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In the beginning, it was supposed to be one of those temporary things. Zayn had finished uni, Louis'd had this great flat and could get him a job for the summer, and Zayn had been very tired and very willing to put off interviews for actual jobs for a few months. That was two years ago. Two years of filling beer cups, DJing once a month or so when they attempt to have actual entertainment, and settling into their crap little street at their crap little dive bar and not painting or applying for jobs or — trying. Louis likes to spin it all a little, likes to say that basically, they're very young business owners, and should be proud. Which might be helpful and a good point if they'd actually done anything to accomplish it, but like everything else, it had just sort of happened.
It'd been — the manager had stopped showing up one day, and after a couple of nights Louis had called the old man who technically owned the place — and half the businesses on the street — he's more landlord than owner, but they didn't know who else to call. He'd mostly grunted and told them to keep paying rent and not burn the place down.
So now it's theirs. Sort of. More Louis', really.
It's okay, really. It's like, sometimes Louis does this variety set, sometimes they sing together, sometimes Zayn DJs, and sometimes people come. They serve drinks. And they make enough money to keep the flat and buy food and. So. It could be a lot worse, honestly. Every day is exactly the same, but if he really wanted change Zayn feels sure he'd be a lot more motivated to do something about it.
At least there is Liam.
For a few hours a day, sometimes more, there is Liam and his coffee shop, and those runs he takes past Zayn's window. Shirtless, fairly often.
Zayn really, really can't complain about that.
It works out well, because Liam opens ungodly early in the morning, so early that he's there and setting up by the time Louis and Zayn finish closing for the night. They always pour in a little after 4, before he's officially open, and he brings them tea, coffee, bagels, and muffins, for free, until his actual morning rush starts. It's a good arrangement, even if they're dead tired and Liam is still hardly awake.
"Did you get one of these?" Liam asks one morning. It's a Thursday, and those are always extra rough because Wednesdays are always dead. There's not enough going on to keep Zayn amused, so he's always grouchy on Thursdays.
Well, okay. Extra grouchy.
"One of what?" Louis asks, on his third free tea as he reaches for the letter in Liam's hand.
"It was in my post. I don't see why it wouldn't have been in yours too," Liam says.
"We may not have checked. Did we check?" Louis asks, kicking Zayn's foot under the table.
"Probably not," Zayn shrugs. "We normally don't."
"You could start getting it for us!" Louis enthuses. Liam sighs.
"I do already do all your numbers," he says.
"Exactly," Louis says. "Now, what am I looking at here?"
"A notice about our leases," Liam says. Zayn closes his eyes and pulls his drink closer, in no mood to talk money, or to do much of anything.
(Sometimes, on Thursdays, when he's grouchy, exhausted, and foggy if he leans back and closes his eyes as he holds his tea, he can allow himself to pretend for a minute. He can pretend this booth is a couch that's not his in a flat that's not his. He can pretend that it's still Liam who has made him this tea but that Liam made it in a kitchen in that same flat that's not his. He can pretend that Liam has made it just for him because they woke up, together, in the bed they share in a life that's not his. It's a nice 45 seconds or so, really.)
He must've missed something because when he opens his eyes and zones back in, Louis saying,
“Oh, so he’s dead,” seems a little out of place.
“Apparently,” Liam says.
“He was like, 90,” Louis says. “And it says we just keep sending the rent to the same place. Or in my case, have you keep sending it to the same place.” Louis says. Zayn blinks and tries to follow with through the fog in his head.
“Our landlord died?” Zayn asks, frowning.
“Glad you could join us this morning, Zayn,” Louis says, kicking his foot again. Zayn glares at him.
“Do we have to, like, do anything?” Zayn asks.
“I don’t think so? The letter seems to just be letting us know, I guess. Although, do you send flowers at a time like this?” Liam says, smiling a little and pushing a tray of pastries toward Zayn.
“I’m pretty sure I put you in charge of that sort of thing,” Louis says. Liam rolls his eyes, fondly, but for what Zayn thinks has to be at least the fifth time this morning.
“Flower sending?”
“No, the knowing if we ought to part,” Louis says.
“We could look it up,” Zayn suggests, pulling out his phone. Liam beams at him again.
“How?” Louis asks. “The internet doesn’t have the answer to everything.”
“It does, actually,” Zayn says, turning his phone around so Louis can see the page he’s pulled up on etiquette in funeral situations.
“What does?” Niall’s voice says, suddenly standing over their table.
“Niall! Does your early morning presence mean you finally actually work here?” Louis asks.
“Not a chance,” Niall says, grinning. Liam groans. He’s been trying to get Niall to take a job at his shop for over a year now, ever since just after Niall plopped himself and his guitar on a corner and started playing every afternoon with his case open for donations. He’s in the shop all the time, making drinks, helping Liam with the rushes, and sometimes playing in the corner like this is one of those places with ambiance or something. Liam sets employment paperwork in front of him at least once a week, and every time Niall just laughs and says he’s fine.
“You serve customers and Liam pays you. I think that qualifies as working here,” Louis says.
“I keep telling him I don’t need the money,” Niall says, sitting down with them and helping himself to the pastries.
“And yet you show up and insist on helping anyway,” Liam says.
“You don’t like help?” Niall says.
“I’d love the help. Full time. On paper,” Liam throws back.
“Nah, it’s better this way,” Niall says. “Besides, maybe I just like you shoving cash into my pants, Li.”
“Pockets,” Liam clarifies, flushing a little. “Your pants pockets, because you would not open your hand, one time.”
“That’s beautiful, though. I love when I can see my influence on my friends. Makes me feel like I’m making a difference. It’s touching,” Louis says, slinging an arm around Niall.
“You’re a giver,” Zayn says dryly.
“I really am,” Louis says.
“I’m inspired every day,” Liam says, still looking a little red.
“As you should be,” Louis says, taking a swallow of tea and beaming at them. Niall takes that moment to catch Zayn’s eye over the table, a quick-raised eyebrow like he wants Zayn to know he was kidding — like he wants to make sure it was okay. And, for fuck’s sake, Zayn isn’t made of glass, okay? The Liam thing is not the huge deal that Louis — and now apparently also Niall — thinks it is. It’s really, really not. Zayn kicks Louis under the table, hard, and makes a mental note to be angry with Louis later for the other things he’s been influencing Niall about. Zayn rolls his eyes back at Niall, because. Seriously.
The door chimes then, the sound of an actual paying customer, and Liam springs to alert, calling out his overly-perky-but-stupidly-endearing morning hello. Zayn shakes his head, and then he and Louis stand up, throw out their cups and plates, and head toward the back, waving at Liam, just like they do every morning.
“You coming?” Zayn calls back to Niall.
“Thought I’d help this morning, you know, Thursdays and all,” Niall says. From somewhere behind his counter, Liam groans. Niall grins broader and heads over, chatting with newly arrived customers on the way.
“Apparently we should check the post more often, news of dead people in it,” Louis says at the door.
“You told Liam to do it for us,” Zayn says.
“Right, but then I thought I’d send you to Liam to get it,” Louis says.
“Why?” Zayn asks, even though he knows the answer, and even though Zayn just wants to go to bed — not talk about Liam, dead landlords, or money shoved in Niall’s pants anymore.
“One stone. Multiple birds,” Louis says. Zayn sighs.
“I don’t think I’m talking to you until after I sleep,” he says.
“You’re not going to talk to me in the two more minutes it will take to get to our flat, and then in the four it will take you to fall asleep? How will I ever make it?” Louis says.
Zayn doesn’t answer.
The problem is that they’re actually stuck, as far as Zayn can tell. Louis is always overly invested in the Liam thing, and he's always going to be because he always sees it as his fault. He's convinced of it, no matter how many times Zayn has said — in one of their weekly or so circular conversations about what a massive idiot Zayn is apparently being — that it’s not Louis' fault at all.
The thing, though, is that when Liam had first opened on their street, and they’d first all started becoming close is that after those first nights, first conversations, first drinks together, first nights in Louis and Zayn’s flat, it’d ended up with Liam sleeping with Louis.
Which. Is fine. It’s honestly fine. It was fine then, and it’s fine now, but Louis has decided it makes him responsible for Zayn’s love life.
He's not. Obviously. It had just been that Liam had been so Liam and Zayn had been so fucking endeared right from the star. All three of them had hit it off, and Zayn was really sort of content to take things slow and see what happened — and then Liam had walked out of Louis’ room one morning. There had been five mornings in all. Not that Zayn counted them and tried to bury himself in his own bedsheets or anything while it was happening. Because it was. Whatever. It was okay.
But then, Louis had noticed and sort of frozen in his tracks while telling a story about Liam’s chest or something, standing in their kitchen and staring at Zayn for a long minute before he said,
“Fuck, Zayn. I didn’t know.”
“What?” Zayn had said.
“You like him. Fuck,” Louis had said. Zayn will never be exactly sure what he did to make Louis notice all at once like that, what gave him away, what made Louis’ eyes go all contrite like they had.
“Whatever,” Zayn had said.
“You didn’t tell me, I didn’t. I’m sorry,” Louis had said.
“It’s not a thing, Lou. It’s fine,” Zayn tried, staring at his cereal. Louis had sighed at him.
“Yeah, it is. I wish you wouldn’t do that.”
“Do what?” Zayn asked.
“That. Like, when I’m being shit you should tell me I’m being shit, okay? I wish you’d have said something,” Louis had said. Zayn had shrugged,
“You’re not,” Zayn had said. Louis had sighed again, and then he’d said he’d stop. Zayn had said that he didn’t have to — that he shouldn’t. But Louis had glared at him, and said that, yes, he did. He'd said he just meant things casually anyway, and Zayn never liked anyone, and Louis was not going to contribute to his reasons to be bitter or whatever, and — it had all — It had ended in Liam not coming out of Louis’ room anymore, and selfishly Zayn was very, very glad about it. He’s never asked what Louis said, or how that went. He doesn’t really want to know.
So Louis is part of it, it’s all sort of tangled and Zayn doesn’t know quite how to sort it, he can’t figure it out. Zayn’s got all these other reasons, too. Reasons he's stuck. He's told them all to Louis, all these logistical things, like how their sleep schedules are opposite.
(Which they are, and he’s pretty sure that’s valid, even if Louis always tells him it’s the most pathetic thing he’s ever heard.)
Zayn's also got reasons that go sort of like this, if it was going to happen, it would have already, on one of so many nights when it was the three of them, and Louis left them alone in the most obvious way possible. But on those nights, they've just sat and finished their film, maybe with fingers touching a little, nothing more. And, Louis contends, loudly, and repeatedly, is because Zayn didn’t make anything else happen, and, okay, that might be fair. More than fair. Zayn knows.
(There is. This is another reason. A fear, maybe. It's in between visions of flats that aren’t his, and somewhere behind thoughts of two of his best friends licking each other's skin he tries not to have. There is this imagined conversation, a moment, that happens like this — Zayn leans into Liam, brave and vulnerable and open, but he gets back his name laced with pity, sad eyes, and Liam being so sorry, mostly sorry for him, being concerned and wonderful but not leaning back, not kissing back — not wanting to — and Zayn just. He can’t.)
Still, no matter how many circles they talk in and how many times Zayn blames practicalities like sleep schedules, the fact that Liam runs, and anything else he can think of, and no matter how many times Louis tells him it’s all absolute crap, Louis never, ever says the things he could. He never says the things that Zayn probably deserves. He’s never mentioned that he stopped and gave things with Liam up, for Zayn. He's never mentioned that Zayn is wasting it.
Very often, Zayn thinks that says more about their friendship than almost anything else.
They’re closed on Mondays and Tuesdays, so on Wednesdays, they go to Liam’s before they open, too. It helps them prepare for another dragging night. Six days after the letter about their landlord, Zayn is two cups in when Louis strolls in, Starbucks cup in hand, and Zayn closes his eyes and laughs to himself, preparing for it.
“Really?” Liam says, voice a little high already. Louis and Liam have this conversation about as often as Liam asks Niall to work for him, because Louis insists on purchasing Starbucks, mostly because it makes Liam’s voice goes all high.
“Afternoon, Liam,” Louis says brightly.
“Must you?” Liam asks as Louis slides in next to Zayn.
“Yes,” Louis says.
“But. I make things. Anything. For free, whenever you want!” Liam says.
“Yes, but this is what I want to spend my money on,” Louis says, smirking and looking pleased with himself.
“Why?” Liam asks.
“To annoy you,” Zayn cuts in.
“It is a simple pleasure I refuse to deny myself, really,” Louis says, swinging an arm around Zayn as he does.
“I’m not asking you to deny yourself! I’m asking you to let me make it! For free! You’re giving me a complex here, Lou,” Liam says.
“You are not Starbucks,” Louis says.
“Exactly!” Liam says.
“You’re better and cheaper!” Niall calls from the table he’s wiping.
(At the shop he doesn’t work at.)
“Yes! But how will people ever know that with Louis giving free advertising for the competition!” Liam says. Zayn bites back another laugh. Liam has this whole theory about how people will see Louis’ cups. realize there is a Starbucks a few blocks away, and then never give Liam’s place a chance. Then, Liam insists, he’ll be out of business all because Louis apparently hates his coffee. Louis finds that all more reason to go. Truthfully, Zayn’s pretty sure Louis doesn’t actually go that often. Zayn thinks he might sometimes save cups and carry them, just to bug Liam. Because it always works.
“You don’t offer what they do,” Louis says.
“Which is?” Liam says, narrowing his eyes.
“Their staff is just so nice to look at, always filled with new boys for me to charm. I like that with my afternoon coffee. You don’t have that. Honestly, I bring you Zayn. What do you do for me, Liam?” Louis says. Zayn elbows him, but Louis just pulls him closer and blinks at Liam innocently.
“I work here!” Liam tries, a rising flush now matching the pitch of his voice.
“Yes, and we’re very much past that,” Louis says, grinning broadly. “And Niall doesn’t count because he doesn’t actually work here. Or flirt back and mean it. So again. What do you do for me, Liam?”
“Are you saying that if I hire some pretty boy for you to flirt with, you’ll stop overpaying for your Starbucks?” Liam asks.
“You can’t even get Niall to work here,” Louis says dismissively, but playfully.
“But if I did!” Liam says.
“Sure,” Louis says, reaching to ruffle Liam’s hair. Zayn rolls his eyes and Niall crosses the floor toward them —
And that’s when the door chimes and a very attractive male face, big-eyed and surrounded by curls, walks in.
“You! Hi! Would you like to work here?” Liam asks, bright and professional even as he smirks triumphantly at Louis. Zayn grins and tries to make his heart not do stupid Liam-tempo things as Niall shakes with silent laughter and Louis raises an impressed eyebrow.
“Um. I was just here to like — warn you, and offer to help? But I guess I could pick up ten hours a week or so, probably, if you — yeah,” the boy at the door says, slowly.
“Warn us?” Liam says as Louis says,
“You take that job offer as a very high compliment.”
“I’m — hi? I’m Harry,” the guy, Harry, says, walking up to them and extending a hand to Liam, who shakes it.
“Liam,” Liam says. “Sorry to have pounced on you like that.”
“I’m Louis, and he’s not sorry at all,” Louis says, moving his arm from around Zayn’s shoulder so he can reach his hand out and pull Harry’s away from Liam.
“Louis with the bar?” Harry asks. They all blink at him.
“Sorry, who are you?” Zayn asks.
“Warn?” Niall says, raising his eyebrows in question.
“Right. I guess you didn’t hear, then,” Harry says.
“Hear what?” Louis asks.
“I’m um, I’m doing this project for a course and we — I was researching property development on this block because I’m very interested in how all of that works, and I’m writing this paper. It turns out that ownership here recently switched hands, so I wanted to look into that because that can change the face of things, and did you know you’re probably in trouble?” Harry says.
“Did anyone follow that?” Niall says. “No offense, mate, but I've no idea what you just said. I’m Niall, by the way.”
“I think he’s talking about our dead landlord,” Louis says, thoughtfully.
“Why do you know about that?” Zayn asks.
“I looked it up. For a class,” Harry says, oddly patiently, as if they all should have gotten that already.
“How old are you? And why is our bar part of your class?” Louis says.
“I’m in a Masters program,” Harry says. “And I told you, property development.”
“Why are we in trouble?” Liam asks, biting his lip.
“Oh! Right. I looked up your new owner — the old owner’s great-nephew, I guess? And I think he wants to shut you down,” Harry says.
“What? Why?” Liam asks, he looks genuinely distressed now. Zayn reaches for his hand across the table before he can stop himself. Liam squeezes back, looking grateful.
“To bring in places that make more money, that attract clients with higher incomes, change the feel of the street,” Harry says.
“It’s our street,” Louis says.
“Not really. Not technically,” Liam says, sadly.
“So some guy doesn’t think we’re what? Fuck classy enough, and we have to go? We have leases!” Louis says.
“Well, how these things generally work is that he’ll just raise your rent to something you can’t possibly pay, and then you’ll have to leave,” Harry says. “There are other ways, but I think that’s normally fastest.”
“I still don’t understand who you are, or why you know this,” Zayn says, frowning. This is. Something isn’t right here. He can’t figure it out, but something beyond how worried Liam looks, and how angry Louis looks, just isn’t sitting right with him.
“It’s pretty easy to research,” Harry shrugs. “You could look it up yourselves if you don’t believe me.”
“We believe you,” Louis says, throwing Zayn a look Zayn is pretty sure he doesn’t deserve.
“I just think you should do something while you still can,” Harry says.
“Like what?” Liam says.
“I thought you just said we were fucked,” Niall says.
“You could protest, organize, make it clear you don’t want to leave, sometimes that helps,” Harry says.
“That’s not very encouraging,” Liam says.
“I could help! I’ve studied these things,” Harry says.
“That would be fantastic,” Louis says, beaming at Harry as if any of this makes any sense at all.
“Help with what?” Zayn asks. “Like, okay, someone wants us out and will raise our rent to do it. Probably. But we don’t actually know that. We can’t just make protest plans or whatever without knowing anything, just because someone we don’t even know told us to. Why do you want to help us, anyway?” Zayn asks. He’s not trying to be difficult, honestly, he’s not, this is just all happening really fast and he’s not sure it should.
“Yeah, maybe,” Liam starts, but Louis cuts him off.
“So we’ll look it up. That's your department, anyway, but why would Harry come here just to lie to us? This is happening, and we can’t just let it. We can’t just lose everything, that's crap. So we should let Harry show us how to fight it. We can’t just get kicked out, Zayn,” Louis says. Zayn sighs.
“I just thought you should be warned,” Harry says, shrugging in Zayn’s direction. Zayn studies him for a minute and okay. He doesn’t — Harry doesn’t look like some guy just out to fuck with them. He looks startlingly sincere actually, and he’s also throwing Louis these looks like maybe Louis is the best thing he’s seen in a long time. Plus, yeah, Zayn doesn’t want to lose the bar, and Liam deserves to stay open. And, okay, it would be nice if Louis was happy — one of them should be. So maybe he can have their regulars sign a petition or something. It might make Liam feel better too, and that’s always a good thing.
Liam is still squeezing Zayn's hand and not looking at anyone but him, and Zayn —
“Fine,” he says. Liam beams at him.
“Excellent,” Niall says, grinning. “How do we do this?”
“You’re awfully invested for someone who doesn’t work here,” Louis comments.
“I’m emotionally invested. That’s deeper,” Niall says. Liam sighs, but then his eyes go wide like he's remembered something. He turns his head to look at Harry, fingers still laced with Zayn’s.
“Oh. Did you actually want a job?” he asks.
Louis throws his — very empty — Starbucks cup at Liam’s head.
Zayn has poured maybe two dozen drinks tonight — fucking Wednesdays — and now it’s past one, and the few people still hanging around don’t want much help. So that’s sort of just. That.
“You ever think we shouldn’t be open on Wednesdays?” Zayn calls to Louis, the way he does almost every Wednesday.
“We do probably waste money being open. You should get Liam to figure that out for us,” Louis says, walking over.
“You ever think we should do our own finances?” Zayn says.
“We tried that. I didn’t care for it,” Louis says, wrinkling his nose.
“We didn’t really try very hard,” Zayn says.
“Do we ever?” Louis asks.
“Not really,” Zayn says, and that’s. Probably, maybe, not a thing they should joke about as often as they do because it’s truer than it should be. And not that funny.
“If we weren’t open on Wednesdays, we could look into serving proper food, and maybe getting, like, entertainment,” Louis says, again. Like he does nearly every week.
“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding.
“Then, I suppose none of it matters if we’re about to be shut down,” Louis says.
“You really believe that?” Zayn asks.
“Why would he make it up?” Louis asks. Zayn shrugs.
“You think, if it is true, you think we can beat it?” Zayn asks.
“We could put up a hell of a fight,” Louis says. Zayn raises an eyebrow.
“Sounds a lot like trying?” Zayn asks.
“Pretty sure it is. It might start a trend. Maybe we’ll win. Then we can stop being open on Wednesdays, get a bar menu and music, and you can finally tell Liam how you feel. And paint,” Louis says.
“I paint,” Zayn says, mostly to avoid everything else Louis had said. “Draw.”
“Not really, you don’t,” Louis says. “Not anymore.”
“I do,” Zayn says.
“You know Liam would put them up in his shop and rave to everyone who came in about how brilliant you are and then ask you to marry him, right?” Louis says.
“He wouldn’t,” Zayn says.
“Which part?” Louis asks, stacking some glasses as he talks, pretending to work, just like they always do at this time of night.
“The part — I don’t — I drew yesterday!” Zayn says. And that’s not entirely true, and Louis knows it because Louis always knows, but he’d pull a sketchbook out from under his bed. He thinks that sort of counts.
“Was it while you were staring at Liam running past the window? Was his shirt off?” Louis asks.
“No,” Zayn says, crossing his arms. Louis grins.
“I’m just saying, we could try, you know, trying things, both of us,” Louis says.
“In hopes we don’t get kicked out?” Zayn asks. "Lose the bar?"
“In hopes for a lot of things,” Louis says back. The straggling customers get up, and Zayn walks down the bar to collect their cups and napkins. Louis looks thoughtful when he gets back.
“Lou?” Zayn asks.
“I liked him,” Louis says.
“Harry? I could tell,” Zayn says.
“I want him to stay,” Louis says.
“Well, I hear he works for Liam now,” Zayn says.
“All the more reason to try, then, right? Can’t have him lose his brand new job,” Louis says, still looking thoughtful, and looking — it’s that look.
“Sure,” Zayn says, shaking his head. Louis does this sometimes, he meets people and is planning this entire future with them in his mind about a minute later.
“You don’t like him, do you?” Louis asks, frowning.
“We just met him,” Zayn says. It’s not that. He hadn’t disliked Harry, he just needs a while with people sometimes. To get to know them. To warm up to them. He’s not always good with new people, more so new people who throw themselves into his life, start talking about helping and use words like we about people they’ve just met.
“Be nice, would you?” Louis asks, his eyes still in an imagined future.
“I am nice,” Zayn says. Louis raises an eyebrow.
“He’s lovely, Zayn,” Louis says.
“Fine,” Zayn says. “You’ve got that look.”
“I like getting that look,” Louis says back.
“I know. Just — careful, yeah?” Zayn says because he worries. Because every time it doesn’t work out for Louis, Zayn feels a like it's at least a little bit his fault — because of the Liam thing. Because he wants Louis to be happy. Because everything is tangled. Because trying is fucking terrifying.
“You’re careful enough for both of us,” Louis says, turning his attention to locking their money up for the night.
“Lou,” Zayn says, heading for the sink.
“Yeah. I know,” Louis says, “I will.”
On Saturday evening, Zayn’s in the backroom pulling out supplies for the night when there’s a knock at the door.
“Yeah?” Zayn calls.
“It’s me,” Liam’s voice says. Zayn drops the box he’s holding to open the door for Liam.
“You don’t have to knock on the stockroom door, you know,” Zayn says, mostly teasing.
“It seemed polite,” Liam says, smiling. Zayn grins back.
“Did you need something, then?” Zayn asks. “Aren’t you still open?”
“Harry and Niall are there,” Liam says.
“Niall doesn’t work for you,” Zayn says.
“He doesn't. And yet, he’s helping me train Harry,” Liam says.
“He’s the best employee you don’t have,” Zayn says.
“He really is," Liam says, shaking his head. "Um, I wanted to talk to you before you got opened and got busy, actually?” Liam says.
“Okay,” Zayn says, and his heart is absolutely not doing ridiculous things at that — because Liam probably means about their plans to not get shut down or if they’re all doing brunch tomorrow — and not that he’d like to move into Zayn’s bed forever.
“Louis said,” Liam starts then stops. “Wait. No. Nothing good ever happens when I start sentences like that. No, um. I don’t have anything really, on the walls? And it might be nice if I did, you know, as long as I still have a shop soon, because people like art with their scones and coffee, I think.”
“Sure. Art is always good,” Zayn says, stalling because he knows exactly where this is going. He thinks he should have seen this one coming, actually.
“Right. So, I thought I’d ask you,” Liam says. “To make things — for my walls?”
“Because Louis told you to?” Zayn asks.
“No! I mean — he suggested it, but I wanted that anyway,” Liam says. Zayn bites his lip and studies the way Liam is rocking back and forth on his feet.
“You never mentioned,” Zayn says, softly.
“I thought — until Louis mentioned — I'd always assumed you wouldn’t want that, like that your stuff was too good for that, I guess,” Liam says.
“You haven’t seen that much,” Zayn says. "To know if it's that good or not, I mean."
“It’s been enough,” Liam says, smiling.
“It’s — I haven’t really, lately,” Zayn confesses, sitting down on a crate and shrugging. Liam sits next to him and raises his eyebrows. "Making a lot of new stuff."
“No?” he says.
“It’s been a while,” Zayn says.
“Okay,” Liam says.
“Okay?” Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow, and swallowing hard. This is one of those things Liam does — he doesn’t put Zayn on the spot, he doesn’t ask too many questions, and it, somehow, makes Zayn want to talk in a way he normally doesn’t.
“Everyone needs breaks sometimes,” Liam says, all understanding, genuine, and without a drop of pressure.
“I think I just, like, growing up, and in uni and all of that, it was — escaping. It was time for me to have quiet time out. But I don’t really — you can’t escape when you already are escaping, right? I can’t use it to avoid doing other things when it's a thing I’m avoiding. Does that make any sense?” Zayn asks.
“It makes perfect sense,” Liam says.
“All just a blur of avoiding lately, I guess. Sometimes, I think all I ever do is have the same conversations over and over," Zayn says. "It’s hardly even noise anymore.”
“This one is new,” Liam says, smiling. Zayn grins back, not even trying to ignore his heartbeat now.
“Thanks for that,” Zayn says.
“I would — you do know I would — if you wanted to make more noise — talk about nothing but new things if you wanted to try new things," Liam says, holding Zayn's eye for a second. "If you wanted, I mean, I’d help."
“Thanks for that too, then,” Zayn says. The parts of him that want, the parts of him that have wanted Liam for so long, are telling him this is a thing and a moment. Right now. A moment, because people don’t just say shit like that to their friends. But the logical — or maybe just the scared — parts of him are telling him that Liam is the nicest person in the whole world, and he probably says things like that to strangers queued with him in shops.
“Yeah,” Liam says. “I should go check in on those two, but if you do start up with art again, and we all manage to keep open, I’d love to put it up.”
“I’ll let you know,” Zayn says, then he adds, “and we will, I hope.”
“Me too,” Liam says.
“You did finally manage to hire someone. It would be a shame to waste that,” Zayn says. Liam smiles.
“That’s not a new conversation,” Liam says, smiling.
“The Harry part is new,” Zayn says.
“Maybe we all need that,” Liam says.
“I guess we’ll find out,” Zayn says, shrugging.
“Yeah,” Liam says, actually headed for the door now. “Let me know, about everything, okay?”
“I’ll try,” Zayn says. Maybe if he keeps saying it, he won’t be so scared of it.
Harry is sitting in his living room when Zayn gets out of the shower. Not Harry and Louis, just Harry. He's sitting on the couch flipping channels, under a blanket, like they’ve known him for more than a week.
“I didn’t know we had company,” Zayn says.
“Hi! I thought I heard you getting up,” Harry says.
“Hi,” Zayn returns, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Louis was going to wake you up when he got back, but you’re already up,” Harry says, cheerfully scooting over on the couch like he wants Zayn to sit.
“Right,” Zayn says. “Gets back from where?”
“Out, grabbing things for when everyone is here,” Harry says.
“Everyone?” Zayn repeats.
“Liam and Niall. We’re having a meeting!” Harry says. Zayn sits but scowls because he’s certain this is probably something he should have been informed of.
“When?”
“Um, when they get here? Soon, actually,” Harry says, and Zayn frowns again. He should get dressed for that, or at least put a shirt on. And really, Louis should tell him these things before people just show up, and he’s only been awake for, like, half an hour and this is not — Zayn is not great when things happen all fast like this, he’s really not.
“So you’re here, but Louis’s not?” Zayn asks slowly.
“I’m cooking! It’s in the oven now. We need food to brainstorm how to save your places, and I kept shooing Louis out of the kitchen anyway because he was being very distracting, so then he said he would just run out to the store,” Harry explains as if it clears things up perfectly.
“How long have you been here?” Zayn asks, and he really feels like he should not have to ask this many questions this early in the morning, or in his own flat, or ever, honestly.
“Last night,” Harry says.
“Oh,” Zayn says, closing his eyes. “Right.”
“Um,” Harry says. Then he’s reaching out, grabbing Zayn’s hand, and looking at him all intently and earnestly. “I think you heard things in that that I didn’t say. I also think you don’t like me, and I don’t know why.”
“I don’t know you,” Zayn says.
“I’m just trying to help,” Harry says, still holding Zayn’s hand, still all big-eyed.
“I know that,” Zayn says. He pauses. H’s trying to figure out a way to say any of — that he doesn’t actually care why Harry slept here, that he doesn’t mind that Harry’s helping, that maybe he will learn to like Harry, and that he hopes Harry is good for Louis —
When his door swings open. The door swings open, and Liam and Niall are standing there. Zayn is shirtless, Harry is holding Zayn’s hand, and the door key in Liam’s hand falls to the ground and — seriously, Zayn’s life is a fucking farce. Zayn drops Harry’s hand, and Niall swoops down to pick up the key as Harry says,
“Good! You’re here!” like maybe he’s completely immune to the weirdness happening.
“It smells good in here,” Niall says, throwing himself down on an armchair.
“I’m cooking!” Harry says, beaming at everyone.
“I’m going to get dressed,” Zayn says, excusing himself, mostly from the way Liam’s eyes are burning into him. He heads to his room over the sound of Harry and Niall chattering on about whatever it is Harry has made for them to eat. Zayn pulls out a shirt and shakes his head to clear the weirdness of this morning, or attempt to, anyway. A throat-clearing sound makes him open his eyes again.
“Hey,” Liam says from the doorway.
“Hi,” Zayn says, turning to face him. “I didn’t know you were coming. You or Niall or Harry. I woke up and he was here.”
“Cooking,” Liam says, smiling wryly.
“I guess so,” Zayn says, shrugging.
“He’s um. Persistent, I’ve noticed,” Liam says, there's an edge to his words Zayn doesn’t know if he’s imagining.
“He is,” Zayn says. He doesn’t understand how everything can be complicated and yet so boring all at once, like it’s the complications keeping them stuck, maybe tied down by the way they’re tied to each other. Liam had said the other day that maybe Harry being new would help, but maybe he’s just another tie.
Maybe they should all get shut down, maybe they should give up and move on and stop being stuck.
“That could be good," Liam says. "For not getting shut down, rents raised, all that, I mean.”
“Yeah,” Zayn says. “It'll be good for keeping us all right where we are.” Liam sighs and leans against the wall.
“Sorry,” he says.
“For?” Zayn asks.
“Is there, like, you would know — is there a word for this? For when you’re talking about one thing except actually you're talking about something else? Is that called something?” Liam asks.
“Li,” Zayn says, and he sort of needs to sit down or maybe sleep for a week. He takes a deep breath, but then the door opens again and Harry’s voice says,
“Louis!” from in the living room, and Liam sighs again and bites his lip.
“I guess Louis’ back,” Liam says.
“I heard,” Zayn says.
“We should probably go then,” Liam says, but it takes them several quiet moments to actually move.
Harry is sitting on Louis’ lap when they walk back out, a hand on the back of his neck, laughing at something. Louis’ eyes are all crinkly happy.
“Liam! Zayn!” Louis says when they walk into the room. He’s got several bags by his feet and a giant grin on his face as he looks between Liam and Zayn. “Hope we’re not keeping you from something.”
“What all did you buy?” Zayn says. It's a pathetic subject change, but Liam picks up the thread, anyway.
“Probably overpriced scones from shops that aren’t mine,” Liam says.
“First of all, Harry is in charge of food, second you don’t even make your scones, or any of your baked goods. You order it in pre-made and frozen," Louis says. "I’ve had several conversations with your delivery driver, so there is really no need to be all offended."
“You’ve had multiple conversations with my delivery guy?” Liam asks, sitting down on the couch and making room for Zayn.
“I have, because there was a man at your backdoor at three in the morning all the time, and Zayn there was all convinced he was your secret lover when we noticed, So, in order to keep him from pouring himself another drink I took it upon myself to go talk to the guy. Found out he was bringing you scones and not sex. Which is much less fun, and let me tell you, Liam, you were missing out on that one, but. Good lad, that one, wants to be a singer, sends me texts about auditions sometimes,” Louis says. Harry pouts a little at that and Louis tugs on his curls. “Not very often,” he clarifies.
“You know him better than I do,” Liam says.
“Much better, apparently,” Niall says, laughing.
“Anyway,” Louis says. “I made fliers at the print shop for the windows and to pass out to customers. And shirts.”
“Shirts?” Zayn repeats.
“Causes need shirts with slogans, it shows we’re serious,” Louis says. He reaches into the bags and tosses them all shirts and passes around fliers.
“We have a slogan?” Liam asks.
“We want to keep serving you,” Harry says, looking pleased with himself. Louis puts a hand on his knee and squeezes.
“Keeping our street in local hands,” Niall reads. “Show your support; sign the petition.”
“Do we have petitions?” Liam asks, sounding mildly confused.
“We do, and we were going to talk to a few other shops on the street too, pass them out there,” Louis says.
“When did we decide this?” Zayn asks.
“This morning while you were asleep,” Louis says.
“So the ‘we’ here is you two, then?” Zayn asks.
“Zayn,” Liam says, reaching out and putting his hand on top of Zayn’s, soothingly.
“It’s just some signatures and shirts. We’re not going to war,” Louis says.
“It sounds fun. We should get stickers too. People love stickers,” Niall says enthusiastically.
“I like the shirts, Lou,” Liam says, nodding at them.
“I had a few other thoughts, too,” Harry says.
“Tell us,” Louis says. They all keep shooting Zayn these looks, like he’s not being helpful, so he turns his hand under Liam’s and reaches up to squeeze it so he can force himself to smile.
“We should get in the paper. I know a guy who works for the city paper, he said if we give him some quotes he can write an editorial about not forcing out local businesses, and get some public support,” Harry says.
“Who do you know at the paper?” Louis asks, and Zayn’s smile wavers again. Louis has had a vendetta against the city paper since that time they called the bar a dive and insulted a performance Louis’d given — there’d been a reporter on one of the few nights they’d tried to have entertainment, and the guy had ripped apart Louis’ stage presence, singing voice, and his — everything, basically.
“Nick?” Harry says. “Grimshaw? Why?”
“No,” Louis says, frowning even deeper than Zayn, for a moment.
“What do you mean?” Harry asks.
“That’s the one from the horrible article, we have it somewhere, don’t we Zayn?” Louis says.
“Horrible article?” Harry repeats.
“He hates us — said very unkind things about me,” Louis says. Harry frowns.
“He likes your bar, though. When I told him about all of this he wanted to help? He said he saw you sing, and you were really good!” Harry says.
“That is the opposite of what the article said,” Louis says.
“He likes you, I’m sure of it,” Harry says, biting his lip. “Do you want me to call him?”
“Not even a little,” Louis says.
“An article in the paper is a good idea though,” Liam says. Louis shoots him a look.
“Someone should write a letter then, one of us," Lous says, looking serious. "Can’t they just use that?”
“I guess, but I really think that Nick could help,” Harry says.
“I’d really, really rather not,” Louis says.
“I’ll write it,” Zayn says. “A letter. I’ll do it. You can just make sure it gets printed, right?” They all stare at him for a long minute.
“That’s settled then, yes?” Liam says, tracing little lines on Zayn’s palm with his fingers over and over. It's a message — it feels like maybe he’s proud, and that makes Zayn’s heart swell. Louis is shooting Zayn a grateful look from across the room. Zayn shrugs. Later, he thinks, he’ll have to mention that if Nick is a friend of Harry’s then Louis will have to meet him eventually. For now, giving him an out seems like the best plan.
“It is, thanks, Zayn,” Louis says.
“So, other thoughts then? Harry?” Niall asks.
“Right, I was also thinking we should meet with him — the nephew?" Harry says. "I think he’s about our age, so maybe if we go in person and present the petition, he’ll want to help? He might have sympathy if he sees us."
“Sympathy, huh? Did anyone else hear that as ‘send Zayn in to seduce the asshole nephew’ or just me?” Louis asks.
“Just you,” Liam says, and, no, Zayn is probably just imagining that edge in his voice — the same one from earlier — but he squeezes Liam’s hand tighter anyway.
“I could seduce him!” Niall says. “We could send me!”
“I don’t think anyone is actually talking about seduction,” Liam says.
“No, not really,” Harry says, laughing.
“Oh, it sounded sort of fun, thought I could help,” Niall says, looking mildly put out.
“Fun?” Zayn repeats.
“I just want to see if I could,” Niall says.
“I can take you to a club for that," Louis offers. "if you want."
“Nah, there’d be no follow-through, so unless it’s someone who deserves it, that’s just mean,” Niall says.
“I could point you in the direction of few people who do,” Louis says, and that makes Harry pout again.
“Maybe no visiting other bars until you don’t lose yours,” Liam says, still squeezing Zayn's hand.
“Fair point,” Louis says. The oven dings then, and Harry jumps off Louis’ lap and starts telling them all about what he’s made. Liam doesn’t let go of Zayn’s hand all night.
There is a knock on his storeroom again three days later, two days before they’re supposed to meet with the nephew who might be shutting them down.
“Li?” Zayn says back to the knock.
“Hey,” Liam says, poking his head in. He’s wearing his slogan shirt, now also decorated with signatures- the five of them had all signed each other’s shirts — Louis’ idea — and a few ‘please sign our petition’ stickers from Niall, and he’s biting his lip.
“Leaving Harry and Niall alone again?” Zayn asks.
“They can handle it," Liam says. "It’s slow."
“You just taking a break?”
“I wanted to see you,” Liam says.
“Oh. Why?” Zayn asks. Liam steps toward him.
“I was thinking,” Liam says.
“Okay,” Zayn says, staring at the place he’d signed Liam’s shirt and watching Liam’s chest rise and fall under it.
“About what you said about having the same conversations over and over, and about the other day, and — " Liam pauses, swallowing. "And about Harry, and you, and being stuck and new things and trying,”
“And?” Zayn asks, still staring.
“And I thought — I think we all, mostly me, you and Lou, we think we know everything about each other, right? We think we’ve said everything, we think we know all these things, but maybe we don’t. I thought I should — I thought maybe you didn’t know, so I wanted to tell you,” Liam says.
“Tell me what?” Zayn asks. Liam takes a step forward, tugs on Zayn’s slogan shirt, pulls him in, and then they’re kissing, actually kissing. Liam’s other hand is sliding down and lacing their fingers, and Zayn is putting a hand behind Liam’s neck.
“Just. In case you didn’t know,” Liam says, pulling back, they’re breathing heavy and fast and Zayn is running his fingers on Liam’s neck. He feels like they just took several steps forward, like moving, like untying a knot.
“That's new,” Zayn says.
“I wish it wasn’t,” Liam says, and the world gets even looser. Zayn pulls Liam back in to kiss him again and doesn’t think once about sleep schedules, running, or Louis.
That night he pulls out his sketchbook, and actually draws — and it feels almost as amazing as kissing Liam had.
“I never thought we’d get this many signatures,” Louis says as they’re closing. He’s counting names while Zayn counts money and he’s humming to himself.
“Me either,” Zayn says.
“I think we can do this,” Louis says.
“I hope so,” Zayn says.
“And then we should seriously talk about being closed on Wednesdays and adding food, and all the things we could do to make things better,” Louis says.
“We should,” Zayn agrees, and he means it. He does.
“And about you kissing Liam,” Louis says. Zayn stares very intently at the bills he’s counting.
“Sure,” Zayn says.
“It’s about time,” Louis says, nudging Zayn. “I saw you drawing, too.”
“I bought supplies too, paints and stuff, yesterday,” Zayn says. Louis beams at him.
“I’m really glad,” Louis says.
“It’s not like — with Liam. We haven’t talked about it or anything, Zayn says. "But there is kissing now.”
“Good,” Louis says. “You know that look you say I get?”
“Yeah,” Zayn says, a little lost.
“You have a look too, but, I’ve only ever seen it twice, once when we were about sixteen, and then — and then about Liam,” Louis says.
“Oh,” Zayn says.
“Harry was saying this thing the other day, about how fascinating the three of us are, all this history and all these things between all of us, and I — okay, I feel like I need to say something so you hear it,” Louis says.
“Okay?” Zayn says. He feels like he’s heard a lot of that lately.
(Maybe Harry is helping, maybe it is all less sticky, maybe it is better.)
“I don’t know how to say this without it sounding like I’m insulting Liam, and I’m not. You know I love Liam fucking desperately, so please don’t take it that way, alright? But it was never like that, Zayn. I think you always think it was, but there was no face about Liam; it was just fun. I wasn’t — sometimes you look at me, and at him, like you think I made some kind of giant sacrifice for you, but I don’t see it that way at all. It’s time you didn’t either, okay?” Louis says. Zayn swallows.
“I don’t,” Zayn starts, but Louis raises an eyebrow. “Okay, I did a little.”
“I know,” Louis says. “But I always — You being with Liam makes me like Liam more than me being with Liam would, you know?”
“I — I’m working really hard on liking Harry,” Zayn offers because he’s honestly not sure what to say to that.
“You like him already,” Louis says, but it’s a little pleading, and Zayn grins back.
“Maybe,” Zayn says.
“The five of us, we’re going to be a big happy family," Louis says. “And we’re going to win this, you know. We’re going to win this and we’re all going to be happy. It’s going to be good. I can feel it.”
“Everything is changing so fast,” Zayn says.
“We needed that,” Louis says.
“I know,” Zayn says. Louis pulls him in for a tight hug and Zayn squeezes back.
“Love you,” Louis says.
“Love you, too,” Zayn says.
“You’re my favorite friend,” Louis says, and Zayn feels himself beam.
“You’re my favorite,” he says back, and the echo of a thing they’ve been saying for years, ever since Louis had said it for the first time when they were thirteen years old. It had stuck and become an exchange, a way to end conversations, a mantra that had gotten Zayn through so many things through the years.
Now, they’re standing in the middle of the bar they have to fight for, holding each other, wrapped in each other, talking about how they’re family, but they’re somehow the least tangled in each other they’ve been in a really long time. Zayn is more okay than he’s been in a long time.
They walk into a shiny office, petitions in hand, copies of the paper holding Zayn’s letter in it, shirts on, ready to meet this guy. Zayn still isn’t a hundred percent sure what the plan is — show the signatures and ask nicely if they could please stay, he supposes. Still, they’ve come a lot farther than he would have thought.
“This office is bigger than my whole flat,” Liam says, gazing around.
“This probably cost five times what ours did,” Zayn says, patting the leather sofa underneath him.
“Nice view, too,” Niall says.
“Where is this person? Why are they late? Are we sure they’re coming?” Liam asks, somewhat anxiously.
“It’s very rude that he’s not here,” Louis says.
“Um,” Harry says.
“Yes?” Louis says.
“He is here?” Harry says.
“Sorry?” Liam says.
Harry stands up. “I might have lied a little. I’m your former landlord’s great nephew, hi,” he says. Louis makes a small choking sort of sound.
“What?” Louis asks.
“Well, there is this board I’m supposed to listen to, accountants and people like that, and they were advising me to kick you out — all of you. They wanted me to put in a classy chain restaurant and maybe a high-end boutique or two, I didn’t want to, but I needed to give them a better reason than that so that I didn't just look like some dumb kid — but now I’m acting on behalf of the community, and all of you, so we all win,” Harry says, smiling at all of them brightly,, but a pinch nervously.
“You?” Zayn asks.
“I hate all this. I’m supposed to like re-energize everything by being cutthroat or something,” Harry says. “But, obviously, I don’t really have that in me. So.”
“So you used us. And lied to us?” Louis says. He sounds sharp and angry. Harry’s face falls.
“No! I just — I didn’t want to shut you down! They wanted me to. I was supposed to raise your rent and get you to leave, but that’s shit and I couldn’t,” Harry says.
“You felt sorry for us, then?” Louis asks.
“It’s not like that,” Harry says. “You know that.”
“No, I really don’t. I don’t know anything about you,” Louis says.
“You do,” Harry says.
“Is your name even Harry?” Louis asks. Harry flinches.
“That’s not fair,” Harry says.
“Isn’t it? You lied,” Louis says. The other three just watch them, eyes glued.
“I had to!” Harry says.
“Why?” Louis asks.
“Would have you listened to me if I told you who I was? Or would have blown me off as some rich dick trying to tell you what to do?” Harry challenges.
“But you are,” Louis says. Harry draws in a breath.
“I really did just want to help, Louis,” He says.
“Whatever,” Louis says. Harry looks all desperate and sad, and Zayn’s heart is breaking for him. Not that he totally condones the whole lying from the start thing, but well, ‘secretly rich’ isn’t the worst news. Plus, now they’re definitely not losing the bar.
“And now I can! Now I can say I’m basing my decision to let you stay on all of this, and it will all work out,” Harry says.
“You used us for some sort of fucking rich boy game, none of it even matters to you,” Louis says.
“It does! Of course it does,” Harry says, looking more miserable by the second. Zayn takes a breath.
“Lou,” Zayn says, reaching for Liam’s hand as he does.
“What?” Louis says, whirling on Zayn.
“You’re being shit. You told me to tell you,” Zayn says. Louis stares at him for a minute, then smiles, just a little.
“I'm allowed to be angry. We can all be angry,” Louis says, but he doesn’t sound nearly as angry as he had a second ago. Harry sags a little.
“I can’t be,” Niall says, shrugging.
“What?” Liam asks, squeezing Zayn's hand and making a puzzled face at Niall.
“I can’t be angry. At Harry. That’d make me a hypocrite,” Niall says.
“Why?” Louis asks, rubbing his temples. Niall reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a phone much nicer than the one he normally carries and slides the screen to show them all a picture of him. A picture of Niall with his guitar in a band in front of this huge crowd.
“So, when I said I didn’t need Liam’s money, I might have meant that I’m already employed and making loads of money. We’re sort of famous, actually,” Niall says.
“You’re sort of famous?” Zayn echoes weakly.
“Well the band, not me, but yeah,” Niall says.
“Right. Anyone else? Double lives? Secrets?" Louis asks. "Been a model all this time, Zayn? Actual Olympic athlete Liam?”
“I’m in love with Zayn,” Liam blurts. “Not a double life, but a secret, I guess.”
“That’s not a secret, Liam,” Louis says, but he’s grinning and he looks like he’s feeling better. Zayn squeezes Liam’s hand as tight as possible.
“It sort of was,” Liam says.
“Only to Zayn, who loves you too. You two are very sweet, but compared to Harry and Niall, that’s not really a revelation at all,” Louis says.
“Are you still mad?” Harry says. “Don’t be mad, Louis.”
“I’m not happy,” Louis says.
“We’re not getting kicked out,” Liam says.
“I could get you into really great parties, make it up to you, if you want,” Niall says.
“How is all of this actually happening?” Zayn asks.
“I really did just want to help,” Harry says again. Louis nods.
“Can I — will you walk with me into the hall or something? I can’t do this in here,” Louis says, tugging on Harry.
“Of course,” Harry says. They head out into the hall, and everyone else just looks at each other for a minute.
“You think they’ll be alright?” Niall asks.
“I do,” Zayn says.
“You two aren’t, like, freaked out now, right?” Niall asks.
“Honestly? Mostly I feel better because I was never sure how you paid bills,” Liam says. Zayn grins.
“Yeah, no worries,” he says, nodding in agreement. Niall smiles back and then looks at their hands.
“I’m, um, going to go for a few minutes to let you talk about your little revelation,” Niall says. He skips out before they can stop them— out the other door because Harry’s office has two fucking doors.
“This is all so weird,” Liam says.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees.
“Do you think we’re being filmed or something, some kind of elaborate hoax?” Liam asks.
“I think it’s stranger knowing that we're probably not,” Zayn says.
“Niall and Harry,” Liam says. Zayn shakes his head.
“So — that thing you said,” he says. Liam flushes.
“For the longest time, I didn’t think you were interested, but I always wanted you to be, " Liam says, taking a deep breath before he continues. "Being your friend is more romantic than any relationship I’ve ever had. We’re just — it always made so much sense to me, and I didn’t know how to say that without it being — pressure on you, I guess, but, yeah. I’m in love with you.”
“I — me too,” Zayn says. “I’ve been trying to tell myself for so long now that you didn’t want me back, that it was all in my head, that there were a million reasons it wouldn’t work, that Louis, that so many things — but I — I met you, and I haven’t really been able to do anything but be in love with you since.”
“Yeah?” Liam asks, flushed.
“Yeah,” Zayn says, leaning in to kiss him.
“Louis?” Liam questions when they pull back.
“We’re all so tangled, and you had that thing — the two of you, and I felt like it was my fault you didn’t anymore. Then I don’t know. I think I spent a lot of time making it more complicated than it was,” Zayn says. Liam shakes his head and kisses Zayn softly again.
“I did a lot of that too,” Liam says.
“I made something for your walls,” Zayn says, impulsively.
“You did?” Liam asks.
“You don’t have to use it if you hate it, but I did,” Zayn says.
“I’m positive I’ll love it,” Liam says, smiling.
“So, we’re doing this now, you and me?” Zayn asks.
“I really want to,” Liam says.
“Me too,” Zayn says, smiling.
There is a thud out in the hall, and they both turn around to see, through the window, that Harry and Louis are making out against the wall. Zayn grins.
“I guess they’re okay, then,” Liam says.
“Guess so,” Zayn says, and then he’s leaning forward and kissing Liam again, and it’s like the whole fucking world is opening — and it’s amazing.
In the end, they do more than hang Zayn’s art on the walls. They have a full art opening, with music from Niall and his band, drinks provided by Louis’ and Zayn’s bar, and Harry inviting important people to look at it all. It’s actually terribly classy and people make him offers and ask if they can display his things someday. Zayn and Liam keep their hands clasped the whole night, tight and steady. Louis is trying out the new bar menu on the guests too, and the food, along with Liam’s frozen scones, and the drink — alcoholic and not — keep everyone in good spirits all night. Niall’s band is amazing, and their being there is sort of a huge deal too. It’s all a big deal, really. It's a big enough deal that the city paper is there, and out of the corner of his eye, Zayn can see Louis attempting to make nice with Harry’s friend Nick. He grins.
It’s a Wednesday, and he’s at Liam’s, and very large parts of his world are still Liam’s coffee shop. the bar, and Louis and Liam, but in so many other ways, his life has completely changed.
And when it's over, they celebrate at Louis and Zayn’s flat, and there are more drinks just for the five of them as they lay on the floor, lazy and draped over each other. Zayn’s head on is resting Liam’s chest, listening to his heartbeat, Harry is giggling into Louis’ neck Niall is telling them stories about all the famous people he knows but doesn’t like very much, and it somehow feels like his life has arrived exactly where it was meant to.