Chapter Text
a bit of last 1d concert sappy zayn-centric ot5-ness
Zayn keeps his head ducked, as he eases his way into the arena. He probably looks pretty sketchy, with his hood pulled low over his face, but he also feels a bit like a superhero, so he’ll kind of take it. And he’s fairly sure no security guard’s going to kick him out.
He’s less worried about that than his own safety, in all honesty. It makes him huddle in his seat, try to look as inconspicuous as possible. It’s not like anyone’s going to look from him here, in the audience—it’s the stupidest fucking idea in the world, to quote everyone he’d asked about it, so maybe that’ll help. Even he knows it’s stupid. Stupid on so many levels, because he hasn’t even really talked to the boys for months, no more than perfunctory sort of things—but he had to be here, today. It’s what he’d told Sarah, when he’d asked her just how bad it would be if he was seen here, in the most articulate way he could express the simple truth he knew. They’re his boys. He’d started it with them, he wants to end it with them, sort of at least.
She’d sighed, but in the end she’d told him it wouldn’t be the worst thing, might be seen as sweet, and she’d get him the tickets. He loves her, sometimes, the way she listens to these things.
So now he’s here, in the seats at the last One Direction concert. Or maybe not—he’s heard what they’ve had to say, it’s just a break and all, but he’s tasted freedom and he knows his boys. He’s not sure how much they’ll want to go back. It doesn’t even matter, really. It feels like the last show; he can feel it in the crowd, in all the signs.
The opening act is pretty good, familiar enough. It lets him settle, get his bearings. He knows what’s happening backstage, how the boys are in their huddle, their hands together. But he’s never been out here, heard the rumbling, the excitement rising. It’s sort of cool, really.
“Do you think Zayn’ll be here,” the girl next to him asks her friend, who laughs. “No, come on, how cool would that be! Like, for an encore or something.”
“He would never do that, ever. They’d never do that,” she’s told, firmly. Zayn hides his smirk, because having a secret identity is kind of cool. “I don’t think it’s even, like, legally allowed.”
“It could be!” is the rejoinder, and Zayn shakes his head. He’s not sure it is, honestly, and even if it were, he wouldn’t. They wouldn’t. He knows that. It’s not what he is anymore, it’s not what he wants to be.
Except he’s here. Not out of regret, he thinks, he really isn’t this person anymore. But out of…nostalgia’s wrong too. He just needs to be here. Here with his boys, at the end like he’d been at the beginning.
A hush falls over the crowd, and he knows what it means. They’ve changed the video, though Zayn recognizes some of the shots from times he was there, but the screams are deafening from down here, nearly overwhelming. It’s all overwhelming, in a different way than it had been hearing it from backstage.
The screaming rises, crescendos—then they’re there.
He’s not first row, he’s a few rows back, but—but it’s the closest he’s been to any of them since March, and he’s never seen them from this perspective. It’s different, watching them jog onto the stage, when he knows what’s in their heads, knows when Liam opens his eyes, could almost mouth along with what Louis mutters into Niall’s ear to make him laugh.
They look good. It’s the first thing that he thinks, as they launch into their first song. They look food. There aren’t holes, no places left for him. He’s glad, he never meant to left unfillable holes. Never meant to hurt them, really, though he’d known he would. But they move seamlessly around the stage, and maybe the songs sound different—he doesn’t think he’s vain in saying his voice added something—but it’s good.
It’s a good show. The girls on all sides of him are screaming, singing along, and Zayn clenches his mouth shut, because it’s instinct sometimes, when to sing. His fists curl into balls when he feels himself inhale. This isn’t his anymore, but it was once, and he’s so proud of his boys, he finds. So proud of how they’re filling up that stage.
They’re fun to watch. Zayn’s a little more than on edge, sometimes, because Harry’s climbing all over shit and someone needs to keep and eye on him and Louis and Liam’s water fight is really near Niall and they’re all going to fall in those puddles, but it’s fun. Fun, and makes his heart ache. He doesn’t miss it, not really—he knows he’ll be up on stage again soon enough, singing the songs that are from his heart, but he does—Louis leans into Liam’s side to mutter something, and Liam laughs and says something back that makes Louis’s head tip back and punch at him before running away; Harry drapes himself over Niall as Niall attempts to play the guitar. He misses that. He misses his boys, and he knows it’s all of their faults, but… it’s just weird. Being here. Being apart.
It’s easier during the new songs, the ones where he isn’t fighting four years of instincts on. But then they gather up, and opening notes he doesn’t recognize goes on, but there’s a gasp next to him.
“This one’s going to hurt,” the girl mutters, and sure enough, it does.
Zayn’s heard it, obviously. He doesn’t have it memorized or anything, but he’s heard Infinity, all its wistful lyrics and the ache of it. He knows how the boys write, knows it came after Eleanor, so it’s not like he’s vain enough to think it’s about him or anything, but, well. He knows the internet says it is. And he can see their faces, see the ache there, and he tilts his head up before he thinks about it, searching for…something. He doesn’t know what. He just wants to be able to do something. To be a part of that ache, at least.
He doesn’t push his hood back, even; doesn’t do anything that would give him away. But Louis turns as he goes to throw an arm around Niall’s shoulder, and Zayn almost thinks he pauses in Zayn’s direction, a stutter in his step.
But then it’s gone, and he’s next to Niall, the four of them on that stage singing about wanting to be enough. When they start the next song, Zayn’s surprised to find that he’s bitten his lip hard enough it aches.
The rest of the concert is more of the same, loud and raucous with people screaming and throwing things. When Liam comes over to this side to point out signs, he ducks his head again, just in case, and he thinks it must work because no one says anything, anyway.
He can tell it’s wearing on the boys, that they’re thinking about how it’s the last. He wonders what that feels like, honestly. He’d never gotten to play a last One Direction concert, never known that was what it was. There’s a part of him that wishes he had, that everything had gone off like it was supposed to, where he would know his last performance, even though most of him—all of him, really—knows this ended up for the best. But still, what must it feel like, up there? Knowing it’s going to end? Looking out and knowing that this is the last time, maybe forever?
That’s what he wishes he was up there for, he thinks. To be there with them, against that looming dark. To tell them it’s okay, it’ll be okay. It’ll all turn out all right.
Before too long, it’s over, and everyone knows it. The last notes peter out, and then it’s the four of them on stage, they’re arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, close as they’ve always been.
“You’ve been a great crowd!” Liam says, as the cheering rises. “Good night!”
There’s a yell that goes up, inarticulate but clear, and then Louis’s raised his microphone to his mouth, and Zayn knows the glint in his eye, the one that means he’s doing something he shouldn’t, taking bait he shouldn’t. And he can see that glint, see it clearly, because somehow Louis’s facing his direction, and it almost feels like he’s looking at him as he says it.
“And just remember,” Louis says, loud and firm like only he has. “This isn’t the last you’ll hear of One Direction.”
Zayn chokes, and he finds, as the screams get deafening, that there are tears in his eyes. He hopes it’s true. He doesn’t know if Louis remembered what he’d said, all those years ago, but the words were true once and he hopes its true again, even if it’s just in the context of ‘former member of One Direction goes on to great success.’
The boys are gone disappeared, but it’s going to take forever for the place to empty out and Zayn doesn’t dare get caught in the crowds. He checks his phone, but apart from a few checking in texts to make sure he’s not dead, there’s nothing. He’s about ready to check his email when there’s a tap on his shoulder, and Zayn freezes. Fuck. He’s going to die of rabid fangirls, right here.
“Sir,” comes the deep voice that’s the same in every venue around the world, the generic security guard voice. “Can you please come with me?”
“Um. Is there a problem?” Fuck. Was he reported for looking like a creep?
“I’ve been sent to ask you to come with me,” the man repeats. Zayn can’t make a scene, doesn’t dare, and the show’s over anyway—he’s pretty sure that worse comes to worst no arena manager is going to arrest him for showing up to a One Direction show.
“Sure.” He gets up, and as he does, the girl next to him looks over, and her eyes widen.
“Holy—” she starts, and he hurries away, but not before he can hear her turn to her friend. “That was Zayn! I could swear it was.”
“No way! You’re hallucinating, you just want it to be true.”
“Nu-uh—”
He keeps his head down as he follows security. He’s so busy concentrating on not being conspicuous that he barely notices where they’re going, until he does—until a door opens and closes, and then, well, he knows the furor of backstage after a show.
“They said to just go—”
“Zayn!” The hug almost takes Zayn out, makes him stumble sideways, but Harry doesn’t let go. He’s vibrating with the remnants of the stage, and his grip is too tight around Zayn’s side. “Fuck, Zayn, what are you doing here?”
“I—” He doesn’t know what to say, hadn’t even really meant to come back here after. Hadn’t really thought he’d needed to explain it.
“Niall!” Harry cuts him off to yell. “One second, explain to all of us. I can’t…” he moves a little so he can hug Zayn properly, tuck his nose into Zayn’s neck like he always had. “Nice of you to come,” he mutters, and Zayn has to laugh. It’s so Harry.
“What? Did you attack another crew mem—” Niall starts, then cuts himself off. Zayn knows the voice, the attempt to be hearty. So clearly he hadn’t seen him, then. “Haz?” he asks, and his voice only shakes a little.
“Zayn came!” Harry announces. He gives Zayn’s arse a cheeky grope, which has Zayn laughing, then lets him go. Niall’s eyes are wide as he stares at him, and Zayn knows this whole last show thing probably isn’t easy for him, for all he was smiling on stage.
“Hey.” He holds up a hand. Niall just stares for a moment longer, and for a second Zayn thinks he’s just going to walk away—Niall doesn’t get angry often, but Zayn knows how it can last when it does, and he knows Niall would never really get what he had to do—but then he snorts.
“Hey,” Niall scoffs, and pulls Zayn into a hug too. He holds him as long as Niall holds on, which is longer than usual, but Zayn gets it.
“We need to go find Louis and Liam,” Niall announces, when he steps back. He’s smiling, not quite his usual grin but it’s bright and clear. “All five of us, yeah? Didn’t think it would happen!”
“So, were you watching?” Harry asks, as Niall leads them down a hall. “What was it like in the stands? Where were you?”
“Close enough to get wet from you,” Zayn retorts, and Harry chuckles. He’s a little manic, Zayn thinks, not that he blames him.
They round a corner, and it’s clear where everyone’s giving Louis and Liam a wide berth, staying away from the water they’re still flicking at each other. Manic, indeed, Zayn thinks more fondly than he would have nine months ago.
They’re a little too busy giggling at each other to notice the other three come up, which Zayn is a little vindictively pleased about. Louis dumps another bottle of water over Liam’s head, then backpedals; Liam shakes his head and goes to start forward, but his feet slip on the wet ground, makes him stumble. He’s fairly certain Harry shoves at him, but somehow it ends up that Zayn’s hands are on Liam’s hips, as he steadies him.
“Easy, babe,” he’s saying before he thinks, and he feels Liam freeze, under his hands.
“Well,” Louis says, a bite to his voice. “Look who’s come to visit.”
Liam turns, and then he’s grinning, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “What are you doing here?” he asks, and then there’s another hug, another piece fitting into place. Zayn knows it’s never going to be like it was, and it shouldn’t be, and he’s so happy with where he is, but these hugs…feel better. Feel like a circle closing, or some shit like that.
“Wanted to watch a show,” Zayn whispers, into Liam’s neck, like old times.
“So you were just out there?” Liam demands, letting go. “Did you have security?”
“I was fine.” Zayn shrugs. He lets his hand stay wrapped around Liam’s neck for a second. “’m, like. You okay?”
He’s not surprised that Liam doesn’t need to ask what he’s talking about. He makes a face that Zayn knows means no, but now’s not the time. He can feel a gaze boring into his back, and the fact is, the other three boys had been surprised he was there.
Louis’s gaze is narrowed, his jaw set dangerously, in a way it only got when he was at his most snippy. “Want to tell me what you’re doing here?”
“Want to tell me what I’m doing back here?” Zayn retorts. It’s nice to see Louis, it is, but fuck if he’s apologizing like he knows Louis’d like him to.
“Lou—” Liam starts, looking a bit worried, but Louis waves a hand, like he’s dismissing him.
“I thought I saw you, during Infinity.” His chin juts. “Enjoy the show?”
“It was a good show,” Zayn tells him. “Louis.”
“Even though it’s not your type of music?” Louis demands. “Thought it wasn’t real.”
“Louis,” Zayn repeats. He’s sick of this, of not having his best friend. But he’s not going to be the first to cave. “Are you really going to do this?”
“Do what?” Louis snaps, and Zayn just keeps looking at him, evenly as he can. Louis’s anger doesn’t intimidate him, and he knows Louis’s always hated that.
“Be an asshole,” Zayn retorts, and he can hear Harry make a protesting noise, but he ignores that too.
“Fuck off.” Louis’s still glaring, but he takes a step forward. “You’re the asshole. You fucking prick,” he bites out, and swings at Zayn’s arm once before he’s wrapping his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn can actually feel him go looser. And there it is, it feels like, the final piece, old and new, all the parts of Zayn coming together, finding a place in him. In them.
“I haven’t forgiven you,” Louis tells him, quiet. “I’m still mad.”
“Never would have guessed,” Zayn replies. Louis’s shaking a little, and he’s on edge too, Zayn’d almost forgotten. “I’m mad at you too.”
He can hear Louis’s breath. “I’ve missed you.” It’s quiet, no louder than that breath, like it was hard for Louis to admit, but it loosens something in Zayn too. That assurance. That it might be seamless, but he has a place here, with his boys. A changed one, but it’s there.
“Stop hogging the hugs,” Liam complains, loudly, then there are more arms around them, and wiggling and a few elbows and then they’re in a circle, and somehow it’s the same and so different from that first hug on the X Factor stage.
“Why are you here, though?” Harry asks, into the center of the hug. “Actually?”
It’s hard to shrug with Liam’s hand on one shoulder and Louis’s on the other, but he manages it. “Wanted to be here, like. Felt right. Wanted to be with you guys.”
“He means he loves us really, even though he left,” Louis adds, then, “And you don’t need to elbow me, Liam. It’s true.”
“Whatever. I’m glad you’re here.”
“It’s symbolic,” Harry adds. “Like a circle, you know?”
“Shut up, Harry.”
“No, it works! We couldn’t end it for now without him, had to close the chapter—”
“You don’t have to write another album, stop with the fucking metaphors.”
“Niall, I’m just matching the moment—”
“You’re going to smash it, you know.” Zayn cuts off their bickering. He needs to say this, somehow. Maybe this is why he’s here, to say this. To stand in this circle with his boys, with all of them, at the end of something great, even if he probably shouldn’t be here really. Even if he doesn’t belong anymore. “You’ll be okay. Better than, like. Great.”
A hand squeezes on Zayn’s waist, and he’s not even sure whose it is, in this pile of men, no longer the boys they were. “We’ll be great,” Liam corrects, and there’s a wet laugh from someone, probably Louis, though they all know they’d never admit it.
And for a second, it feels like the X Factor stage again, teetering on the brink of something bigger than they’d ever imagined; like that first moment at Harry’s step-dad’s bungalow, when they’d realized maybe it could happen; like a hundred stadiums on top of the world; like late nights in the bus curled up with each other as the last bit of home; even like signing his own record deal, ready to face the world on his own. It feels like growing up and growing together, and it feels like the roots beneath all of that, the ones that don’t falter.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, and pulls them in closer. “We will.”