Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Liam, lovely to meet you. I’m Niall.”

It’s Liam’s first day at yet another new school. His parents had sent him off that morning with their usual guilty, “sorry we can’t stay in one place” smiles, which was nice enough. And Liam can’t bring himself to care too much, really. He’s been called an army brat, which technically, he is. But it’s because his parents are serving their country and working to provide for Liam and his sisters and he just really gets and respects that. When he tells his mom as much that morning, she gets teary and pushes him out the door.

And when he gets there, he can’t be too angry either. The school’s absolutely beautiful, more like a mansion than a high school, and there are lots of generally non-evil looking people milling about. Liam’s usually really good at making the best of a less than ideal situation, and this one is giving him more than enough to work with. Like his tour guide, produced by a harried looking guidance counselor. The boy is gangly and glowing, blonde hair ruffled under a snapback that surely isn’t part of the dress code. He saunters up effortlessly, looking completely comfortable in his skin and his school. Liam can’t help but want this boy to like him.

“Oh, hi. Usually they send me a band geek so it’s nice to see you,” Liam chuckles awkwardly, trying to ingratiate himself to this (hopefully) new friend with the easy smile.

Niall shoots Liam a confused look as a kid with a saxophone case strolls past. Niall high fives him cheerfully and calls “see you in a bit, Ed!”

“Oh, dude, I’m such a band geek!” he laughs. Liam flounders, going bright red and worrying his hands together. How fucking embarrassing. And he’d thought they could be friends.

“Hey, Liam, s’ok!” Niall giggles, clapping Liam on the back. He smiles genuinely, winks at Liam, who can’t help but think that Niall’s the kind of person you want on your side.

Liam shuffles his shoes and sends Niall an apologetic smile, but he’s already moved on completely. He slings an arm over Liam’s shoulder, friendly and unassuming, and steers him out a set of double doors.

“So, this is the quad, yeah?” Niall tugs Liam closer, pulling him through the vestibule and onto the well-manicured lawn between the science and math buildings. Liam smiles, hopeful and a little excited. Because even though he’s done this way too many times (nine in ten years), Liam can’t help how his inner five year old swells up with anticipation - new teachers, new classes, new friends.

The first bell hasn’t run yet, so there are kids everywhere, greeting each other after spring breaks in Cabo or Panama City Beach, high fives and hugs everywhere. Niall begins to point out some of the cliques, and it feels more like the beginning of Mean Girls than Liam’s actual life.

“That’s where the potheads sit, but like, they’re really cool. Tom’s hilarious. And those’re like, the yearbook kids, but I always eat lunch with them because they get food brought in a lot.”

It continues like that for a few minutes, Liam and Niall meandering around the busy common area. Niall seems to have some connection to every group, grinning affably and greeting numerous acquaintances. And then -

“Oh my God.”

Liam can’t help it. It slips out quietly, and it’s like the world’s gone all soft focus-y and a cheesy backing track is playing in his brain. He tries not to stare, because. Liam’s new, no one knows him, and it’s a boy he’s gaping at. But oh my god. What a boy it is. He’s incredibly eye-catching, tall, lanky and a bit clumsy judging by his pigeon-toed gait as he strolls across the quad. He’s milky, creamy pale, a gigantic laugh pressing dimples into his cheeks and crinkling the corners of his greengreengreen eyes. He slaps a hand over her lovely mouth and his fingers are so long and delicate looking. He’s wearing the most ridiculous t-shirt, white with red and pink roses, maybe vintage, and it looks good, hangs so his collarbones have dark shadows thrown under. He hugs a friend, smiling beatifically and rubbing circles on their shoulder blades, and he is everything good and simple and lovely and. Liam is positively stricken.

After a second, Niall realizes he’s lost his protege and doubles back.

“Y’ok, Liam?” he asks, and then he realizes that he doesn’t really have his new friend’s attention. Niall’s eyes follow Liam’s, and even from the corner of his eye, Liam sees Niall’s grin twist into a tight frown. And Liam’s stomach just fucking drops, because Niall was so lovely and warm. It’s a double edged sword because - Liam just wants to make friends, and what a great one Niall would’ve been. But more importantly, Liam doesn’t want to make friends with Bad People, the kind who would judge him for something he’s only recently had the confidence to recognize in himself.

Liam turns to Niall, and the recoil must show in his eyes, because Niall’s mouth pops into a little “o” and he shakes his head quickly.
“Oh, no, dude, if that’s you, that’s great, but. It’s just. Not him.”

“Why? What group is he in?”

“The don’t even think about it group,” Niall deadpans, and just like that, the tension’s gone. “Harry Styles, he’s a sophomore.”

Liam’s eyes snap back to the toned shoulders now just a few steps ahead and he smiles to himself, thinking of English last year in Texas and murmuring under his breath, “I burn, I pine, I perish.”

Niall shoots Liam an utterly baffled look, rolling his eyes (fondly, Liam hopes). “Y’know, he’s like pretty and deep, I’m sure -” he pauses, and Liam knows Niall hears it too when Harry voice (deep, gravelly, warm) giggles out something very crude sounding.

“But, maybe just forget him. He’s in my French class, I guess his mom’s a bit overprotective. Everybody knows that he can’t date.”

Liam nods absently, barely listening. He swallows thickly, more of a gulp, really, and instead of Niall’s commentary, the only thing running through his mind is a sort of flashing neon marquee of BIG HANDS - PINK LIPS - SKINNY HIPS - et cetera. He watches Harry as he steps into a biology classroom and turns to Niall, looking him straight in the eye. The seed of hope is back, but this time it’s not for new friends or good grades.

“Niall. Is he, um, does he...”

Niall looks lost for a moment, staring at Liam blankly, until...

“Oh! Yeah, they both are,” he laughs.

“Both?”

“Yeah, Harry’s got an older brother,” Niall shrugs. Liam can’t help the light bulb that goes off in his imagination (two of them, double the odds), and it must show because Nall sees the look on his face and gives a half-hearted chuckle, maybe more of a scoff.

“Well, don’t get your hopes up, mate. Harry and Louis ain’t a thing alike, in looks or anything else.”

***

Louis sinks into his seat in A.P. English Lit, heaving a deep sigh. All as per usual. The end is so close, graduation is finally starting to feel real, which is great, so great. But first, he’s got a whole ‘nother quarter in this sinkhole of imbecility.

But Louis likes English, loves reading, and so, it won’t be absolute torture. The end of the year means something easy, Shakespeare maybe, and probably some inspirational Dr. Suess. He can live through that.

“Alright, so what did everyone think of The Awakening?” Ms. Miller asks dutifully. She’s obviously not optimistic about the spring break reading completion rate of her graduating seniors.

And, yeah, no one’s got anything to say. Louis does, quite a bit actually, but he kind of despises Ms. Miller, her earnest grammar quizzes and sensible clogs. So Louis doesn’t give her the satisfaction.

Finally, Ms. Miller deigns to call on someone, pointing lamely behind Louis.

“Well, it didn’t really have a point,” someone sighs. And Louis can’t help but sit a little straighter. Because, he knows that voice, the voice of his favorite verbal sparring partner. And also because, The Awakening? A little dry maybe, a little sophomore year, but heavy on the points. Important points, and perhaps rather interesting ones even. So Louis can’t not speak up.

“No point? Did you miss the eponymous awakening that took up, oh, the last half of the book?” he spins around in his seat, glaring at Nick Grimshaw who is smirking back cheerfully. Louis is usually really good at ignoring Nick in this class, but sometimes he can’t resist a good knock-down, drag-out, and no one deserves it more.

“Well, it was spring break, so I had a few better offers than sitting at home reading depressing feminist prose.”

Louis rolls his eyes so hard that he actually feels a headache coming on. Louis is Nick’s favorite scab to pick at - not bullying, really, because Louis would never let himself be the victim. But they go at each other all the time. And a long time ago, it was fun and banter-y, flirty even. But now it’s prickly, and tends to get personal pretty quickly.

“I suppose in our society, being a football star means you don’t have to do the readings, or any work, really,” Louis shoots back, speaking over Ms. Miller’s half-assed “shut up, Grimshaw.” Louis hears a few murmurs of agreement, and yeah, it spurs him on a bit.

“I just am surprised that at the very end of our advanced placement English course, we’re doing this honors English 10 level summer reading. Like, maybe even some Faulkner would be an improvement,” he shrugs. He’s being a dick, he knows, rubbing it in Nick’s, Ms. Miller’s, and everyone else’s faces that he’s smart, he likes to read. The thing is, they deserve it. Nick deserves it, because he really is taking that placekicker thing all the way to the bank and/or Big 10. But Louis can see that Ms. Miller is getting angry, which is...less than ideal. The teacher throws her book on the desk, looks ready for a big speech, when the door to the classroom flies open.

A boy zips in, dark hair messily quiffed and tattoos peeking out from under his incredibly stereotypical leather jacket. He’s vaguely familiar to Louis, in that unique five-hundred-student graduating class way.

“Sorry, what’d I miss?” he smiles.

“Oh, just the incredible injustice of athletic hero-worship and the perpetuation of our country’s look-the-other-way-go-team-go culture,” Louis deadpans, not missing a beat.

For just a second, the boy looks shocked and a bit impressed. Then he falls back into an easy grin, nods, says “good!” and rushes straight back out the door.

“Excuse me, Mr. Malik!” Ms. Miller yells before the door swings shut, but the boy is gone. Nick picks up on the momentary distraction, stretching his long legs out into the aisle next to Louis.

“Ms. Miller, is there anyway we could get Louis to vent his frustrations at being relegated to the drama club elsewhere? I hate wasting valuable class time on his bitterness,” he snarls. Before Louis can bite out a retort, Ms. Miller says, “someday you’re going to get punched, and I’m not going to do a thing to stop it.”

That shuts everyone up, and Louis smiles, feeling quite pleased to have Nick put in his place and the teacher on his side for once. Ms. Miller turns to Louis, calm and serious.

“And Louis. I want to thank you for your point of view.” Oh, how nice, Louis thinks. “It must have been so hard for you to get past the years of oppression of upper middle class white men to go on to a four year university, paid in full. Thank you for sharing your struggle with us.”

And that’s...a bit humbling. Louis does his thing, which is not apologizing, ever. Instead, he hits back with equal venom.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, go to the office. You’re pissing me off.”

***

The thing is, Nick knows he’s an asshole. He loves it, really, and though they might not realize it, other people love it too. He knows this because they laugh at his mean jokes, waiting with bated breath for his next devastating one-liner. He used to be a class clown, volume and silliness his defense mechanisms. But as he got older, Nick found that that wasn’t quite cutting it.

He was already hot shit when he came out. He didn’t know how people would react - in high school, the idea of a real life homosexual was like a novelty. Nick hardly got any flack for it, probably because he was already popular and well-liked. But when he did receive the occasional nasty comment - well, it would only happen once. Because Nick learned to fight back with his words.

Now, they cheer for him when he makes his extra points and the occasional field goal, and yeah, he’s probably going to win prom king. After all, a supreme leader should be feared, not adored. Nick’s not easy to love, but he’s hard to hate. In fact, only one person in the school really hates Nick, and he’s got a good enough reason.

So he doesn’t try to hide it, isn’t subtle at all, and he’s still popular.

“So, Grimmy. Last quarter of high school, who’s it gonna be? The grand finale?” Greg grins as they crouch behind the wall in the quad so the security cameras won’t catch them smoking. Nick chuckles, swirling out smoke into Greg’s face.

“I think it’s time to go big, Gregory,” Nick huffs, taking another drag. “Styles.” Greg’s eyes go wide and he laughs, disbelieving.

“No fuckin’ way, Grimshaw.” Greg shoves his shoulder playfully, but Nick is serious. He gets what he wants, and usually easily quite easily.

This time, Nick wants Harry Styles.

It wasn’t a tough call, because Harry’s adorable, and funny, and charming. That’s fine, good even. But for Nick it’s so much more - Harry’s so popular and well-loved. Everyone else wants him, too. And only Nick is going to have him. And if it pisses Louis off, well, Nick won’t pretend he hates that either.

When Greg realizes that Nick is, in fact, not joking, he scoffs. “No way man, he’s out of reach, even for you.”

“No one’s out of reach for me,” Nick spits back, stubbing out his cigarette. Greg eyes him, a bit shocked.

“Wanna bet?”

Nick watches Harry stroll out of a chem lab, gigantic hands stacked with books as he meanders through the crowd on the quad at the end of the day. At least three people pat him on the back, and two different girls offer to help carry his books. Nick knows Harry, in the way that all the popular kids in high school know each other. He knows that Harry’s funny, innocent, charming, and Louis’s brother.

“No. This, I’m gonna do for fun.”

Harry gets closer to Nick and Greg and they pop up from their hiding place. Harry slows when he spots them, smoothing his fringe and smiling coyly in Nick’s direction. Nick knows that smile. It’s the “you’re a senior, I’m a sophomore, we’d definitely win cutest couple in the yearbook” smile that he’s seen on the faces of dozens of impressionable underclassmen (and a few women, way back).

“Hello, there,” Nick smiles when Harry’s within earshot.

“Hey, yourself,” Harry flirts back, messing with his curls again. Greg’s standing a few steps back, watching with unveiled interest.

“You want a lift home?” Nick offers, giving Harry his best crooked smile. He doesn’t think he imagines seeing Harry’s heart skip a beat in the pale skin of his neck. If nothing else, Harry’s eyes widen comically and he stutters a bit in his haste to accept.

“Um, y- sure, yeah, please.” Nick links his arm with Harry’s and leads him toward the parking lot without another word.

***

Across the quad, Niall’s found Liam after their last classes of the day.

“Well, how was it?” Niall asks fondly, trying to give Liam (who he just met today, honestly) a noogie.

“Oh, y’know. Fine. Who’s that?”

Liam’s staring across the lawn to where Harry’s chatting with an older boy with dark messy hair and long, skinny legs. Niall sniffles awkwardly, like he doesn’t particularly want to tell Liam the answer.

“‘S Nick Grimshaw. He’s a senior and like, a total big shot. He’s an asshole.” As he speaks, Harry and this Nick pair off, arm-in-arm, toward the parking lot. Liam’s stomach drops as he watches them nudge each other playfully.

“Are they...together?”

“Eh, don’t think so, but...” And Liam doesn’t like the sound of that one bit.

“But what?”

“Just...Harry seems like exactly the type Nick would want for his collection,” Niall explains.

“What type?” Liam can’t help it, knows he’s being annoying, but - Harry.

“Y’know. Vapid, conceited.”

“What? He’s totally pure!” Niall laughs at Liam, eyebrows raised.

“Dude, you need to pump the brakes.”

“Is he actually evil or something?” Liam asks, crestfallen.

“I mean, not that I know of. But this isn’t a romantic comedy,” Niall reminds him carefully. Not yet, Liam thinks.

***

Louis’s been home from school for a little while, lounging on the couch with a book and relishing the nearly uninterrupted silence. When Harry’d gotten home a few minutes after his older brother, he’d stomped upstairs and slammed his door without a word, but Louis hasn’t heard a peep since. He can’t deny that he’s enjoying the peace and quiet. But then Mom is home from work, and that’s all shot to hell.

“My dear eldest son. The principal’s office again?” Louis huffs an impatient sigh, dogearing his book. His mother is standing in the doorway to the living room, holding the day’s mail and looking exhausted. The look she’s wearing is one that Louis’s grown uncomfortably familiar with - frustrated, weary, and disappointed. Louis loves his mom - so, so much - and respects her a lot too, especially after the way she’d handled their dad’s departure and raising two admittedly complicated teenage sons without him. She’s wonderful, but she’s also incredibly protective of her darling boys, and they both find it a bit exhausting.

“Sorry, Ma, but I just couldn’t deal with his entitled bull-”

“That’s enough, Louis,” she murmurs, flipping through the envelopes in her hands. “Anyway, this is for you.”

She hands Louis a piece of stationery that immediately has his heart rate picking up. It’s big, with a fancy purple seal in the corner. Harry’s come downstairs and his mom is paying no attention to Louis, fussing over her younger son instead. She doesn’t notice as Louis’s shaking hands tear open the creamy envelope that has NYU embossed across it.

There’s a whole packet inside, and he slides it out. On top is a letter bearing the words that Louis has been dreaming of forever (or since sophomore year, at least). Abandoning all decorum (and to be honest, he’s never had that much anyway), Louis lets out an almighty shout.

“I GOT IN!”

His mom and Harry both look over, vaguely unimpressed.

“You got in,” his mother confirms.

“To NYU.” Louis nods.

“On the other side of the country?”

“Yes, exactly!” Louis exclaims. He can’t help bouncing up and down where he’s sitting just a bit, absolutely buzzing with excitement. Harry looks like he couldn’t care less, falling onto the loveseat and turning the TV on as if this isn’t a pivotal moment in the writing of Louis’s future, a future of big, glamorous cities, gorgeous, interesting people, and minimal interaction with any blood relatives.

“Well, honey, I thought we’d agreed that you were going to go my alma mater? Here?” There’s a hint of pleading in his mother’s voice as she sinks into the armchair across from Louis. It makes him sad, truly. He knows that she just wants the best for him, wants him to be safe and happy and comfortable with himself. But Louis can’t breathe. They bicker constantly, Louis and his mother because she won’t let him get involved in the Gay Straight Alliance at school (“draws too much attention to your unique situation”), Harry and his mother because she won’t let him go on dates (“you’re sixteen, Harry!”), and Harry and Louis because of the Rule (“I hate you!” “You’re ridiculous”).

“Mom, that was before I got into the school of my dreams,” he explains calmly, trying to avoid another fight when he’s feeling so good.

“So, you’re just going to pick up and leave?”

“Let’s hope so!” Harry pipes up from across the room, where he’s scratching his belly idly. Louis sends his brother a quick scowl, then smiles cheerfully at their mother.

“Ask Harry who gave him a lift home today.” Harry opens his mouth as if to protest, but Mom’s there first, all thoughts of university clearly straight out of her mind.

“Oh. I see,” she brightens a bit, and at first Louis thinks she mightn’t take the bait, might yell at him for changing the subject or bullying his brother. But, Louis’s lucky.

“Who drove you home, Harry?”

“Mom,” he whines, drawing it out so it’s no longer monosyllabic. She crosses her arms and glares at Harry expectantly.

“Well, there’s this boy,” he begins.

“Nick Grimshaw,” Louis supplies helpfully, settling in for a good show.

“And I think he really likes me!” Harry gets in, as Louis says “he’s absolutely vile.”

“Oh, Harry,” Mom sighs heavily. “I think I know just what he likes. You’re so sweet and lovely and innocent and you’re putting yourself out there. You’re an easy target, love.” Harry makes an indignant face, muttering “for what?” under his breath.

“C’mon, boys. You both know the rules!” Louis holds his hands up in an ‘I’m not even trying to break them!’ gesture and Harry rolls his eyes, hard.

“No dating before graduation.”

“That’s not fair,” Harry says, meekly. “I’m the only person in the entire high school who isn’t dating.”

“Well, Harry, that’s just not true. Your brother isn’t.”

“And I don’t intend to,” Louis grins. His mother looks his way expectantly, and of course, he can’t hold back. “Our school is full of brainless, greasy imbeciles.” Harry throws up his hands indignantly.

“Who are you? You’re such a fucking snob.” Mom tries to scold him for the language, but Louis doesn’t let her in.

“As opposed to another mindless teenage drone! You’re embarrassing.”

Anne looks between her sons, disappointment and concern written all over her face. Harry and Louis are staring determinedly away from each other, both sporting impressive frowns. After a moment, an answer seems to reveal itself to their mother.

“I won’t have my boys fighting. I love you both so much, and I want you to both be happy and safe. So, new rule.” The boys still aren’t looking at each other, but Louis finally meets his mother’s eyes begrudgingly. Harry sits up a little straighter.

“Harry, you can date when Louis does.”

***

Things start looking up at Verona High, Liam thinks, when he finds out that Harry needs a French tutor. A few days after Liam had started, Niall mentioned at lunch that Harry had failed another quiz and Liam couldn’t help the lightbulb going off in his brain.

“Erm, d’you speak French, Liam?” Niall had asked through his sandwich. Which was a valid question, sure, but unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Liam is imagining how easy it would be to make Harry fall in love with him, if he could only get him alone for a few minutes.

“I’m a fast learner.”

***

After some twisting of Niall’s arm, Liam convinces his new friend to offer his services to Harry. Harry, being the lovely, open-minded young man that he is, easily agrees to meet Niall’s buddy in the library after school Thursday.

It’s there that Liam’s waiting, sweaty palms flipping nervously through the pages of his French book. It’s 2:27 and the final bell had rung at 2:15. Liam’s actually getting nervous when Harry flops himself into the seat opposite.

It’s the closest Liam’s ever been to him, and he’s even better up close. Liam notices the shadows that his eyelashes cast on his cheekbones, how smooth his lips look even though Liam had thought they’d be chapped from all the licking and biting Harry seems to give them. He’s wearing a plain t-shirt with a swooping neckline, and Liam’s eyes have a hard time looking at anything but the paper airplane necklace swooping precariously across Harry’s sternum.

“Hiya, ‘m Harry,” he says. Liam gulps, offers his hand.

“Liam.” Harry is practically beaming at him, and Liam can’t help feeling a little moony. For a very brief time.

“Can we make this kind of quick? My friend is giving me a ride and he gets so impatient.” Harry is still smiling pleasantly, but this time Liam realizes it might not be an actual be-my-best-friend-and-lover smile but more of a I’m-using-your-dubious-French-knowledge smile. Which is less than ideal, but, as Liam scribbles idly in the margins of his worksheet, he can’t help but think, it’s better than nothing.

“So, uhh, I thought we could go over some basic stuff with the subjunctive case?” he chances a glance up to see Harry blinking at him, the slightest of frowns pulling at his mouth.

“Ugh, that sounds so boring,” he says, ruffling a hand through his messy hair.

“Or, um, maybe some French culture? I heard there’s a really quaint French bakery in town? That we could go to? On Saturday?” Liam’s fully aware that he’s uptalking, his palms sweating in his lap. For just a moment longer, Harry’s blank stare bores into him. Liam feels absolutely nothing, until -

“Are you asking me out? That’s so cute! What’s your name again?” Harry squeals. Liam hadn’t expected him to be so - delighted? Amused? Liam gapes at Harry for just a second, tries not to feel disappointed.

“Um, yeah, it’s Liam. Listen, I know your mom doesn’t let you date, but I thought since it’s for class and all -”

“Wait a minute, Lyle,” Harry interrupts, a sunny smile dawning on his face. Liam hasn’t the heart to correct him, not when he looks so tickled, and there’s those fucking dimples. “My mom just came up with a new rule. I can date when my brother does!”

Liam gawks at Harry for a second before catching himself. A whole new world of possibility is opening up to Liam. Taking Harry to a museum, natural history probably, where they will kiss in front of a gigantic taxidermied wooly mammoth. Maybe a trip to the comic store, showing Harry all his favorites and buying him a limited edition copy of The Killing Joke to start his collection. Spending the afternoon at the skating rink, Liam pulling Harry backwards and not laughing whenever he falls. Maybe a whole day where they never leave his bed....

“That’s amazing! So, Saturday then?” Liam has to shake his head a little to rid himself of the reverie.

“Um, small problem, Levi. My brother isn’t exactly Mr. Most Eligible Bachelor,” Harry says in his oddly endearing valley girl lilt.

“Um, yeah. I’ve noticed he’s a bit - ah - difficult.” Liam’s thinking of a specific incident he’d witnessed a few days previous - his first (and only, so far) exposure to Harry’s brother. He’d been going through the lunch line with Niall, stuck in the queue behind a short upperclassman with artfully constructed hair. There’d been a poster advertising the upcoming prom - “a Night in Paris” - which said upperclassman handily ripped from the wall and crumpled into the trashcan. Liam had raised an eyebrow at Niall, who had chuckled quietly and whispered “that’s Harry’s brother.” It intimidates Liam a bit, knowing the object of his affection is related to a person who is apparently very...difficult. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Who knows?” Harry doesn’t seem interested in the slightest. “He used to be like, kind of popular and now it’s like he doesn’t want to be. Plus, he’s kind of an asshole.”

“Well, I’m sure there’s probably lots of guys, or girls, or whatever that wouldn’t mind going out with him?” Liam tries not to let his hopefulness shine through, but he’s never been good at concealing his emotions. “People do crazy things, like bungee jumping, and stuff. It would be like, extreme dating, or something” he shrugs. Harry’s started to gather his things, even though exactly zero French-learning has taken place. Liam sees the window of opportunity closing quickly.

“Do you really think you could find someone that extreme?” Harry asks absentmindedly, shoving his books into his bookbag.

“Yes,” Liam says certainly, before he loses his chance. Harry looks up from his zipper, seems to be sizing Liam up.

“And you’d do that? For me?” he asks after a moment.

“Fuck yeah,” Liam says, embarrassed to hear how breathy he sounds. “I mean, I’ll look into it.”

Harry stands up and grins down at his tutor, loping off without another word.

***

In the few days since his brief sojourn with Harry in the library, Liam and Niall have spent every free moment combing through last year’s yearbook. After Sunday afternoon’s marathon session, Liam is feeling ready to give up, as lovely as it was to eat an entire bag of Cheetos on Niall’s basement futon.

On Monday, Liam sinks into his spot across from Niall at the lunch table feeling a bit nauseous. Probably completely unrelated to the kiss he’d just seen Harry blow to Nick Grimshaw in the hallway outside the caf.

“What’s eatin’ you, Li?” Niall asks, ignoring his band geek friends as they fill up the rest of their table.

“I’ve resigned myself to failure,” Liam pouts into his sandwich. Niall claps him on the back but doesn’t mention it again, falling into the easy chatter about next week’s tryouts around the table.

Liam stares forlornly across the cafeteria, eyes not focusing on anything in particular. After a few minutes of his blank stare routine, something catches his eye. In the far corner of the room, surrounded by only a few punky looking kids, someone is smoking a cigarette in the cafeteria. Liam sits up a little straighter at this certain health and fire code violation, taking in the boy who was bold enough to crack the window and light up.

He’s beautiful, is the thing. It’s very easy for Liam to admit it. He’s wearing a plain black raglan, but it’s all stretched out and Liam can spot a smattering of tattoos across his collarbones. His dark hair is styled in some sort of greaser pompadour-cum-new wave quiff and he’s sporting several days worth of impressive stubble. He looks like he belongs quite possibly anywhere but in an upper-middle-class suburban high school. The little flame of hope rekindles itself in Liam’s chest.

He nudges Niall, waiting for him to finish his story. When he finally earns the other boy’s attention, he simply casts a meaningful glance in the direction of Mr. Tattooed, Dark, and Handsome.

“You’re fuckin’ crazy, man. No way,” Niall laughs disbelievingly.

“Why not?” And yeah, Liam’s a little offended, because this boy seems like such an obvious choice. He can’t imagine a better complement to Louis’s sharpness than the too cool for school, devil-may-care outlook that this boy (though man seems much more fitting) seems to possess.

“That’s Zayn Malik,” Niall says simply, as though that should mean something to Liam, who shrugs, clueless and a little peeved. “He just did six months in County for stealing from Girl Scouts.” Liam is utterly unaffected. “He sold one of his kidneys to buy weed!” And okay, that gets a little laugh from Liam, given his own history of renal-related health issues.

“Tell me more, Niall,” Liam prods. “Did he shoot a man in Reno, just to watch him die?” Niall coughs out a laugh and gives Liam a surprised glance, as if he can’t believe his new friend made a joke. Granted, a joke utilizing a mid-century pop culture reference, but a cute one nonetheless.

“Just...not a good idea, Liam,” Niall says. He’s practically pleading, but Liam is resolved. He watches as Zayn stubs out his cigarette in his friend’s jello cup.

“No, Niall. That’s our guy.”

Liam, suddenly possessed by the idea, rises from his seat on the cafeteria bench. Niall is gaping at him, horrified, but apparently too startled to speak up and stop Liam from whatever idiocy he’s about to commit. Liam strides across the cafeteria, rather confidently, he thinks. Zayn notices him when he’s about twenty feet away, and as Liam approaches, he rises from his seat.

Liam is feeling lucky - Zayn’s probably up for a one-on-one chat if he’s getting up to greet Liam. But then Zayn starts walking backwards, tray full of trash and butts in hand. Liam stops in his tracks, a good few yards from his destination. Zayn keeps walking, backwards, all the way out of the cafeteria. Liam is pretty sure that he sees him wink just before bowing out of the dining hall.

Back at Liam’s proper table, Niall is watching him thoughtfully.

“Well, Liam. I’ve had a think and I agree with you. I'd imagine he’d be up for anything.” Liam grins, satisfied.

“The question is,” Niall continues, “how do we get him to go out with Louis?”

This is puzzling. Liam worries his lip between his teeth as he piles Niall’s trash onto his own tray. “Well, we could pay him, but I don’t have any money.”

Niall nods, staring off, apparently deep in thought. “I think...we need a backer.”

“A what?” Liam asks, feeling slightly lost in Niall’s scheming thoughts.

“A financial backer. Someone who’s got a lot of money but isn’t that, y’know, with it.”

***

After much deliberation, coin tossing, and rock-paper-scissoring, Niall ends up having to approach Nick Grimshaw. Niall had quickly pinpointed him as an ideal candidate - not dumb, per se, but so impossibly up himself that he would go along with their plan without asking too many questions about Niall and Liam’s motives. They’d spent the whole afternoon ironing out their approach and though Liam had officially drawn the short straw, he’d wheedled Niall into being their ambassador. So the next day, back in the lunch room, Niall leaves their table to go have a chat with the upperclassman.

Though he’d dragged his feet about it with Liam, Niall knows he’ll be good at this. He’s a bit of a natural schmoozer, charming and confident. He’s never spoken to Nick in his life, but Niall strides up like they’re the best of pals, flopping himself in the empty seat next to his mark. He grins easily around the table, ignoring the indignant scowls of Nick and his table mates.

“Erm, did you need something?” Nick finally asks, not sounding particularly keen on the idea.

“Actually, my friend, I did!” Niall grins, slinging an arm casually over the back of Nick’s chair. Nick’s friends have apparently lost interest in the new arrival, returning to the anatomically correct portrait of Megan Fox that they’d been doodling on a lunch tray. Nick, however, is staring at Niall like he’s an especially nauseating cafeteria special. Nick’s obviously not taking the bait, so Niall lays it all out for him.

“Well, see, I’ve a bit of a business proposition for you.” He ignores Nick’s interjected “not interested” and instead raises his voice a bit more. “So, you want Harry Styles, right? But you can’t go out with him unless his brother’s dating.”

“You’re not exactly wowing me here,” Nick huffs, pushing Niall’s arm off. He yanks the Sharpie out of his friend’s hand and turns to Niall, wielding the marker like a weapon. Niall senses that he’s on borrowed time and jumps back in immediately, Nick swaying ever closer with the pen.

“What I’m getting at is that you need to hire someone. To take out Louis.” Nick touches the marker to Niall’s face. But as Niall closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, bracing himself (Liam needs this, Liam needs this), he hears Nick make the slightest hum of interest.

“Zayn Malik,” Niall says. His eyes flick open and Nick is right there, tongue poking between his teeth as he doodles.

“I heard that guy pulled out all his fingernails for fun,” Nick replies after a beat, adding several dramatic flourishes to Niall’s cheek.

“Well, they’ve grown back in very nicely. Sounds like a solid investment, don’t you think?”

Nick pulls back, capping the marker and admiring his work, which Niall can only assume is something truly heinous.

“What’s in it for you, then?” Nick asks. Niall perks up, excited that Nick’s even considering the proposition. But there isn’t a really good answer to that question.

“Well, y’know. Like, you’re a cool senior, and if I, um, pass you in the hallway, you’ll say what’s up. Or something.” Which Niall kind of pulled out of his ass, but it isn’t as though he could say my new friend is lovely and nice and hopelessly in love with this silly boy and you’re just the useless pawn. So, it’ll have to work.

“Hm,” Nick says consideringly. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.” There’s a note of finality in it that has Niall standing up, bumbling and awkward, trying to shake Nick’s hand. Nick levels him with a glare and Niall, a bit shaken from the whole encounter, wanders back over to his own lunch table.

Liam’s looking at him a bit reverently, ready to deliver a pep talk in order to help restore his friend’s shaken confidence. “Y’okay?” he asks, so grateful to and in awe of NIall that he can’t even bring himself to make fun of the giant, veiny penis on his friend’s cheek.

“I think we’re in, dude,” Niall smiles, coming back to himself. “But there’s a dick on my face, isn’t there?”

***

Tuesday afternoon finds Zayn smoking a cigarette on his favorite bench. It’s near the exit of the senior parking lot, and under a huge old tree. School’s over, but Zayn doesn’t have anywhere else to be. The sun’s out and he’s got a good book - spine freshly cracked on a new paperback, so he sits in his favorite spot, the steady buzz of kids leaving school creating the perfect white noise for him to get really invested in his novel. After a few minutes of peaceful leisure reading, a shadow looms over Zayn’s page.

He turns to see who’s blocked out his sunlight. His eyes don’t adjust immediately and he sees nothing but sunspots and a vaguely person-shaped blob. Slowly, a tall senior that Zayn vaguely recognizes eases into focus.

“Hey, there, I’m Nick” he says, all faked camaraderie. Zayn stares at him as he plops casually on the bench, their thighs touching. Zayn stiffens and glances at the point where their bodies brush, then pointedly at the other boy’s face with a look that clearly says that this is Not Okay.

“Good day?” he tries, trying what he obviously thinks is a winning smile on Zayn, whose disdain doesn’t waver. The noise in the parking lot is picking up as the afternoon sports practices and club meetings seem to have drawn to an end. Rowdy athletes start to filter through the rows of cars.

“Do I know you?” Zayn says coolly, blowing out smoke in the direction of this Nick. He seems to give up on their little charade, finally cutting to the chase.

“D’you see that boy?” he’s pointing across the parking lot to a kid Zayn vaguely recognizes. He’s little, so short that Zayn can barely make out the way he mercilessly hits the kid walking next to him on the head with one of his textbooks, almost playfully. He laughs almost maniacally, tossing his books in the back of a vintage Camaro that Zayn’s admired in the student lot more than once. Zayn makes a noncommittal grunt of acknowledgement.

“That’s Louis. I want you to go out with him.” Nick says, as though this is a perfectly reasonable request between friends. Not missing a beat, Zayn rolls his eyes and stands up.

“Yeah, absolutely, of course. Can I do anything else for you?” For a moment, the sarcasm doesn’t register with Nick and he grins, pleased. When he realizes that Zayn hadn’t meant it, at all, he rises too, a few inches taller than Zayn.

“See, I can’t take out his brother until Louis is dating. Their mom has some weird rule.”

“Touching, really. But why is that my problem?” Zayn flicks his cigarette right at Nick’s expensive-looking sneaker.

“I was hoping that generous compensation might make it your problem.”

“You’re going to pay someone to take him out?” Zayn’s mystified, and a little grossed out. Regardless of who he is, he’s a person. Across the parking lot, Louis honks aggressively at a freshman who made the mistake of stopping to tie his shoe in front of the Camaro. A difficult person, perhaps. “How much?”

“Twenty bucks.” Zayn scoffs. If he’s going to do this rather unpleasant task, he should at least pull a decent profit. They watch as Louis pulls closer to the exit on their side of the parking lot, weaving between the leisurely after-school crowd with his middle finger hanging out the driver’s side window.

Nick wrinkles his nose and amends, “thirty.” Zayn looks at Nick, calculating. “Thirty wouldn’t even pay for dinner.”

Nick stares back, gauging how much of a fight Zayn will put up. Finally, he pulls out his wallet and hands Zayn a crisp fifty dollar bill, selected from a wide variety of other similarly crisp large denomination bills.

Zayn pockets it and lights another cigarette.

***

Another incredibly draining rehearsal sends Louis straight for the shower when he gets home from school. Between finals, college decisions, and the upcoming show week for the production of Hello, Dolly!, he’s absolutely beat. Usually rehearsal at least calms Louis - performing is his absolute favorite thing, and he lives for the stage. But it hadn’t been a good practice, and Louis is feeling wound tighter than he did before he spent ninety minutes yelling at the mostly first-year lighting crew for being utter shit with his follow spot.

But the cool shower feels amazing, and Louis takes his time in it, lathering his hair to get all of his product out. When he finally turns off the spray, his brother’s voice immediately sounds from directly outside the bathroom door.

“Lou! I need in!” Harry’s not angry - never really is, but he’s obviously disgruntled when Louis lets him in after he’s wrapped himself in a towel.

“Longest fucking shower, I swear,” Harry mutters to himself as he rummages through a drawer full of rusty disposable razors and half-used tubes of acne cream. “And you don’t even try to make yourself look cool.” Harry obviously meant for his brother to hear that, and Louis rolls his eyes.

“Sorry that there are things more important to me than the next sale at Abercrombie and Fitch

“I’m just saying, Lou, if you put in a bit of effort you could look really good.”

“Well, that’s fine, but I’m not really interested in looking good for the benefit of others.”

“What about for yourself?” Harry shoots back as he pushes some of his unruly curls back from his face. It’s actually kind of a good point, which annoys Louis, so he doesn’t answer. He stands behind his brother at the sink, watching him as he primps.

“Is that Dad’s necklace?” Louis asks suddenly, trying to keep his voice under control. He’s just noticed the long silver chain around Harry’s neck, can see the head of his father’s old crucifix peeking above the neckline of Harry’s t-shirt. Louis can’t imagine the last time he saw the necklace - probably about three years ago when their dad left and his few forgotten possessions were unceremoniously disposed of. Their father did them wrong, picking up with almost no warning and not a word since, but Harry is wearing his necklace like it’s okay, like he’s over it. Which Louis doesn’t think he will ever be.

“Yeah, Mom found it last week and gave it to me,” Harry says, completely oblivious to the shocked scowl on his brother’s face.

“So you’re just going to wear it?” Louis fumes. Harry turns around, realizing that he’s upset.

“Well, it’s not like he’s coming back for it,” he says plainly. “It looks good on me.” It takes everything in Louis to not let his jaw drop at the complete ignorance of his brother.

“Trust me, it doesn’t.”

***

Friday afternoons are Louis’s favorite time. No rehearsal, no rush to finish homework. More often than not, they’re spent solely hanging out around his best friend Stan’s dad’s record shop in town. Stan has a job there, in the loosest possibly definition of the term, and they’ve spent countless afternoons there gossiping, dicking around on the sound system, and pranking unsuspecting middle schoolers.

After a few hours of listening to the latest drama in Stan’s love life (a secret admirer has been slipping love notes into his locker, signed only as William S - Louis finds it incredibly immature and embarrassing; Stan loves English literature and is utterly charmed) and speculating idly about who will get knocked up at the big party in a few weeks, Louis says his goodbyes and heads for the door. It’s a warm, sunny late afternoon, perfect for sitting out on the porch and work on the new Jonathan Franzen, and someone is leaning against Louis’s car. He’s familiar, in one of Louis’s classes maybe, and looks utterly presumptuous as he rests a combat boot on his baby.

“Nice ride,” he smirks. The boy’s skinny, smoking a cigarette. He’s clearly trying to cultivate an image, the intimidating high school badass, all ripped skinnies and leather jackets, but Louis can’t help but notice that he’s actually kind of beautiful, in a “soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” kind of way.

“Did you need something?” he huffs, stopping a few feet short of where he’s leaning against his door.

“Just wanted to say hi. I’m Zayn.” Louis rolls his eyes at this routine, which has obviously worked on a lot of other people. It’s clear that this boy doesn’t often have to try.

“Hi,” Louis says shortly, widening his eyes and cocking his head, annoyed. He reaches forward to get in the car, and Zayn slides over so his ass is right over the handle.

“Not very chatty, are you?”

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware that I owed you the pleasure of my conversation,” Louis bites. At first, he was just vaguely annoyed, accustomed to the sense of entitlement that high school aged boys seem to have when it comes to whoever they’re sexually interested in (more often, it’s limited to girls, but apparently this guy is an extra special breed of asshole). Now, though, now Louis’s angry. This dickbag is harassing him, basically.

“You aren’t afraid of me, are you?”

“Why would I be afraid of you?” Louis rolls his eyes, even more determined not to let his Cool Guy attitude work now.

“Most people are,” he says simply, a stream of smoke spilling out of the corner of his mouth.

“I’m not,” Louis grits out, kicking a pebble towards the boy impatiently. He looks over at Louis with a coy grin.

“Maybe you’re not afraid of me, but surely you’ve thought about me naked.” And he actually winks. That does it for Louis.

“You’re right - I don’t even know you, but I want you, I need you, oh baby, oh baby.” He shoulders Zayn out of his way and plops into the driver’s seat, absolutely ready to be home now. As he turns the ignition and hastily checks his rear-view mirror, Louis can’t suppress the groan that slips out. An obnoxious black sports car has parked directly behind his spot, leaving no way out. The driver climbs out and strolls by Louis’s open window, whistling cheerfully.

Of fucking course, it’s Nick Grimshaw. He notices Louis and winks an “alright?” as he heads into Stan’s dad’s shop, apparently not a care in the world.

Louis runs both hands through his hair and casts a “can you fuckin’ believe this?” glance around. The only one watching is Zayn, and he’s not looking very sympathetic at all. In fact, he looks quite amused. Blood boiling, Louis runs through the scenario in his head. Mom’s got insurance, good insurance. He doesn’t have a ton of behavioral capital with her, but sometimes...drastic measures must be taken.

Louis throws the Camaro into reverse and floors it into the sidewall of Nick Grimshaw’s BMW. He didn’t do that much damage, he can tell, and Louis’s own car will probably be fine. So it was worth it for the look on Grimshaw’s face as he sprints out of the shop. If he’s the tiniest bit pleased to see how Zayn is almost crying with laughter, well, that’s neither here nor there.

***

Now that Liam and Niall’s mission has a more concrete plan, the boys are doing their best to make things go smoothly. That’s where the brilliant idea to offer their help to Zayn Malik comes from.

“We need to do some renaissance.” Liam stares at Niall, who’s clicking around aimlessly on Facebook. Liam’s not got the greatest vocabulary, but. “D’you mean reconnaissance?”

“Yeah, maybe, whatever. Gather some information, maybe plant some.” Liam nods slowly, thinking it over. It doesn’t feel right to meddle too much in this thing, they’re already in it a bit deeper than he would’ve wanted. But the possibility of having Harry looms larger than any of those concerns, so he agrees to do some spy-work to smooth things along.

Liam’s way in is obvious - he’s been spending a lot of time with Harry, tutoring at first, but they’ve developed a solid acquaintance-ship. After their fourth tutoring session, Harry doesn’t jet off, which Liam considers a minor miracle. Instead, they close their books and chat in the library, discussing the NBA playoffs and ribbing on each other’s questionable French pronunciation. After a glorious half hour of casual conversation, Liam senses Harry prepping to make his exit and decides to pounce.

“Did you hear about, um, the party next weekend?”

“Of course,” Harry says with a sigh. “And I really wanna go, but, y’know, I can’t.”

“Yeah, I’m working on that,” Liam says. “He’s not really going for my guy, though.” Harry bites his lower lip and Liam has to look away, fingernails digging into sweaty palms.

“Um, your brother. He definitely...likes boys, right?” Harry laughs, ducking his head to ruffle his hair habitually.

“Yeah, I found a picture of Ryan Gosling shirtless on his laptop once, so I’m pretty sure he isn’t harboring opposite-sex tendencies.”

“Okay, so he likes, like...pretty guys?”

“Erm, I don’t know. I guess?” Harry seems eager to help, casting around for any more useful information. He eyes Liam thoughtfully, chewing on his lower lip in that way he has. “I know one thing for sure: he said he’d never date a guy that smoked.”

Perfect, Liam groans internally. He’s certain he’s never seen Zayn without a cigarette.

“Hey, Liam.” Of course, Liam’s already looking, he’s always already looking when it comes to Harry. “D’you want to give me a ride home? We could poke around Louis’s room a bit? I know he won’t be home ‘til later.”

Liam knows he’s barely suppressing the dumbest smile ever, but. Harry not only knows that Liam has a car, but he asked him to take him home in it. And he even called him the correct first name. If anything ever deserved a stupid grin, it’s that.

“Let’s go,” Liam says without missing a beat.

***

Liam cannot believe that he’s in Harry’s house. It’s a gorgeous Cape Cod with a huge wrap-around porch. He doesn’t see much of it as Harry leads him upstairs, just a tastefully decorated living room full of books. They pass by a bathroom in the upstairs hallway, and Liam cranes his neck to see in. That’s where Harry showers, he realizes, and the thought has him blinking furiously as Harry shows him Louis’s door.

Louis’s room is just what Liam would have expected based on his limited experience with Harry’s brother. The walls are a riot of posters and clippings, mostly for indie pop bands and an unfamiliar sports team that Liam thinks must play soccer in Europe. There’s a mess of dirty clothes and books littering the floor, and trinkets and dirty dishes on most available surfaces.

Harry steps lightly through the detritus as though he’s afraid something will reach out and grab him. He rustles through a pile of papers on Louis’s nightstand, and Liam thinks that Harry must not spend very much time with his brother. The thought makes him sad, especially considering how badly Liam used to wish for an older brother before he learned to fight for himself.

“Here,” Harry says, shuffling through the sundry artifacts he’s come up with. “Reading list, concert tickets, article about...fracking?”

“Is that...dirty?” Liam asks, blushing. Harry flips through it for a moment, obviously as oblivious as Liam.

“Oh, it’s just a nature thing,” he says, disappointed. “Are you...taking notes?” Liam looks up from his notebook and smiles sheepishly.

“Just being thorough!” Harry smiles softly, looking a little surprised. Returning to the search, he opens the drawer on Louis’s nightstand, filled with further chaos, and grabs something triumphantly.

“A-ha!” Liam peers closer at the small bottle that Harry’s wielding like an amulet. “Lube!” Harry exclaims when Liam doesn’t recognize it, tossing it back into the mess of the drawer. Liam leans closer, swallowing nervously - the bottle’s small and nondescript, and he has to squint to see the print that reads personal lubricant.

“Wh-what does that mean?” he asks, looking around anxiously to avoid eye contact with Harry, who is obviously amused by the whole situation.

“Oh, lots of things Liam. Mostly that he wants to have sex. Perhaps he’s been trying some things on himself,” and Liam finally looks up. Harry’s grinning absolutely evilly, completely aware of how fully he’s shocked Liam.

“Maybe it’s for, um...” Liam looks around wildly, clearly out of his depth.

“Trust me, Liam. That’s what it’s for.”

Liam has to sit down on the bed so he doesn’t pass out.

***

“He’s a nice guy,” Niall tries to soothe. It’s a Saturday night and they’re heading to the bar that they’ve heard their mark frequents. Liam’s mom dropped them off a block over to go see the new Marvel movie, so they’ve got a few hours. Liam is unabashedly panicked about going into a bar to talk to Zayn Malik.

They weave through the flock of Harleys parked out front and let themselves in. Liam and Niall are so clearly out of place that they can’t help but giggle a bit when they exchange nervous glances. Niall, feigning comfort, nods companionably at a middle aged man with a truly impressive mustache who regards them with absolute disinterest.

They spot him at the same time, leaning against a pool table in the haze of smoke in the bar. He’s alone, sipping something amber colored and fiddling idly with the balls on the table. He looks like the perfect brooding, mysterious bad boy, and Liam feels confident in their pick, if nothing else. Liam and Niall approach him like a horse that might spook.

He smirks when he notices them weaving his way, running his fingers idly through his messy quiff.

“Zayn,” Niall says happily when they finally reach him. They’ve never actually met each other, but the amused glint in Zayn’s eye tells Liam that he might recognize them from around school.

“Boys,” he nods coolly.

“Listen, we uh, we know what you’re trying to do with Louis,” Liam begins.

“Okay...”

“And we’d like to help.” Zayn considers them for a moment. Liam’s sure he thinks they’re cute, the little kids in a bar on a Saturday night.

“Why?”

“Well, you see,” Niall pipes up. “Liam here’s in love with Louis’s little brother. Harry.”

Zayn scrunches his eyebrows together, unconvinced. “What is it with this kid? He got beer flavored nipples or something?” Liam makes an outraged noise, ready to defend Harry’s honor, but Niall gets in first.

“Y’see, Zayn, I think it’s important that you know that my friend here has much purer motives, unlike certain others. Namely, Nick Grimshaw.”

“Look guys, I’m just in this for the money. Grimmy can fuck whoever he wants,” Zayn says. Liam’s offended again.

“There will be no...fucking!” He practically whispers the last word, and Niall looks over at him significantly.

“Not if you keep this up, there won’t be!” he teases. Zayn doesn’t look amused. “Okay, listen Zayn,” Niall continues. “We set this whole thing up so that Liam could get to Harry. Grimshaw’s just a tool. And we can help you, we think!” Niall nods at Liam, who bristles a little at first.

“There’s a party this weekend. And we’ve, uh, gathered some intelligence for you,” Liam offers finally. “Louis information.” Zayn cocks his head a little, and Liam takes it as a good sign that he hasn’t made them stop yet.

“Firstly: should you be drinking alcohol when you’ve only got one kidney?” Niall sounds genuinely concerned and a little intrigued, and he grunts loudly when Liam delivers a sharp elbow to his ribcage. Zayn is looking at them like they’re absolutely insane, and Liam is starting to think they might be.

“Okay, so, Louis hates smokers,” Liam starts, ignoring Niall’s continued suffering. Zayn rolls his eyes and reluctantly removes the cigarette from behind his ear.

“And another thing,” Niall continues, emboldened by Zayn’s lack of protest to the first requirement. “Louis likes pretty boys.” He pauses dramatically, as if allowing the others to consider the full scope of the problem at hand. Liam frowns, because Niall obviously hasn’t gotten his eyes checked recently, but Zayn lets out a single, humorless “ha.”

“Are you saying I’m not a pretty guy?”

“He’s a very pretty guy!” Liam placates, patting Zayn aggressively on the shoulder to drive the point home while glancing meaningfully at Niall, who holds up his hands innocently.

“I wasn’t sure, I didn’t know!” Niall covers quickly. “Y’know, maybe you could work on being a little more...approachable as well.” Liam glares at his partner in crime and pulls out the list he had made during his brief time in Louis’s bedroom.

“Okay, anyway. I came up with some stuff. Likes: fish and chips, dystopian literature, alternative music with great pop sensibility,” Liam doesn’t know what that means, but Harry’d told him to write it.

“Have you ever been to the Attic?” Niall asks. Liam had had to Google it, but Zayn seems familiar, grimacing when the venue is mentioned.

“A band Louis really likes is playing this week,” Liam hands Zayn the ticket he’d taken the liberty of purchasing that morning. Zayn eyes it dubiously and sticks it into the pocket of his leather jacket.

“There are a lot of things I’d rather do than see anyone at the Attic,” Zayn says. Niall and LIam look at each other helplessly, out of cards to play. Except one.

“Louis keeps a bottle of lube in his bedside table, if that helps,” Liam offers in a last ditch attempt. Niall gapes at him - Liam had left that bit out in the rundown of his spy efforts. Zayn doesn’t seem affected, except for the slightest raise of his eyebrow.

“Hey, couldn’t hurt, right?” Niall winks.

***

Zayn goes to the Attic on Tuesday, but he isn’t happy about it.

He was already grumpy from going cold turkey on the cigarettes. The pop quiz in government that afternoon hadn’t helped. So by the time he’s elbowing through the crowd of hipster-y young adults that evening, Zayn’s worked himself into quite a mood.

The band actually isn’t terrible. It’s loud, of course, but he finds himself tapping his Doc Martens happily enough as he leans against the bar. There’s a ton of people there, but no one he recognizes from school, save Louis and his vaguely familiar looking companion.

It takes him a few songs to spot Louis, but once he does, it’s hard to stop spotting him. He’s having the time of his life, dancing goofily and bopping along to the music with his friend. The smile that lights up his face is completely unfamiliar to Zayn, who’s only seen Louis very pissed off at school and marginally less pissed off at the record store. He’s confident and comfortable, shining a bit with the sweat of dancing. The lights from the stage make his skin glow strange colors, and Zayn finds himself appreciating Louis from a purely aesthetic perspective. Zayn considers himself an artist, and he can admire the lines of a body, the flow of graceful movements. It’s purely good luck that Louis has an abundance of these qualities to admire - the sharp corners of his smile, the wilting feathers of his hair. It feels good to see someone so in their element, so Zayn doesn’t make himself stop watching.

He finally blinks away when Louis stops moving and whispers to his friend, pointing over to the bar. Zayn turns around quickly and orders another whiskey sour. There’re only a few others at the bar, everyone else watching the band, so no one stands between Zayn and Louis when the latter orders two waters. While the bartender uncaps the bottles, Zayn feels Louis noticing him, can see him stiffening up out of the corner of his eye.

“You might as well just get it over with,” Louis says as he sidles over. Zayn lifts an eyebrow inquiringly, sipping from the tiny stirrer straw in his drink.

“You’re going to try it on again, and I’m going to shut you down.”

“Would you mind? I’m trying to enjoy the band,” Zayn turns around and nods along a little more enthusiastically than necessary. He can see Louis watching him, the tiniest of furrows between his arched brows.

“You’re not surrounded by your usual cloud of smoke,” he remarks, sniffing for emphasis. Zayn looks over, smiles.

“Yeah, I quit. Heard they’re bad for you.” Louis seems surprised, and juts his chin out as if to hide that he’s the tiniest bit impressed.

“They’re good,” Zayn says, nodding toward the stage. “Sounds like Grizzly Bear and Dr. Dog had a music-baby.”

Louis can’t hide his surprise at Zayn’s name drop for just a moment, but he recovers quickly. Zayn mentally blesses little Liam for his list.

“You know Dr. Dog?”

“‘Course, don’t you?” Zayn teases. “I was watching you, before.” Louis tilts his head, watching Zayn and looking puzzled. This is the longest he’s interacted with Louis without being verbally abused, so he decides to go for it. “Never seen you look so sexy.”

Except of course the song ends just at that moment. The twenty closest people all turn to look at Zayn and Louis who is blushing and probably furious about it. But he looks at Zayn again and apparently he’s going to accept that compliment.

“Come to the party this weekend with me,” he asks calmly. The music’s started back up and Louis seems ready to go dance again. He watches Zayn for a second longer before turning back toward his friend. Zayn reaches out and snags his sleeve, turning Louis back around.

“You never give up, do you?” he rolls his eyes, but affectionately, Zayn thinks.

“Is that a yes?”

“No!” he throws over his shoulder.

“Is that a no?” Zayn nearly yells as Louis weaves back through the crowd. But he can clearly see Louis shrug as he retreats.

***

The night of the party is gorgeous, the kind of luxurious spring evening that should be spent in good company. Or at least some company, Harry thinks.

Harry’s a bit frustrated. It’s eight o’ clock on a Friday night and he’s watching a Family Guy rerun in his bedroom. There are probably three different dates Harry could be on right now, not even mentioning the party that everyone’s been talking about all week. Unfortunately, Harry’s fully aware that his brother is downstairs reading while their mom knits, the only person in town whose Friday night will be more boring than Harry’s.

Growing bored of Seth MacFarlane’s voice after another familiar episode, Harry decides to wander downstairs for a snack. His mother and brother are lounging at the breakfast bar, munching on fresh strawberries. Harry plucks one from the bowl, smiling at his mother.

“Would you like to do a puzzle with us, Harry?” she asks pleasantly. Harry shoots a glance at his brother because though they don’t get along perfectly, he knows even Louis wouldn’t enjoy that. To Harry’s surprise, his brother is standing up and stretching, his book abandoned on the countertop.

“Actually, ma, ‘m going out for a bit,” Louis says nonchalantly. Harry frowns, interested, but not optimistic. His mother looks a bit dismayed.

“You’re going out?” Louis looks a bit offended at her shock, but lets it go.

“Yeah, there’s this big party tonight, thought I’d stop by for a bit,” he says easily. Harry’s heart skips a beat, he claps a little, almost hugs Louis, but manages to avoid a full-on squee-fit. He can’t actually believe that his brother, his Louis is going to the party. Which means that Harry can go and will not have to face the embarrassment of not being seen at the last major social event of the school year.

“Oh my God,” Harry grins, chin in his hands. “I have to go get ready!” He’s obnoxiously excited, and feeling thankful that he’d done his laundry that afternoon so his best jeans are clean. After a brief primping (mostly just shaking his hair out over and over until it looks presentable), Harry nearly gallops downstairs. He stops on the landing, because a very bizarre scene is unfolding in the foyer. Louis is opening the door, and a boy is standing there, picking Louis up. He’s really good-looking, actually, all tattooed and grungy, and Harry feels the briefest twinge of jealousy before he reminds himself how lucky he is to be going out in the first place. Harry and Louis’s mother is standing in the hallway, arms crossed and lips pursed.

“It’s just a party!” Harry chirps, ambling down the last few steps. His mother eyes him warily.

“And hell is just a sauna...” Louis is standing awkwardly at the open door, uncharacteristically timid as he looks at the assembled faces. His date seems amused by the whole situation, leaning casually against the door frame. Finally, Louis shrugs out a “bye, then,” and follows the boy out to his car.

Harry and his mother watch them in stunned silence for just a second before she mutters “it’s starting.” Harry gives her a jaunty kiss on the cheek and damn near skips out the front door.

***

The party is, predictably, insane.

Louis doesn’t know the host, but he’s not sure that anyone there does. He follows Zayn quietly through the crowd, weaving between games of flip cup and impromptu beer bongs. The ride over had been awkward, sort of like Zayn showing up unannounced at Louis’s door had been awkward.

Zayn’d brushed it off, cool and confident, but his spontaneity threw Louis off-kilter in a way he wasn’t used to and didn’t really like. So had he followed Zayn through the hordes, for lack of a better option, until a girl swooped in with a slurred “kiss me!” Zayn looked around for help, and Louis took the chance to slip away and get his head on straight. He’d watched over his shoulder as Zayn found a random underclassman fiddling with his snapback by a cooler and said “uh, kiss him!” The kid had seemed quite pleased with that turn of events.

That’s how Louis finds himself in the kitchen, grabbing a sweaty beer from a case on the floor. As he pops it open, he feels a presence behind him and turns.

“Look what the cat dragged in!” Nick Grimshaw drawls. Louis wrinkles his nose and turns back around immediately, heading off towards what he hopes is the patio.

“Hey, where ya going?” Nick’s only a little drunk, Louis can tell, but he always loves to push his buttons.

“As far away from you as possible.”

“Your brother here?” Louis bristles at that, shooting Nick the dirtiest look he can muster while simultaneously drinking deeply from his shitty beer.

“Stay away from my brother.” That sets a grin off on Nick’s face that scares Louis more than any amount of teasing or banter could.

“Oh, I’ll stay away from Harry. Can’t guarantee he’ll stay away from me,” he winks, tossing back the contents of a red Solo cup. Louis has to resist the urge to crush his can against Nick’s bulbous forehead, and instead ducks past the other boy to get anywhere else.

He strolls around aimlessly for a bit, laughing at some of the younger kids who’ve obviously never drank before and nursing his own beer. He sees Zayn’s girl and her blonde boy still going at it and chuckles, but there’s no sign of his ride. As Louis wanders through the den a bit later, his stomach absolutely drops. Harry’s on the couch, pleased as can be, cheeks pink with alcohol, curled up under Nick Grimshaw’s arm.

“Look who found me, Louis,” Nick says, smarmy and smug. Louis swallows, weighing his options. The problem is not just that Nick’s an ass. Nick’s an ass with whom Louis’s got a bit of experience, and not positive experience. Despite all their differences, he feels protective toward his stupid little brother, and Louis feels like he has no choice but to step in.

“Erm, Haz, could I have a word?” he sounds shy, speaking to his own brother of all people.

“I thought we’d agreed that you wouldn’t address me in public,” Harry bites out. That hurts, because Louis thought that going to the party might make him and Harry a little more okay than usual, but - apparently not.

“It’s just kind of important.” He can’t let it go, not quite yet.

“It’s kind of important for me to enjoy being young, beautiful, and carefree,” Harry says easily, with the sound of a dismissal. Louis could tolerate the sass up to a certain point, but that was just ridiculous. Harry sounded like a caricature of an E! reality star. So maybe it isn’t worth it. Louis rolls his eyes and heads out, done with his brother and everyone at their stupid fucking high school, really. As he walks into the next room, someone walks by with a tray of shots that are practically glowing. Louis grabs two and downs the first with a grimace.

“What’ve you got there?” Zayn’s just appeared out of nowhere, sleeves rolled up to showcase the collage of ink on his forearms and smiling cheerfully at Louis.

“I’m getting wasted, isn’t that what everyone’s doing?” Louis chugs the other shot, ignoring Zayn’s expression which is dubious at best. After Louis shakes his head a little, he smiles back at Zayn, who drops the face.

“I think you should do whatever you want to do,” he says softly. Louis laughs, but he doesn’t mean it, and heads off to find more shots.

***

It is abundantly clear to Liam that he and Niall do not belong at this party. But he’d insisted that they go on the off-chance that Harry was allowed to go.

It’s in full swing when they arrive, sweaty bodies everywhere, tinny bass pounding through the house. Liam is suddenly profoundly thankful that Niall talked him out of bringing a hostess gift at the last minute.

Niall seems absolutely thrilled with the entire situation as he snags beers for Liam and himself from a rapidly emptying keg. The cup that’s handed to Liam is sweaty, and he decides not to drink it’s contents after a single cautious sniff.

The pair of them find an empty patch of wall and lean against it awkwardly. Niall turns to Liam and raises his eyebrows, as if to ask “what’s next?” Which is a really bad question because Liam is utterly out of his element.

They watch the party in silence for a few minutes, laughing nervously at their much less inhibited classmates. Niall drinks down his lukewarm beer easily, and Liam gives him his when the first is finished.

Just when Liam was beginning to think about bailing on the whole party, he spots him. Harry’s just passed into the room Liam and Niall’ve been haunting. He’s clutching a remarkably fancy-looking cocktail in one hand. Harry’s the only person in the whole party that Liam’s seen with a drink in a real glass, which isn’t surprising in the least. Harry seems to inspire people to do many unreasonable things, including becoming semi-professional bartenders.

Liam straightens up, already zig-zagging through the crowd to say hello, alarmed at his own confidence. At first it seems odd that Harry’s completely alone, but Liam hasn’t seen many others from their year there and Harry seems content taking in the craziness. He reaches Harry, practically bouncing and grinning eagerly. Unfortunately, Harry is peering over his shoulder rather distractedly, as if on the lookout for a more desirable conversational partner than Liam.

“Hey, Harry,” Liam tries, as Harry’s eyes continue to scan the room.

“Hi, Liam,” he says, still antsy. He doesn’t smile. Liam’s confused, because Harry’s been perfectly civil to him at every tutoring session, and he let Liam into his house, for God’s sake. And it’s not like he thought they were friends or anything, but. Liam’s practically in love with the boy - he’d thought Harry would at least make eye contact.

But Liam’s not good at giving up, never has been, so, he doesn’t.

“You look nice.” Which is true, really true. He’s never seen a tighter pair of jeans and Harry’s everyday jeans are already pretty tight to begin with. Liam can make out a tiny freckle he’s never noticed before in the shadow where Harry’s dimple would be if he’d smile.

“Thanks,” Harry says, twisting his lips as though he’s deeply unsatisfied. After a second, Liam understands why Harry’s been so distracted. Nick Grimshaw swoops in and hands Harry a new cocktail, arm looping comfortably around Harry’s waist. Harry brightens immediately, looking up at Nick through his eyelashes and blushing faintly. Liam understands a little better, then. NIck is older and popular and really full of himself. Liam sees why Harry would get caught up in that. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t bother him, but -

“C’mon, Harry, someone I want you to see,” Nick simpers, not acknowledging Liam. He steers Harry away, and he goes easily. Of course, being the well-mannered boy he is, Harry turns and waves lamely at Liam, who deflates.

***

It’s better, a bit later, when he sees Harry again. After their aborted conversation, Liam was ready to leave the party. But when he turned back around, Niall was tonsils deep with an unfamiliar brunette who’d stolen his snapback. Despite his own romantic failure on the evening, he couldn’t begrudge Niall that grope session, especially considering all the work he’d put into bringing Liam and Harry together.

So Liam roamed the party alone, clutching his now completely room temperature beer awkwardly to his chest. He’d seen Harry’s brother, storming grumpily through the crowd, Zayn a few steps behind. Liam had raised it eyebrows at him, and Zayn just shook his head, you don’t want to know.

So now Liam’s watching the party descend into absolute madness. He’s already seen three people vomit, one rather spectacularly into a nearly-full vat of jungle juice. There was almost a fight in the dining room, but the tension was diffused quickly when someone suggested a round of Kings.

Liam drifts through the den, stiffening a bit when he notices Harry tucked into the corner of a couch with Nick. Nick’s holding court, bragging loudly about the car he’s going to get for graduation. Lots of jock types are sitting around, obviously trying to win his favor.

Harry, on the other hand, is looking squished and unhappy. He frowns around the room, obviously not interested in Nick’s boastful soliloquy. Liam can’t help but to feel a bit cheered by that, as Harry picks idly at his fingernails.

Just then, Harry looks up at Liam. For a moment, they just watch each other. Liam desperately wants Harry to ask for help, to get him out of there. But Harry’s not asking for an out, not giving anything away, not backing down. Liam shakes his head as he turns and walks away.

***

The whole Louis situation is rapidly spiraling out of control, Zayn thinks. He’s been following him around the party for about an hour, basically running damage control. Louis’s done at least seven shots in that span of time. He’s been running around the party like a hyperactive puppy, smiling madly as he steals half-drunk beers off any available surface. He made a girl cry and then tried to kiss her to cheer her up, but Zayn finally intervened there. Next, he finds himself trying to mop up Louis’s third spill, a few stray paper towels barely sufficient to soak the red punch out of the creamy white carpet.

Somehow, in the two seconds Zayn’s been kneeling, Louis’s acquired two more shots. He chokes one back as Zayn’s straightening, but he’s able to snag the other before Louis gets a chance.

“How ‘bout I take this one?” he asks in a manner usually reserved for stubborn kindergartners. Louis stares at him blankly for just a second before snatching it back.

“No, it’s mine,” he explains haughtily, just barely slurring. He throws the shot back and turns away from Zayn without another word. Zayn stares after him, shoulders slumping. Louis is defeating him.

“I’m impressed.” Zayn turns to see Nick Grimshaw flanked by a couple of generic looking cronies. He’s watching Louis over Zayn’s shoulder. “You got him to act like a human,” he laughs.

“Well, he’s a fucking Homo sapiens,” Zayn says, one of Nick’s thugs giggling at the use of the word homo. Zayn’s getting tired of this game, of chasing after Louis, who’s completely exhausting, and of Nick Grimshaw’s overly slick façade.

“Oh my God!” Nick shrieks, ignoring Zayn. He’s still looking past Zayn, so he turns and feels his stomach drop.

Louis has somehow managed to climb onto the colossal dining room table and is dancing in the middle of it, grinding slowly against the air. Every single person in the party appears to be squeezing into the room to watch the show as Zayn stares on in horror.

As he watches Louis gyrate to a Notorious B.I.G. song, Zayn knows he should intervene. He’s come to think of Louis as a friend, almost, and he’s been in charge of him all night. It would be bad form to let this continue. It feels sick, weird, and wrong to admit, knowing how out of it Louis is, but Zayn’s a human, and Louis looks good. He has a really nice ass, that’s no secret. But when he raises his arms above his head, the hem of his t-shirt lifts up and Zayn can see the tan skin of his belly and the sharp curve of his hipbones. He spins a little, and the dim lighting throw the dimples above his back into sharp relief.

Zayn swallows dryly. He knows Louis wouldn’t want to be seen like this. He’ll be so embarrassed when he wakes up, and angry. But a small, niggling little part of Zayn’s brain doesn’t want anyone else to see Louis like this.

He begins to fight his way through the audience, for Louis, not for himself. When he’s close enough to shout, he calls to Louis. Louis looks over, still dancing, and lights up when he notices Zayn. He shimmies closer to the edge of the table, but he did have nine shots, and Zayn isn’t at all surprised when Louis trips a little over a piece of trash. There’s a loud “oooh!” from the assembled party-goers as Louis loses his balance and doesn’t fly so much as flumps off the table. Zayn catches him, sort of. It’s more of a breaking of Louis’s fall, and it hurts. Zayn pushes up onto his elbows and looks over at Louis where he rolled off after impact. He doesn’t look good, tired and a little shaken from the fall.

“C’mon, let’s go outside for some air,” he says quietly. Lots of people are congregated around them, cracking up about the fall after making a few perfunctory checks about Louis and Zayn’s well-being. Zayn hops up and pulls Louis after him, leading him towards the door. Louis is subdued, keeping his head down as everyone watches them go. They’re almost to the front door when someone grabs Zayn roughly by the shoulder.

He looks up quickly, always ready for a fight, but it’s just Liam. Zayn had seen him earlier, and he’s looking just as sad now as he did then.

“Hey, can we talk?” Liam’s quiet and serious, moreso than usual, but obviously not grasping that Zayn’s a bit busy.

“I’m - no, not right now,” Zayn says glancing back at Louis who’s looking a little unsteady on his feet.

“It’s an emergency,” Liam says. Zayn rolls his eyes and beckons Liam outside with them. The front yard of the house was probably lovely before it filled up with the party crowd. There’s still a few people milling about, cigarette butts littering the lawn. Zayn drags Louis over to a tastefully landscaped bench and plops him down.

“Stay here,” he says sternly. He returns to Liam, out of earshot of Louis, who is now laying down on the concrete bench.

“It’s off.” Liam says it like there’s absolutely no argument. Zayn’s frazzled, this is all too much happening at once. He’s itching for a cigarette, but Louis’s right there, even if he probably won’t remember this.

“Wh-what? The thing?”

“Yeah. Harry never wanted me,” Liam says. “Wants Nick.” His eyes are downcast and Zayn thinks he’s never seen someone more dejected, but he doesn’t really have time for this.

“Listen,” he begins, grabbing Liam by the shoulders. “You like him?” Liam nods dumbly. “Is he worth it? All this hassle?” Liam makes an indistinct noise.

“I thought so, but now I don’t know.”

“Okay, listen. He is, or he isn’t. But you and I both know that Nick isn’t a good guy. And you can’t let what Nick wants make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want.” Zayn’s kind of impressed that he came up with that on the spot, but Liam still looks dubious.

“Liam, I like you. Let yourself be happy.” Liam doesn’t look up again, so Zayn claps him on the back and goes back to Louis.

Louis is looking pretty comfortable on the bench, but he opens one of his eyes when he hears Zayn approaching. He watches Zayn for a moment, before drawing up his knees so there’s a little room for him at the end of the bench.

Zayn sits, quiet. The noise of the party is filtering out into the yard, but the only other people outside are paying Louis and Zayn no mind.

“Don’t have to take care of me,” Louis says after a moment. His voice is small, consonants running together messily. “Can take care of myself.” Zayn hums doubtfully, his thigh brushing against Louis’s foot.

“Nah, something bad would happen if you were left to your own devices.”

“You’d like that,” Louis says. He’s not looking at Zayn, but Zayn can see that his eyes are open.

“Not really. I might have to start taking out people that actually like me.”

“No such people.” Zayn whacks Louis’s calf gently for the teasing.

“What would I do without your blind hatred?” Zayn can see the corner of Louis’s mouth turn up.

“Why do you let him get to you?” Zayn starts again after a while.

“Who?”

“Nick.”

“I hate him,” Louis says simply.

“Well, you sure showed him. Falling on your ass in front of a room full of people is the best revenge.”

“Well, you know what they say,” Louis says quietly.

“No, what do they say?”

After a few moments without a response, Zayn looks over. Louis’s fallen asleep on the bench, hands curled up under his chin. Zayn studies him for a moment, almost peaceful in sleep except for the scrunch of his forehead. Zayn stands, thinking. He’s not a huge guy, but Louis’s so small, and the car isn’t far away.

He bends to scoop Louis in his arms, and the sleeping boy doesn’t stir as Zayn lifts. He makes his way slowly to the car, weaving carefully through the trash and flowerbeds in the yard.

They’re almost to the car when Louis speaks, startling Zayn.

“You have the most amazing cheekbones,” he says softly. Zayn smiles, completely caught off guard, and sets Louis on his feet by the passenger door. Louis gazes at him fondly for a second longer, then twists his mouth unpleasantly. When he bends over, Zayn backs up, bracing himself. Louis vomits into the gutter, cursing a blue streak in between.

***

“Hey Harry, we’re heading back to mine. You coming?”

Harry’s been sitting alone on the couch for a good hour, but now Nick’s back and looming over him. He’d lost interest in Harry when he’d failed to express the appropriate amount of awe at Nick’s fifth retelling of a story about his dad’s yacht. Since then, no one’s paid Harry much attention at all. It didn’t take him long to realize that there weren’t many people he knew there, and even fewer who cared about Harry if Nick didn’t.

Except for Lam. But Liam had definitely been wearing an “I’m giving up” face the last time Harry’d seen him, and now he feels ready to follow suit.

“Uh, I have to be home in twenty minutes,” Harry says, attempting to sound disappointed Nick looks at him for a second, unconvinced.

“See you later, then,” he finally says, turning away.

That’s that, Harry decides, standing up. He’s going to have to call his mom for a ride home, which will not go over well, especially since he’s had a few drinks and with her motherly sixth sense, she’ll absolutely know.

Harry heads for the door, hoping the front porch will be quiet enough to call her from. Someone opens the front door for Harry and he turns to thank them. The thank you dies in his throat when Harry turns and sees Liam there, stony-faced as he follows Harry through.

“Have fun tonight?” Liam asks quietly. Harry looks up at him under the porch light. Liam looks tired, his car keys jangling in one hand. Harry hums thoughtfully. The answer is no, but he doesn’t think Liam would be sympathetic at all.

“Liam, could you give me a ride home?” Harry asks with a helpless smile. Liam cracks his neck, agitated. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth and then finally: “c’mon.”

***

Liam doesn’t want to take Harry home because Harry doesn’t really deserve it, he thinks. He’s having trouble pinpointing why exactly he’s so mad at Harry, aside from the fact that he doesn’t seem interested in Liam. Which Liam knows isn’t fair, but his mom always told him life wasn’t fair.

They don’t say anything for the entire drive. Liam finally speaks when he parks the car in front of Harry’s house. “You never wanted to spend time with me, did you?” He rushes it out, as if speaking faster will lighten the blow.

“Yes I did,” Harry says grumpily. It’s a bad lie and Liam sees through it easily.

“No, you didn’t.” He pulls the key out of the ignition aggressively. Harry sniffles awkwardly and quietly says “maybe not.”

Liam doesn’t blow up often, and doesn’t want to, but then the words are coming and they spill over easily. “I did everything for you. I listened to your dumb stories, I defended you, I learned French. I tried with your brother. It’s not fair. You can’t treat people like they don’t matter just because you’re beautiful.” Harry bristles a little at that, staring straight at Liam.

“Okay, Liam, I’m sorry. But you aren’t in the right here either. I don’t owe you anything just because you were nice to me! If I only wanted to be your friend that should be okay because it’s what I would want.” Liam looks at his hands in his lap sheepishly. He’s never heard Harry sound so poised, and his mind catches on the “if I only wanted to be your friend,” replaying it over and over like a broken record.

“You’re right,” Liam says, more confident. “I’m sorry. You don’t owe me anything. But I just want to make sure you know how wonderful I think you are. I could watch you all day, I want to look at you all day. And I’m so charmed by you, all the time. You’re so funny and goofy and charming and happy and comfortable with who you are. I want to be around you so you can make me more like you. And also so I can keep an eye on you.” Harry’s staring at Liam, eyes wide at the unexpected monologue. Suddenly, he grabs both of Liam’s cheeks. Without any hesitation, Harry kisses Liam, exuberant and sweet and tasting of passion fruit rum. After a second, he pulls back with a smile. Harry pats Liam lightly on the cheek and gets out of the car without another word.

Liam sits in stunned silence for a second, watching Harry walk to the door. He starts the car when Harry’s back disappears, touching his lips faintly. As he pulls away, he can’t help but cheer “I’m back in the game!”

***

Louis’s quiet on the way home. Zayn doesn’t mind, especially after the pounding noise of the party and the excitement of their exit. The silence is companionable, if not friendly, and the local alternative radio station pulses quietly in the background. Zayn’s driving slowly, suburban streets empty this late at night.

The song changes quietly and Louis perks up a bit, reaching out to crank the radio louder. Zayn glances sideways at him, and Louis is bobbing his head slowly to the music, eyes closed peacefully. “I should do this,” he says after a second.

“What, start a band?” Zayn asks, bemused.

“Yeah, ‘m a born frontman,” Louis grins, smiling dopily at Zayn. “My mom would be thrilled, she loves it when I draw attention to myself,” he laughs.

“Doesn’t seem like you would care what your mother thought,” Zayn says cautiously. He can tell that the relationship between Louis and his mother is a bit strained, though they’ve never discussed it.

“Oh, you know me now?” Louis breathes sharply through his nose, raising an eyebrow at Zayn.

“I thought I might be getting close,” Zayn tries, trying not to spook him.

“The only thing that people know about me is that I’m scary,” Louis says, more frank than Zayn’s ever heard him.

“Well, I get that,” Zayn laughs, thinking of all the ridiculous rumors he’s heard about himself in the course of his high school career. They’re quiet again, Louis tapping a syncopated rhythm on the dashboard.

“What’s up with your mom?” Zayn asks lightly, afraid of pushing too far. Louis sighs, rubbing at his dusting of five o’ clock shadow.

“She just wants me to be happy. And to her, that means being more like Harry.” They pull up to Louis’s house and Zayn puts the car in park, turning to look at Louis. He looks tiny, curled up in the passenger seat. Vulnerable, as he reveals more of himself to Zayn than ever before.

“No offense - I know everyone loves him ‘n all - but Harry doesn’t really do it for me.” Louis looks up through his smudgy eyelashes, a minute smile on his face. He pushes up out of his seat so that he’s sitting up straighter

“You might not be as vile as I thought,” he laughs almost to himself, swaying forward. And suddenly, he’s kissing Zayn. The angle’s awful, and Louis reeks of vomit. Despite that, Zayn can feel how plush Louis’s lips are. But Louis’s drunk, and Zayn gulps and pushes him away gently. Louis is blinking at him, face quickly going from soft to angry. He’s livid, jutting his chin out as he unbuckles quickly wihtout meeting Zayn’s eyes.

“Maybe another time,” Zayn says softly. Louis doesn’t say a word as he climbs out and slams the passenger door.

***

English class is almost always at least tolerable to Louis, but that Monday proves an exception. Zayn and Nick are in his class, already in their seats when he sneaks in seconds before the bell. Nick’s delight is palpable as Louis sinks into his desk.

“Louis, what do we owe you for the table dance?” he says loudly. Everyone’s looking at him, and they don’t seem surprised. Louis had expected for the tale of his drunken humiliation to get around, but he didn’t think anyone would actually care. There’s snickering and whispering, but Louis ignores it, staring straight forward. Zayn’s a few seats off to his right, ignoring Nick’s posturing but desperately trying to get Louis’s attention through a series of elaborate hand signals. Louis turns further away from him. Everybody saw Louis’s embarrassing performance at the party, but only Zayn had been privy to the worst parts of the night, involving vomiting and a rejected kiss.

“Alright, quiet,” Ms. Miller stands, shushing the class. “Good weekends?” she asks, a weak attempt to sound like she cares.

“I don’t know, you should ask Louis,” Nick practically giggles. Ms. Miller stares blankly at him for a second, gauging whether he actually is trying that.

“Unless Louis kicked you in the balls, I’m not interested,” she says when she realizes that Nick meant it. “Everyone’s got their Complete Shakespeares?”

Most of the kids have the hulk of a book on their desk, open to the page she’d indicated on the chalkboard. “Anyone volunteer to read it out?” Ms. Miller looks around, bored. No one raises their hand.

“Okay, Malik. Sonnet 141. Go.” Louis doesn’t look over, but he can hear Zayn shuffling through the book to find the poem. He clears his throat and begins to read.

“In faith, I do not love thee with mine eyes, for they in thee a thousand errors note; but 'tis my heart that loves what they despise,” he pauses, coughing quietly. He isn’t a natural, Louis can tell, but he seems comfortable enough with the stilted language. Even if the rhythm’s a little off, Zayn has a lovely speaking voice, textured and quiet. Louis listens intently to Zayn’s tone, but not the words, apparently, because he blinks with surprise when he finishes (“only my plague thus far I count my gain, that she that makes me sin awards me pain”). Louis feels his heart pick up traitorously as Zayn stumbles adorably over the last few words.

“Good. So, in spite of the fact that Shakespeare is yet another white male, he knew what he was doing.” Ms. Miller sets her book down, watching her students. “I think we’ll have fun with this next assignment. I want you all to write your own version of this sonnet.”

There are a few groans throughout the classroom, graduating seniors who think they should be done with work. But Louis smiles a bit despite his rotten mood. That could be fun; it’s a lovely sonnet, one of the more accessible ones, and Louis thinks he could do a lot with it. He does have a question though, so he raises a hand silently.

“Yes, Mr. I-Have-An-Opinion-On-Everything?” she deadpans.

“Does this have to be in iambic pentameter?” It’s a valid question, a good one even. Ms. Miller looks a bit confused.

“You’re not fighting me on this?”

“No, I can’t wait to write it,” Louis says simply. She stares at him blankly for a second before rolling her eyes.

“Get out,” she says, pointing to the door. Louis looks around, shocked and helpless.

“What? I meant it!” Ms. Miller ignores him, pointing again with more force. Louis stands up, resigned, and slinks to the door.

“Thanks, Ms. Miller,” he hears Nick say as the door swings shut. Thankfully, he doesn’t miss her exasperated “shut up” either.

***

After the excitement of the party had died down a bit, Liam and Zayn agreed to meet to re-evaluate their plan. Liam was a little alarmed when Zayn told him to meet him during third period, considering that he has class then. But he’d slipped out of history and headed for the athletic complex as instructed, not having pegged the smoker in the combat boots for a sports fan. When questioned, Zayn had said that it’s always quiet in the stadium, and he’s easily spotted tucked into a corner of the bleachers, feet up.

“Hey,” Liam says, sinking down next to Zayn. He’s got a pile of books next to him and is watching the gym class currently taking place on the Astroturf. They’re being forced to play soccer, and it’s hot out. Liam follows his gaze and sees that Louis is a part of this institutionalized torture, dribbling the ball through a labyrinth of cones at breakneck speed. They sit for a moment, making small talk about the party and enjoying the sunshine. The thing is, Louis’s actually really really good and it’s fun to watch him. He’s fast and powerful, a commanding presence on the field even in the midst of a silly required gym class. After a particularly impressive move in a passing drill, Louis looks absently across the stadium. It’s easy to tell when he spots them; he throws his shoulders back and tilts his head menacingly. As soon as the ball is returned to him, he changes the angle of his body so he’s facing his little audience directly. He lines up and takes an athletic shot aimed at the two of them. It happens too fast for either of them to react, but mercifully misses Zayn’s lap by inches. The ball collides with the aluminum bleachers with an echoing clang and the boys stare at each other, wide-eyed. After a second, Liam gets up carefully and throws the ball back to the field, avoiding looking anywhere near Louis.

“Jesus, what’d you do to him?” Liam asks, shocked at Louis’s aggression. Zayn shrugs, a bit guiltily, Liam thinks.

“I thought the plan was working,” Liam says. It puts Zayn on the defensive, turning to Liam angrily.

“I thought you wanted out! What difference does it make to you?” Liam smiles sheepishly.

“That was before he kissed me,” he says, with a little disbelieving laugh. Zayn can’t fight back a smile at Liam’s obvious happiness.

“Where?” he asks, buying himself time.

“On the mouth,” Liam sighs dreamily. Zayn rolls his eyes, knocking shoulders easily with Liam. Just then Niall turns the corner and starts climbing up the bleachers towards their powwow. He’s all pink and sweaty like he’s been running around, and flops down next to Liam with a mighty sigh.

“Okay, I got the scoop,” he says, breathing heavily. “He hates him with the fire of a thousand suns. That’s a direct quote.” Liam looks over at Zayn as threateningly as he can. Zayn isn’t intimidated, and scowls.

“Thanks, makes me feel better.”

“Maybe he just needs time to cool off?” Liam suggests, squinting down at the field. The coach has called a break, and most of the players are stretching or drinking from their water bottles. Louis is standing off by himself, staring up at Zayn and cracking his knuckles forcefully. Niall howls with laughter at that, actually slapping his thigh.

“Maybe a lot of time.”

***

Zayn is tired of playing Nick Grimshaw’s game. It’s been a few weeks since the fateful party, and it’s obvious that the plan isn’t working, anyway. Louis has been avoiding Zayn studiously, not even looking in his direction when he speaks up in their English class. Unfortunately, Louis seems to be popping up more and more frequently in Zayn’s life, scowling at Zayn when they accidentally park next to each other at Chipotle and pretending not to notice when Zayn dropped a pencil right next to Louis’s locker.

Zayn doesn’t have the heart to try to win Louis over again. It’s hard to admit, but if the situation had been different, he probably would have let Louis kiss him. Louis is gorgeous, of course, and Zayn’s always liked a challenge. But Zayn has also become endeared by Louis’s sharp humor and guardedness, and is starting to suspect that there’s something really special behind that carefully-honed façade. Something big and kind and weird and funny and good.

The whole situation has Zayn thinking a lot, a lot more than he’d prefer to be considering that this all started as a way to make a quick few bucks. Now, Zayn thinks he might almost actually like Louis. That’s scary for many reasons, not least of which that Louis is a bit terrifying himself.

It comes to a head when Nick corners Zayn between classes. The hallway is abuzz with activity, kids rushing to their next period and banging their lockers shut. Nick appears out of nowhere, apparently, and pulls Zayn into a little alcove where a drinking fountain sits. He produces an expensive looking wallet from his back pocket, Italian maybe, and pulls out two crisp one hundred dollar bills.

“Prom,” he says, with an almost sinister smile.

Zayn wrinkles his nose. That’s good money, and prom wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Not with Louis, if Zayn could convince him to go. But this new, rebellious part of Zayn’s brain (or more alarmingly, his heart) doesn’t want it to happen like this. He rubs nervously at his neck and finally shakes his head.

“I’m sick of this,” he says quietly, not looking at Nick.

“C’mon, Malik. We had a deal.” He waves the money stubbornly.

Part of Zayn wants to bring it all crashing down. Tell Nick what a sucker he is, how Harry is totally falling for Liam, who orchestrated this whole thing in the first place. Then Nick reaches for his wallet again.

“Are you sick of...three hundred?” he asks, eyebrows raised. Zayn takes a deep breath. He could do a lot with three hundred dollars, and he would get to take Louis out. As his date. He pictures himself pinning a corsage to Louis’s tuxedo jacket and looks at Nick, thinking hard.

Zayn takes the money.

***

"So, you're coming to prom with me, right?" Nick says, leaning against Harry's locker so he can't open it.

Harry rolls his eyes. Nick's not said a word to him since the party, and Harry had kind of enjoyed it. He figured he'd blown his chance with Nick then, and was actually really, really okay with it.

"I don't know," Harry says, trying to sound like he's upset about it. "Don't think Louis's going, you know." Harry swings his backpack to his other shoulder, trying to angle into his locker. Nick isn't moving.

"Your brother is definitely going."

Harry stares at him, at a loss. He's not sure if he believes Nick, can't imagine Louis going to prom willingly. But there's another problem, too. Harry would love to go to prom. But he doesn't want to go with Nick at all. He slumps his shoulders, defeated, and sighs "we'll see."

***

They’re almost to Liam’s car when they hear running footsteps behind them. Liam and Niall turn at the same time and see Zayn panting across the underclassman parking lot, backpack bouncing around on his shoulders. They pause, laughing at Zayn’s windedness.

“Ugh,” he huffs, finally reaching them.

“Thought you stopped smoking!” Niall laughs, cuffing Zayn lightly on the arm. Zayn bats him off playfully, falling in step with the pair.

“So, I’ve got to take Louis to prom.” Liam sniffles. That obviously means that Nick is planning on taking Harry to prom.

Liam doesn’t really understand where he and Harry stand now, but a sizable part of him thinks Harry won’t want to go with Nick. It’s a comforting thought, but that doesn’t necessarily mean Harry would want to go with Liam. He’s been friendly since the party, much flirtier than before, but they haven’t hung out or like, gone on a date. They definitely haven’t kissed since then. But they got Zayn into this mess, Liam thinks, so they can’t leave him hanging now.

“So Louis’s still furious at you?” he asks, anticipating the answer.

“Well, he still refers to me as the One With The Hair in English class,” Zayn sighs. He seems almost sad about it. Liam looks at Niall helplessly. The three of them stand by Liam’s car for a minute, stumped.

“I think...You need to sacrifice yourself on the altar of dignity,” Niall finally says.

“What does that mean?” Liam laughs, but Zayn’s stroking his chin thoughtfully, nodding slowly.

“I might have something.”

***

Louis loves Thursday rehearsals. They get the day off on Friday, so Thursday is the perfect balance of hard work and excitement for the weekend. Of course, there’s also the added buzz of the show only being a little over two weeks away, and the end of school only a few days further.

There’s already lots of cast and crew milling about when Louis enters the theatre after school, congregating in the bank of seats closest to center stage before the director calls things to order. Stan’s saved Louis a seat in the second row, and he takes it gratefully, promptly launching into the tale of his latest physics quiz disaster. Mr. DiMateo is always a few minutes late, so the kids are all relaxing about, eating vending machine snacks and studying their lines (though they really should’ve been off book weeks ago).

Just when Louis thinks Stan might be dozing off in the middle of his story, Mr. D enters the theatre, immediately assailed by several students with questions that apparently need answers right now. As he’s trying to make his way to the front of the gaggle of students, the house lights go down.

That’s not normal - at all, and there’s a collective gasp of confusion in the dark. Everyone goes silent when a single spotlight shines onto center stage. They’re all looking around at each other, completely lost. Mr. D’s pissed.

“C’mon, guys, knock it off,” he drawls, throwing his clipboard on the ledge of the orchestra pit. But the lights stay down. Suddenly, someone slips awkwardly through the middle of the heavy red curtains.

Louis’s heart stops when looks over from Stan to see Zayn walking slowly to the center of the spotlight, inexplicably protecting himself from nonexistent precipitation with a battered purple umbrella. He looks really shy, which is something Louis’s never seen on him before, used to his carefully projected image of carelessness. Louis looks at Mr. D, who’s obviously confused and annoyed. He’s opening his mouth, presumably to ask Zayn what the hell he’s doing, when Zayn clears his throat. What the fuck is going on?

Zayn twirls his umbrella, kicks out one of his feet self-consciously, and starts to strut down the stage. He’s dancing, Louis realizes.

Then: “I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain. What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again.”

Zayn’s singing the familiar song, striding up and down the stage like the poorest man’s Gene Kelly, looping the umbrella goofily above his head.

Mr. D’s apparently been stunned into silence, mouth still hanging open. A few kids laughed, but they’re mostly watching in shock and amazement. Because, Zayn’s actually got a beautiful voice. He obviously has never had any sort of training, and looks about ready to keel over from the nerves, but there’s something there.

“The sun’s in my heart, and I’m ready for love,” he sings, hitting his stride with a nervous smile. A tinny backing track starts up over the sound system, an old-fashioned orchestral swell and Zayn actually does a silly little tap dance, his scuffed Chuck Taylors barely making a peep on the stage floor. On the final flourish, he tosses his umbrella out, clearly aiming for Louis. Mainly acting on instinct, and so that none of his neighbors get poked in the eye, Louis stands up to catch it, setting it on his shoulder like a parasol as Zayn sings the final chorus about “singin’, and dancin’ in the rain” with a dramatic spin. The music stops and he gives a cheeky bow, looking at Mr. D, and then Louis before scuttling quickly backstage.

The lights come up and everyone is laughing disbelievingly, as if they just experienced some sort of collective hallucination. The entire crew is watching Louis as he sinks back into his seat next to Stan, shaking his head and laughing nervously.

See, Louis had always thought grand romantic gestures were silly and cheesy. But he is reconsidering that evaluation at a nearly dizzying speed.

“What was that?” Stan asks quietly.

“I have no fucking clue.”

***

“Où se trouve l'auberge de jeunesse?” Liam reads carefully from the French book. He looks up at Harry, awaiting his answer. Harry’s arms are crossed and he’s slumped in his chair, ignoring Liam.

“Où sont vos boules?” he shoots back grumpily. Liam blinks, baffled. He flips urgently through his book, because he has no idea what Harry said.
“Um, did you skip ahead?” he asks lamely. Harry rolls his eyes and stands, textbook abandoned.

“Liam, when are you going to ask me out?” he says sadly. Liam’s jaw drops, and Harry walks away before he can even begin to formulate an answer.

***

In the end, Mr. DiMateo only gives Zayn one after school detention with no administrative referral. It’s a mercifully light punishment, because as Mr. D told Zayn, “you sounded great, just don’t do it again.”

So Zayn’s stuck in Mr. D’s classroom on a gorgeous Friday afternoon in May, one of the last of his high school career. There’s a few other various miscreants scattered around, and it’s sweltering, even with the windows open. Zayn can barely keep his eyes open as he tries to work on his trigonometry homework.

Suddenly, the door bursts open in the back of the classroom. Mr. D had expressly told everyone at the beginning of detention that they couldn’t leave the room, so they all spin around curiously to see who the new arrival is.

Zayn’s eyebrows shoot up when he sees Louis weaving through the desks, messenger bag over one shoulder. As he passes Zayn’s seat, he slips a folded piece of notebook paper under his notebook.

“Louis, can’t really be here now,” Mr. D says politely as he reaches the front of the room.

“Sorry, Mr. DiMateo, just had a quick question,” Louis grins. The teacher sufficiently distracted, Zayn pulls the note out and unfolds it. There’s a simple line of text in plain pencil: meet me at my car. Zayn looks up, delighted. Louis is busting him out.

“See, I was just thinking that maybe we needed the musical to be a little more...edgy this year,” Louis starts. He’s obviously talking out his ass, but he’s confident enough to have even Zayn a little curious. He’s never seen Louis turn on the charm like this.

“Well, I mean, Hello, Dolly! isn’t exactly Rent or whatever, is it?” Mr. D asks gamely. Zayn begins to slide his things into his bag carefully.

“Right!” Louis exclaims, moving his body to block as much of the classroom from Mr. D’s line of sight as possible. “But...it should be! I’m thinking more...gyrating!” Zayn slides from his seat and begins to slink slowly towards the door.

“Um, gyrating?” Mr. D is sounding more doubtful.

“Yeah, gyrating, and um...bumping. And grinding,” Louis says with a frenzied laugh. “We’d attract a much larger youth audience.”

“Maybe,” Mr. D says as Zayn accidentally bumps a desk, it’s legs scratching loudly against the linoleum. He winces, but the other students apparently aren’t going to rat him out, and Mr. D is still focused on Louis. “I just can’t really picture it,” he says, trying to let Louis down easily.

“Well, picture this!” Louis says brightly. Zayn’s almost to the door, but he has to see this. He turns just in time to see Louis spin around, bending completely over at the waist and full on wiggling his ass in Mr. D’s face. Mr. D looks terrified and several of his co-detentioners are laughing, so Zayn slips out quietly.

All he can think as he walks to Louis’s car is how much he would not have minded witnessing that display from Mr. DiMateo’s point of view.

***

All told, it’s one of the best afternoons that Louis’s had in a long time. Instead of spending it puttering around the record shop with Stan, Louis had taken Zayn downtown, where they spent several sunny hours exploring.

Louis had insisted that they try the paddle boats in the park, and Zayn had gone along reluctantly, finally admitting to not being a great swimmer when they were in the middle of the little pond. Of course, Louis had had to rock the boat as obnoxiously as possible as Zayn frantically tried to steer them towards land. When they finally reached the dock, Zayn had scrambled out, leaving Louis howling with laughter in the little boat.

“Sorry, just, never seen you scared of something,” he grinned. Zayn had tilted his head, looking down at Louis.

“Scared of lots of things, dork.” Louis had stuck his hands up and Zayn had pulled him bodily ashore, insisting that he get to pick their next adventure.

That had meant a trip to the arcade, a dark and dusty place that Louis hadn’t visited since middle school. Zayn had demonstrated unexpected prowess at Ms. Pac-Man, getting third in the high scores and putting ZAP as his initials. When Louis had raised an eyebrow curiously, Zayn had merely rolled up his sleeve and shoved his tattooed forearm in Louis’s face. Of course, Louis’d seen Zayn’s tattoos, but he’d never really noticed how many there were. With Zayn’s arm so close, Louis had fought back the urge to study it, to take in every detail and ask Zayn what each one stands for.

“Zap, I’m going to beat you at Dance Dance Revolution!” Zayn had cried, pulling Louis by the hand toward the game.

That’s how they end up stumbling out of the arcade a few hours later, sweaty and sore. To Louis, it had been a fair fight, but of course, “I won,” Zayn insists for the millionth time. Louis laughs skeptically, knocking shoulders with Zayn. They’re walking down the street a few blocks from the arcade, no destination in mind.

“You cheated,” Louis reminds Zayn, scolding. Zayn rolls his eyes, trying to keep in a smile.

“That move was perfectly legal!” After a minute, Zayn stops. “D’you want ice cream?”

Louis looks up. They’re outside of a famous local place, Louis’s favorite. Louis was maybe a little confused at first, but now he’s almost certain that he and Zayn are on a date. The offer of ice cream sort of solidifies that idea in his head. He isn’t really sure what he was expecting when he busted Zayn out of detention, but deep down Louis finds that he isn’t surprised at all.

“Absolutely.”

*

“S’good, isn’t it?” Louis grins as he slurps off of his mint chocolate chip cone. Zayn nods absently, taking another spoonful of butter pecan.

They’re back in the park, a quiet bench near the playground. The bench is long, but Zayn had sat right next to Louis, their sides just centimeters apart.

“That was pretty cool, you jailbreaking me,” Zayn smiles.

Louis brushes it off. “Well, you know, it was no song and dance.” Zayn laughs, a little embarrassed. “I didn’t think you had it in you, Malik! Thought you were too bad boy for that.”

“Nah, none of that stuff is true,” Zayn says.

“So, you’ve got both kidneys?”

“Yup.”

“You’re not a drug trafficker? Everyone says that’s why you’re not involved in any extracurriculars.” That makes Zayn laugh.

“Actually, I usually can’t do anything after school because I have to help my mom with my little sisters. But the oldest one just turned fifteen, so Mom’s letting her watch the others now. Left me with more free time than I know what to do with.”

Louis laughs at the unexpected admission. Somehow, it fits perfectly that badass Zayn Malik has actually been babysitting when the entire high school thinks he’s off selling heroin, or whatever.

They sit quietly for a few minutes, watching the kids play and finishing off their ice creams.

“So why do you...act the way you do?” Zayn asks carefully, shattering the friendly quiet. Louis looks over, thoughtful. He doesn’t ask what Zayn means, because he knows already. Louis is quite aware that he doesn’t make himself easy to get along with.

“I guess I just,” he pauses, still thinking. “I don’t owe anyone anything, so I don’t let them get their hopes up. That I’ll be nice and easy.”

“Disappoint everyone from the start instead of being the cheerful golden boy?”

“Hmm, yeah, along those lines.” Louis isn’t crazy about this line of questioning, feeling exposed around Zayn. Zayn who seems to see right through Louis’s tinted bulletproof glass.

“Well, you’ve messed up.” Louis turns, curious. “You’ve never disappointed me.”

Zayn doesn’t seem shy at all about the confession, but Louis blushes and stands up to throw away their napkins. Zayn is still watching him carefully when he sits back down on the bench, a little more distance between them.

“Go to the prom with me,” Zayn says. Louis looks over at him, caught off guard.

“Are you asking or telling?”

“C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“No,” Louis says simply, looking back at the playground. He can’t imagine why Zayn would ever think he’d enjoy prom of all things.

“Why not?” Zayn pleads. He’s really starting to annoy Louis now.

“Because I don’t want to go,” he says shortly.

“But people won’t expect you to go!” Zayn nearly begs. Louis rounds on him.

“Why are you pushing this? You seem like the only person at our school that would be less interested in prom than me.”

“Sorry, didn’t realize I needed an excuse to want to be around you,” Zayn bristles, equally annoyed. Louis watches him for a second, thinking. It wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. He’s had a lovely time with Zayn, and it would surprise people. But just considering it exhausts Louis.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he says instead.

***

Louis knocks softly on Harry’s door. It’s late on a Friday night, and he’s sure his brother would much rather be out drag racing or whatever it is high school sophomores spend their free time doing. Harry’s barely been speaking to Louis since the party, apart from placing an aspirin and a glass of water on his older brother’s nightstand the next morning, whispering that he brought shame on their family. But Louis is starting to feel like it’s time to step up and take accountability for his actions, or at least defend himself to his kid brother.

He hadn’t really expected Harry to answer his knock, and lets himself in after the customary courtesy pause. Harry’s sprawled across his neatly made bed, flicking idly through the camera roll on his phone.

“What,” he says flatly, not looking at Louis, who sits carefully on the edge of the bed. Harry stiffens and sits up, perched awkwardly away from Louis.

“Listen, I’m sorry that you haven’t been able to go out and do things because of me,” Louis begins. Harry laughs skeptically, and Louis prides himself on ignoring it.

“I just want you to know that I’ve done it with good intentions. Going out every night isn’t me, and I’m not going to be someone else.”

“Okay, that’s fine for you, but now I can’t go to prom with a boy that I really like because of you,” Harry says shortly. Louis looks at his little brother, looking adorably ruffled in his bedroom still plastered with posters of elementary school heroes.

“Nick never told you that we went out, did he?” Louis says finally. Harry turns to him, mouth open in shock. He recovers quickly, opening his mouth to say something, but Louis presses on.

“In freshman year, for like a month. Right after I, you know.” Louis had quietly come out the summer before he began high school, and it hadn’t made the transition easy.

“Why?” Harry asks, completely lost.

“Because, you know, he was so cool and confident. And um, gay, and like, people were okay with that,” Louis explains. Nick had always been larger than life, funny and devastating when necessary. When he started trying to kiss boys in middle school, no one called him the F word or refused to change in front of him for gym class. They thought he was brilliant, unique, and daring.

“But you hate him,” Harry reminds Louis.

“Didn’t then,” he says quietly, toying with a loose thread on Harry’s duvet.

“What happened?” Louis looks up. Harry is watching him intently, actually making eye contact with Louis for the first time in a week or two. Louis waggles his eyebrows lewdly, hoping his brother will read into the gesture and save him from uttering the words Nick Grimshaw took my virginity.

“Oh - OH!” Harry is gobsmacked, and perhaps vaguely impressed.

“Yeah,” Louis says. “It was a hard time for me, you know. Dad was leaving, and I was going through my whole gay crisis. Everyone else was having doing it so I thought maybe that would make me a bit more normal.” It hurts Louis’s heart to admit that, thinking of the kid he was then, so confused and vulnerable and desperately in need of a friend. Harry is staring at him, mouth hanging open again.

“But then I didn’t want to anymore, and that pissed Nick off. So that’s when I stopped doing things just to be like everyone else.”

“How...how did I not know about this?” Harry asks, pulling himself together a little.

“I mean, not a lot of people did. Maybe because I told Nick that I’d let everyone know what a tiny dick he has if he said anything.” Harry lets out a loud, harsh burst of laughter, quickly slapping a hand over.

“Um, so why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“I guess I just wanted to let you draw your own conclusions,” Louis says. He feels like he’s actually getting somewhere with Harry, feeling like a unit again after being disconnected for so long. They fit together, really, but high school is a hard time for any family. Especially one with both Harry and Louis in it.

“Then why did you help mom keep me in the convent?” Harry asks, expression darkening. Maybe Louis was wrong about their progress. “I’m not stupid enough to make the same mistakes as you.” Louis purses his lips, thinking carefully.

“I think that I was trying to protect you, Harry,” he finally says. Harry stands up, walking towards the door.

“Well, don’t,” he says grumpily, pulling it open and looking pointedly at Louis. With a great sigh, Louis pushes himself up and heads for the door. As he’s nearing the threshold, Harry lets out a quiet breath.

“Wasn’t Nick anyway.”

***

Louis is not sure what is happening to him. He woke up and had a perfect normal Saturday morning. He made himself a massive omelette and a pot of black coffee and read on the front porch for most of the morning. At lunchtime, his mother made him and a still-distant Harry grilled cheeses, asking them cheerfully whether they’d rather play Monopoly or Clue later. Then Louis had taken a luxurious nap in the hammock. When he woke up, he went for a run and then came home to shower.

All of this is relatively normal.

But when Louis got out of the shower, instead of throwing on a comfy pair of sweatpants and an old t-shirt, he’d gone to his closet and pulled out the suit he’d bought at a thrift store in the winter. He had hoped to wear it in New York City, to an internship or perhaps a really cool party. Instead, he is going to wear it to his senior prom.

He never really consciously decided to go. But as he knots his tie and fusses with his hair, it feels right. Louis deserves this. It will be weird and cheesy and embarrassing. But he can handle on single Saturday night of awkward slow-dancing with Zayn and laughing at faculty chaperones. There’s also a part of Louis, a tiny one, one that he kind of despises, that wants to do something nice for Harry.

Louis heads downstairs, dress shoes clicking loudly on the stairs. He pauses in front of the door to the living room. Harry’s slumping in an armchair, paying Louis no mind. His mother must be on the couch, her view of the foyer totally blocked.

“Bye Mom! I’m going to the prom,” Louis says cheekily.

“Very funny, sweetie,” she says absently, attention probably focused on her Sudoku puzzle. Louis leaves with a grin.

***

Liam has been to Harry’s house before, once, but the context was a little different. Now, he’s standing on the front porch, a shaking finger hovering over the doorbell.

He’d let himself to cling to a vague hope that somehow Zayn would succeed and Harry would be allowed to go to prom. Liam had rented a tuxedo, for God’s sake (he’d had a coupon, so it seemed like a good idea - just in case). He’d been on edge all day, that just in case haunting every move. Around dinnertime, his phone had buzzed, his first text all day. It was from Harry, a short one: L is going. See you @ 8.

Liam had actually yelped with excitement, and after a brief lecture from his mom about please keeping his voice down inside, he’d dived into the fastest prom preparations ever. As he slipped into the itchy tux, Liam sent up a silent prayer of thanks to Zayn, Albus Dumbledore, Zeus, Iron Man, and even Nick Grimshaw. He was taking Harry Styles to prom.

Which is why he’s lurking on said date’s front porch, of course. Steeling himself, Liam presses the bell. He hears someone approaching, the house quiet. A pretty middle-aged woman swings the door open.

“We’re not interested in any encyclopedias. Or vacuums,” she says politely. Liam wrinkles his nose - he thought his getup was a little better than that.

“Actually, I’m here to pick up Harry?” he squeaks. The woman tilts her head curiously, looking strikingly similar to Harry as she does so. Just then, there’s a noise inside the house, causing Harry’s mom to turn, the door still open.

Harry is clambering down the stairs in a sleek black tuxedo. He’s practically bouncing, and Liam smiles widely.

“What’s this?” Harry’s mom asks, crossing her arms.

“Prom!” he nearly cheers, reaching the last step. “This’s Liam.”

She turns back, an eyebrow raised dangerously. Liam tries not to gulp.

“You look...amazing,” he says dopily, still watching Harry. He preens a bit, but Harry’s mom isn’t thrown off the scent.

“What’s going on, Harry?”

“Well, you know the rules. Louis went, so here I go!” He grabs Liam’s hand and drags him to the car.

***

Louis walks slowly into the hotel that’s hosting prom, feeling profoundly out of place. There’s an arch of balloons framing the entryway to the ballroom, and lots of kids in dresses and tuxedos milling about. Louis looks around, but Zayn’s not there yet. He leans against one of the hotel’s faux neo-classical columns, staring at his feet. He feels weird and too big for his skin in his suit, like a little kid playing dress up. He’s just bending down to scrutinize a scuff on one of his loafers when he hears a little cough up above.

Louis straightens up quickly, dusting himself off. There Zayn is, looking devastatingly cool in his black dinner jacket. He grins widely at Louis, swinging his hands awkwardly before sticking them in his pockets.

“Wow,” he finally says. Louis’s looking back at his feet, hoping that the dim lighting will conceal his blush.

“Um, you too,” he says. “Where’d you get a tux at the last minute?”

“Just something I had laying around,” Zayn smirks. “What about you?”

“Just something I had laying around,” Louis parrots, bumping hips with Zayn. “I just wanted to say - I’m really sorry that I, you know, questioned your motives.” Zayn’s watching him, looking surprisingly somber.

“I forgive you,” he says quietly, not looking at Louis but instead in through the doors to the prom. “So let’s go have fun!”

Inside, prom is predictably silly and a little embarrassing. Lots of the girls have on dresses that their kids will make fun of some day. Louis quickly loses count of how many incorrectly knotted bow ties he sees. But Zayn seems amused by the whole thing, and the band sounds good, so Louis lets himself enjoy it. After they get a cheesy picture taken against an airbrushed Parisian backdrop and sample the as-yet-unspiked punch, Zayn takes Louis’s hand.

“Wanna dance?” Louis looks over at him. His eyelashes are so, so long.

“Alright.” They move through the crowd, bodies close and hands still clasped together. The band’s playing a slow song, but it ends just as they find a little pocket of the dance floor with enough room for movement. There’s quiet from the speakers for just a second, the buzz of chatter filling up the ballroom. Louis and Zayn watch each other, smiling nervously. Then, the band starts up again, and Louis laughs. He knows this song, an old Vampire Weekend tune. reggae-fied by the house band, and he likes it a lot. He knows that Zayn knows that he likes it a lot.

“Oh my God!” he giggles.

“I called in a favor,” Zayn says, and pulls Louis in by the waist. They sway together for a moment, enjoying the song and smiling whenever they make eye contact with their faces so close. The third time it happens, Zayn licks his lips. Louis eyes go wide, realizing what’s about to happen. And he lets it happen, falling into it easily when Zayn’s lips meet his.

He doesn’t really remember their first kiss, except that Zayn pushed him away, but Louis can’t imagine it was this good. Zayn’s mouth moves softly, until he nips at Louis lower lip, making him grin into the kiss. When they finally pull away, Louis notices absently that his song ended long before.

***

Harry had been excited for prom, but he didn’t think it would be this great. He and Liam had been dancing and laughing all night. It was with great regret that Harry left his date for a quick bathroom trip. So he’s less than pleased to see Greg James walk into the restroom as he’s washing his hands.

“Huh,” Greg says curiously, as soon as he notices Harry at the sink. “How’d you get here?” Harry turns cautiously, confused and on edge. Greg is one of Nick’s best friends, and he obviously knows that Nick was planning on bringing Harry to prom.

“Um, hello,” Harry says quietly.

“Yeah, see, Grimmy was a little confused when he went to pick you up and you were already gone,” Greg laughs, but he doesn’t seem amused. Harry makes a noncommittal noise and starts edging towards the door.

“I mean, he really just wanted to nail you anyway so I’m sure he won’t be too angry,” Greg chuckles, heading for the urinals. When he turns to unzip his fly, Harry ducks out as quietly as possible. Nick’s a fucking asshole, he’s known that, but he didn’t realize it was that bad. With any luck, they won’t bump into each other and Harry’s evening will continue as pleasantly as it started. Harry’s lucky, he hopes.

***

Kissing made things a lot more comfortable between Zayn and Louis, it turns out. The nervous glances became more confident, and each touch was less shaky. So basically, prom is definitely on the upswing in Louis’s mind. He even let Zayn pull him extra close when another slow song started, swaying slowly with his arms around Zayn’s neck. Zayn’s hands are firm on Louis’s hips, and it feels really, really nice.

Louis rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder, feeling happy and comfortable and safe. He sees Nick Grimshaw off in the distance, gesticulating angrily and storming through the dancing crowd. Louis’s safe feeling starts to evaporate when he realizes that Nick is headed directly for him and Zayn. Louis pulls back a second before Nick grabs Zayn’s shoulder aggressively, pulling him around. Zayn splutters, confused, and looks between Louis and Nick.

“What the fuck is Harry doing here with the Human Flatiron?” he spits. A circle is forming around them, the band forgotten and all attention on the brewing conflict. “I didn’t pay you to take out Louis so that some little punk could snatch Harry out from under me.”

Louis feels his heart drop into the region of his shoes. What the fuck? He looks to Zayn, who turns to him pleadingly, Nick forgotten.

“Nothing in it for you?” Louis seethes. He turns quickly and makes a beeline for the door. He can feel Zayn chasing behind him, but Louis’s faster and able to weave deftly through the crowds of students.

Louis is one hundred percent positive that he does not want to hear whatever Zayn has to say.

***

Liam sees everything fall to pieces right in front of his face. He and Harry were dancing close to the drama, and they heard everything as the ballroom fell nearly silent. Harry looks at Liam, cheeks flushed and eyebrows furrowed. But before either of them can say anything, Niall pushes through, bursting into the circle where Nick is carrying on to his friends.

“Nick, my friend, I think you need to be a little more understanding,” he begins. Nick turns, and seeing Niall, pushes his forcefully to the ground. That’s about enough for Liam to clamber through, needing to reach Niall.

“You kids messed with the wrong guy. Now, you’re gonna pay.” Liam’s bending over Niall, making sure he’s okay, but he turns when he hears Nick actually rolling up his sleeves.

“Okay, that’s enough. You crossed the line,” he says, squaring his shoulders. Nick’s taller than him, but Liam’s broader with a bit more muscle. So, there’s a chance. But Nick moves first, and fast, nailing Liam right in the nose. There’s a loud “oooh!” from the crowd, punctuated by a few calls of “oh shit!” Liam falls to the ground, holding his nose gingerly. He can feel the blood leaking down into his mouth.

“Get up, you little asshole!” Nick shouts, leaning right down in Liam’s face. He turns around as if gearing up for another go at Liam and Niall. But when he turns, Harry’s standing there. He punches Nick right in the jaw, unexpectedly forceful considering how skinny he his. The element of surprise works in his favor, and Nick cries out lamely, clutching his face. Liam has no idea where Harry came from, and he doesn’t look intimidating at all, but he still feels that he’s never been happier to see him.

“Jesus, Harry, what the fuck?” Nick asks, annoyed.

“That’s for making my date bleed,” Harry says confidently, eyes flickering toward Liam on the floor. Nick’s still brooding over his injury, so he doesn’t see it coming when Harry decks him again on the other side.

“That’s for my brother,” he adds, sounding unexpectedly cool. The crowd’s really riled up now, hooting and hollering. Nick’s gone bright red and looks livid, casting around eagerly for some backup. But before any arrives, Harry kicks him square between the legs with a painful sounding thump. Nick falls to the floor, curling into the fetal position.

“And that’s for me.” The kids are positively howling now, laughing and scrambling to see the drama. Harry ignores it all and runs over to Liam on the floor. Liam’s nose hurts, sure, but he’s absolutely in awe of what he just witnessed.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks, kneeling in front of Liam.

“Never been better,” Liam says thickly through a mouthful of blood. He couldn’t mean it more.

***

“Louis, stop!” Zayn calls as Louis jogs through the hotel lobby. “Please let me explain!”

He finally catches up to Louis by the door, and Louis, against all his better judgment, pauses, out of breath.

“You were paid to take me out. By the one person I truly hate,” Louis says simply, daring Zayn to contradict him.

“No, Lou, it wasn’t like that, okay?” he tries. Louis isn’t having it.

“What was it like then? A down payment now and then a bonus for sleeping with me?” Zayn looks appropriately ashamed, eyes focused on his shoes.

“No, okay? I didn’t care about the money. I cared about you,” he looks up, hopefully. Louis stares blankly at him, trying to come to terms with the reality of how thoroughly Zayn fucked him over. Zayn must misinterpret Louis’s gaze, because he leans forward and tries to kiss Louis in a last-ditch attempt to salvage whatever was blossoming between them. Louis pulls back before Zayn’s lips touch his, affronted.

“You are not who I thought you were.”

Louis leaves him in the lobby, and he doesn’t look back.

***

Louis wakes up early the next morning, as he does most Sundays. He makes toast and a cup of tea and takes it out on the front porch with the Sunday Times. It’s quiet and peaceful, and distracting. Louis doesn’t think once about prom, not even when he glances over the society pages.

After a little while, Harry shuffles out onto the porch. Louis doesn’t look up from the crossword, but can tell it’s his brother by the weight of his footfalls.

“Did you have fun?” he asks quietly as Harry drops onto the porch swing.

“Yeah,” Harry says. Louis can hear the smile in his voice. “Got suspended though,” he laughs.

“What?!” That tears Louis’s eyes away from the newspaper. Harry’s curled up happily in the porch swing, grinning into his coffee.

“I hit Nick Grimshaw. Um, three times.” Louis laughs loudly. His night was shit, which sucks of course, but that might be the best thing he’s ever heard. If they were a normal family, Louis would probably get up, pull his little brother into a massive hug, give him a noogie or something. But they aren’t, really, so instead, Louis says “thank you.”

“Thank you for going last night,” Harry replies easily. “It meant a lot to me.” Louis nods, and they both turn when a car door slams in front of the house.

Harry pops up brightly, waving. A boy Louis doesn’t recognize is walking up to the porch, a little bundle of wildflowers clutched nervously in his fist.

“Hi, Liam,” Harry says shyly.

“Morning, Harry,” the boy responds, holding out the flowers. “You ready?” Harry nods, taking the flowers in one hand and Liam’s hand in the other.

“Bye, Louis,” Harry calls as they walk together to the car. Liam opens Harry’s door for him and Louis rolls his eyes, knowing how much his brother probably loved that.

So, it wasn’t a happy ending for Louis, but it just might be for Harry. He thinks he can live with that.

***

Louis spends the rest of the morning on the front porch doing his homework. It’s a gorgeous day, birds chirping and blinding sunshine, and he gets a lot done. A few hours after Harry’s departure, the front door bangs open and his mother walks out onto the porch.

“Where’s Harry?” she asks, settling in the rocking chair next to Louis’s.

“Off to Gay Fight Club,” Louis answers, not looking up from his textbook.

“Funny,” his mother deadpans. “So tell me about prom. Was it exciting?” Louis considers this. Exciting is probably an accurate enough word.
“Yeah, parts of it. Like when Harry beat the hell out of some guy.”

“Harry did what?” she asks, surprised with an undercurrent of something - she might sound pleased.

“Yeah, worried I’ve rubbed off on him?” Louis teases.

“Mmm, I’m more impressed,” she admits, patting Louis on the knee. “You know, it’s hard for me to watch you two grow up, and to let go. Not control every little thing about your lives.” It sounds like she might’ve rehearsed this, so Louis lets her press onward.

“Harry still lets me be involved sometimes, but you, Louis, you haven’t in a long time. That’s why it’s going to be so hard for me when you go off to New York,” she sighs.

“When I go?” Louis asks, disbelieving.

“Don’t tell me you changed your mind,” she sighs. Louis shakes his head furiously. “Oh, good. I already sent in the deposit.”

The hug Louis gives his mother is probably best described as bone-crushing. She’s not tiny, taller than Louis, but he picks her right up out of her seat, planting a gigantic kiss on her cheek.

This feels like something. Going to New York is great of course, but it’s part of something bigger. His mother has always been overprotective - sometimes achingly so, not letting Louis and Harry do anything for fear of them being hurt, physically or otherwise. He knows she does it because she loves them so, so much, but it isn’t always easy to remember that, especially as they’ve grown up. Being eighteen and about to graduate makes Louis feel like everything is about to change, and it is, probably. But this...this is his mother telling him that she believes in his ability to make good decisions and take care of himself. She’s not letting him go, really, but endorsing Louis’s independence, and that means a lot.

It makes Louis think, too, because he feels grown up. And being a grown up means not always seeing things in black and white, he thinks. Recently there’ve been a lot of grey areas in his life, and maybe, just maybe, it’s okay for them to stay that way.

***

One more week of class. Louis can handle that. That means only five more unbearably awkward English classes. The first of which begins with Ms. Miller asking for volunteers to read their poems. It’s dead quiet for a second, everyone looking around and hoping someone else will step up. Ms. Miller steps forward as if she’s about to pick someone, but Louis puts his hand up first.

“Alright, come on up, Louis,” she says, motioning to the very front of the room. Louis pulls the rumpled sheet of notebook paper out of his folder and walks to through the desks shakily. He worked on his poem for a long time the night before, but he’s never been a writer so he’s incredibly nervous. His nerves are tinged with anticipation, however, because he thinks his poem is important.

“Ready when you are,” Ms. Miller says, sitting behind her desk and watching him eagerly. Louis looks around. Nick’s sitting far in the back corner, his jaw puffy and bruised. Zayn’s in his normal seat, staring pointedly out the window. Louis holds his poem up and begins to read.

“I hate the way you talk to me, and the way you cut your hair. I hate the way you drive my car. I hate it when you stare. I hate your big dumb combat boots,” he breathes heavily. Fuck if he isn’t getting a little choked up. He looks around nervously, and sees Zayn turn to watch. “And the way you read my mind. I hate you so much, it makes me sick. It even makes me rhyme. I hate it,” Louis has to take a deep breath, his voice going thick. “I hate the way you’re always right, I hate it when you lie. I hate it when you make me laugh, even worse when you make me cry. I hate it when you’re not around, and the fact that you didn’t call. But mostly I hate the way I don’t hate you. Not even close, not even a little bit, not even at all.” Louis finishes, tears welling in his eyes but mercifully not falling yet. The class applauds politely, but Louis keeps his eyes down, mumbling quietly that he needs to use the restroom. Ms. Miller brushes him off, and he speedwalks out of the classroom.

Louis isn’t paying much attention, a few tears leaking as he rambles through the school. Finally he thinks fuck it, I’m almost done, and walks out, heading for the parking lot. No one’s around, considering there’s still a whole ‘nother period of classes, and Louis walks slowly toward his car.

He’s sniffling when he finally gets there, but the tears have stopped. He’s surprised to see a...guitar? sitting on his seat.

Louis looks around wildly, a little concerned that someone’s been in his car without him knowing and extremely confused about the instrument. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a dark figure cutting through the parking lot.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Zayn asks when he’s within earshot. Louis looks at him incredulously, wiping his face messily.

“Is this for me?” It’s a beautiful piece of equipment, probably way too good for Louis’s meager skills.

“Yeah, I thought it’d be good. For when you start the band, you know.” Zayn’s right there now, smiling shyly. “I had some extra cash, you see. Some asshole paid me to take out this really cool boy.” Louis bristles, stepping back a bit. “Yeah, but I screwed up. I um, I fell for him.”

Louis blushes and could just kick himself because he’s experiencing a feeling in his stomach that he tentatively identifies as butterflies. Zayn’s watching him, brown eyes hopeful.

“Really?” Louis asks, leaning against the car.

“Yes. You’re...kind of special,” Zayn says, taking a step closer. Louis watches him for a moment. He’s beautiful, and Louis feels a bit powerful because of the way Zayn is looking at him. Like he could do anything, especially something really crazy.

“You know, what you did was pretty shitty,” Louis says. Zayn’s face falls, biting his lip and nodding meekly, and Louis has to fight back a laugh. “Just want you to know that you can’t just buy me a guitar every time you fuck up.” Zayn laughs brightly, drawing even closer.

“Well, see, I’ve got a bass already, and there’s always a tambo-”

The rest of his sentence, like so many sentences he’s yet to utter, is caught in Louis’s mouth, a secret between the two of them. Louis pulls back, another thought occurring to him.

“And don’t just think you can -” It’s Zayn’s turn to jump in, lips soft, and Louis thinks that whatever he was going to say probably wasn’t that important anyway.