Chapter Text
The first time he smokes with Louis, they're in Peru, and it gets them into a shitload of trouble with management. Like, "way to ruin your image, you know you've got kids in your fanbase, right?" trouble, but it was the kind of trouble that was worth it.
Not for the high, of course. They'd barely even gotten buzzed. But for the way that Louis had acted like he was high (Louis acts like he's high when he hasn't even secondhand smoked, but this was different than the usual). In the car, they'd both acted like they were, but Zayn'd had his head cleared by the time they were in the venue. Louis, on the other hand, wouldn't let it go. Its not like he was being obnoxious about it, or anything (imagine Louis Tomlinson being obnoxious, how out of character) he was just...not being himself. Or, he was being himself, but turned up a notch.
Once they were inside the venue, Louis refused to let go of Zayn for more than three seconds. Which, fine, not a big deal, the five of them are used to having their hands on each other, but not this much. It'd be okay, if Harry weren't looking at Louis like a lost puppy. He wouldn't mind Louis nosing insistently into his neck and his shoulder and having his fingers scratching through his hair if Louis hadn't been happily devoted to Harry since they'd all met.
He doesn't try to squirm away from Louis because there'd be no point. When Louis finds someone he wants to cling onto, he doesn't stop until he's good and ready. (Maybe it's more selfish than that; maybe it's that he likes that Louis nosing insistently into his shoulder and neck and that his fingers are scratching through his hair. Maybe it's that Louis Tomlinson's attention is something special, and it's not his fault that Harry doesn't share well. Maybe.)
That's how he finds himself back stage with Louis attached to his hip. He's trying to fix his hair before they go on, because all of Louis' fiddling left it looking deflated. He wonders if there's a point in fixing it at all; Louis' bound to ruin it again as soon as he's done.
"Zaynie," said hair-ruiner mumbles.
Zayn hums an acknowledgement, glances down at Louis. Louis shifts just a bit to get between Zayn and the mirror, wraps his arms tight around Zayn's waist and looks up at him. For all his acting, his over-playing, Louis' eyes are very clearly bright and alert, and they're full of something that makes Zayn's heart pick up. He wonders if Louis can feel it pounding against his chest. He wonders if it's Louis making his heart race, or if it's the high suddenly kicking in.
Zayn's lips part in surprise when Louis presses his to Zayn's cheek, just by the corner of his mouth, like he's asking, and Zayn is thinking, oh my god, yes.
And then the door's being thrown open and Niall's laugh startles them both. All three boys pile in, Liam and Niall laughing and knocking into each other and Harry looking confused and lost (he probably is without Louis to follow around). He finally squirms out of Louis' arms, because the pounding of his heart isn't exhilarating anymore, it's making him feel exhausted.
Louis looks disappointed, but lets it go without a word. He drifts back over to Harry (though they don't say a word to each other, which is odd), and Zayn goes back to fiddling with his hair. He's got only one thing on his mind now: Louis' lips and what they'd feel like on his.
What the hell, what the hell, what the hell.