He takes the safest option, and hovers above the ground a little, a few metres behind him.

It’s not until he hears Louis saying a few words, then turns for Zayn’s response, when he realises Zayn’s not there. He turns around and sees Zayn, then frowns.

“Why are you all the way over there?” He asks.

“I—uh, wasn’t sure if you wanted me, like—“

“Don’t be weird, Zayn. Walk next to me.”

Zayn obeys and lands on his feet, matching Louis’ pace and walks next to him. He had heard Louis’ question before, even though they were apart and he doesn’t know whether he should answer it or not, in case Louis gets suspicious. So, he waits for Louis to bring it up again.

And a few seconds later, he does. “Tell me, Zayn, why do you glow?”

When he thinks of glow, he thinks of what he saw on Nick’s face, the glow about his entire being, his face and cheeks and twinkle in his eyes. But Zayn knows what glow Louis’ talking about. It’s the faint whiteness that surrounds the outline of Zayn, making the illusion of the glow. Zayn thinks it’s the force field around him, but he also thinks it may just be an additional aspect to being dead.

“I don’t know.” Zayn replies truthfully. “Maybe it’s to separate the humans from the ghosts.”

Louis snorts at that, “Right. Because without that, there would be no way of being able to determine between the two.”

Zayn smiles a wide smile. He has to shove his hands in his pockets just to make sure he doesn’t hold the hand that’s dangling right there next to him. Louis takes a sip of his tea, which must still be boiling, and looks at Zayn again.

“So, besides that, what else is, like, special about you?”

“I’m exactly like you, except for, you know, the glow that I apparently have.” Zayn says, “And, of course, our senses are heightened.”

Louis raises his eyebrows, “Heightened?”

“Yeah, we, uh, our eyesight is probably one hundred times better than yours.” He explains, “And so is our hearing and sense of smell—though, our sense of touch is weakened, sometimes to the point where we can’t feel anything at all.”

“So, you’re...numb, almost?”

Numb. That’s exactly what he is—or was.  He was numb before Louis, never feeling a thing.

“Exactly.” He says.

They reach the school after a few more streets. It’s quite a big school, quite a lot of students. Zayn guesses it’s the only school in the area, considering the population of the town. He follows Louis into the front doors, past the front office where Louis smiles and waves at a few of the ladies in there, and then walks down the long corridor where the walls are filled with doors that lead into classrooms.

Zayn’s school was never like this. But then again, his memory has sort of suppressed that era of his life that he can’t remember a whole lot from it.

Louis walks down a flight of stairs, reaching another part of the school that splits off in a sort of T-section. He turns right, into a bigger classroom than the ones Zayn saw in the corridor and the room is filled with stacked up chairs pushed to its corners and a big stage at one side of the room.

“Here we are, Zayn.” Louis says as he looks around the room, then to the door, “Just wait for the bell to ring and this room will be filled with a bunch of the nosiest people you will ever meet.”

He says it with such fondness in his voice that Zayn can’t wait to see the people that Louis works with every day. The bell rings, echoing through the room and around the entire school and soon enough, groups of students enter the door chatting away with their biggest voices. Zayn flies and sits atop the edge of the stage, ready to observe the way Louis teaches.

.

Louis offers Zayn a candy bar on their trip home. Zayn declines and Louis opens one for himself with a shrug, smiling happily like it were a once in a lifetime little treat, even though he has a box of the same candy bars waiting for him at home. When he finishes, he puts the wrapper into his bag and licks his lips. Zayn doesn’t stare, not really.

“Zayn?” Louis says, walking with his head tilted to look at him.

“Yeah, Louis?”

“You know when you told me that you can’t feel, much?” He asks, hesitant, almost.

Zayn nods once, “Yeah.”

“So...” Louis has his eyebrows pinched together slightly, inquisitive. “If I did this...”

Louis stops walking and Zayn stops a millisecond later. Louis’ eyes flicker down to Zayn’s arm, and then he places his hand on it.

It’s like an electric shock—but the shock doesn’t hurt, it’s only electricity that shoots from Louis’ fingertips right into his skin. That’s not what a normal touch should feel like, should it? It’s nothing Zayn’s ever felt before, he’s sure of that. It’s like it’s awakened every nerve on every particle that makes up Zayn. It feels...it feels like the force field has bent, snapped, almost.

And then. And then it’s gone. Just like that. Louis takes his hand away and everything is back to how it was.

“What the hell?” Zayn whispers, looking down at where Louis’ hand was, frowning.

“What?” Louis asks, “What happened?”

Zayn swallows harshly. He looks at Louis, who sort of looks worried, and Zayn feels something like a beat in his chest again.

“Do that again.” Zayn says, feeling sudden withdrawal and coldness without Louis’ warmth. “Please.”

Louis nods and places his hand back onto Zayn’s arm, this time up higher. Zayn closes his eyes as his stomach flips and the energy from Louis’ palm and fingers coursing through Zayn’s body feels as though it’s reaching a part of him that’s been neglected for so long. 

Zayn stops looking at Louis’ hand and looks at Louis’ face instead. He’s already looking at Zayn, eyes filled with something like wonderment. But then they change, alarm or something like a sudden realisation—and then the warmth is gone. Louis’ hand is by his side again and his eyes are no longer on Zayn’s.

He wonders if Louis felt the same thing. If that’s why he’s suddenly turned away, frightened, maybe.

“Uh, let’s just, uh,” Louis clears his throat, then gestures down the street with his hands, still no longer looking directly at Zayn, “let’s get moving, shall we?”

.

It’s been a month or so since Zayn was invited into Louis’ apartment. It’s been two months since Louis first saw Zayn, but for Zayn it feels like an eternity. He feels like they could be an old married couple—the way they’re so in sync with each other, helping one another out, knowing what the other one wants without needing to ask. They’re like an old married couple, but without the intimacy.

He knows that Louis’ not ready for that part yet, hasn’t even held hands with Zayn yet, or sat close with him on the couch while they watch a movie together. Zayn knows that Louis’ an affectionate person, is the thing. He’s touchy and loves a good cuddle and isn’t aware of personal bubbles, but he controls himself around Zayn. It’s not hard to understand why. Zayn’s still dead. He’s still that weird, creepy boy on top of Niall’s car to Louis, nothing more, not yet.

Zayn won’t push him, though. Of course he won’t. Because it takes time, like Nick said. It might even be years until Louis kisses him for the first time. And if Zayn has to wait, he will, even if it takes everything in him not to cry out.

It’s the holidays for the students at the school, which means it’s holidays for Louis, too. It’s the first day, and he still doesn’t know what he wants to do during the two weeks. Zayn’s asked him weeks before if he wanted to get away, have a holiday somewhere nice, but Louis told him that he couldn’t afford a holiday, or a car. And if Zayn told him that he could pick Louis up and fly him to wherever he wanted—that wouldn’t go down too well, Zayn imagines.

“I’m going grocery shopping,” Louis calls out, “you want anything?”

Zayn thinks it’s remarkable how Louis keeps offering food even though Zayn says no every time. He could go into why ghosts don’t eat, but he’s saving that for another time, maybe when Louis asks, or something.

“I’m coming with you.”

Louis breaks into a smile, “Well, yes, you’re gonna  have to, aren’t you?” He says, almost to himself, “Uh, I’ll go get ready, then.”

He disappears into the bathroom. A few seconds later, he’s calling out for Zayn.

“Yeah, Lou?”

“Can you add to the list some shampoo?” Louis asks. Zayn crosses over to the list that’s written on the back of an old, opened envelope, and jots down shampoo. “Oh! And some razors, please!”

“Anything else?” Zayn calls back.

“Uhh... shaving cream!”

This goes on for some time, until the envelope is almost full. It’s about time they went for a big shop, usually it’s only to get food and nothing else, mostly.

They enter the grocery store and at this time it’s filled with people. Louis’ got a shopping cart in his hands, rolling it and picking out things that he knows he needs to get, then throwing them into the cart. Zayn hovers quietly beside him, watching carefully and keeping an eye out in case he needs any help.

“Alright,” Louis says, the cart now a quarter-filled. “What else is there?” He pulls out the envelope and scans down the list. His eyes stop at one point and he brings it closer to his eyes, squinting a little.

Zayn thinks it’s because maybe Zayn’s writing is hard to understand or is too small. But then Louis’ looking at Zayn square in the eyes, blinking a few times like he can’t believe something.

“It was you?” He whispers.

“What was me?”

“The basket, the waffles, that was—it was you!” He’s grinning widely now, eyes bright.

He knows Louis still has the note he wrote him, he keeps it in his cutlery draw. Zayn was tossing up between telling him or not, then figured that it probably won’t mean anything if he did. It was only breakfast. But, apparently, now, looking at the surprise and gratitude on Louis’ face, it does mean something.

“Well, yeah I...I wanted to give you a housewarming gift.”

Louis raises a brow, “Do you do that with all the people that move in?”

Zayn bites his lip and looks at him sheepishly, “No.”

Louis’ beaming now, smiling from ear to ear. “Ah! I’m so glad I know who it was now! You know, I’ve been speculating everyone that I’ve crossed in that apartment block to see who the culprit was, and let me tell you, they’re all not that friendly.”

Zayn smiles at him. He sees other people in the grocery store give Louis weird looks for chatting by himself but Louis doesn’t seem to notice. He does this a lot, Zayn’s realised. He gets in these bubbles where it’s only him and Zayn, and whenever they talk he completely forgets that he’s the only one that can see him, and that talking to him in public probably makes him look like a mad person.

But, then, of course, those bubbles don’t last forever. Sometimes they pop, sometimes more abruptly and sudden than other times. Sometimes he’ll be having a proper conversation with Zayn, and in the midst of Zayn talking back, Louis will realise—then pop, he’ll turn away and pretend Zayn is nowhere to be seen.

“I’m glad you liked it.” Zayn tells him, a tad embarrassed by the praise and acknowledgement.

“Liked it? It was the best meal we’ve ever had!” Louis places a hand on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn feels it instantly, the electricity, and automatically leans into the touch. “Thanks, though, Zayn. You didn’t have to do that.” Zayn doesn’t know how to respond to that, because he knows he didn’t have to, but he did anyway. The hand slips off his shoulder and Zayn almost whines like a dog. “C’mon, mate, let’s get through this list.”

.

After packing away the groceries in complete silence, Louis clears his throat, waiting until Zayn pays attention to him.

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight.” He says.

He almost looks nervous to say it. There’s a slight colour on his cheeks, his eyes looking downwards towards the bench where his finger trails the marble. His eyelashes are creating shadows, and they flick upwards when Louis looks to Zayn, waiting for his answer.

“We just—we just went shopping, like—“

“I know.” Louis says, the blue in his eyes darker in this light. “But I feel like Thai.”

They walk to a Thai restaurant when the sun starts to disappear, turning the whole sky into different, fading colours. The town is populated, the main strip is filled with shops side to side, people walking up and down the street, noisily talking to whoever’s next to them.

Zayn remains hovering over Louis, finding himself eyeing off everybody that Louis passes, making sure others don’t take the chance to take advantage of him just because he’s alone. Though, when he looks up in front of him, he sees other ghosts doing the same. There are only three or four that he can see, but they’re all hovering over their partner, fully aware.

“Louis?”

“Oh, Aiden, hey.”

Zayn looks down immediately. Louis’ stopped, the waiter from the Chinese restaurant that Louis and Niall went to the first time they came to town is talking to him.

“Haven’t seen you since the night you moved here. How’re you liking it?” He asks Louis, a bit too close to him, Zayn thinks.

“Yeah, it’s—it’s great.” He throws Aiden a smile.

“That’s good. So, hey, where are you headed?” Aiden’s hand brushes against Louis’ arm. Zayn feels the heat run through him like lava. His eyes burn into the top of Aiden’s head.

“Uh, I’m...I’m actually meeting someone at, uh, this place...yeah.”

Aiden’s face falls, “Oh, you are?” He looks disappointed. “So, it would be stupid to ask you out then, wouldn’t it?”

Louis shifts the weight onto his other foot, his cheeks light up a little, and he smiles nervously, looking downwards. Zayn clenches his fists by his side.

“Well—I’ve just, uh, it wouldn’t be stupid, but, uh, it’s like—“

“You don’t have to say anything, it’s okay.” Aiden tells him. He rests his hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I’ll see you around, then. Have fun on your date.”

Louis gives him a smile and nods once, then watches as Aiden walks passed him and into the crowd. Zayn hears Louis sigh.

They pick a table outside in a quiet, grassy part in the back of the Thai restaurant. They’ve already ordered, and Zayn didn’t have the heart to tell him that he wouldn’t be able to eat. He’ll get to that when the food arrives, maybe.

He can tell that Louis feels weird. Weird as in, not right. He keeps adjusting his cutlery and chair, clearing his throat and fixing his hair every second. He’s fidgety, and Zayn thinks he knows why.

“You know, you didn’t have to say no to Aiden. I wouldn’t have minded,” Zayn lies.

Louis shakes his head almost instantly, “No, no. I—wanted to do that, I think. It would be a bit weird, wouldn’t it? To have you there, like, watching me while I was on a date?”

It would be crippling, Zayn thinks. “No, it wouldn’t. I could go somewhere else, but remain close enough so we don’t feel pain.”

Louis’ lips pick up into a smile, “I wouldn’t want you to do that, anyway. S’bit cruel of me to do, isn’t it?”

“Louis,” Zayn says, sternly. He looks at Louis as he swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Don’t worry about me. I’d hate to prevent you from being happy.”

Louis sighs. He brings a hand to his head and massages it a little, frowning. When he picks his head up, he looks annoyed.

“You’re so...” He’s stuck for words, and grunts instead. “God, you’re so fucking—you’re too nice, did you know that?”

Too nice? Zayn never thought there could be such a thing as too nice.

“No,” Zayn says, truthfully, “I didn’t.”

“Oh, my god.” Louis places his head back into his hands again. “How was I ever afraid of you?” He laughs a little, and Zayn can’t help but smile at that.

When the food arrives, it smells delicious. There is no cutlery on Zayn’s side of the table, obviously, because Zayn doesn’t exist to other people. So when his curry is set down, Louis asks for a separate spoon. Louis digs in straight away, humming pleasantly at the taste of it.

Zayn fiddles around with the substance in the bowel in front of him with the spoon, smelling it but afraid to taste. What if the food goes into his mouth but not down his throat? What if it goes through him completely and hits the chair he’s sitting on instead? What if people witness the spoon and curry rise without anybody holding it, and can see the curry go through Zayn?

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks him, eyebrows creased.

“Oh, uh,” Zayn places the spoon down. “I, like, I haven’t eaten since—you know, since I died, so.”

“You don’t eat?” Louis questions him. Zayn nods. “Shit, Zayn, why are we here then?”

Zayn shrugs, “Because you suggested it. And you were excited. So,” He gestures towards Louis’ bowl, “eat up.”

Louis rolls his eyes dramatically. He drops his spoon and it hits the edge of his bowl. “See! Too nice for your own good, I’m telling you. You know, we could go somewhere else, if you wanted to. I can eat when we get home—“

“You know, actually, I’ll eat.” Zayn decides, stopping Louis from getting out of his chair. “It’s fine. I’ll eat.”

Louis looks like he’s about to protest again and watches as Zayn takes a spoonful of his curry. He swallows, enjoying the sensation of something warm filling his mouth and soothing down his throat. He can slightly taste it, too. The spiciness and the mixed flavours. He makes a point of not reacting, waiting until Louis stops watching and eats his own dish, a small smile playing on his lips.

.

Once they’ve both finished their meals and the waitress takes their dishes, Louis asks for the check. They sit opposite each other, not speaking for a while. It’s not awkward; it’s a bit pleasant, actually. He notices Louis’ eyes drifting off somewhere, focusing on something inside his head, thinking.

He locks eyes with Zayn, then, and shifts a little in his seat. “I’ve changed my mind.” He says.

Zayn stills. He swallows deeply, his entire body filling with fear. Louis wants him gone, he’s changed his mind and he wants to live without a spirit following his every move.

“Y—yeah?” He asks, hesitantly.

“Yeah.” Louis replies, “I actually want to go somewhere these holidays.”

Zayn relaxes. He sighs a little and tries not to show too much relief. “Oh. Where to?”

“I don’t know, like, anywhere with a beach? I have enough money for train fares and all that, but I’d probably only get to stay there for one night,” He shrugs, “but at least it’s something, isn’t it?”

Zayn glances down at his fingers for a few moments, knowing how he could get him there without any cost at all.  He knows how tight Louis is with money, knows how hard he works just to pay off his rent. He could fly him there without any problems. Zayn could pick him up and fly him to wherever he wanted, and could get there in a matter of seconds, too.

He pauses, then says, “Is there anybody you’d want to go with?”

“Nah.” Louis says, without hesitating, “I’ve you as company, don’t I?”

Zayn’s pretty sure he’s blushing at that. He knows it’s a given that Zayn would have to go with him, but it’s flattering to know that Louis thinks Zayn’s enough for him. He tries to suppress his grin, now all the more eager to get him to this beach.

“You don’t have to take the train in.” He blurts out, a bit too suddenly.

Louis looks up from where he’s tracing his fingers along the patterns of the table, he’s frowning, his mouth is about to open to ask Zayn what he means, but his eye catches the waitress heading towards their table.

“Here is your check, sir.” She says, smiling sweetly at him. Louis nods and flashes her a smile in return. When she turns her back, Louis’ eyes are on Zayn’s immediately.

“What do you mean? I’m hardly up for walking all the way there.”

Zayn swipes his tongue over his lips once, “I can fly.”

Louis looks at him curiously, “I know you can, Zayn. Why are you telling me this?”

He wants to roll his eyes at Louis naivety. “I could, like, take you anywhere you wanted. For free.”

There’s a moment there when Zayn doesn’t think Louis heard him at all. His face remains blank, eyes stilled on Zayn’s, almost waiting for something. Then his face shifts into a sort of shock realisation, his mouth and eyes widening slowly as he moves back into his chair.

“You mean you—you want to pick me up and fly?”

Zayn shrugs, “Could do. Yeah.”

“No way.” Louis says immediately, shaking his head and his hands, “No, no way. I am terrified of heights, that is, that’s not—“ 

“I’ll be in whatever destination you want in less than two seconds.”

Louis pauses. He glances Zayn up and down, trying to figure him out. He cocks an eyebrow, “Australia?” He challenges.

“Hmm,” Zayn bounces his head side to side, as if weighing it up. He knows he’ll have to lie anyway, knows that it doesn’t take under two seconds to fly around the world. But Louis doesn’t have to know that, knows that if he does, he’ll decline right away. “Maybe three for that one.”

Louis gives him a smile, “Alright, I’ll think about it.”

He opens up the booklet with the total amount he owes the restaurant and Zayn can see his Adam’s apple rise and fall at the numerical figure. Louis bites his lip and his eyes flicker up towards Zayn’s for a second, mentally considering Zayn’s proposition right away.

.

It’s when they’re both sitting on the couch, Zayn on one side and Louis on the other, not touching, when Louis mutes the television and turns to him. Zayn shifts his position so he’s facing him, too, and waits for Louis to speak.

“I’ve been thinking,” He says, his fingers idly tracing the couch, eyes not meeting Zayn’s, “about what you said.”

“About the flying?” Zayn asks, unconsciously biting at the inside of his cheek.

“About the flying.” Louis confirms. He takes in a shaky breath, then finally meets Zayn’s eyes, “I think I want to do it.”

Zayn nods a few times. “Okay. We’ll leave whenever you say.”

Louis blinks, “But, I—I think I need some ground rules. Like, if I’m not comfortable I need to be able to... I need to know that you know.”

“Of course.” Zayn replies, “If you ever feel uncomfortable, just pinch me, or tell me. I’ll be able to hear you and I can return you to the ground instantly.”

He inhales deeply again, nodding. “Yep, okay. Good. Will you, like—are you even strong enough to carry me?”

Zayn weighs his eyes over Louis body. He scans him all the way down to his ankles, knowing that he’d be able to carry him plus another person considering how light Louis weighs. Louis coughs dryly under Zayn’s gaze, and Zayn returns back to look at Louis’ eyes, noticing the slight colour on Louis’ cheeks.

“Definitely.” Zayn tells him. “You’ll be a piece of cake.”

“And...and if I take things with me? Like a bag? That’d still be alright?” Louis asks. Zayn nods. “Okay, okay. Uh—I think, I think I want to leave tomorrow? Would that be okay? ‘Cause I know if I think about it too much I’ll back out and then I’ll probably regret it, you know—“

“We’ll leave first thing in the morning.” Zayn offers, giving Louis a reassuring smile. He can see how much he’s stressing out about it, how unsure he is. He wants to rest a comforting hand on his knee, pull him in and wrap his arms around him, mingle his fingers through Louis’ hair, maybe even press a soft kiss to his forehead. His fingers twitch at the thought, wanting so badly to be with him.

Louis returns his smile, agreeing. He goes to bed shortly after that, and Zayn can hear him packing his things. Zayn stretches out on the couch, letting the darkness take over him.

.

“This will not be comfortable in the slightest.” Louis states once they’re in the middle of the field, near the hills. He’s got his backpack on, the one that he packed, ready for a day at the beach. “You know,” He says, and Zayn can see him giving up already, “a train fare isn’t that much, really. Actually, maybe I don’t even need a holiday, you know what I mean?”

“Louis.” Zayn says calmly, then waits until Louis finally meets his eyes. “You’re over-thinking.”

Louis heaves out a sigh. “I know.” He scratches the back of his head, closes his eyes for a few seconds, then opens them and nods. “Okay, just do it, Zayn.” He turns around so his back is facing Zayn, getting ready for Zayn to pick him up. “Alright, let’s go.”

Zayn comes up behind him, the backpack very evidently blocking Zayn from getting a secure hold on Louis. He places his fingertips on the straps of it, making Louis shiver slightly.

“What’re you doing?”

“It’ll be easier if this was on me instead.” Zayn tells him, slowly sliding off the straps from Louis’ shoulders.

He can hear Louis swallow. But instead of backing out, he shrugs off the bag and hands it over to Zayn. Zayn swings it over his own shoulders, securing it onto his back. Louis’ back isn’t occupied anymore, and when Zayn wraps his arms around Louis’ middle, his chest is flush against him. The breath escapes from Louis, his body stilling at the contact.

“Ready?” Zayn asks, whispering into Louis’ ear.

“Oh my god.” Louis breathes, shakily.

Zayn takes that as a yes, and shoots off. He hears Louis scream but there’s no fear behind it. Zayn watches him cautiously, and smiles when he sees Louis staring down below him where they fly over the town, amazed. Zayn slows down a little bit, so that Louis can take it all in. His eyes are bright, ecstatic, his mouth wide open, forming into a grin.

He speeds up, not wanting for Louis to suddenly freak out, and as they pass all the tall buildings, the ocean is seen in the distance. Louis—slowly but surely—stretches out his arms that were so tightly pressed to his chest. They fly outwards, his face whipping against the wind. He lets out another scream, but this one sounds entirely different, like a scream of joy, maybe.

They reach the beach and Zayn makes sure he doesn’t land as forceful as he does when it’s only him. He glides down, only slowing to a stop when he’s sure Louis is firmly set on the sand. He unwraps his arms from where they were around Louis’ middle, and proceeds to take off Louis’ backpack.

“That was fucking—holy shit, Zayn!” His voice is loud, grinning from ear to ear and unable to stay still. “I was—we were flying! Like, over the town!Fuck, I was up there... I was picked up and flown, holy shit, holy shit.”

Zayn can’t help but chuckle at his amazement. Zayn remembers how enthused he was when he first discovered that he could fly. He would fly for hours on end after his death, before his funeral, after his funeral. Though, after his life was celebrated and his death was mourned, that’s when he got tied down. When he was no longer able to leave that one street. Flying became less exciting then.

“Wasn’t so bad, was it?” Zayn says, handing the bag to Louis.

 Louis shakes his head, eyes brighter than Zayn’s ever seen them. He looks like he wants to say something to Zayn, possibly something he might regret. His fingers twitch at his sides, like Zayn’s did last night on the couch. Zayn wonders what that means.

Though, Louis only turns around and stares towards the ocean. His chest rises and falls prominently, and then he’s taking off his shirt.

He already has swimming shorts on, so he takes off his shoes and places them next to the bag that’s now on the sand. Zayn watches him as he takes off, running down the sand towards the sea. His fists clench by his side, eyes alert. He knows it’s ridiculous how protective he is over water, but Zayn hasn’t been to a beach since he was eleven. 

He starts to roll up his pants on each leg until they sit above his knees. Then, he takes off his shoes and socks and joins Louis’ shirt and shoes. The feeling of sand between his toes is so foreign to him, but so familiar all the same. It’s warm, heated up by the morning sun, and it automatically covers the entirety of his feet. He wiggles his toes, watching as they show through the sand one by one.

When he looks up, he sees Louis in the water. The waves are calm enough that they don’t threaten to dunk Louis underwater, and he swims within it. He’s on his back, swimming towards the ocean, eyes closed, relaxed.

He’s glad Louis got a holiday, he deserves it.

Zayn walks down the sand until it’s not dry anymore. He reaches the wet sand and feels it sink underneath his weight. When he steps again, he sees his footprint. Looking next to it, he sees Louis’ own prints, disappearing where the water washes the last of them away.

He steps further until he’s almost touching the water where it meets the sand. When the water comes back with a little more force, it touches Zayn’s feet and comes back, touching him again. Zayn stills. He looks down, no more sand stuck to his skin, washed away by the sea.

He can smell the ocean and the sand in the air and it reminds him back when he was eleven, there with his family and their friends. He steps in a little more until the water now laps at his ankles. He thinks about the carefree life he had when he was away from school, away from others. He remembers looking out at the sea towards the line that connects the ocean to the sky, and thinking that he could go there and escape, start somewhere new.

At this moment, he knows Louis’ watching him. He knows his eyes are looking at Zayn, either with curiosity or something else but Zayn doesn’t meet his gaze. Instead, he continues looking out, watching as the water shifts and changes with the wind, remaining their fluency and calmness throughout the ocean, the sound of each wave crashing fills his ears.

He doesn’t know how long he stands there for, doesn’t know how long Louis looks at him and doesn’t know when it was exactly when he stopped and continued to swim.

But, eventually, Louis joins him, standing by his side.

“Hi,”

Zayn looks at him, dripping water from his hair. His eyes are a little red from the salt in the water, but he offers Zayn a small smile and Zayn can do nothing but return one of his own.

“Hi.”

Louis drops and sits down instead, looking out towards where the sea meets the sky. Zayn looks down at him, and decides to drop as well, sitting down beside him.

It’s not long until Louis speaks again. “Are you sure you’re not an angel?”

Zayn almost chokes on his breathing. He blinks once or twice, then looks at Louis, whose face is completely serious.

“I’m fairly sure I’m only a ghost.” He replies.

“Why can’t you be an angel?”

Zayn hangs his head a little and lets out a small laugh. “Angels aren’t real, that’s why.”

And it’s true. If angels were real then he’d see halos and wings and people with brighter glows than his own. Angels are a myth.

“I thought that about ghosts, Zayn.” He points out, “Why else would you still be here, considering your family isn’t?”

Zayn wonders how he knew that Zayn’s family had died, too. Though, he’s well aware of how cheap the rooms are to stay where Zayn’s building is, considering the tale of the family that died in that exact spot. He wonders for a second if Louis did some research.

Then he reconsiders that it really isn’t a problem anymore, since it’s been centuries since their deaths. Maybe Louis’ only observant and has thought about why Zayn’s never mentioned anything about his own family.

He doesn’t question it. Either way, Zayn knows exactly why he’s the only one that stayed.

“They accomplished everything they needed to, Louis. I didn’t.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you’re a guardian angel.” Louis says, now smiling.

Zayn tilts his head up and shakes it slightly, “I’m nothing but a ghost that’s found you, Lou.”

The nickname slips out again unintentionally, but Louis doesn’t notice it.

“To be fair, though, I found you.” He tells him, pointedly. He looks up at the sky, then, thinking. “You know, I don’t know why I chose that area to live in but it brought me to you, didn’t it?”

Zayn swallows harshly. He knows that Louis chose that place at random, must have, and now he’s convinced that he was supposed to go there, to meet Zayn. He doesn’t know what flips in his stomach, but it feels uncomfortable.

He doesn’t want Louis to feel like he doesn’t have a choice.

“I can leave whenever you want me to.” He rushes out, watches as Louis’ smile drops. “Whenever you say, I’ll be gone.”

Louis’ frowning now, searching Zayn’s eyes for something. Then he’s leaning back, nose scrunching up, “Why would you tell me that?”

“I don’t want you thinking you have to keep bringing me along everywhere you go just because of some pain we both feel.” Zayn explains, a lump growing in his throat. “You say the word, and I can go. It’ll hurt for a bit, but after that, you’ll feel nothing.”

He leaves out the part where Louis will forget that Zayn ever existed. But when he turns to Louis and sees the...the hurt? In his eyes, Zayn suddenly feels terribly guilty.

“Do you...do you want to go?” Louis asks him, voice quiet.

“No.” Zayn says immediately, honestly.

Louis clears his throat, then stops leaning back from him. He nods once, “Good. I don’t want you to, either.”

A sense of warmth fills Zayn’s body. Something mends inside him, something he didn’t know was broken, and he feels completed somehow. Like that last bit of confirmation or reassurance was enough to fix him up.

He can feel the water soak his pants but he doesn’t care. He remains sitting there in silence with Louis beside him, both watching the world in front of them. Time passes but neither of them have a watch or a sense of time—Zayn looks for the sun and he sees it off-centre, meaning that it will almost turn dark soon.

Something like an internal grumble is heard from Louis, and Louis raises his eyebrows at it. He looks at Zayn, “Let’s get something to eat, shall we?”

.

They find a fish and chip shop just up from the beach, next to a rich looking bar. Louis orders something cheap and they sit on one of the outside benches, the sky slowly turning into different colours.

The bar next door is loud; posh, rich people drinking their rich drinks and spoiling their rich outfits. There’s a particular sleaze that Zayn keeps his eyes on, a male a few years older than Louis, with two girls on either arm, smirking smugly in his suit and tie. Zayn rolls his eyes at him.

“What’s it like?” Louis asks Zayn, “Being dead, I mean.”

“At first, it’s weird, of course. Like, I saw my own body being burnt to pieces, saw the people who discovered me and my family, saw our funerals...” Zayn trails off, biting the inside of his cheek as he remembers his other family members crying, the people that used to bully him being there and using Zayn’s death as an excuse to gain sympathy and attention from others.

“I’m sorry.” Louis says, sadness in his eyes.

“But before I met you,” Zayn continues, “I was nothing but numb. And bored. So, so bored.”

“Do you think...” Louis looks down at his pile of chips, he darts his tongue out to lick over his lips, then looks back at Zayn, “Have you ever seen others like you?”

“Only when we go to town.” Zayn tells him. “There are no other ghosts where we live.”

“Oh.” Louis processes it, nodding as he does so. His forehead creases a little, then he asks, “Do you have friends?”

Zayn nods once. “I have one. His name is Nick.”

Zayn classifies him as a friend, anyway. He’s the only other ghost that’s taken the time to talk to him, and has invited him over anytime he needs. Maybe Nick could introduce Zayn to the social circle that Nick talks about sometimes.

When Zayn looks at Louis, he sees his face contorted, his face screwed up at a memory.

“Something wrong?” Zayn asks him, concerned.

“Oh, no.” He waves his hand, ”It’s just... Harry broke things off with me because of some Nick guy.”

Zayn avoids his eyes. He hides his smirk behind his hand, knowing that Louis shouldn’t feel bad about that at all. If only he knew.

“I’m sure it had nothing to do with you.” Zayn reassures him, giving him a smile.

Louis shrugs, “Who knows, right?” He takes a drink from his cup and looks out into the ocean again. The sky is a mix of purples and pinks and it casts a light dim over the town, highlighting Louis’ face into something warm.

“Do you miss being alive?” Louis asks, without breaking contact with the sea.

That’s a difficult question, Zayn thinks. It comes with a complex answer, of course. Because he does, he does miss being alive. He misses the feelings he had, the way he could lay in the sun and feel it soak through his skin, or how he could feel his own heartbeat speed up whenever he was nervous or excited or scared. He misses being able to ask people anything, to be able to bump into someone on the street, to be able to have someone notice him.  He misses living, he misses the people he knew, misses the things that he was able to do as a human.

But, then again, he likes being dead. He’s able to do anything he wants without having it second guessed. He can fly, he can spy, he can go through walls and people, and also travel at lightning speed. He doesn’t have to deal with unpleasant people, like he has done throughout his life. He doesn’t have to be a wimp, doesn’t have to cope with bullies knocking him around any chance they could get. He could punish them now if they were still alive, wished that he had have punished them when Zayn had the chance.

Most importantly, though, if he were not immortal, if he had aged, he would never have met Louis. And that’s something priceless, something unforgettable.

“If you had have asked me that the first year I died, my answer would’ve one hundred percent been yes.” Zayn says truthfully. Louis looks at him at that, eyes inquisitive. “But, now, I think I—I am living. In my own world, that is. I may be dead, but I’m still alive...If that makes sense?”

“Yeah,” Louis says, almost breathless. He swallows and nods a few times, “Yeah, it does.”

When Louis finishes his dinner, he leans back into his chair, looking around and taking everything in. Night starts to creep in, the moon showing through a few clouds. It starts to become cold.

“You ready to fly back?” Zayn asks Louis, ready to get out of his chair.

“Hm,” Louis gives Zayn a small smile, “Guess so. Would be nice if we could stay the night, wouldn’t it?” He lets out a sigh, “Oh well, not much we can do at that, is there?”

He gets out of his chair and picks up his backpack, handing it to Zayn just as the rich guy from the bar next door barks out an egotistical laugh. 

Zayn gets an idea.

“Wait here a second, okay?”  He tells Louis. He frowns at him curiously for a few seconds, before eventually shrugging and sitting back down into his chair.

Zayn flies over to the bar. The guy has two different girls than before crowding around him, stroking his arm and hair as he holds a drink in his hand. His wallet is sticking out in the back pocket of his jeans and Zayn figures it’s because the man is drunk and unaware that money is quite literally falling out.

Without a second to spare, Zayn picks the wallet out of the man’s pocket in a flash, dipping behind a corner to open it. He’s ridiculously loaded, money stacked so the wallet can hardly close. Zayn takes out a few notes, enough for a night at a local motel, and flies back to shove the wallet back into the guy’s pocket.

When he returns back to Louis, he raises an eyebrow.

“Let’s find a place to stay, yeah?” Zayn says, flashing him the money with a grin.

Louis’ eyes blow wide, “What?” He whispers harshly, covering the money, making Zayn close his hands over it. He looks around, “Whose money is that? Zayn, did you steal?”

Zayn lets his eyes fall, “Yeah.”

There’s a pause, then, “Cool.”

Zayn looks back up and sees Louis grinning at him. Zayn beams.

.

By the time they reach a hotel, it’s completely dark. Stars are covering the whole sky, with the moon shining brighter than what Zayn’s ever seen. He can sense Louis’ happiness radiating off his entire body, bouncing with every step as they walk throughout town.

They enter the quiet lobby, something small with an older lady at the reception. She looks up over her glasses from where she’s sitting behind a huge desk, reading a book. She locks eyes with Louis and immediately straightens up, taking off her reading glasses and closing the book, plastering on a practiced smile.

When Louis reaches the desk, she tells him something rehearsed. “Hello, sir. Welcome to the Bay Hotel. I’m Mary, how are you this evening?”

“Uh, hey, I’m Louis.” He tells her, “I was wondering, how much would it be to stay for a night here, and if you have any rooms for me?”

She turns to her computer and taps at her keyboard for a few seconds. Louis looks back at Zayn for a moment, as though he was making sure he was still around.

“Ah, we do have a room left, just your luck.” She smiles at him, “It’s only you, isn’t it?”

“Would it be possible to get a room with two beds?”

Mary’s face falls and she shakes her head solemnly, “No, there are no rooms left but a two-person room with one bed. I’m terribly sorry.”

Zayn fills with slight joy at that—at the fact that Louis was willing to pay extra money just so Zayn could stay with him. It’s not his money but, still. Zayn likes to think it is.

“Oh, that’s fine. I’ll take that room. How much will that be?”

After some conversation and exchange of money and names and keys, Louis returns back to Zayn.

“I got a room for the night, the cash was more than enough.” Louis tells him.

Zayn gives him a smile, “We can spend it on breakfast for tomorrow, then.” He says, now noticing the slight tiredness in Louis’ eyes, visible underneath the harsh orange lights on the ceiling. He hands Louis back his bag, “I’ll see you in the morning, Lou.”

 He turns to leave the lobby, planning on spending the night on top of the roof like he’s used to doing. But before he can even take a step, Zayn is stopped.

“Wait,” Louis says, so quiet it’s almost inaudible even in Zayn’s head. He feels something touch his wrist, and the electricity is back again—shooting through his veins.

He turns back around, waiting for Louis to say something.

“Where are you going?” Louis asks, hesitant.

“The roof?” Zayn phrases it as a question, his own uncertainty displayed as he sees Louis’ expression.

He shakes his head, “Stay.”

Zayn pauses. He doesn’t know why he does, but he does. He looks over Louis, and then nods. He notices the way Louis attempts to hide his smile before he starts to walk towards the elevator, Zayn following.

.

The room is fairly big, bigger than what either of them had expected, especially for something so cheap. Zayn had never stayed in a hotel room before. Never gone for a vacation that’s lasted more than a few days, really.

Louis seems like he’s been in plenty hotels by the way he walks around it, opening the mini fridge in the small kitchen that’s supplied, and takes out a bottle of water. He walks over to the window, opening up the curtains. It reveals a perfect view of the beach, the bright moon reflects off the water. The faint sounds of the waves crashing can be heard from their room, and Zayn reckons the sun will shine in on the both of them in the morning, blinding their eyes. That’s probably a good thing, Zayn thinks, as check-out is at ten in the morning.

The water from the bottle Louis is drinking is suddenly no more, with Louis gulping at it like someone who’s survived in the desert for weeks on end. He scrunches up the plastic bottle in his hand when he finishes and throws it in the bin on the other side of the room.

“Are you sure you’re not hungry?” He asks Zayn as he sifting through his backpack.

Zayn chuckles a little, “I’m sure, Louis.”

“Good.” He says, and takes out an item of clothing, plus a toothbrush. Zayn doesn’t ask why he brought a toothbrush when he was expecting to only be down here for one day. “Well, I’m off to have a shower and wash off all this salt and sand. You can take the bed this time, okay?”

Louis disappears into the other room and Zayn hears the shower begin to run.

When it stops, Louis comes out a few moments later, stopping in his tracks and locking eyes with Zayn who has made himself his own bed on the carpeted floor, fit with spare blankets and pillows. Zayn just smiles sheepishly back at him, knowing exactly what Louis’ about to say.

“Get into the bed, Zayn.” He says, affirmatively, hand on his hip.

“You paid for the room.” Zayn says, denying the lie. “You get into the bed.”

Louis rolls his eyes dramatically and sighs heavily. “I’ll never win with you, will I?”

“Probably not.” Zayn says, shooting him a grin.

“You’re such a weirdo.” Louis tells him fondly, crawling into his bed.

Once he’s underneath the covers, Zayn crosses the room and turns off the light, setting the room into complete darkness, except for the moonlight that washes in slightly from the window next to the bed.

He gets into his own hand-made bed, rolling over into the covers, shutting his eyes.

“Hey, Zayn?” Louis says softly, earning a hum in response. “Thank you for taking me here and giving me a chance to stay. It’s really—it’s what I needed.”

“Anytime, Lou.”

It becomes silent after that, the only sounds being the light hum of the party down at the bar and the people at the beach, plus the waves rolling into each other. He lets his mind fill with sleepy thoughts, the presence of Louis all the more strong. He wants so much to just join Louis, wrap his arms around him, cuddle next to him and hold him.

Moments pass and Zayn is still not asleep. He tries to use Louis’ steady breathing as a guide to soothe him, to make the rhythm of it become familiar in his mind.

Louis must think Zayn’s asleep, though, as his voice, as quiet as a mouse, is heard. “Thank you for saving me.”

Zayn’s stomach lurches. It fills Zayn with such warm that he smiles, but doesn’t reply, as he’s not sure whether Louis wanted him to hear that or not. He doesn’t let himself question it, either. Louis thinks Zayn saved him.

Surprisingly, after that, sleep takes over.

.

They fly home first thing in the morning—as it wasn’t the sun beaming in that woke them up, but the rain that poured over the town, sending Zayn shivering underneath his blankets.

Of course, flying at record speed doesn’t stop the rain from wetting them head to toe. They enter the apartment and turn on the heating right away. Louis fills up the kettle and puts it on, and Zayn says yes to a cup of tea.

“Why don’t you have a shower, then?” Louis asks him, “You copped the rain worse than I did. Go look in my wardrobe for some clothes, yeah? The shower will warm you right up. Tea will be ready when you’re finished.”

Zayn can’t even manage the words. He looks at Louis graciously, giving him a smile, and nods before entering Louis’ bedroom. He opens up the small wardrobe and takes out a knitted jumper and some comfy looking pants, making sure they’re pieces that Louis doesn’t wear often, and enters the bathroom.

It’s the smallest room in the house and Zayn has trouble opening up the shower door but he manages. He undresses himself, taking off the items of clothing that he hasn’t touched since he died. They’re ratty and worn out now, from the endless nights of warmth and rain and dirt. It doesn’t smell, though, which is odd, but fortunate.

When he steps underneath the warm stream of water, he almost falls. His knees go weak at the pleasure of it, at the stimulation throughout his skin. He feels cleaner automatically, the water washing through his hair, washing away all the grime and dirt he’s managed to build up since he’s met Louis, it seems.

He squirts out some shampoo he sees near his feet and massages through his lengthy hair, combing his fingers and lathering it up before washing it out again. Then he squirts some scented body wash over his chest and stomach, using his hands to rub it over his entire body. When he washes off the soap, he lets the water run over him again for a few more moments, until it starts to turn a little cold.

He reluctantly turns off the water and steps out, grabbing the nearest towel he can find. He wraps it up in his hair for a few seconds, then places it around his waist.

When he looks up towards the mirror, he freezes.

It’s steamed-up, so the reflection is foggy but he’s there. In the mirror, Zayn can see himself.

He can see the outline of his head, where his hair stops right before his shoulders, can see the broadness of his shoulders and the length of his arms, can see his chest and his belly button. He reaches out a shaky hand and brushes it over the mirror, making the fog disappear, revealing a clearer reflection.

“Holy shit,” He says under his breath.

His mouth becomes suddenly dry, his breathing increased. He hasn’t seen his own reflection in centuries, the only view of himself is in his memories. Seeing himself makes him remember what it was like to be alive, how much he hated to see his reflection, how much other kids used to make fun of him in school for being ‘different’. And when he graduated, he remembers how hard it was to find a job because of how he looked, how he was brought up. These years are a terrible time to be living in, his father had told him the day that he caught Zayn trying to bleach his skin, but don’t let it get to you, Zayn. Times will change and things will get better, I promise you.

“Zayn?” Louis calls from outside of the closed door. “Zayn, you alright, love? Tea’s getting cold.”

Again, Zayn can’t bring himself to answer. He can’t even bring himself to tear his eyes away from the mirror. Because he enjoys seeing himself, now.  From being nothing, from being invisible, to being finally able to be seen—is incredible. He wants to take pictures now, find out if he’s shown in them, wants to cross every window and reflection in town and spot himself in it, among the other people walking beside him.

He hears the door squeak open, “Zayn? You alrigh—oh. What’s wrong?”

Louis stands next to Zayn and Zayn watches in the mirror, noticing their different heights, their different looks, Louis’ worried expression as he stares at the side of Zayn’s face. Then he sees Louis follow Zayn’s gaze, locking eyes with him in the mirror.

“That’s...” Louis blinks a few times, “That’s not supposed to happen, is it?”

Zayn shakes his head softly, “No.” He swallows once, and his lips form a smile. “I can see my reflection, Lou. It’s me.”

“It is.” Louis confirms, bringing up his hand to delicately poke at Zayn’s cheek, “And what a beautiful reflection it is.”

Zayn sees himself turn a bright colour in his cheeks and he dips his head, grinning from ear to ear. When he looks up, he meets Louis’ smile, his hand now on Zayn’s shoulder.

.

Later that day, when the sun goes down and after Zayn cooks up something for the two of them, Louis and Zayn sit on the couch, a movie playing on the television. This time, they’re not on opposite ends. Zayn’s sitting on the right whilst Louis sits next to him, his legs cross-legged on the sofa, his knee touching Zayn’s thigh. Considering the size of the piece of furniture, Zayn could wrap his arm over Louis’ shoulder and cuddle him just like this. He could reach out just a little and he’d be touching Louis’ hand. If he lent in, just a smidge, he could press his lips to Louis’ cheek.

Their closeness is so distracting—Zayn doesn’t even know what they’re watching.

“See, this part is so ridiculous, don’t you reckon?” Louis says, eyes on the screen, his hand gesturing towards it. “Like, if the attic literally screamshaunted, then that’s a fair freaking sign to get the fuck out of there.” He rolls his eyes, “People in movies are so stupid, I swear to god.”

Zayn shrugs, “I don’t know, maybe they don’t believe in haunted things. Maybe they’re realists.”

“Yeah, okay, but even so you don’t try and scope out an area that flies off your creepy radar, do you?”

“Depends on what’s considered creepy.”

Louis looks at him, “Well, for this instance, creepy is hearing things that sound like footsteps and whispers in your roof when you know for a fact that there’s nobody there.”

Zayn pouts his bottom lip, “So, you’re saying, if he never looked in the attic, that he’d be okay?”

“Definitely.” He nods once. “Just leave it completely, ignore it. Don’t you think that?”

“No, not really.” Zayn says with a straight face. “If he had done that, then it would’ve been a pretty boring movie, wouldn’t it?”

He watches as Louis’ lips slowly curve into a smile. He picks up the pillow next to him and throws it at Zayn, before rolling his eyes.

“You’re so bloody weird, you know that?”

Zayn lets out a laugh and throws the pillow back into Louis’ lap. He turns back to the screen, now actually watching the movie, waiting to see what the main character does.

An hour in, and things have only gotten scarier. There are demons in this man’s house, possessing his family member’s and all attacking him at once. Zayn’s not affected by it at all, knows all that stuff is just made up and used to scary the living shit out of audience’s—which seems to be working on Louis, who’s now curled up by Zayn’s side, dipping behind Zayn’s shoulder every now and again when something jumps out.

He’s grabbing at Zayn’s—Louis’—t-shirt, yelping and jumping almost at every scene. Zayn doesn’t mind, of course he doesn’t, but he starts to wonder if Louis had put this movie on for a reason, if he knew he’d be this scared in order to get closer to Zayn. It’s far-fetched, he knows, but if there’s a string of hope there for him to grab, he’ll cling onto it for dear life.

“Ah!” Louis suddenly screams, and it’s the scream that makes Zayn jump, not the face that pops up on the T.V. “Oh my god! Kill her, you fool!”

He’s on the edge of the sofa now, leaning forwards towards the screen, shouting at the characters as though they’d be able to hear him and listen to his advice.

“Grab the pitchfork, it’s right there! No, don’t go over there, you idiot! Get it! Get—yes! Yes, now stab her, in the chest! In the chest! No, no, no,” The demon takes the pitchfork out of the guy’s hand with her teeth in his moment of hesitation and Louis leans back into the couch, hands on his face as though his favourite team just lost a match, “You brainless bastard. Why did you hesitate?”

“Probably because it was his sister.” Zayn suggests, his arm now at over the back of the couch, nearing Louis’ shoulders.

“Yeah, was.” Louis emphasises, then gestures to the screen to her face where it’s all bloody around the mouth, her eyes pure black, “I don’t know about you, but if that thing was staring at me right in the face I’d kill it, no hesitation.”

Zayn chuckles softly, admiring Louis from where he’s sitting. He loves the way Louis talks when he’s into something, how his entire face frames what he’s saying, his expressions so animated. His eyes are always so bright, so full of life, and his voice is never, ever, dull.

He feels a flush of something warm shoot throughout his body like a bomb, releasing its explosion inside of him. It makes him feel giddy, almost. And for the first time in a long time, he wonders if that was Louis emotion, or his own.

When the movie ends, Louis rants on about the disappointment of the ending and how it would’ve been ten times better if he directed it. Zayn collects their plates and glasses and places them in the sink, vowing to wash them tomorrow.

“Hey, Zayn?” Louis asks from the couch, the television now off.

“Hm?”

“Did you wanna, like...” He pauses for a moment, as though he’s unsure of how to ask, or phrase it, “Did you wanna—just from sitting here right now, I wouldn’t mind if you slept in my bed? Just ‘cause, like, this couch is super uncomfortable, like I don’t know how you’ve been sleeping here for the past couple of weeks.” He laughs a little, “Like, how’s your back?”

Zayn falters from the kitchen. He feels his breath hitch, and he loves the way Louis was almost embarrassed to propose such a thing. He swallows dryly, and when he tries to speak at first, no words come out. After clearing his throat, he tries again.

“Um, yeah, I’ll sleep there.” He says, smiling at little, “If you’re sure that’s okay?”

“Yeah,” Louis tells him, returning the smile. “’Course it is.”

.

The sky is completely pitch black outside now, no light coming in through the window unlike the hotel. And it’s weird, seeing the window from the inside. It’s so small, so hidden, yet Zayn was able to see so much. And now he’s here in Louis’ bedroom, where he’s welcome, and everything has changed dramatically for the better in such a short time. He wonders if it’ll ever reverse, if everything he’s worked on will suddenly blow up in flames. With that in mind, he plans on spending every moment with Louis like it were his last.

Louis closes the bedroom door after he finishes washing up and suddenly the closed-off atmosphere makes the moment all the more intimate. Though, it wasn’t intimate in the first place, of course, but there’s something about being in a small, closed off room with only Louis to share it with that makes Zayn’s body tingle. He knows it’s out of habit for Louis to close the door, usually because he likes to separate himself from Zayn whenever he sleeps. Zayn still feels as though he’ll touch the bed once and Louis will pull a 360 and turn on him immediately, ushering him out and telling him I can’t do this anymore.

Zayn bites his lip subconsciously, gnawing at it like it’s the only thing that’ll keep him from freaking out and over-thinking. Then, suddenly, without warning (as though there should be one), Louis begins to undress himself. And Zayn, for once, can’t bring himself to look away.

He starts at his shirt, tugging the bottom of it with his fingertips before slipping it passed his head swiftly, his hair tousled a little by the movement. His body is slightly tanned, lighter than Zayn’s, and looks like he’s been kissed by the sun. He has a skinny frame, his waist pinching in by the sides, only to widen a little at the hips, his figure looking like a very vague hour-glass. He takes in the sight of Louis’ collar bones, his chest, his abdomen, his hips and the tan line where his pants are riding just the little bit low, underneath his hip bones.

Next, is Louis’ trousers. He has no idea Zayn is looking at him probably, as he’s undressing at a normal, efficient pass. Whereas, in Zayn’s mind, everything is slowed down. Louis only has to tug a little on his drawstring and the pants fall down effortlessly, gathering around his small ankles. He steps out of them and kicks it off to the side, where Zayn takes the chance to admire Louis defined calves, the flesh of his thighs. He’s thankful for the loose boxer shorts he’s wearing, one’s that don’t ride up too much and one’s that don’t press in on that area. Zayn doesn’t think he’d be able to stop his mouth from drooling if he wore something that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

A loud, dry cough is heard. Then another one, more purposely, and Zayn snaps his head up from where it’s roaming Louis’ body, to look at Louis’ pink face.

Zayn blinks twice. “I—uh, sorry. I wasn’t—like, I was just—“

“It’s fine, Zayn.” Louis says quickly, avoiding his gaze. “It’s not a crime to look, is it?”

Zayn knows it’s not necessarily a question, so he doesn’t answer, and instead tries not to watch Louis climb into bed.

He’s wearing a sweater that sort of itches the back of his neck a little. It’s made out of material that’s used in winter, a thick sweater that’d probably suffocate him underneath all those blankets. He fiddles with the bottom of it, wondering whether or not to take it off, knowing that if he does, it might send Louis the wrong idea.

“You coming?” Louis asks him, “You’re not sleeping on the floor again, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“Nah, I wasn’t.” Zayn tells him. The wool rubs at his neck. “One second.”

He pulls up the sweater, just like Louis had done with his shirt, and lifts it up over his head. When it’s off, he smoothes down the shirt underneath from where it had risen, and combs his fingers through his hair once. Then, he folds the sweater up and places it onto Louis’ desk chair.

When he turns around, he finds Louis staring at him. When they lock eyes, though, he looks away.

Zayn eventually settles in beside Louis, not exactly lying down but not exactly sitting up. The lamp light is still on and it creates an orange glaze throughout the room. He waits for Louis to talk first, knowing that there’s something that he wants to say but it’s not exactly coming out. He’s got that look in his eyes, like he’s thinking intensely about something, trying to phrase it in his mind before he says it out loud.

After a few minutes, though, Zayn assumes the only reason why he’s not said anything, is because of the silence. And from what he’s known from Louis, he hates silence.

“Do you...” Zayn begins, Louis looks at him instantly. “Do you ever think about leaving here and going back to your hometown?”

Louis looks amused. He tilts his head back and lets out a short laugh. “God, no way. No way in hell would I ever go back there.”

Zayn swallows, feeling the pang of pain in his stomach from Louis’ emotions. He cringes inside, doesn’t wish to know why the memory of his home caused that feeling to occur.

“Not even to see Niall?” Zayn asks, remembering the Irish boy that arrived with Louis the same day.

“Niall’s like...Niall’s like a person who you could go years without seeing and then once you meet up again, it’s as if he’s been with you the whole time.” Louis explains, eyes drifting around the room. “Obviously, like, I do miss him. He’s a great guy. But he’s not, you know, that great for me to go and visit Doncaster.”

Zayn tries not to look at him solemnly. He’s sure he fails. “Was it that bad?” He asks, voice almost a whisper now.

Louis’ whole face turns soft. He blinks downwards, now looking at his hands over the sheets. He can see memories floating around in his head, can see him think about them from the way his eyes are telling it.

“Yeah,” He says, not even loud enough to be a whisper, a breath. “It was.”

“What about,” Zayn asks, finding himself gritting his teeth together now, his fists clenching around anything he can grab, frustrated at anyone and everything that made Louis’ life hard, “your family? Do they live there?”

“I don’t know about my parents. Don’t know whether they ran away or if they died...” Louis shrugs, like it’s no big deal, like he’s had to tell people that all his life, “Nobody knew of them, anyway. It was like I was brought into this world without parents. Weird, innit?”

“You—your parents abandoned you?” Zayn asks, exasperated. How could anyone give up Louis? He nods, then shrugs again. “Well, who took care of you, then?”

“The Doncaster Orphanage.” Louis says with an odd smile. Zayn’s not sure whether it’s a happy smile, a proud smile, or just a smile from remembering his childhood. Either way, it’s misplaced. “S’where I met Niall, actually. Been friends since we were babies. He’s my brother, in a way. He’s also the one who told me I should move here.” Louis glances down, a different smile on his lips now, genuine. “Good lad.” He whispers.

“I’m sorry.” Zayn says, fighting the most unresisting urge to reach out and hold his hand. “I had no idea you were an orphan.”

“Oh, no, don’t be. It was fun.” Louis replies, now grinning. “It was like growing up with twenty other siblings! But, you know, don’t get me wrong. At times, like, you’re sorta there feeling like an animal in a pound, just waiting, waiting, waiting to be picked by some nice family. And, like, when you reach passed the age of about, say, eight years old, your chances are pretty much gone. But I remember, like, me and Niall, we used to always dress in our best outfit, comb our hair, put on our best smile and made sure we looked nice whenever families would come in to choose someone.” Louis keeps looking down, pausing for a few seconds. He clears his throat, and moves his hair out of his face. “I never got picked, but, like, that’s okay. Because then by the time we were eighteen and we had to leave, we got our own place and, like, it wasn’t the best place on Earth but it made do, you know?” He finally chances a glance at Zayn and he smiles shyly. “Christ, listen to me, blabbering on. Feel free to shut me up anytime you want, you know.”

Zayn breathes deeply. He can see the underlying sadness in Louis, no matter how hard he tries to cover it up with jokes and smiles. It’s there, even when Zayn doesn’t feel it in himself.

“Why didn’t Niall move here if he was in the same situation as you?” He asks after a few moments, voice soft.

“’Cause Niall was more than happy.” Louis replies. “He worked down at the bar, had a good circle of mates, had a steady income. Guess it just wasn’t working out for me, hey?”

“You weren’t happy?” Zayn asks, hating the way his voice slightly cracks at the last word.

Louis takes in a breath. He pauses for a while before answering, his eyes doing that intense thing again. Zayn waits.

“When you picked me up, and we flew, that, honestly, was the happiest I’ve ever been.” Louis shakes his head slowly. “I never felt anything remotely close to that in Doncaster.”

Something sparks inside of Zayn. “I’m glad that could make you happy.”

“You,” Louis says, sitting up pointedly now, facing Zayn, “you make me happy.”

He says it likes it’s a realisation for him, but also a fact that Zayn needs to know. And Zayn grins at him, he actually grins and waits for Louis to smile back. He’s never felt more accomplished in his life.

“You know why that is, right?”

A beat. “Why? ‘Cause you’re an angel?”

“Because I’m in love with you.”

Zayn waits for the confused, bewildered, disgusted expressions. He waits for the widened eyes, the open-mouthed glare, the tensed muscles. He waits for the moment where Louis snaps, where he kicks Zayn out of his bed, out of his apartment, out of his life. He waits for Louis to react.

When he does, though, there’s no reaction. He only looks at Zayn like he’s trying to figure something out, like he’s inspecting him thoroughly.

“I know you fixed the snow globe.” Louis says, as though Zayn had never said the word love. Louis reaches over to the bedside table and picks up the globe, sitting back on his heels to inspect it. “When I broke it, I had no desire to mend it. Then when I came home and saw it undamaged, I knew it was you, some part of me knew it was you. And, the weirdest thing was, I didn’t feel scared or violated about it at all. It was...calming, almost, knowing you were there to fix it. So, thank you, for that.”

Zayn keeps his smile on him, then eventually drops his gaze and scratches at his head. “I—uh, Louis, I was the one who actually accidentally broke it. I—it fell, and it broke. So, sorry, about that.”

“But you fixed it, didn’t you?” Louis chases, not a beat of silence apart. He rubs his fingers delicately over the glass, eyes full of admiration. “So seamlessly, too. And now, look at it, it’s as though it were never broken.”

Something in his voice, something in the way he says it, makes Zayn think that he’s not talking about the object in his hands anymore. He’s talking about himself.

“I don’t think you were broken, Louis. You weren’t something to fix, you were doing that on your own. You have to know that.”

He lets out a short sigh, “Yeah, but now look at me. I feel like I was never...like all that never happened to me.”

The globe juggles in his hands lightly, bouncing off palm to palm. There’s a crease in his forehead and Zayn can’t stop staring at him. Even when he turns to Zayn and his face softens, the crease gone, they remain eye contact.

The normal blue of his eyes is discoloured from the lack of light but there’s a sort of darkness to them that Zayn thinks doesn’t have anything to do with light. They roam over Zayn’s face aimlessly, like they’re allowed, like they’re able to do that without any questions. And they are, in Zayn’s books, always allowed.

“Christ,” Louis breathes, and it’s then, when Zayn realises how close they are, inches apart, “You’re fucking gorgeous, did you know that?”

The random compliment burns inside him, burns his cheeks. He breaks eye contact for that moment, dipping his head down, smiling bashfully. It sounds absurd for that to be coming out of Louis’ mouth—since, obviously, Louis’ the most gorgeous person on Earth. In the universe, maybe. Definitely.

“Is it sort of like a Twilight thing, then?” Louis asks him, eyes never leaving Zayn’s face. Zayn looks at him at that, frowning sceptically. “Like, when you changed into a ghost, you just automatically become beautiful? Like the vampires in the...movie, you probably haven’t even heard of that, have you? Holy shit.”

“No, I...” Zayn shakes his head, blinks once, “I can’t say I have.”

“Oh.” Louis looks down at his hands, globe still settled in them, “How—uh, how old did you say you were?”

Zayn lets out a short, breathy laugh. He’s anxious now, knows that this answer could either break something or not faze him at all. He’s, technically, old enough to be Louis’ great, great, grandfather, probably. But he doesn’t think about that, puts the thought straight into the trash when it enters his mind. Realistically speaking, though, he’s twenty-two, just like Louis.

“Do you mean, like,” Zayn tries to swallow, but finds his mouth suddenly dry, so he only ends up tightening his jaw, “how old I am from when I died? Or how old I was when I died?”

“Uhh,” Louis looks around the room, like he was only expecting a straight-forward answer. “Both?”

“Well, I was twenty-two, was ‘bout to turn twenty-three, when the fire happened.” He says, figures he might say the easiest answer first. Louis raises one eyebrow, fascinated. “And... that was in the eighteen hundreds. So, I’m—I’m two hundred and…twenty-two years old, technically.”

“Fuck.” Louis mouths, stunned.

“Yeah,” Zayn cringes, the number sounding far more older when he says it out loud. “But like, to be fair, I haven’t aged. Like at all. So, I’m actually still in my twenties. Like you.”

“Yeah, no, I get that.” Louis nods, actually looking like he’s not scared, or freaked out at all. “You, uh, you definitely look twenty. Not, uh, in your two hundreds. Just for the record.”

Zayn’s lips stretch into a smile, “Thanks, Lou. You, too.”

Louis rolls his eyes, “Well, yes, obviously. I’m not the one who’s a ghost, now, am I?”

With a cocky smile, Zayn looks at him with an inquisitive gaze, “Thought I was a guardian angel?”

Louis smiles gently, “That, too.”

He’s getting pretty good at it now, controlling his urges. But now, as they sit together alone in Louis’ bed, with Louis, who keeps looking at him like that, Zayn finds it more and more difficult to stop wanting to kiss every inch of his skin and to hold him close while they sleep. They stare at each other again, and Zayn’s mouth feels so goddamn dry, as do his lips. And when he darts out his tongue to lick them, he doesn’t miss the way Louis’ eyes flicker down.

He clears his throat, “So,” He says, then leans over to the bedside table, places the snow globe on top, “time for bed, now, isn’t it?”

“Okay,” Is all Zayn says back, and watches as the room slowly turns to complete darkness when Louis switches off the lamp.

They both bury into the covers, heads on their pillows. Zayn lies on his back as Louis turns over, away from him, facing the bedside table. His presence is so there, it’s almost enough to drive Zayn crazy. He blinks up at the ceiling, unable to sleep yet. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get to sleep tonight, probably. Doesn’t trust himself enough to fall in and out of consciousness, knowing that if he does, he might wake up wrapped out Louis with Louis stilled completely, scared out his life.

Though, after a few minutes, it seems like Louis’ not asleep, either.

“You love me.” He says, so quietly, almost like an afterthought.

It was bound to be brought up somehow. Zayn thought it was a little odd for Louis not to act on it or react to it before. He brings it up so inaudibly, though, like back at the hotel, how he told Zayn he saved him, with the presumption that he was already sleeping. This time, though, Zayn replies.

“I do.”

At that, Louis turns over. He faces Zayn, now closer than ever, head on the pillow still, hand underneath it, looking at Zayn. He’s frowning slightly, and Zayn wishes he’d stop doing that.

“Why?” He asks, voice cracking.

Zayn turns his head so it looks directly at Louis, remaining on his back. He raises his eyebrows incredulously, from being asked such a bewildering and gigantic question. He breathes out a big sigh, now staring back up at the ceiling, trying to think how to answer it without blabbering on too much.

“Well, if you’re tired, I’ll just answer with: why not?” Zayn says, because it’s true. Why wouldn’t he love Louis?

“Zayn, that’s—that’s a cruddy answer.” He says, laughing a little. “It’s because I’m the only person who’s able to see you, right?”

Zayn’s stomach actually sinks. Although he’s lying down, it sinks further into his body, as though he were riding a rollercoaster and suddenly drops. Though, he’s not screaming with adrenaline or happiness—he’s...offended, almost, that Louis would even assume that. 

“Lou,” He replies, seriously, looking at him again, “If I were to fall in love with anyone that were to see me, I would have had many ghost boyfriends by now, don’t you think?”

Louis offers him a small smile, complete with a small shrug, “Yeah, I guess.”

This time, Zayn turns his whole body, mimicking Louis, facing him completely. He can’t let Louis go to sleep thinking Zayn only loves him just because.

“I know you, Louis, that’s why I love you.” Zayn tells him, Louis’ breath hitches slightly, Zayn can feel it on his skin. “I’ve liked you ever since I saw you, actually, before you noticed me. Thought you were the most, brightest and intriguing person I’ve ever seen. And that’s saying a lot, considering how long I’ve been alive. But after spending time with you, you’ve done nothing but exceed my expectations. You’re funny, kind-hearted, grateful, hard-working...the list could go on. Truth is, Lou, you’re so much more than what you give yourself credit for. You’re so special, I promise you.”

When Zayn meets back to Louis’ eyes, he spots them glassy, watery. The water flickers off his eyes, the tears sticking to Louis’ eyelashes when he tries to blink it away. He’s crying, but he’s happy, the grin on his face evident in that.

Then, out of nowhere, Louis’ arm flies over Zayn’s chest, his body half on top of Zayn’s, his head buried in Zayn’s neck.

“Thank you.” Louis says, almost overwhelmed with emotion, as though that’s the nicest thing he’s ever heard.

Zayn wraps both arms around Louis as best as he can, holding him close to his chest, placing his head on top of Louis’, his fingers unintentionally stroking delicately up and down Louis’ back. They stay like that for a moment longer than a normal hug and Zayn wonders if they could stay like this and sleep, knowing that he’d have the best rest of his life.

When Louis lifts back up, not completely detaching himself, but raising a little to meet Zayn’s eyes, there’s something different in them. Calmness, adoring, want? Zayn still has his hands on Louis’ back and they go still when Louis pauses for a moment, just looking. When he dips down, though, Zayn hardly has a moment to register.

Just like that, for about two seconds of his life, Louis’ lips were on his own.

If touching Louis for the first few times caused electricity to shoot through his veins, this was something else. This was something that hasn’t been discovered yet, and if man were to figure out the charge that was sent from Louis’ lips to his own, they could power the entire world with it.

Which is probably why it only lasted for that short amount of time, judging by the wideness of Louis’ eyes.

“Did you feel that?” He asks Zayn, whispering.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, his smile uncontrollable, partly from the feeling, partly because Louis just fucking kissed him, “It’s like what I felt when you touched me that first time.”

“Really?” Louis asks, an eyebrow raised, “That strong?”

Zayn shakes his head, “This one was stronger.”

Louis licks his lips, thinking. He dips his head down again, but not all the way, just hovering over Zayn’s lips. Zayn reaches up, unable to wait any longer, and presses into him.

It happens again, the initial shock, and it makes the both of them giggle into each other’s mouths. And then Zayn opens his own and Louis’ mouthing over it, kissing him slowly, like he’s still trying to get used to the feel of him. He relaxes a little, not exactly using his elbows to support him anymore, and Zayn falls onto his back, taking Louis with him so he’s mostly on top of Zayn.

Louis’ hands come up to cup the sides of Zayn’s face, delicate skin meeting coarse stubble, and then Louis deepens the kiss, licking lightly over Zayn’s lips, then dips into Zayn’s mouth, meeting his tongue. Zayn moves up into him, kissing him gently, ignoring the feeling in his lower stomach, telling him more more more.

And when Louis pulls away the slightest bit, Zayn could almost whine. “You taste nice.” Louis tells him, pecking his lips again.

“You feel nice.” Zayn says, without thinking. He’s about to cover himself, tell him he meant the feeling was nice, of Louis kissing him, despite the real meaning of Louis all over, feels nice.

But before Zayn can talk again, Louis’ shifting his position. He kneels up, letting the covers fall off of both of them, and crawls on top of Zayn, fitting his thighs on either side on Zayn’s hips, settling his bum on top of Zayn’s crotch. Zayn sucks in a breath, automatically resting his hands on either side of Louis’ hips, settling him there.

Louis smiles at him devilishly, “Much better.”

He leans back down again, so his chest is flush against Zayn’s, skin on skin, and kisses into Zayn’s mouth again, more urgently this time. Zayn keeps up, kissing him at the same speed, licking and meeting Louis’ tongue, his hands now roaming over Louis’ skin—his back, his hips, his thighs. And Louis does the same, his own slipping from Zayn’s cheeks to his neck, then spread down his shoulders.

Then when Louis pulls back, he rides back in again, using his whole body this time, his hips pressing down into Zayn as he does so. Zayn’s sure he sees stars, sees them when his eyes rolls back into his head. Louis stops kissing his mouth and moves down his jaw, kissing and sucking, until he meets his neck, the flesh where it meets his shoulder, and bites down.

Zayn arches his back at that, his body feeling a mix between pain and pleasure, and Louis grinds down as soon as Zayn presses upwards, and Zayn can feel Louis smiling against his skin as a moan slips out of Zayn’s mouth, filling the room.

The noise makes Louis freeze. He leans back, his lips red, cheeks pink, eyes dazed. They lock onto Zayn's and widen slightly, as though he'd just woken up. It gives Zayn a few seconds to... Process, he guesses. If he even can begin to process something like this.

"I—Er," Louis stutters. He blinks at himself, then combs his fingers through his hair as he slowly creeps off of Zayn, almost in disbelief. "I'm sorry." He says with a short, breathy laugh. He turns to face Zayn, but doesn't reach his eyes. He wipes his bottom lip with his thumb, "Nobody's ever... Uh," His eyes flick to Zayn's and Zayn slowly moves into a sitting position, too. "Nobody's ever told me they loved me before. Like that. So." He laughs again. "Forgive me."

Zayn shakes his head profusely. "It's okay."

"We should... We should probably sleep."

He can't help but feel the longingness return, especially now that he's had a taste, that he was able to finally touch. But it's obviously a lot for Louis, all of these discovered feelings at once. Especially now that he feels the electricity, too. 

Zayn swallows, "Sure, Lou. If that's what you want."

Neither of them budge, though. 

His eyes remain on Louis, waits for him to crawl back underneath the covers, to turn back away and drift off to sleep. But then he sees Louis lock eyes with Zayn again, biting his lip with something that looks like deliberation. 

"Fuck it."

Louis moves quickly, kissing Zayn again and Zayn smiles against his lips, the spark returning and shocking them in the best way. He's surprised at how fast Louis returns to the position he had before, thighs baracadding Zayn's hips strongly, hands bracing the sides of his face.

Louis kisses softly over the bite that may or may not bruise in the morning, and moves down Zayn’s chest. Zayn’s fingers find their way into Louis’ hair, fingernails scratching softly into it, massaging at his scalp. He can feel more than hear, the soft sounds coming from Louis’ mouth, vibrating through his skin. It’s all too much to handle, and can feel himself pressing into Louis’ bum.

He knows it’s not his own, knows that it’s Louis’ erection that’s making his own do the same, since he’s not alive, meaning there is no blood yet in those cold veins of his. And if Louis’ as hard as Zayn represents, then he has to do something about that, then, doesn’t he?

“Let me touch you.” He says, unaware of how wrecked he is already, his voice giving him away.

Louis doesn’t reply, instead detaches his lips from Zayn’s stomach and sits up, swivelling on top of Zayn’s dick in circles, arousal hitting him like waves. He can see Louis tenting in his boxers, staring at him like a plea. Louis leans in again, but not for a kiss.

His lips are close to Zayn’s ear, can feel him against the shell of it, “Been a while since you’ve had this, hasn’t it?”

Zayn doesn’t tell him that he's never done this before. With girls, yes—it was a different time back then—but he's not a blushing virgin; it seems Nick failed to mention that this "soulmate bond" automatically makes you in tune with what the other needs.

“Please, Lou.” Is what he finds himself saying.

“Fuck,” Louis says, right into his ear, and Zayn palms himself through his boxers. Louis bites at Zayn’s earlobe, then says, “Okay.”

He rolls off of Zayn in record speed and Zayn hasn’t felt so lonely in the time that Louis leaves him to the time he returns on top of him, completely naked. And for the record, if Zayn could come, he would right then and now, just by the sight of him.

His cock is so impatient, waiting there between his thighs, flat against his stomach, urging to be touched. Louis shifts closer to Zayn’s face, doesn’t stop till he’s near his shoulders, looking down at him.

“This alright?” He asks, so delicate and concerned, Zayn could eat him up.

“Yeah,” Zayn swallows thickly, “this is good.”

Louis holds himself at the base, and Zayn breathes in a shaky breath. He points his cock towards Zayn and Zayn is so, so hungry for him. He wants to fuck him, wants to fuck him so good that he looks dishevelled by the time he’s done, looks even more dishevelled in the morning. He wants to mark him, thoughts of mineminemine echoing in his head every time he looks at him.

So Zayn takes control, wrapping his own hand around Louis, replacing his hand, and Louis sucks in a sharp breath, now bracing himself against the headboard behind Zayn. He wipes his thumb over the tip, pre-come spilling out over his dick. He strokes downwards, then upwards again. The next time he goes down, he stays there, then brings his mouth to him.

He licks at the tip, little kitten licks that makes Louis moan above him, “Come on, Zay...uhh...”

Zayn wraps his lips around him, then moves down Louis’ dick, flattening out his tongue and licking when he moves upwards again. He doesn’t detach, just sinks back down when he reaches the tip. He does this until he reaches his hand. And when he moves his hand off, Louis starts to move. It’s like he’s been aching to do this ever since Zayn came in contact with him.

He moves into him, his hips angling downwards so his cock slides in and out of Zayn’s mouth. It’s slow at first, as though Louis’ making sure to prepare Zayn, make him used to the feeling of him in his mouth.

After a few more slow thrusts, Louis speeds up, gaining a rhythm. Zayn works with it, Louis’ cock now slick with spit and pre-come, sliding easily in and out of his mouth, feeding off the high, weak moans Louis breaks out.

When Zayn stops focusing on the clenching of Louis’ stomach muscles, he looks upwards. The sight is incredible. His hands are clenching at the headboard, veins visible in his arms. His head is thrown back, but when Zayn accidentally lets his teeth come into contact, lightly grazing his cock when Louis pulls outwards, Louis’ head falls forwards, a loud, broken moan escaping his mouth. It fills Zayn’s ears, his head feeling like he’d just taken ecstasy. Louis’ damp fringe falls in front of his face, his eyes closed, mouth open in an “o” shape.

“Fuck, Zayn,” He says, “I think, I’m...” He opens his eyes, and when he finds Zayn already looking at him, his pupils blow wide, and then he’s coming.

His thighs tremble around Zayn’s face, and Zayn holds his hips to steady him, warmth filling his mouth, down his throat. And then Louis relaxes, falling off of Zayn, breathing heavily, sweaty and spent.

Zayn finds himself go limp for a few seconds, like Louis, but only to spring back up again, flat against his stomach. Louis still lies flaccid.

He opens his eyes and strokes his hand down Zayn’s chest, down his abdomen, until he holds Zayn’s throbbing cock in his small, delicate hand.

“Time to take care of you now.” He purrs, kissing at Zayn’s jaw.

“Actually,” Zayn says, finding himself struggling to catch his breath, “this is still all you.”

Louis blinks at him, confused. “What do you mean? That was—I came. Your mouth is incredible, by the way.”

Zayn smiles at him from the praise. “Thanks.” He leans over and presses a kiss to Louis’ nose. “But, I mean that this,” He gestures to his erection, “is still you. I don’t—I don’t have blood, so. I’m only feeling what you feel, basically. So, I guess you’re still horny.”

His explanation lacks depth but honestly he’s so turned on he’s surprised he could even make that coherent. Louis gazes down at his own penis, interestingly.

“I am.” Louis admits. “I so am. I just,” He lies back down, “just give me a few minutes.”

Zayn watches as Louis’ chest rises and falls, scans the line of Louis neck as he lies his head back onto the pillow, looking nothing but irresistible. Zayn moves over to him, slotting his leg between Louis’ legs, and caresses his face with his hand, pressing a kiss to his lips.

Louis’ eyes flutter open, looking at Zayn doe-eyed and lazy, his hands coming up to wrap around Zayn’s middle, letting him kiss him. He grinds against Louis’ thigh, his cock needing serious attention, and one of Louis’ hands come down to move over the flesh of Zayn’s arse, squeezing the flesh of it teasingly.

Zayn moves off Louis’ mouth this time when something tells him to go straight to his chest, moving his mouth over one of his nipples, occupying the other one with a finger and thumb, rubbing it and sucking and biting it, loving the way Louis arches underneath him, loves Louis’ fingers in his hair.

Once Louis’ nipples are tender past touches, he feels Louis’ dick twitch underneath him, and moves down his body, leaving a kissing trail, until he reaches his hips. He slides his hands over Louis’ thighs, running upwards towards the insides of them, watching the way his skin creates goose-bumps at the touch. His intuition tells him they'll need something else. 

He tries not to, but he thinks of Louis' night at Liam's, and what Louis had asked of him.

“Got any lube, babe?” The name comes out unintentionally, but Louis doesn’t seem to care at all. If anything, he seems comforted by it.

“Yeah, in the drawer.” He says, then watches as Zayn leans over and takes out the small tube. “Did you want me to turn over?”

“Whatever’s comfortable for you.”

Louis turns over, bracing on his elbows, arching his back so his butt sticks up into the air, face into the pillow. Zayn wishes he had a camera. He’d take a million photos of Louis in this position, just waiting, presenting himself to Zayn, the perfect curve of his back.

He kneels behind him, opening up the tube and squeezing a fair amount onto his fingers, lathering them up enough for Louis. He trails one of his untouched fingers down the spine of Louis’ back, sliding down his butt, watching the way Louis shivers completely when the coldness of the lube hits his skin. He rubs over his hole, hearing the moan that’s threatening to escape Louis’ mouth, but instead remaining at the base of his throat.

When Zayn slips his first finger in, Louis opens his mouth and the sound comes back, almost like an award. Zayn wants so bad to fuck him. He moves his first finger around, then slowly pushes a second one in, the other hand grabbing at the flesh of Louis’ arse. He kisses up Louis’ back, curling his fingers once they’re fully inside, searching for Louis’ spot. He reaches Louis’ neck, and kisses behind his ear.

He scissors his fingers, stretching Louis out, then pulls back, and pushes back in. He stretches them out, and that’s when Louis almost collapses. Zayn smiles triumphantly against Louis’ neck, biting him softly, making Louis shudder.

“I love you,” He says in Louis’ ear, lowly.

“God,” Louis squeaks, sounding honestly wrecked already, “Just—just do it, Zayn.”

Zayn feels like he could burst, wishes he could burst, and moves his hand that was attached to Louis butt cheek down to his cock, pleased to find it pulsing against Louis’ stomach.

He pulls his fingers out, hearing the soft sigh from Louis from the sudden emptiness. Then Zayn squirts some lube onto his palm, touching himself so he can slick that up as much as he can. He runs his hands down Louis’ sides, down his hips, kneading the flesh of his butt.

“Zayn, please.” Louis whines, desperate.

“Turn over.” Zayn orders. “I want to see you.”

Louis does as he’s told, and lies on his back, facing the ceiling, facing Zayn. His knees bend and his legs spread apart, eyes locked onto his own.

“God, you look so gorgeous.” Zayn tells him, then kisses his mouth.

Louis kisses back, for not for long. He’s impatient now, only managing whines, telling Zayn just to hurry up, he needs it.

So Zayn leans back, aligns himself, and pushes the tip against him, Louis’ back automatically lifting off the mattress, his hand coming up to wrap around his cock. Zayn doesn’t slap his hand away or take over, he lets Louis do what he needs to do, since Zayn doesn’t need to come, doesn’t need to last, just needs Louis to be satisfied, ruined.

He presses in a little more, then pulls back but doesn’t pull out. He uses the same method as he did with his mouth around Louis’ dick, and once Zayn is completely inside Louis, he starts to move more fluently.

The electricity has reached another level, now. It's sparking all over, even in places where they're not touching. It's affecting Louis to the point where he's almost shaking underneath Zayn's grasp.

His hands brace Louis’ hips, his body leaning over Louis’, kissing at Louis’ neck as he thrusts into him. He hears the shaky breathes and the broken whimpers Louis makes right next to his ear. Louis’ neglected his own dick, his nails now occupied with Zayn’s back, scratching down it and shooting pleasure right down Zayn’s body.

He angles himself a different way and presses deeper into Louis, satisfied when Louis cries out, his fingers digging into Zayn’s skin, sweat falling down his forehead. He continues to press into that certain spot, hitting his prostate every time, Louis’ sounds coming out more and more broken every time he makes them.

“Zayn! Zayn! Ah!” Louis moves his hips upwards, his cock rubbing against Zayn’s stomach, leaking between the both of them, making the corners of Louis’ eyes water. Zayn fucks into him, the mattress moving with him, the headboard smashing into the wall that it’s up against.

He’s glad the wall connects to the bathroom, and not somebody else’s apartment.

“Holy shit, holy fuck,” Louis cries, the last word slipping into a loud moan of Zayn’s name. The pants that come next are a mix between ah and Zayn and fuck, and then he’s coming, a strangled cry and then he’s quiet, his body shaking underneath Zayn and Zayn stops moving, Louis’ come shooting out between them, getting on both Zayn and Louis’ stomach.

He brushes the damp hair off Louis’ forehead and kisses his cheek softly, silently telling him well done, baby. And pulls out, now limp for more than a second. Louis truly and deeply fucked out of his mind.

He gains the energy to shake his head and look at Zayn with a kind of look that makes Zayn smirk for some reason, and then he’s saying, “I take it back, you’re not an angel.” He lets out a small laugh, “You’re a fucking animal.”

.

And if they get into the shower the next morning and Louis sucks Zayn off, expecting things not to get messy, and if Zayn feels blood—his own blood—shoot down to his penis, and then his own come shoot into Louis’ mouth, where Louis swallows, the both of them thoroughly surprised, then Zayn thinks that’s a pretty good indication that he’s no longer ghost-like, right?

Though, apparently he still has a glow around him, and he’s not sure whether he wants that to leave or not.

.

A few months later, Louis’ returned back to work, receiving a promotion for showing a whole new way of teaching enthusiastically. When Niall visits, he compliments Louis, saying this is the happiest he’s ever seen him. Louis doesn’t talk about Zayn to Niall, or to Eleanor, or to Liam at work, but that’s okay. Because Louis holds his hand in public and sometimes Louis lets Zayn fly him to work, or fly him up the stairs to their apartment.

And now, as Louis holds his hand and as Zayn walks next to him, he looks over to the windows of the stores that they pass, noticing his reflection. It’s unbelievable, seeing himself in amongst normal people, walking by them like he belongs there. He smiles, wide, and Louis squeezes his hand.

“What?” Louis asks, softly, looking at him curiously.

Neither of them notice the man that bumps into Louis, the ghost that bumps into Zayn.

“Louis?”

They both glance up, ready to apologise, but their voices get caught in their throats when Louis sees Harry staring at him—and Zayn lights up when he sees Nick looking at him with a shit-eating grin.

“Harry, hey.” Louis says, no bitterness in his voice at all, like Harry was an old friend, not someone who dumped him for someone else.

“Good job, mate.” Nick says to Zayn, holding out his fist. Zayn bumps it with his own. “Knew you’d be able to do it.”

Zayn grins again, “Thanks for your help, man. You’re a top ghost.”

Louis and Harry have a chat full of small talk, and Zayn only zones in to make sure nothing’s being said that shouldn’t. He wonders whether Harry notices Louis’ hand holding something, same with Louis, knowing whether Harry has a ghost of his own.

Nick slaps Zayn’s shoulder with a wink, “Not for long.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, about to congratulate him, when he hears Louis and Harry saying their good-bye’s.

“I’ll see you ‘round then, yeah?” Harry says.

“’Course,” Louis replies, showing him a genuine smile.

“Come over sometime.” Nick tells Zayn quickly, before Harry starts to walk passed Zayn and Louis. Zayn nods at him, and then they’re gone.

Louis doesn’t start moving again, instead looks back to follow Harry down the street with his eyes. He looks back at Zayn with an inquisitive glare.

“That was... Harry has a ghost, doesn’t he?”

Zayn’s lips quirk upwards, “Yeah, Nick.”

Louis face switches to sudden realisation, “Ohh,” He tilts his head back, like he can’t believe he didn’t fit it together before, “That makes sense, then, doesn’t it?” He turns Zayn’s hand over in his own and starts to trace the lines of it with his thumb. “Do you think he knows about you?”

Zayn shrugs, “I think that if you noticed it about him, he probably did. Plus, it wouldn’t surprise me if Nick has mentioned it before.”

“It’d be hard not to mention you.” Louis says, nonchalantly, like it were a fact. He strokes the back of Zayn’s hair feeding his fingers through it. Zayn’s hands move to sit on Louis’ hips, backing him against one of the store windows.

Louis’ finger travels down Zayn’s jaw, where he can feel Zayn’s own heartbeat. He smiles and bats his eyes up at him, making Zayn to dip down and kiss him tenderly, thumbs circling underneath his shirt, over his hipbones.

“Let’s go home.” Louis says when he breaks away. “I’m not so hungry anymore.”

Zayn smiles at him, ignoring the stares from inside the store and on the streets, grabbing Louis’ hand. “C’mon.”

.

“I have an idea.” Louis announces a week later, coming out of the bedroom to join Zayn on the couch. He’s got that gleam in his eye, something Zayn’s learnt to know that it means something troublesome is about to go down.

“What’s your idea, Lou?” Zayn asks, closing the book in his hands and places it on their new coffee table.

“I wanna introduce you to Eleanor, but,” He says, smirking, “I wanna do it by scaring her.”

Zayn looks at him, unsure, “You want to scare Eleanor?”

Louis nods enthusiastically, grinning. “Yeah! Like, I have this idea, ‘cause you know how she’s so cool with all that spiritual stuff and whatever?”

Zayn remembers the Ouija board, how Louis was doing nothing but freaking out the entire time while Eleanor thought it was the most magical thing ever. Zayn still brings that up from time to time, always ending up with something hitting his face from a very embarrassed and annoyed Louis.

“Yeah?”

“It’d just be for a laugh, you know? And afterwards, we’ll just tell her that we’re actually a thing now. It’ll be hilarious.” Louis looks at him brightly, seeing no flaws in his plan. “So, you down?”

Zayn—as much as he hates to admit—is always down for whatever Louis wants him to do. Even if it means scaring the life out of someone that he’s grown particularly fond for. So, he nods.

Louis squeals a little and claps his hands together. Then, as though he were planning the biggest criminal act of all time, he turns serious.

“Alright, here’s what we do.”

.

The apartment is pitch-black, curtains drawn and not a light on. The night sky is even darker, the clouds covering up the stars and the moon, disallowing any glow to shine through the windows. It’s raining slightly, the sounds of the drops hitting the roof echoing from the tin.

Louis had called Eleanor, sounding like he was almost in tears, screaming down the other line, pleading for help. Zayn hates to think about if he heard that and it wasn’t for a prank, thinks he’d be taking Louis immediately from anything or anyone making him scream like that, and he’d fly him wherever he can to calm him down.

But when Louis hangs up, with the promise from Eleanor that she’ll be there as soon as she can, the laugh from Louis calms any thoughts Zayn has, making him smile, too.  The skills of being a drama teacher, Zayn guesses.

“Alright,” Louis says, coming up to Zayn, holding his arm, “she’s coming. She won’t be long since she lives, like, fifteen minutes away, so be ready.”

 Zayn moves to the corner of the main room, next to the light switch, when Eleanor’s car pulls into the car park. Louis’ behind the kitchen counter, waiting.

Then, a knock on the door.

“Come in!” Louis shouts, sounding as frantic as he possibly can.

When Eleanor opens the door, she looks around, not finding Louis, but finding the lights off, “Lou, what the hell–? ”

“Eleanor!” Springs up from the counter, clutching onto it for dear life, “Don’t stand there!”

She frowns, closing the door slowly behind her, “What–?”

Zayn takes his cue and starts flicking the lights on and off, making the room bright and light again, just as the rain starts to become heavier.

Louis screams, coming out from behind the counter to grab at Eleanor’s arm, who shrieks and backs away from the counter, eyes wide.

“He’s back, El! He’s back and he lied!” Louis cries, actually producing tears from his eyes. “He lied, Eleanor! The ghost lied!”

Zayn leaves the lights, remaining them off, and flies off towards the kitchen, making the wind hit Eleanor’s hair.

“What did he lie about, Louis?” Eleanor asks Louis, now grabbing at his shoulders, voice unsteady. “What the fuck is going on?”

“He’s evil!” Louis shrieks, “The ghost you summoned, he’s back! And he’s been haunting me, El!”

At that, Zayn turns on the tap of the sink full blast, making Eleanor and even Louis jump, even though that’d been planned. Zayn then takes the dish next to the skin and smashes it onto the ceramic floor, letting the cheap plate break into pieces.

“Oh, my god.” Eleanor whispers harshly, hands visibly shaking. She looks at Louis, the crack of thunder in the sky making her jump again, “I’m so, so sorry, Lou. I’m so sorry. We have to—c’mon, we have to get out of here!”

She grabs at Louis’ hand and opens the door, tugging at him to follow, hysterical as anything. But Louis doesn’t budge, and when Eleanor looks back at him and is about to yell at him to get a move on, she notices Louis laughing.

Zayn flies back over and turns on the light of the apartment. Eleanor stills, looking around the room, her chest still rising and falling quickly. Louis has trouble standing up properly, doubling over, his hand on his knees as he wipes the tears out of his eyes, his laugh making Eleanor’s face more and more angry.

“Are you serious, Louis?” She grits out, frowning down at him, arms now crossed over her chest. “That was a joke?”

“Yeah,” Louis manages to choke out, grabbing the wall next to him for support, “And you fell for it!”

“No shit, Louis! You fucking scared me!” Eleanor tells him, slightly annoyed, rolling her eyes when Louis goes into another fit of laughter. She huffs out a sigh, “Okay, well, now that that’s done, I’ll be going back to sleep, thanks.”

She turns around and Louis takes her wrist, “Wait, wait, wait.” She turns back to him and quirks an eyebrow, waiting for Louis to say something that’ll make her stay. “That was a pretty good prank, though, right?”

Zayn face palms. Eleanor scoffs and moves to turn around again.

“No, wait, El. Sorry.” He says, but Zayn thinks Eleanor knows he’s not really that apologetic about it. She waits, anyway. “There’s actually something I need to tell you.”

“Oh, yeah?” She questions, doubting it. “Tell me, then.”

Louis drops the hand that circled around her small wrist and points to the kitchen over her shoulder, “Did you want tea? You might want to sit down for this one.”

.

When Eleanor drinks the last of her cup, she crosses her legs and leans forward, her elbow propped up onto the counter, chin in her hand. “Okay, what is it?”

“Well,” Louis clears his throat. Zayn keeps by his side, waiting patiently. “As you’ve probably figured out, Zayn’s not evil at all.”

She frowns a little, “Zayn?”

“Yeah, that’s his name.” Louis tells her, and Eleanor mouths an oh. “And, uh, we’re actually...Zayn and I, we’re together.”

Eleanor studies Louis’ face. She tilts her head to one side, “What...what do you mean, together?”

“Like,” Louis searches for Zayn’s hand. Zayn meets his and fits their fingers together. “We bang.”

Zayn snorts at that, and almost coughs up a lung. Louis only smirks at Eleanor, watching as her expression slowly turns to shock, then disgust, then finally lands on disbelief.

“You’re telling me, that you, Louis Tomlinson, are fucking a ghost?”

Louis nods once, proudly, “Yep.”

“Prove it.”

Louis twitches, “What do you want us to do? Fuck right here on the kitchen floor?”

“No!” Eleanor protests almost instantly, appalled. “No, like, is he here right now?”

He holds up their entwined hands, like that means something, “Sure is.”

“Zayn,” Eleanor says, not looking at Louis anymore, but the space beside him. Her eyes search it, hoping to meet Zayn’s face, when she’s really only looking at his shoulder. “Touch me.”

“Hey,” Louis says, defensively, a frown on his face. “Easy there, El.”

Eleanor rolls her eyes, “Oh, shut up, Lou. I’m not going to steal your ghost boyfriend. For God’s sake.” She looks back at Zayn, now looking at the middle of his chest, “Now, touch me.”

Zayn glances at Louis for approval. Louis just nods once, giving him a small smile. Zayn leans over, holding out his hand. He hovers over Eleanor’s still face, before resting his palm flat on her cheek.

She shivers under Zayn’s touch, “Oh, Christ.” She breathes, locking eyes with Louis.

Zayn removes his hand with a satisfied smile, and Eleanor touches her cheek, absolutely dumbfounded, feeling over the coldness that was left on her warm skin.

“That was—oh, my god.” She says, lips breaking into a smile. “He touched my... I felt him, Louis.”

Louis grins at her. “I know. Believe me now?”

She nods her head with widened eyes instantly, “You’re in love, then?”

Zayn swallows, nerves now prickling at his insides. Louis hasn’t said the words yet, has said it with actions and looks and gestures, but the words haven’t left his mouth. It’s like once it’s said, that is official, like there’s no going back from it. Can’t say 'actually, no, I don’t love you, I take that back.' And Zayn knows he hasn’t said it to anyone but Niall, and even then that was platonic love. Louis hates to feel that dependent on somebody, to love them, like they are forever a couple.

Zayn doesn’t expect Louis to say it. Waits for him to say, “No, not yet.” And for Eleanor to nod expectantly, like she assumed as much, it’s always the same answer with Louis.

There’s about three beats that goes passed from Eleanor’s question to Louis’ answer.

“Yeah, I love him.”

And when Louis looks up to meet Zayn’s eyes, he’s not lying. He’s not saying it just for the sake of it, to just make Zayn feel better, because he knows Zayn loves him. He means it.

Eleanor’s hand rests on Louis’ knee, giving him a tear-filled smile, “I’m so happy for you, Lou.” She stands up from where she was sitting, and wraps her arms around Louis. “Congratulations, babe.”

.

They’re lying in bed, Louis curled into Zayn, an arm around his waist, a leg slotted between Zayn’s. His head is resting below Zayn’s chin, nose pressed against his chest. Zayn’s leg wraps over Louis’ hips, the both of them so, so close but Zayn wants him closer. Always wants him closer.

Louis presses a few kisses on Zayn’s skin and Zayn cards his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Zayn?” He says, voice quiet to suit the calm atmosphere.

“Yeah, Lou?” Zayn replies, pressing a kiss to the top of Louis’ head.

“When will you turn human?”

“Not sure.” Zayn tells him, blinking slowly. “Nick said eventually, not sure when.”

A pause. “I hope you stay the way you are forever.”

“Why?” He asks, frowning slightly. He’d assumed that Louis would rather if Zayn were more like him, so they could travel together, buy a house together, do couple things together without earning the glares whenever Louis talks to himself, or holds nobody’s hand, or kisses nothing.

Louis lifts his head up slightly, meeting Zayn’s eyes, looking a little sheepish. “Well...I don’t know how I’d cope with people trying to hit on you whenever we’re out. It’s safer this way.”

Zayn lets out a small laugh, bends down to kiss Louis’ nose. “Oh, so I’m the only one that has to suffer when other people scope you out? That hardly sounds fair to me.”

Louis only shrugs, then shifts a bit upwards, so his face is level with Zayn’s.

“People are stupid anyway.” He whispers, kisses Zayn’s lips. “Ghosts are much better."