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Louis runs. He runs until his throat burns every time he takes a much needed gulp of fresh air, until his legs are wobbling as they struggle to hold him up and push him on further and further to where it’s safe, and there’s blood pounding in his ears. He’s ridiculously unfit. He needs to keep going, though, he can’t stop now or the others will win and he can’t have that. It’s Hide and Seek, a children’s game really, but with the competitive streak that runs through at least three members of the band it may as well be a matter of life and death. Louis doesn’t lose.
He spots a low hedge up ahead and nearly cries with relief, willing his legs to carry him just that bit further and then he can sink onto the slightly damp grass and wait. Wait until it’s safe to come out, or, until whoever’s it gives up and texts them all pleading them to come out, the game isn’t fun anymore, i’m hungry.
They’ve got a show tonight but no interviews or photoshoots so once sound check is over and done with they had persuaded a couple of their security to let them go to the park across from their hotel, we won’t do anything reckless promise. And then Louis had announced they were playing Hide and Seek To The Death. Their security, bless them, had rolled their eyes, shrugged and set up camp on a bench in the middle of the park. Several games of Rock, Paper, Scissors later and the game had commenced.
And now Louis is ducking behind the hedge and throwing himself to the ground. The grass is harder than he predicted and he lets out a low groan of pain, ignoring the way the long, damp blades of grass tickle his arms and his stomach where his t-shirt has ridden up. He covers his mouth with his palm and holds it there while his breathing sorts itself out and his legs stop shaking. Disgustingly unfit. He’ll have to hide this or Liam will have him down at the gym at six in the fucking morning rambling about stamina and performances and replacing his Coco Pops in the morning with an apple or one of those awful wholegrain bars that tastes like feet.
He hears footsteps nearby and shuts his eyes, childishly thinking of that mindset everyone under the age of five has when they’re panicked and can’t find a place to hide -- if he can’t see them then they can’t see him. His heart is hammering in his chest, so hard he thinks the game’s over and surely whoever is looking for him - he thinks it’s Niall but he’s not sure - has heard the steady thump and found Louis facedown on the ground so he squeezes his eyes even tighter and tries not to breathe at all because that’s the lengths he’s going to to avoid capture. He can’t, won’t, admit defeat. He’d rather die.
“You’re a shit hider.”
Louis’s head jerks up in surprises and collides with Zayn’s chin. He swears, rubbing the back of his head while Zayn kicks his shin and calls him an idiot.
“You - You’re not it, are you?” He manages to ask through gritted teeth -- Zayn’s chin is hard, that sharp jaw line brings only bad things --, attempting to look nonchalant by rolling onto his back and leaning back on his elbows, tilting his head to one side as he stares up at Zayn who is still rubbing where Louis head-butted him but with a smug smirk on his face like he knows everything in the whole world and Louis knows nothing at all.
Zayn shakes his head then crouches down beside Louis, raising an eyebrow. “Behind a hedge, Lou? Seriously?”
“Shut up,” Louis replies defensively. It nearly killed him getting here and he quite likes it behind here thank you very much, it’s very green and...leafy, so he doesn’t appreciate Zayn’s criticism. “If it’s so shit then why did you follow me?” he adds when Zayn doesn’t say anything else. His breathing still isn’t back to normal, he notices. Hopefully Zayn hasn’t noticed, either.
But he’s still looking around him like Louis has declared this his new home and not a place to hide. Louis’s half expecting him to start suggesting colour schemes and somewhere to keep the coffee. But then he shrugs lazily, turning to look at him and blinking slowly. He didn’t run until he nearly died. Louis is the only dedicated one in this band.
“Thought we should hide in pairs.” Zayn says. “Liam and Harry are over the other side of the park. I think Niall ran that way once he finished counting.”
Louis breathes a sigh of relief. The park is huge. They’re safe, for now.
“If you blow my cover, Malik,” Louis warns threateningly, lifting a hand off the grass to press at Zayn’s nose, smirking when Zayn crosses his eyes to follow the movement. He presses harder, for emphasis. “You’re dead.”
“Don’t make threats you can’t follow through, Tomlinson,” he breathes back, his head dipping suddenly so he’s right there, his mouth inches from Louis’s and his hands bracketing Louis’ head and Louis can smell the lemon of the Refresher bar he had earlier and he doesn’t know what to do because his head is going fuzzy and the roaring in his ears is back and he wants to lean so badly but he waits to see what Zayn’s going to do next.
(See, the thing is, Louis thinks Zayn is really quite beautiful. Well, the whole world thinks Zayn is really quite beautiful, so, nothing different there. But, what really keeps Louis up at night, is that Louis wants to kiss Zayn until his breathing is shot and his hands are trembling and he wants Zayn to kiss him back, wants him to hold him down and hug him close and maybe even hold his hand. Because, the real problem here, actually, is that Louis thinks Zayn is funny and smart and kind and he gives Louis books he thinks he will like and he phones Louis when they’re on a break just for a chat like he knows just how much Louis is missing him and they read comic books together and smoke together and they’re -- they’re partners in crime, it makes sense for them to hook up and be cute and shit. Like, this might be what humanity needs.
When it comes down to it, though, Louis really wants Zayn.)
Louis watches with his breath trapped behind his teeth as Zayn’s forehead creases in a frown and then he’s lowering his head even further. Louis should be questioning this, they haven’t done anything like this before, but Zayn’s hand brushes Louis’s neck and Louis thinks fuck it and shuts his eyes.
“Hahahahaha, found you!”
In interviews they always say it’s impossible to be angry at Niall and it is, usually, but right now Louis considers murder for the first time in his life.
Zayn’s hands slip and he falls on Louis, his hair getting up Louis’ nose and making him laugh and resist the urge to sneeze as they lie quietly even though the game is over -- Louis has lost but he finds he doesn’t care now.Now Zayn is looking at him with a hint of something in his eyes, something that looks a lot like the bundle of butterflies that set up camp in Louis’s stomach a few months ago, and it’s hard to think about murder and revenge when you’re staring into that sort of something.
--
Life goes on unbelievably, and it’s like the whole Incident -- it’s a capital letter sort of incident in Louis’s head -- never happened. Well, it never happened in the way that it’s never mentioned but Zayn keeps slinking up behind him and hugging him from behind, he saves Louis the seat next to him when they’re watching a film in someone’s room and he pulls Louis away for chats about absolutely nothing, his head ducked so close to Louis’s face because this whole band can’t whisper to save their life.
They did all this before the Incident but now Louis reads into it more, noting every time Zayn’s knuckles brush along the back of Louis’s neck when he walks past and forcing himself to look away after a number of seconds when he looks up to find Zayn watching him. They’re the same as they were before -- partners in crime -- but there’s an underlying tension that’s suffocating and exciting and makes Louis walk around with a smile on his face for the rest of the tour.
The next time something out of the ordinary is 4 weeks 6 days and 2 hours -- approximately, of course. Louis’s not obsessed -- after the first time. They’re still on their break -- two whole weeks. Niall had almost cried when they were told that, so much time for sleeping and whatever he does with that LPC or whatever they’re called. The Irish lot -- and so Louis is in his own flat when he’s caught unawares. Zayn’s hands slip round his waist and pull Louis against his torso then he ducks his head so his lips brush Louis’ neck, right on his pulse point. It drives Louis insane; half through lust and half because he has no idea what the fuck is going on.
Harry walks round the corner just as Louis has taken the chance to tilt his head slightly so he’s facing Zayn and Zayn’s mouth moves across Louis’ jaw closer and closer to his lips. Zayn freezes and Louis considers murder for the second time in his life.
“Woah!” Harry halts, looking up from his phone to see the game of musical statues, sans music, in front of him. “Sorry for interrupting, lads.”
Louis expects Zayn to move considering they’ve been caught in what could be classed as a suspicious position -- could be. Like Zayn hasn’t broken down every last barrier this band has and turned them into something that can’t be explained -- but he doesn’t, instead just moving his head back and laying it on Louis’ shoulder.
Harry knows about Louis’s thoughts and feelings concerning Zayn. The confession had occurred one night after vodka and more vodka and more vodka and some beer and Louis still feels strongly that he had been tricked into admitting all his secrets. Harry had nodded along and said he’d noticed the way they’d been acting around each other -- like you’re doing some dance with no music. Harry Styles, the poet -- and then he had been supportive and nice and all Zayn likes you too, believe me. Louis probably shouldn’t murder him, actually. He can be a nice boy at times.
“No. Zayn was just…just…” Louis trails off when he discovers he can’t think of a suitable excuse that would make sense given the circumstances but Harry shakes his head and smiles at Louis in such an encouraging yet obvious way that Zayn, lovely intuitive Zayn, has got it all worked out.
“I’ll leave you to it, shall I?” He grins and then he’s swaggering away, whistling and Louis would run after him and tackle him to the ground if it wasn’t for the arms wound round his waist making him feel all sorts of funny and hot all over. It’s really very very nice so stays there with Zayn breathing against his neck making his breath stutter and forgets that Harry ever entered the room.
“You’ve been very…” Louis searches for the right word while Zayn hums tunelessly in his ear, swaying them from side to side. Like you’re doing some dance with no music. “…touchy lately.”
“You don’t seem to mind,” is the reply said right into his ear. Zayn’s hand moves to Louis’s hip, his fingers nudging Louis’s t-shirt up so he can press against Louis’s skin, his fingers hot. Louis moves back into the touch, his own hand coming down to meet Zayn’s.
“No, I suppose I don’t,” he says after a long moment and his voice doesn’t shake at all so his medal should be in the post. He’s strong and just that little bit cocky and maybe he shifts his hips a little when he says it so his arse presses against Zayn’s crotch which makes Zayn take a sharp intake of breath and give Louis that little bit of confidence to take the upper hand in this... dance, foreplay, whatever. “Malik, is that a pen in your pocket or are you just pleased to see me?”
Zayn’s voice is rough when he says, “Why don’t you find out?”
Louis swallows and is working up to something equally unexpected when he’s being spun round and backed against the wall, Zayn’s body flush with his.
His fingers inch further up Louis’s back, hot on his skin and Louis tilts his head back a little in anticipation of what’s about happen. Zayn whispers things he’s not really listening to into his ear then bites the lobe gently which Louis likes very much so he does it again, letting his teeth graze along the soft skin then licking the shell of Louis’ ear. Louis doesn’t think his knees will collapse but he holds onto Zayn’s shoulders just in case. Louis has possibly thought about these shoulders a lot and so he runs his fingers over them, tracing the tattoos peeking out of his neckline, enjoying the shivers it gets out of Zayn who has moved his attention to Louis’ jaw, mouthing along it like he had before and Louis’ fingers tighten on the material because he knows where this is heading and he wasn’t aware of how much he wants it until now when all he can smell is the aftershave he bought Zayn for his birthday last year and the butterflies in his stomach have turned into a stampede of rhinos and his eyes are shutting, he’s leaning in --
“Louis, mate, you haven’t seen Zayn, have you?” Liam’s voice echoes through the flat and fucking hell is this a game? Are they meeting up and timing it exactly right to walk in and ruin everything? Do they hate Louis, is that it? He bites back his groan of frustration and runs a hand through Zayn’s hair when he drops his head onto Louis’s shoulder and lets out his own whimper.
“Yeah, he’s here,” Louis calls back after a lengthy internal debate about the morals of lying and the morals of lying to Liam. Zayn lifts his head to stare at him with completely dark eyes that almost has Louis’ knees going again but he’s still clutching Zayn’s shoulders so it’s okay. He flashes a small smile of apology and a promise of next time before pushing himself off the wall, reluctantly letting go of his shoulders but sliding a hand down to encircle Zayn’s wrist where he tugs him through to the living room where Liam is sitting on the couch flicking through the channels.
“We’re going to Wagamamas,” Liam tells them. “Niall’s missing us, he says. You coming?”
Louis shrugs because who can say no to that. Zayn squeezes his hand and answers yes for the both of them, winking at Louis. He thinks of the promise of later and ducks his head so no one sees the grin that spreads across his face.
--
It doesn’t happen later of course. It doesn’t happen for another two weeks. Louis thinks he might have gone completely mental in that time. Because, see, they might not be able to do anything like that but Zayn is still here, there and everywhere. He’s still throwing his arm around Louis every time he’s near him. He still comes and finds Louis and takes him up to the roof of whatever hotel they’re in in whatever city they’re in to smoke a joint before anyone notices they’re gone. Louis loves getting high in general but he loves it even more when he’s with Zayn because he gets all cuddly and sleepy, mumbling jokes that are so bad they’re funny, giggling breathlessly into Louis’s thigh before he reaches the punchline and Louis has to take over and finish for him which just makes Zayn laugh even more. It almost happens when they’re high and clumsy and not thinking right. Louis always goes to suggest shotgunning but then he’ll bite his tongue and take another hit, carding his fingers through Zayn’s hair.
“I really wanna kiss you, Lou,” Zayn says in a low voice one night when they’re in Detroit. “I’ve been wanting to for ages.”
Louis looks up at the stars spread above them. He stares until his eyes blur and he swears he can see a shooting star. He wishes on it anyway; wishes for Zayn.
“Lou?” Zayn props himself up on one elbow, his foot nudging Louis’s thigh.
Louis turns to look at him. he blinks a few times to get rid of the stars. “I know, Zayn. I want it too.”
“When do you think it will happen?”
Louis smiles. “Soon.”
--
There’s something in the shooting star theory, Louis thinks, because the very next day, right before sound-check, Zayn grabs his hand and leads him through the halls of the arena, right out the fire door and over the car park into the tour bus.
“Zayn?”
That something Louis saw in Zayn’s eyes all those months ago behind the hedge is back but this time it’s bright and obvious and Zayn is smiling and smiling.
“Zayn?” Louis tries again.
Zayn shakes his head, still smiling so wide, takes a step forward and then kisses Louis. His mouth is soft and he tastes like toothpaste and Louis just wants more and more. He loops an arm round Zayn’s neck to bring him closer, opening his mouth slightly. He wonders what made Zayn finally think this is it. He wonders if it was his wish on his star.
“I’ve wanted to do that for so long, Louis,” Zayn says when they break apart. He said the same thing last night but Louis grins and rocks onto his tip-toes to slant their mouths together again. In his mind, any time not kissing is time wasted and he is not a time waster. He licks into Zayn’s mouth, pushing his tongue alongside Zayn’s, holding on tight when a moan rolls through him.
The kiss is sweet and good and when Louis turns his head their noses brush and Louis presents them with Best Kiss. He thanks his family and the band and Simon and Mary from The X Factor because he thinks she would like a nice romantic story like this. He finishes the speech by thanking Zayn for being the one who made it all happen.
He pulls back with a smile, pressing a sloppy kiss on Zayn’s cheek. “Very nice, love.”
Zayn laughs at that, his neck thrown back, and Louis thinks there might be something more than like here. There might be that L word that makes Louis’s head spin and his cheeks flush when he thinks about applying it to Zayn.
“Good things come to those who wait.”
“So philosophical.”
“I know,” Zayn grins. He tugs Louis against him and ducks his head to kiss him again. Zayn is also not a time waster. They’re a good match. Louis has a list of things they have in common, actually. It’s quite a long list; two pages of A4. He might show Zayn one day.
For now, though, he threads his fingers through Zayn’s, swinging them between them. “Do you believe in shooting stars?”
He knows Zayn doesn’t. He knows Zayn doesn’t believe in anything supernatural or superstitious -- apart from walking under ladders, he’s weird with that one, but he carries on anyway, eager to confirm his theory.
“Because I really think you should --”
“No, Louis, it was not your wish on a star last night that got us together.”
“You’re such a buzzkill.”
“I kissed you because I really like you and I was sick of waiting.”
“Okay.” Zayn says some very nice things sometimes. “Shooting stars suck, anyway, I was just joking.”