Chapter Text
April 7th 2019
Zayn
Zayn had woken up from a nap in his hammock to a missed call and a voicemail from an unknown number.
“Hey…Zayn. This is Louis…Tomlinson. I uhh. God this is bloody stupid. I hope this is your number. I probably shouldn’t have said me last name. But yeah. I don’t really know why I’m calling. Cause I’m still mad at you. Kinda. I guess though…I guess I understand more now. I…I’ve been in a dark place too. I let it get real bad. I just…I just got out of rehab. Not actually for a real addiction…I just…I got really low. Too low. Management is trying to keep it hush hush and figured if it got out rehab would sound better than wanting to off myself. Familiar innit? Ha! Sorry. Yeah I’m sorry. I just..I knew you would get it. Anyway, I hope this is your number. You can ignore this or…if you would want to talk. Yeah. just. Yeah, do what’s best for you. I hope you are good. I hope you’re happy. Bye Zayn”
April 19th 2019
Zayn sat slouched on one of the hard plastic chairs in Doylestown Airport , staring blankly at the arrivals board.
His leg bounced uncontrollably, the sound of his sneaker tapping on the floor the only thing keeping him from freaking the fuck out as the minutes ticked by. He’d been there for over an hour already, too anxious to wait at home. He wouldn’t leave until Louis walked through those doors. Which was…so weird. He rubbed his palms together, the friction not enough to calm his nerves. His heart hadn’t stopped pounding since the moment Louis left that voicemail a few weeks ago. Just the sight of his name lighting up Zayn’s phone had knocked the air out of him.
It’d been so long.
So damn long.
Zayn missed Louis.
Missed him more than he’d let himself admit for the last few years. He could feel it in his bones, in the marrow deep inside him. It ached there, buried with everything else he didn’t have the courage to face.
There was so much bad blood between them.
So much pain.
They’d said awful things, thrown punches with their words that cut so deep neither of them had ever really recovered.
Basically, they’d both been little bitchy bitches.
And now Louis was struggling.
Zayn had been through his own darkness, but it was Louis’ turn now, apparently. Zayn had extended the invite to his farm almost on a whim. He didn’t know if Louis would accept, didn’t know if he even wanted to see him again. But Zayn figured if anyone could understand, it was him. The farm had become his sanctuary, the one place where life made sense.
No cameras.
No noise.
Just him, the animals, and the endless stretch of fields.
And, most importantly, no one to perform for.
He could breathe there, be himself, whoever that even was these days.
The chickens didn’t care about his fame.
The fireflies and squirrels didn’t give a shit about his past.
It was the clearest, simplest happiness Zayn had felt in years.
Maybe Louis could find some peace there, too.
But that didn’t stop the nerves from clawing at him now. The history between them weighed so heavy Zayn felt like he was suffocating under it.
He hadn’t seen Louis since 2015.
He had a chance when Louis’ mum died, when he should have been there.
But he hadn’t gone.
Zayn swallowed hard.
That was still one of the worst things he’d ever done.
And not a day went by that it didn’t eat at him, gnawing at the back of his mind like a parasite. He’d been a coward. He couldn’t bear to be in that environment again—surrounded by fans, scrutinized by every pair of eyes in the building. Facing Simon again. Facing everyone. It was selfish, he knew that now, but at the time, there hadn’t been another choice in his mind.
It made him sick to think about.
And then there was the rest of them.
Harry, Liam, Niall—he knew nothing about their lives now. He’d avoided it like the plague. Too much shame. Too much resentment.
Sure, Niall still texted him sometimes, but Zayn ignored most of it.
He didn’t know how to fix things, didn’t even know if he could. There had been too many words spoken, too many wounds inflicted. Liam and Louis had always jabbed right back at him, but Harry? Harry stayed calm, calculated, keeping his distance while everything around them burned. And Niall… he had just watched it all go down. Like some kind of quiet observer.
Zayn sighed, dragging his hands down his face, as if he could wipe away the past 5 years with a single gesture.
He didn’t know what to expect from Louis now.
The Louis he used to know was sharp, full of fire and laughter, but also carrying an edge of something darker beneath the surface. He wasn’t sure if that Louis still existed, or if this depression had changed him in ways Zayn couldn’t predict.
The PA system crackled, announcing the arrival of Louis’ flight, and Zayn’s stomach clenched. This was it. No turning back now.
He stood, palms sweaty, heart hammering. Louis was minutes away, and everything they’d avoided for years was about to come rushing back in one tidal wave of old grudges and unspoken apologies.
Zayn didn’t know how they’d get through it, but he hoped—he needed —to believe that they could.
Because he missed Louis.
Louis
Louis slumped back in his seat, staring out the window at the flat, grey tarmac of whatever godforsaken airport this was.
Why the fuck was he in Pennsylvania?
And why was the runway so fucking small ?
It looked more like a parking lot than an actual airport. The plane he’d just survived was basically a tin can with wings. He let out a frustrated huff, hands clenching around the armrests as the flight attendant announced that they could switch off airplane mode.
Of course, there was no fucking Wi-Fi during the flight.
Louis fished his phone out of his pocket, but didn’t even bother turning it on. He didn’t want to face the pile-up of missed texts or see whatever inane notifications were waiting for him. He hadn’t checked his messages in a while, anyway. And he’d been getting real good at dissociating lately—just floating through the days, the hours, the fucking minutes without engaging with reality unless it was absolutely necessary.
“Why the fuck am I here?” he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. He ignored the sideways glance the lady sitting next to him threw his way.
Sure, he’d been all nostalgic and zen when he left that voicemail for Zayn. It had been one of those rare moments of clarity, when the world didn’t seem like an unbearable weight crushing him. He’d even felt a bit of optimism—something he hadn’t tasted in months. Years, maybe.
But this ?
Getting on a tiny fucking plane to the middle of nowhere?
To spend a week at Zayn’s motherfucking farm ?
What the actual fuck was he thinking?
Maybe it will be good for him.
That’s what he kept telling himself. That’s what his therapist had told him, too—getting away from the noise, the chaos of his life. Getting out of his own head. He knew Zayn had done the whole farm-therapy thing, had cleaned up his act, found peace or whatever.
But Louis wasn’t sure if that was going to work for him. He wasn’t sure if anything would work for him at this point. Not after everything.
Three weeks out of ‘rehab’, and he was still feeling like shit most days. Some miracle that was.
No one knew, though.
It was a fucking miracle in itself that the press hadn’t gotten wind of it. If they had, there would’ve been a full-blown circus by now. The official story, if it ever leaked, would be about an alcohol problem. Because, apparently, that was more palatable than the truth.
‘Former One Direction star wanted to off himself! The exclusive story!’
Rehab for depression wasn’t as neat and tidy a story. He could hear the tabloids spinning it now, digging up old quotes, tying it all to his mum’s death, the public grief, the stress, the whatever-the-fuck. They’d all write their little pieces and pat themselves on the back for connecting dots that weren’t really there.
He was fine now, though. (seriously)
That’s what he told everyone.
What he had to tell everyone.
(It’s fine)
Louis scrubbed a hand over his face and stared blankly at the passengers around him, most of them already standing up, eager to get off the plane. He stayed seated. His body felt too heavy to move just yet, like he was still processing the fact that he was actually here.
About to see Zayn.
He hadn’t seen him in so long.
Not since everything went to shit. And it had gone to shit, hadn’t it?
The band, the break, his mum, the fights, all of it. And now?
Now, here he was, about to step into Zayn Malik’s life again. No fanfare, no interviews, just the two of them.
Alone.
On a fucking farm.
Zayn had sounded… different on the phone. Calmer. Grounded, maybe? Louis wasn’t sure what that felt like anymore, but it seemed like Zayn had figured it out somehow.
Louis could barely picture it—Zayn feeding chickens or milking cows or whatever the fuck it was that people did on farms.
It was fucking insane, but then again, so was Louis at this point.
With a sigh, Louis finally stood, grabbing his backpack from the overhead bin. His legs were shaky, but he ignored them, forcing himself to walk toward the exit.
Outside, the air was humid and heavy. It hit him like a wall as he stepped onto the tarmac. This place was so different from the city, from the constant noise and clutter of his normal life. There were no screaming fans, no paparazzi lurking around.
Just silence.
He breathed it in.
Maybe this was exactly what he needed.
Or maybe it was going to be a bloody disaster.
Either way, it was happening.
He couldn’t help but wonder what Zayn was thinking right now. If he was nervous, too, or if he was the calm, zen farmer he seemed to be over the phone. Louis doubted it. The tension between them was so thick you could cut it with a knife. There was so much left unsaid, so much shit buried between them that Louis wasn’t sure if they could ever really dig it up and deal with it.
But, here he was.
Taking the first step.
Louis stepped into the small one floor airport. Only Oli, his sister, and now Zayn knew where he was. They were also the only ones who knew about rehab, and Louis planned on keeping it that way.
The fewer people who knew, the easier it would be to pretend everything was fine.
Everything was fucking fine. (Seriously)
Harry didn’t text him while he was away.
Not even once.
So that wasn’t hard to lie about.
It stung, sure, but Louis wasn’t surprised. They’d been supposed to meet up a week ago, but Harry had cancelled last minute, something about Jeff needing him. Of course. Jeff . (Whatever)
They had been texting a bit the past few days, though. Harry was getting ready for the Met Gala, because of course he was. Harry was always on top, always shining. Louis could practically see him now—being all charming and perfect, strutting down a red carpet that Louis would never set foot on. Not that he had been invited. Not that he would even WANT to be invited.
He probably had a text from Harry now, something cool and nonchalant, probably a selfie with his stylist or some cryptic line about how busy he was. It always felt like Harry was in a different orbit these days, untouchable. Louis could be on the brink of falling apart and Harry would still be glowing.
Fuck.
Louis suddenly wanted to check his phone so badly he could feel his hands twitching.
Maybe Harry had texted.
Maybe there was some comfort there, some validation that Louis hadn’t fully fallen off his radar. It was pathetic, how much he craved that connection.
Harry’s approval.
Harry’s attention.
Harry’s lo–...No. He wasn’t going to go there
He was tempted to turn around.
Get back on the fucking death plane and fly right back to the chaos of London or LA or anywhere that wasn’t here .
He could lie about this, too.
Pretend it never happened.
Just disappear into the noise again.
But then, before he could make a break for it, he saw him.
Fucking Zayn.
Zayn, who looked completely different and somehow exactly the same.
Louis froze, heart hammering in his chest. What the absolute fuck are we supposed to do? He hadn’t thought this far ahead. Hug? Shake hands? Nod awkwardly and pretend like it wasn’t the first time they’d seen each other in years? Everything felt surreal, like he was watching from outside his body, waiting for someone to tell him what the hell he was supposed to do next.
Zayn was standing there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking just as uncertain. His hair was longer now and he was sporting a short thick beard, but his eyes were still the same dark, intense ones Louis remembered. They stood there for a beat too long.
Louis’ mouth felt dry but he forced a smirk, trying to cover how fucking terrified he felt.
“Well, this is fucking awkward, isn’t it?” he said, his voice coming out more hoarse than he intended.
Zayn huffed a quiet laugh, the tension between them breaking just slightly. “Yeah. A bit.”
They just stood there for another awkward second.
Neither of them moved, like they were both waiting for the other to make the first move.
Louis wanted to say something else, crack a joke maybe, but his mind was blank. His heart was still racing, and his thoughts kept flipping between Harry and Zayn and what the fuck am I doing here .
And then, without really thinking about it, Louis stepped forward.
Zayn’s shoulders tensed, but before Louis could second-guess himself, he closed the distance and pulled him into a quick, rough hug.
It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t comfortable, but it was something.
For a brief second, Zayn hesitated before he relaxed, his arms coming around Louis, tentative but warm. They stayed like that for a heartbeat longer than expected, and then Louis pulled back, awkwardly clearing his throat.
“Well. Let’s, uh… get the fuck out of here, then,” Louis muttered, unable to meet Zayn’s eyes.
Zayn nodded, silent, and the two of them walked toward the exit, side by side but miles apart. Louis couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that Zayn had no security. No bodyguards. No swarm of people to shield him from the public eye. They walked out of the airport like two regular blokes, and no one gave them a second glance. Then again, there were only about fifty people in the whole place. The US was so bloody big , and Louis always forgot how different life was in these smaller towns.
He half-expected a tumbleweed to roll by.
They walked in silence, the only sound being the scrape of their trainers against the asphalt. Zayn kept a few paces ahead, moving like he had somewhere to be. Louis stuffed his hands in his pockets, the awkwardness between them thick enough to choke on. He had no idea what to say, so he stayed quiet, glancing around the nearly empty parking lot.
And then he saw it.
Zayn walked straight toward a massive, cherry red pickup truck that looked like it belonged in some over-the-top American car commercial. Louis stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the monstrosity with wide eyes.
“What the fuck is that?” he blurted out, unable to hide the disbelief in his voice.
Zayn turned to him, a grin spreading across his face like he’d been waiting for Louis to ask. He slapped the hood of the truck with pride. “This,” he said, with more enthusiasm than Louis had heard from him in years, “is Uraby . She’s a Ram 1500 TRX.”
Louis blinked. Zayn was beaming like he’d just introduced Louis to his firstborn child, and all Louis could do was gawk at the ridiculous machine in front of him.
“You’ve turned into a fucking American,” Louis muttered, shaking his head.
Zayn shrugged, still grinning. “It’s the farm life, mate. Gotta have something big and tough to haul stuff around.”
“Uraby?” Louis questioned, arching a brow at the name. “Where the fuck did that come from?”
“ Yu-Gi-Oh reference,” Zayn said, nonchalantly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You know, the dinosaur?”
Louis stared at him for a long moment. He was trying to picture Zayn, the same Zayn he’d toured the world with, getting all excited about a giant fucking truck and naming it after a bloody Yu-Gi-Oh card. (to be fair, the latter part tracked)
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Louis muttered under his breath, but he couldn’t help the tiny smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.
Zayn waved toward the passenger side, “Get in the truck.”
Louis glanced up at the beast of a vehicle, then back at Zayn. The thing was so high off the ground it might as well have been a climbing wall. He grumbled under his breath, but awkwardly grabbed the door handle and hoisted himself up, nearly tripping over his own feet as he struggled to climb into the stupidly high seat.
“Fucking stupid ,” he muttered, settling in and slamming the door shut.
Zayn climbed in on the driver’s side, still grinning like an idiot. “You’ll get used to it.”
Louis wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t argue. He just sat there, staring out the window at the empty parking lot, trying to ignore the strange mixture of nostalgia and disbelief swirling in his chest. Zayn had changed in ways Louis didn’t expect, but there were flashes of the old Zayn, too. The one he remembered from before.
“Right,” Zayn said, turning the key in the ignition. The truck roared to life, the engine loud enough to make Louis jump a little. “Let’s get out of here.”
Louis nodded, his hands still clenched into fists on his lap.
God, this was so awkward.
Zayn
Zayn’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as they merged onto the highway, the purr of the engine doing little to drown out the eerie silence hanging between them.
Louis looked tired—so fucking tired—but there was still that familiar edge to him, like he was always ready for a fight. In that way, it was almost like nothing had changed.
Except everything had changed.
Zayn cleared his throat, trying to think of something to say, but every topic he could come up with felt either too heavy or too trivial. He glanced sideways at Louis, watching him fidget with his phone, tapping the screen with more intensity than necessary. It was obvious that Louis was just as uncomfortable, if not more. They had about fifteen minutes of driving left, and it already felt like a disaster.
As he turned his eyes back to the road, Zayn’s gaze caught on Louis’ phone screen for a brief moment—long enough to notice several texts popping up from someone saved as H . More than likely Harry.
The words were out before Zayn could stop himself. “You and Harry still…?”
Louis looked up at him, wide-eyed, like a kid caught sneaking biscuits from the jar. He stuttered for a second, clearly caught off guard. “It’s, uh… well, it’s complicated, I guess.”
Zayn blinked, not expecting that. He really wasn’t. His mind had immediately gone to the old days. When he had left, Louis and Harry were as good as ever. He thought they were solid, even now. The idea that it might be complicated was new. And somehow, it made Zayn feel a sense of dread.
“Do you still live together?” Zayn asked, the question slipping out before he could think it through. Regret settled in his gut the moment the words left his mouth. Too personal. Too soon.
“No,” Louis said bluntly, then hesitated, his voice softening as he stumbled through an explanation. “But, like… we will again, probably. It’s just… we’re figuring out our own careers and all that, and it’s just... it’s complicated, but we’re still together, kind of? You know how it is. It’s one of those things, yeah?” He was babbling now, nervous, his words coming out in a rush. “And look, he’s going to the Met Gala!”
Louis shoved his phone in Zayn’s face before he had a chance to protest, a flurry of images filling the screen. It was a mirror selfie of Harry, of course, dressed in some extravagant outfit—a sheer blouse, flowing and dramatic—but what Zayn hadn’t expected was the distinct lack of pants.
“Jesus, Louis!” Zayn barked, recoiling and trying to keep his eyes on the road. “I don’t need to see that !”
Louis looked genuinely confused for a second, blinking at the phone before his cheeks went bright red. “Oh, shit. Sorry—didn’t realize he wasn’t wearing pants. Fuck.” He quickly pulled the phone back, cringing at his own mistake. “Sorry. That’s… yeah, my bad.”
Zayn couldn’t help but laugh, despite himself. He shook his head, the tension between them cracking just slightly. “Yeah, maybe keep that one to yourself next time, yeah?”
Louis huffed a breath, sinking back into his seat, but a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Noted.”
For a moment, things felt a little lighter, like maybe they could get through this without everything crashing down. But as the silence settled again, Zayn couldn’t shake the feeling that they were both still carrying too much, still skating on the edge of all the unspoken shit between them.
They weren’t there yet. Not by a long shot.
But at least they hadn’t completely imploded.
Yet.
As Zayn turned the truck onto the long dirt road leading to his farm, a knot of nerves tightened in his chest. He’d gotten weirdly self-conscious about Louis seeing the place. It wasn’t like Louis had ever been on a farm before (Zayn seriously doubted it, at least) but still, he’d spent the last two weeks obsessing over every little detail. He’d mowed the entire property twice, fixed a few broken panels in the wooden fence that surrounded the field, and even replaced the dark brown shutters on his beige farmhouse. It was silly, really. Louis probably wouldn’t even notice any of it. But Zayn couldn’t shake the feeling that this—his farm, his life now—was going to be under a microscope, just like everything else had been in their past. Seemed the 1D trauma never truly left.
As they pulled up to the house, Zayn glanced at Louis out of the corner of his eye. He was staring out the window, scanning the open fields, the barn, the trees lining the far edge of the property. His face was unreadable, which made Zayn’s stomach twist.
He parked the truck beside the house, the tires crunching on gravel. They both got out in silence.
Louis stretched his arms over his head, letting out a tired sigh. “Would you be okay if I take a kip? Jet lag’s hitting me hard.”
Zayn shook his head quickly. “Yeah, sure. I can wake you for dinner.”
Louis nodded, looking uncomfortable, like he wasn’t sure what to say next. They walked toward the house without another word, and Zayn fumbled with the keys as they reached the front door. He could feel Louis watching him, which only made his hands shake more.
Once inside, they both hesitated, looking down at their shoes. Why did literally everything feel so fucking awkward? Zayn kicked his off first, nodding toward Louis, who awkwardly followed suit. They stood there in the narrow entryway, shoes in hand, not saying anything. The air smelled faintly of lilac from the candles Zayn had lit earlier, trying to make the place feel homier.
“Uh, I’ll show you to the guest room,” Zayn finally said, breaking the silence.
Louis nodded and followed Zayn down the hall and up the stairs, their footsteps muffled on the hardwood floors. Zayn pushed open the door to the guest room, stepping aside to let Louis in.
The room was rustic but had an air of luxury to it. Zayn had made sure the furniture was a mix of reclaimed wood and custom built pieces. The king-sized bed sat against one wall, made up with crisp white sheets and a thick green woolen blanket folded at the foot. A large window overlooked the farm, the wooden blinds casting shadows across the room. A black hand-woven rug covered part of the floor, and a couple of framed landscape photos hung on the walls—Zayn’s attempt at making the space feel a bit more curated.
“Thanks,” Louis said, his voice soft, not meeting Zayn’s eyes. He lingered in the doorway for a second before walking inside and closing the door behind him.
Zayn stood there for a moment, staring at the closed door, then rubbed his eyelids, feeling the full weight of the past 30 minutes. This was a mess, and he had no idea how to fix it. Maybe food would fix it.
Homemade pizza , he thought. It was his go-to comfort food, and Louis had always loved it back in the day. Surely that would make things a little better.
Surely it would fix something .
Louis
Louis sat on the edge of the guest room bed, staring at his phone. He felt a little bad for lying to Zayn. Kind of. It was easier this way, though. It was a mercy, really. He wasn’t ready to peel back the layers of his mess for Zayn to see.
He wanted to be pathetic in secret.
With a sigh, he hit the call button on Harry’s name, the familiar weight of anticipation settling in his chest.
The line rang twice before Harry’s voice came through, light and full of warmth. “ Hello, my Louis !”
Louis swallowed the lump in his throat. “Hi, sweets.”
“ Haven’t heard your voice in ages! Where are you ?” Harry asked, his tone still teasing, but there was a hint of something more—curiosity, maybe.
Louis’s mind scrambled for an answer. He really should’ve thought about this before he called. “In New York. With Oli.”
“ Oh, ” Harry said, sounding slightly deflated. “ Well, that’s nice. ”
Louis waited, holding his breath. He wanted Harry to ask him how he was, to check in, to care about what was really going on. To ask if he was okay.
But Harry didn’t ask. He never did.
Instead, Louis forced a smile, even though Harry couldn’t see it. “I liked your picture,” he said, trying to steer the conversation back to something comfortable.
“ Did ya ?” Harry’s voice lilted, pleased with himself.
“Been awhile since you’ve sent me pictures.”
There was a pause, the kind of silence that felt too deliberate. “ Hmm, I can probably change that,” Harry said, his voice dipping low like he was offering more than just a photo.“Yeah,” Louis drawled, “Feeling generous today?”
“Oh, is that what this is? ” Harry teased. “Just calling me up because you’re horny?”
Louis snorted. “Don’t flatter yourself, love. You’re not that pretty,” he lied.
“Shut up, you think I'm the prettiest ” Harry laughed. “I can send you more if that’s what you’re after.”
“Like I would say no to that,” Louis said, rolling his eyes again, though there was a knot in his stomach that he couldn’t shake. Louis’ heart sped up for a second, but before he could get too lost in it, Harry’s tone shifted again, back to casual. “So, I was thinking… ”
“That’s dangerous,” Louis quipped, trying to keep it light, even though his chest felt tight.
“ Ah, fuck off, ” Harry shot back with a laugh. “Anyways, I was thinking maybe you come to L.A. during the Met Gala. I don’t have anything going on for a few days afterward. We could get a penthouse with one of those infinity pools or a hot tub in the room or something. ”
Of course, Harry didn’t actually invite him to the Met Gala. Couldn’t have that. No, Louis wasn’t part of that world anymore. Harry shone too brightly there, and Louis didn’t fit in with the glitz and glamour, not anymore.
He never really had.
“Yeah, maybe,” Louis mumbled, his voice lacking any real commitment.
A loud yawn came from Harry’s end of the line. “Sorry, I’m knackered. I’m trying to keep my eyes open.”
“It’s okay, love,” Louis said softly, forcing the tenderness he wished he didn’t feel. “I really miss you.”
There was a pause on the other end, but then Harry replied, his voice quieter now. “I miss you too. So much.”
They sat in silence for a while, neither one knowing how to fill the gap between them. It had been growing for years now, and Louis wasn’t sure if it was something they could fix anymore.
He took a breath. “I miss us,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
More silence. The kind that hurt.
“Harry?” Louis asked, his voice small, almost pleading. But there was no answer. The silence stretched on, and the realization hit Louis like a bullet to the brain.
He fell asleep. Of course, he did.
Louis closed his eyes, biting back the sting of disappointment. He brought the phone back to his ear, even though he knew Harry couldn’t hear him.
“I love you, H,” Louis whispered, his voice breaking.
He hung up, tossed the phone aside, and fell back onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
Zayn
Zayn stood at the kitchen counter, slicing through a red bell pepper, his phone tucked between his shoulder and ear.
The constant thunk of the knife hitting the cutting board was the only thing keeping his nerves in check as he tried to figure out how the hell he was going to survive this week with Louis in his house. The dough was rising in a bowl nearby, the smell of freshly kneaded bread already filling the kitchen. He was in full pizza-making mode, but his mind was miles away.
“This is so bloody awkward, I don’t know how to do this,” Zayn grumbled into the phone.
“Well, what’s the ideal scenario?” Margo’s voice crackled in his ear, the slight delay making it sound like she was halfway across the world—which, knowing her, she probably was. “What do you actually want to say to him?” Zayn sighed, moving on to the zucchini. “I want to apologize for some things, obviously. But… I feel like I deserve an apology too, you know?”
“But…?” Margo’s voice had that teasing edge, like she was about to say something he’d hate.
“But he’s not in a good place,” Zayn muttered, chopping the vegetables into uneven chunks. “Feels kinda fucked up to want an apology from someone struggling to stay on this side of the dirt.”
Margo snorted. “I still can’t believe Louis Tomlinson is in your fucking house. Do you have any idea how mental that is? It’s literally a Zouis reunion.”
“Helpful,” Zayn deadpanned, rolling his eyes and reaching for the mozzarella. “Can you be useful for, like, five minutes instead of a fangirl?”
“I am useful!” Margo shot back. “You two need to actually talk, not just stew in the awkward tension. You remember what that is, right? Talking?”
Zayn grated the cheese a little too hard, almost losing a knuckle. “I think I’ve forgotten how.”
“Well, how did you two talk before?”
“We used to smoke a lot of pot.”
“There’s your answer,” Margo said with a smugness that Zayn could practically hear across the line.
Zayn paused, frowning. “You think that’s the best idea?”
“It’s pot, Zayn, not bloody heroin. You two need something to loosen up. Oh! Take him out by your fire pit! Or are the fireflies out yet? Or—take him to that tree you love and look at the stars. You know, get deep.”
Zayn blinked at the suggestion, momentarily thrown. That was actually… a good idea. “That might work, actually.”
“Of course it will. All my ideas are brilliant.”
Zayn snorted, rolling the dough out on the counter. “Where are you anyway? It sounds like you’re halfway up a mountain or something.”
“Close, ” Margo said, and Zayn could hear the grin in her voice. “ I’m in Bogotá right now. Just made a drop, heading to meet a buyer for the next batch.”
Zayn paused mid-roll, blinking at the phone. “Wait—Bogotá? What the hell are you doing there?”
“Nothing much, just a quick exchange of goods, ” she said breezily, like she was talking about a grocery run. “Then I’m hopping a flight to Mexico City, where there’s this big cartel event—don’t worry, I’ll be in and out before anyone even knows I’m there. Might swing through Miami for a bit afterward to sell some product. We’ll see how things shake out.”
Zayn let out a long breath, shaking his head as he spread the sauce over the dough. “Jesus Christ, M. You’re not gonna get yourself killed, are you?”
“Nah, not this time. Don’t worry your pretty little head. Tell Louis he’s the love of my life, though, if I do get caught.”
Zayn rolled his eyes, sprinkling cheese over the sauce. “Yeah, yeah. Just… be safe, alright? And for God’s sake, keep your phone charged.”
“Yeah, yeah, Daddy Zayn,” Margo teased. “I’ll check in with you when I’m stateside again. Love you, though.”
“Love you too, M,” Zayn said, shaking his head fondly as he hung up.
He set the phone down and went back to focusing on the pizza. The dough was rolled out evenly, and he carefully spread the sauce, added the freshly grated cheese, and then layered the vegetables on top. Margo’s wild escapades echoed in his mind as he worked, but his focus quickly shifted back to Louis.
Maybe taking him out to the tree with a joint and the stars overhead really would help break the tension. It was worth a shot, anyway. Because right now, he didn't really have another plan.
Louis
Louis dug his fingernails into his thighs, pressing down hard enough to feel the sharp sting and hopefully leave marks.
It was a nasty habit he’d picked up when his emotions got the best of him, a way to stay grounded when everything felt like it was spinning out of control. His body eventually forced him to stop, his fingers relaxing only when they started to ache.
It was fine.
He could be doing worse.
He lay there, staring up at the planked wood ceiling. His anxiety hummed just beneath his skin, wedging itself in the gaps in his ribs.
He was anxious about Zayn, about being here and having to pretend everything was okay between them.
Anxious about Harry—where they stood, what they even were anymore.
Then there was the album.
The deadline loomed over him like a dark cloud, his label breathing down his neck to finish it, but the truth was, he didn’t have anything left to give. The songs weren’t coming, not like they used to. All he had was static in his head, a blankness that was starting to terrify him. He had performed ‘Two of us’ and the music video was coming out in a couple weeks but that was basically it.
And then there was that creeping feeling. The one that slipped into his mind most mornings, that sickly thought of not wanting to wake up at all. Not in the way that people casually joked about hitting snooze on their alarm, but in the way that made him wonder if everything would be easier if he just… didn’t.
But it was whatever.
He’d gotten used to pushing those thoughts aside, burying them beneath layers of sarcasm and busy schedules. He’d gotten really good at lying to himself.
He didn’t know how long he lay in the bed—God, it was comfortable . The kind of comfortable that probably cost more than most peoples mortgages. He could have stayed there forever, wrapped in the heavy numbness, letting time slip by.
But as the light outside the window dimmed and dusk began to settle in, Louis knew he couldn’t hide up here forever. He had to face the music eventually. Zayn was waiting downstairs, and as much as he wanted to avoid it, he knew he couldn’t. Not without making things even weirder than they already were.
He sat up slowly, dragging his hand through his hair. Maybe he could come up with an excuse to leave early. His label had already thrown a fit that he wasn’t in the studio. He could claim they needed him back for some bullshit meeting or another round of rewrites.
Yeah. That could work.
Louis stood and stretched, feeling the tension in his body coil and release, though it did little to ease the tightness in his chest. With a heavy sigh, he moved toward the door. The first thing Louis noticed as he descended the stairs was the smell. God, it smelled amazing . His stomach growled loudly in response, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten all day. The scent wafting through the bottom floor was rich and savory, pulling him toward the kitchen like a moth to a flame.
When he stepped into the kitchen, Louis found Zayn mixing up a big salad in a wooden bowl. Zayn looked completely at ease in his kitchen, which was strange to see. The Zayn Louis remembered never would’ve been caught dead making a salad, let alone standing barefoot in a rustic farmhouse kitchen in the middle of Pennsylvania looking like fucking Martha Stewart.
“Please tell me you have more than salad,” Louis tried to joke, but his voice sounded too flat, too tired.
Zayn snapped his head up, eyes flicking to Louis with a small smile. “Pizza’s got about three more minutes in the oven.”
Louis perked up instantly. “Oh shit, is it that DiGiorno frozen pizza we used to get when we toured over here?” he nearly shrieked, his excitement momentarily cutting through the awkwardness. That pizza had been one of his absolute favourite things about touring the States—always hot, greasy, and perfect for late-night hotel room hangouts.
Zayn laughed, and Louis had to admit, it was nice hearing that sound. It eased something in his chest, just a little.
“Nah, no frozen pizza tonight,” Zayn said, shaking his head. “I made this one from scratch. Some of the ingredients are even from my garden and greenhouse. It’s Tandoori chicken and veggies.”
Louis raised an eyebrow, eyeing Zayn for a moment. He couldn’t deny that Zayn seemed… happier.
Better.
There was a calmness about him that Louis hadn’t seen in years. Still, it was surreal, seeing Zayn all domestic, playing the role of a little farmer boy in fucking Pennsylvania of all places. He still couldn't get over that.
“You would make bloody chicken, you twat,” Louis snorted, shaking his head as he plopped down on a stool by the counter.
Zayn grinned, seemingly not at all bothered by the teasing. “What can I say? I like a bit of spice in my life.”
Louis rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped him. It felt good to laugh, even if just for a moment. As strange as this whole situation was, it was almost comforting to see Zayn in this new light—relaxed, laughing.
“Well, I’m not complaining. Haven’t had a proper meal in a while,” Louis admitted, his stomach growling again. His eyes followed Zayn as he moved around the kitchen, checking the oven and finishing up the salad.
It was weird, sure.
But it was a lot better than he’d expected.
Approximately thirty minutes later, they found themselves seated at a large outdoor picnic table, the night settling in comfortably around them. Zayn had set up large solar lights around the yard, casting little orbs of light over the space. The temperature hovered at a pleasant 18 degrees, and despite himself, Louis had to admit—it was picturesque. A perfect evening.
The pizza was nothing short of a revelation.
Louis hadn’t expected much when Zayn said he’d made it from scratch, but each bite was better than the last. He was halfway through his second slice when he spoke between mouthfuls. “I need you to make this at least six more times.”
Zayn grinned, taking a sip of water. “Oh, don’t worry. I’ve got a whole mental menu planned out for the next couple of days.”
Louis laughed, but he couldn’t help himself from watching Zayn eat. It was strange, seeing him like this—actually enjoying his food, looking healthy. The Zayn Louis remembered from the old days barely touched his plate during meals, always making some excuse to avoid eating. If he did sit down to eat with them, he’d spend most of the time picking at his food, pushing it around but rarely taking a bite. Louis had noticed, of course, but he never knew how to bring it up. Instead, he would smoke Zayn out, trying to get him high enough to actually eat something, usually doritos.
Now, though?
Zayn was happily scarfing down his pizza while going into an enthusiastic explanation about his sourdough starter, his hands gesturing animatedly as he spoke. Louis found himself staring. He didn’t remember the last time they’d had a proper meal together—maybe early 2014? That felt like a lifetime ago.
Zayn suddenly interrupted his own story. “Stop watching me eat.”
Louis snapped his eyes up, caught off guard. He hadn’t realized just how intently he’d been staring at Zayn’s plate. “Sorry, I—” He stammered, struggling to find the right words. How the hell was he supposed to explain?
“It’s fine,” Zayn said, his voice too light, like he was brushing it off. “You had front row seats when I was withering away, so I’m sure this is weird to see.”
Louis felt the words hit him. There it was. The thing neither of them had addressed, hanging in the air between them now. Zayn’s nonchalance didn’t make it any easier to swallow.
It didn’t sound like the stress of being in the band had almost killed him, like he hadn’t kept it a secret from Louis—his best fucking friend.
Guilt flooded Louis’ mind, mixing with the pizza in his stomach until it all felt like too much.
He should’ve done more back then.
Should’ve noticed, should’ve asked, should’ve done something.
But he hadn’t.
He’d let Zayn suffer in silence, and it gnashed at him now, just as much as it had back then.
Louis swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump in his throat. “Zayn, I…”
Zayn waved a hand, cutting him off before he could say anything. “It’s fine, Lou. Really. It’s in the past.”
But it didn’t feel like the past.
Not to Louis.
“No, seriously! I—” Louis started to protest, his words hanging in the air just before he was hit with a flurry of feathers right in his face.
“کیڑے ! ” Zayn snapped in a language Louis didn’t recognize but assumed was Urdu. A brown chicken was suddenly mere inches from Louis’ face, a large chunk of pizza crust hanging from its beak, its creepy little eyes boring into Louis like it was a guard dog sniffing out an intruder.
Louis recoiled, blinking in shock. “What the fuck —”
“Pests! The lot of ya!” Zayn yelled, frustration lacing his voice as he reached over and plucked the offending chicken off the table. He set it down on the ground next to about half a dozen other chickens, all of which were now gathered in a little flock, staring up at Louis with unsettling intensity.
Louis gaped at the scene before bursting out laughing, his anxiety momentarily forgotten as he stared at the chickens like they were some kind of bizarre army Zayn had summoned. “Bro, what the hell have you got going on here? Do you have a bloody chicken army now?”
Zayn huffed, brushing his hands off on his jeans, clearly unamused by the chaos. “They’re usually better behaved, but they’ve got a thing for pizza crust. I swear they’re worse than dogs sometimes.”
Louis couldn’t stop laughing, even as he swatted a few stray feathers from his shirt. “This is absolutely mental. You, on a farm, getting bossed around by chickens.”
Zayn’s lips quirked into a small smile, and for a second, the tension between them seemed to ease, the moment too ridiculous to hold onto anything heavy.
“Yeah, well, you get used to it after a while. Bala’s the ringleader. Always trying to steal food.”
Louis shook his head, still chuckling. “This might be the strangest night I’ve had in years.”
Zayn shot him a sidelong glance, something unspoken passing between them. “Welcome to farm life.”
Louis looked down at the chickens still eyeing him like he was their next meal and couldn’t help but feel a small sense of relief that, for the first time in what felt like forever, he was able to laugh at something without darkness surrounding it.
“Oh my God,” Louis muttered, staring down at his plate in sudden horror. He looked back at the chickens with wide eyes. “Are we… are we eating one of them?” He lowered his voice to a whisper, as if the chickens might overhear and take offense.
Zayn let out a chuckle, shaking his head. “God, no,” he said, grabbing another slice of pizza and tearing off the crust. “These are my ladies. I don’t eat them. This chicken is from Costco.”
Louis blinked, relief washing over him. “Thank fuck .”
Zayn laughed again, more freely this time, as he shredded the pizza crust into little pieces and tossed them toward the flock. The chickens, led by Bala, scurried forward, pecking at the crumbs eagerly.
“This is all you get!” Zayn said, wagging a finger at them. “Bread’s bad for you, remember?”
Louis couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Zayn lecturing chickens about their diet, was such a far cry from the person he used to know. And yet, there was something oddly comforting about it. Something that made Louis feel like maybe this wasn’t as strange as he’d thought it would be.
“Didn’t realize you’d turned into a full-on chicken dad,” Louis teased, raising an eyebrow.
Zayn shrugged, tossing the last of the crust to the chickens before wiping his hands on his jeans. “Yeah, well, they’ve got personalities. Better company than a lot of people, to be honest.”
Louis smiled at that. “Not hard to believe.”
“Hurry up and finish,” Zayn said, standing up and gathering the empty plates and dishes. There was a flash in his eyes, and Louis arched an eyebrow at him, still chewing. “I’ve got a surprise and something to show you.”
Louis quickly snagged another slice of pizza before Zayn could whisk his plate away. “You’re going to leave me alone with them?” Louis asked, nodding toward the chickens who were still lingering nearby, eyeing him like he was holding a buffet in his hands. His stomach churned at the thought of being swarmed. Death by chickens would be terrible.
Zayn laughed, the sound warm and surprisingly genuine. It was weird how nice it was to hear that laugh again. “You’ll be fine. The speckled one—Rumi—likes sitting in laps, though.”
Louis shot him a panicked look. “You’re joking, right?”
Zayn shook his head with a grin. “Nope. Good luck, mate,” he said, walking back toward the house with the plates, leaving Louis at the mercy of the chickens.
Louis glanced warily at the flock, pizza slice halfway to his mouth. What if they attacked him? He could already see the headline.
Former One Direction Star Mauled by Chickens
Rumi was inching closer, her beady little eyes fixated on his pizza.
“Don’t even think about it,” Louis muttered, scooting back a bit on the bench, clutching his pizza protectively.
She cocked her head, as if deciding whether or not Louis was worth the effort.
Zayn
Zayn moved quickly, placing the plates in the sink with barely a glance before heading straight to his small office.
His heart was racing a little, nerves flooding him, but it wasn’t the bad kind. It was the kind that came with doing something familiar and intimate.
He pulled open a drawer and grabbed the old cigar box where he kept his stash. The sight of it brought back so many memories—back in the day, it would’ve been passed around a hotel room or thrown into Louis’ junk bunk.
Zayn opened the baggie, the smell of weed hitting him instantly. He plucked out two of the nicest nuggets, grinding them up quickly before packing two bowls. One was a deep green pipe with a swirling pattern, and the other was sparkly orange, a weird little pipe he’d picked up at some local shop. It was all part of the ritual, and Zayn found comfort in the process. Satisfied with his work, Zayn tapped his pocket to make sure his lighter was still in there. He had no idea how Louis was going to react to this—whether he’d be up for it, or if it would just make things more awkward—but something told him they both needed this. They needed to relax, let down their guards, and get out of their own heads.
Zayn made his way back through the house, the two bowls tucked carefully in his hand, his mind racing with how this night might go. He wasn’t entirely sure, but for once, that didn’t terrify him. With the two glass pipes balanced in one hand, Zayn used his elbow to slide open the back door. He stepped outside, ready to get them both out of their heads.
But the sight that greeted him stopped him in his tracks.
Rumi was perched comfortably on Louis’ lap like it had found its favourite chair. Louis, now sitting sideways on the bench with his back to the table, was speaking animatedly to the five other chickens gathered around him. They were all watching him with what could only be described as rapt attention, like he was the leader of some poultry cult.
Zayn had to bite back a laugh as he edged closer, trying to catch what Louis was saying.
“…and then they’re trapped, yeah? Hundreds of them, in these massive metal cages, all stacked up, one on top of the other…” Louis was leaning forward slightly, his voice low and dramatic, as if he were telling a campfire ghost story to scare children. “…and they can’t even stretch their wings! Not once, not even a flutter. It’s dark, filthy, and there’s no escape.”
Rumi clucked softly, as if in response to the horror of Louis’ words, while the rest of the chickens seemed frozen, their beady eyes wide in horrified reverence.
“And then,” Louis continued, his tone growing more ominous, “when they think it can’t get any worse… the farmers come.” He paused for effect, his eyes wide, before adding, “And they take them away. Forever.”
Zayn couldn’t help it—he burst out laughing, completely blowing his cover. “What are you doing?” he managed through his laughter, stepping forward with the two pipes in hand.
Louis jumped slightly at the sound, looking up at Zayn with a mix of surprise and guilt, as if he’d been caught in the middle of some top-secret chicken conspiracy. “What?” Louis said, shrugging, trying to keep a straight face. “They need to know the truth about factory farming. It’s grim out there, Zayn. They need to know how good they have it.”
Zayn shook his head, still chuckling. “You’re mental, you know that?”
Louis grinned. “It’s to your benefit! They should be thanking you.”
Zayn rolled his eyes, holding up the pipes. “Well, now that you’ve terrified my chickens, want to get a bit nostalgic?”
Louis looked at the pipes and then back at the chickens, who were still staring at him in awe. “Sure, but… I think Rumi’s emotionally attached now. Might have a problem getting up.”
Zayn gently plucked Rumi off Louis’ lap, ignoring the soft bawk of protest from both the chicken and Louis. He gave Louis a pointed look as the other man slowly got to his feet, shaking his head like he'd lost a loyal companion. “Follow me,” Zayn said, setting off toward the dense trees that bordered his property.
Louis followed silently, and for once, it felt like the quiet between them wasn’t weighed down by awkwardness or tension. It was almost comfortable. Zayn liked to think they were finding their old rhythm again.
As they reached the edge of the trees, Zayn grabbed a solar lantern that he’d hung from one of the branches earlier, illuminating a narrow path through the woods. The soft light lit up the undergrowth, casting shadows that stretched out long and thin.
“I kinda wish I hadn’t told the chickens a scary story now,” Louis muttered, eyeing the dark woods suspiciously.
Zayn grinned, teasing, “Baby.” Without another word, he stepped into the trees, leading the way with only the small lantern to light their path.
They walked in near silence for about two minutes, the only sounds the snaps and crunch of twigs and leaves beneath their feet. The thick canopy above blocked out most of the sky, but small gaps allowed beams of moonlight to filter through, creating patches of silvery light on the ground.The air was fresh and earthy, the coolness of the night brushing against their skin, but not cold enough to be uncomfortable.
The path led them into a small clearing, bathed in the light of the almost-full moon and dotted with fireflies that blinked on and off like stars fallen to earth. Zayn’s gaze was drawn to the lone tree in the middle, and he heard Louis murmur softly beside him, “Wow.”
Zayn followed Louis’ line of sight, looking up at the blanket of stars scattered across the sky. The Milky Way stretched out like a river of light, the stars so bright it almost didn’t seem real. “Yeah,” was all Zayn said as he continued toward the young dogwood tree he had planted a couple of years ago. It stood a little taller than him now, it would be flowering soon.
Louis’ voice came as a hushed whisper, as if the scenery demanded quiet reverence. “Is this all yours?”
Zayn nodded, his voice soft in return. “Yeah.”
They reached the dogwood tree, and Zayn knelt down next to the small outdoor storage box he’d built last fall. He untied a thick plastic bag and pulled out a large red blanket, shaking it out before laying it down on the grass beneath the tree. The glass pipe was still tucked in his other hand.
As Zayn arranged the blanket, Louis, ever one to break a moment, deadpanned, “I swear to God, if you ask me for a blow job, I’m leaving.”
Zayn whipped his head up, his face mostly obscured by shadows, but his smirk unmistakable. “For fuck’s sake.”
“I mean, I know I wouldn’t be the first one in the band you’ve asked, but—” Louis began, but Zayn cut him off.
“Oh, like you’re one to talk!”
They stared at each other for a long moment before the tension broke, and they burst into laughter—the kind of laugh they used to share back in 2013. It was that deep, gasping-for-air laughter, the kind that left them clutching their sides.
And God, did it feel fucking fantastic. For a moment, all the heaviness, the history, the unspoken shit between them, dissolved in the sound of their laughter.
Louis, still chuckling, dropped to his knees and crawled onto the blanket next to Zayn. “Here, can we fucking light these up so we can get high as shit and do all this emotional talk we’re supposed to do?”
Zayn didn’t say anything, but a small smile lit up his face as he brought the lighter to the bowl.