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Chapter Text

CHAPTER 1: PRINCE CHARMING

Zayn arrived at the coffee shop just before 11, the late study crowd having already commandeered their own places on the chairs and the couches. He grabbed an apron and tied it over his front, leaning in to kiss Martha on the cheek as he stepped behind the counter.

            “You’re late,” she said.

            “Sorry.” Zayn mumbled, trying to squeeze around her to swipe his card on the time clock. It wasn’t really his fault. There had been the Physics test and the English essay, and then the dog had thrown up all over the carpet, and he’d sat down for a second to close his eyes, and---

            “Whatever, just don’t let it happen again.” Martha’s voice was clipped and short, but Zayn knew after three months working here that it was just her way. Holy Brews might be a conservative, white, Christian coffee place, but Martha still treated her employees like human beings instead of cogs in a machine of prosperity, or whatever gospel they were preaching these days.

“I won’t.” Zayn called over his shoulder, hurrying to check on the pastries that he could smell baking deliciously in the oven. Martha seemed comfortable at the register, so it was usually Zayn’s job to put out drinks: steam the milk, add the syrup, make sure to double check the right person got the right order.

            But he loved baking,

            He loved the flaky, warm feel of a pastry as he lifted it off the pan and into the display case, loved the rich, buttery flavors, shot through with fruits and creams.

            He just wished he wasn’t selling them. The way that some children ate the pastries, shoving an entire croissant or cupcake into their mouths with nary a thought, made him want to scream. How could they really be tasting it?

            Zayn watched as one student numbly bit into his croissant, dipping it idly in his iced coffee before returning to his Macbook. These students probably spent twenty dollars a day buying coffee here, and they still called themselves ‘broke’. They sped home in their designer cars to the apartments their parents rented, and ignored what life had so obviously handed them.

            Zayn missed home, where everyone’s car was a piece of shit that broke down half the time. Where he invited friends over without being ashamed, and he could make beans and rice for dinner and have no one look at him sideways, where he wasn’t expected to eat out for every meal.

            He’d gotten this job hoping to make friends with more people like him, but so far it was just a steadily rotating cast of Christian Disciples, all of whom saw him more as an evangelical opportunity than as an equal.

            Zayn sighed and leaned down to rearrange the display of cupcakes in the case.

            And that’s when he caught sight of him.

            He was around Zayn’s age, kneeling in front of the case, his fingers tapping curiously on the glass. He had short dark hair that he wore in a fauxhawk, and the most arresting eyes. Sad, soft brown. Eyes that had this innocence to them, but also a depth. Like he knew you better than most people, and liked what he saw.

            When Zayn met his yes, the boy smiled slowly, his lips curving upward.  Zayn stopped messing with the cupcake and paused, raising his hand in a hesitant wave.

            The boy’s eyes crinkled at the corners.

            Zayn stood. “Can I help you with something?” he asked, doing his best to maintain sanity and decorum, even though the way the boy’s eyes had crinkled made him want to change his name and flee to Mexico, or marry him. He wasn’t sure which.

            The boy stood. “Sorry. I’m just really hungry.” He smiled apologetically. “I was supposed to meet somebody here, but I kind of eat like a wild animal.” He winced. “Can I uh—get a croissant?”

            “First date?” Zayn rummaged in the case, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that tightened his stomach.         

            “Something like that.”

            Zayn frowned. Something about this guy seemed so familiar, almost as though he knew him from somewhere. But that couldn’t be true, could it?

            He’d definitely remember a face like that.

            As soon as Zayn handed the guy the croissant, he stuffed the entire thing in his mouth. A few crumbs lingered on his lips, some falling into the close-cropped beard he was sporting, which perfectly framed the angles of his face. “Fanks.” The boy said. He handed Martha a 10. “Keep the change.”

            “Not a problem.” Martha said as the boy walked away.

            Yeah, Zayn thought as he watched him walk away. I definitely would have remembered him.

            “I hate it when people eat like that.” Zayn wrinkled his nose. “They don’t savor the food.”

            Martha slapped him on the back of the head.

            “What?” Zayn recoiled, rubbing his head.

            “That was Liam Payne.” Martha hissed.

            “Who?”

            “The university president’s son? The president of Kappa Phi Kappa fraternity? He’s basically royalty!”

            “How do you know who the president of a frat is?”             

            “Because I hang out with college girls all day.”

            Zayn shrugged. “I’m gonna get started on some dishes.”

            Martha shook her head. “Do what you want. I’ll stay out here. We might make the front page of The Wolf Pack with him in here! Do you really think he’s on a date?”

            Zayn rolled his eyes. 

            As Zayn lulled himself into the comforting rhythm of washing dishes, Liam’s face kept coming back to him. Of course he’d seen it before—Liam was on practically every brochure from the university—frat president, political science major. With pink shirts and chinos, he was every inch the stereotypical white college frat boy, the gentleman who would take dates out in his—Zayn cringed—boating shoes.

            I bet he doesn’t even have a boat. Zayn thought. This is probably the third girl of the day. And they all don’t know about each other.

            Zayn thought about the way Liam’s ass had looked, swinging away from him in those joggers. Which, he had to admit, were an unusual style choice for a future politician.

            People that beautiful had everything. Money, power—Liam would always get whatever he wanted in life, and never even notice the people who worked twice as hard and only got half as far.

            Zayn shook his head. In spite of the negative slant his thoughts were going in, he couldn’t stop thinking about the way Liam’s eyes had crinkled at the corners. The warmth in them. The slight pout his lips took on when he admitted that he didn’t have good table manners. Zayn thought about those lips, pink and bitten. How soft they would feel under his—

            Zayn sprayed a mug with so much force that the water ricocheted and hit the ceiling. Focus. He thought. I’m not gonna be like everyone else in this school, pining over the tall, rich, white boy. Zayn scoffed.

            I’m better than this.

LIAM

            Kayla was late. Or was it Kayleigh? Kasey? He could never remember. The sororities always made their freshmen interview him for their newsletter, and usually it was fine. They ate. Talked. Flirted.

            Liam never really spoke to them again.

            It wasn’t that he didn’t like Kayla. Or Kylie. Or whoever. It was just that—after a while being the son of Gulfton University’s president started to feel a lot like playing the game of Life—just moving along the board until he got to the right ending.

            He’d dated the president of Kappa Nu, Shelley Kelinger, for a couple months. And they hadn’t exactly so much broken up as agreed to see other people between their carefully coordinated nights out, captured endlessly on their respective Instagram feeds.

            It was just that he wasn’t ready for the whole scene. The perfect girl on his arm, the family, the car, the 2.5 kids with a white picket fence. He wasn’t ready to have a spot on the board of trustees, or manage his dad’s consulting firm, or any of the other paths so neatly manicured and set up from the moment he was born.

            God. Wife. Kids. College. Job. House. Death.

            Was Liam crazy for being bored? Wouldn’t any other guy on this campus kill for a chance to have half the girls, half the opportunities he was born with?

            Kasey finally arrived—he remembered her name just as she walked in, her hair artfully windswept and breezy, her makeup immaculate.

            But her hands shook as she held her coffee, one of her manicured nails was a little chipped, and it helped a little. Liam knew she must be terrified by the whole thing, because she rattled off questions quickly and nearly jumped out of her seat when she accidentally spilled some sugar on herself.

            “Sorry.” She said hastily. “I’m not really good at this sort of thing.”

            “What are you good at?”       

            She smiled that secretive smile girls got when they thought you were flirting, and Liam let himself get lost in it.

            Honestly, most of this wasn’t so bad. Kasey was like the other girls in her sorority—well bred, intelligent, capable—she’d make a fine girlfriend or wife.

            Ugh. Liam thought. I sound like my mother.

            When the interview ended, Liam quickly stood up to shake her hand. He walked her to her car and opened her door, even though she insisted that he didn’t need to. Frat boy manners, exactly as he’d been taught.

            As he turned the corner, heading toward his truck, the side door to the café opened, and the barista from earlier emerged, lugging an enormous trash bag. Liam had noticed him through the display case, the careful, intense way he studied the pastries. He had a ZAP! tattoo that stood out along his arm, a burst of color amidst the sea of black ink. He had a nose ring that accentuated his angular face, and this intensity coiled in his brow. As though his every movement was carefully calculated and thought-out.

            When Liam had smiled at him, and the boy had waved back, Liam’s stomach had done a little backflip.

            The barista leaned against the door, panting. Then, with what looked like a supreme effort, he hoisted the bag over his shoulder and headed toward the dumpster, which lay in the alley to the side of the café.

            Liam looked after him for a moment. There had been something about the way the boy had looked at him through the case, something about the way he nearly scoffed when Liam had inhaled the croissant, that made him feel—something. Something more than boredom and routine.

            This boy probably never knew what fork to use at a dinner, or why it was bad to wear white after Labor Day.

            He probably didn’t even care about those things.

            Liam wondered what it would be like to be near someone like that. Especially someone who looked like that in—

            No.

            He shook his head and headed to his Hummer. He tried to think of Kasey, and of the other girls he’d been with. He got out his phone and typed a quick text to Shelley—bare bones. Time and place.

            He had to get this out of his head. These thoughts had been creeping up over the last year, but if he was honest, they had been there before. About his lab partner at the science fair. The head captain of their rival school’s lacrosse team. Nate Kellison, his high school’s resident badboy, who always had a cigarette in his mouth.

            And this boy, whose jawline was sharper than diamonds.

            When Liam got to his Hummer, the boy was heading back to the café, wiping his dirty hands on his jeans. For half a moment, their eyes met.

            And the boy gave him the slightest half-smile.

            And Liam’s heart stopped in his chest.

            He climbed into his Hummer and shut the door, leaning his head against the steering wheel as his breathing struggled to return to normal, until he was sure the barista was gone.

            On the way to Shelley’s, he turned his music up as loud as it would go.

ZAYN

            Zayn was awoken the next morning by the feeling of an enormous weight throwing itself onto his bed. A moment later, he was cocooned in the smell of Old Spice and cigarettes.

            “I don’t want to go.” He mumbled, shoving his head under the pillow and trying to regain the dream he’d had. He had been driving through a neighborhood in a strange city, and there was a beautiful man in the driver’s seat, with a hand that sprawled across his thigh. He’d whispered something to Zayn at a red light, and—

            “You’re going to want to go.” Louis said, cuddling up to Zayn so that he spooned him in exactly that kind of suffocating way that Zayn hated. 

            “You say that about every one of these things. And I never want to go.” Zayn mumbled into his pillow.

            “There’s definitely going to be a lot of new people.”

            “You always say that, too.”

            “Harry’s going!”

            “And that.”

            “Come on.” Louis tapped at his waist. “It’s nearly 3 PM, and you don’t want to just sleep on your only day off, do you?”

            “As a matter of fact, I do.” Zayn said. “I worked a double yesterday, and I had an exam the day before. I want to hide under the covers until midterms are over.”

            “But life comes at you anyway, that relentless bitch.”

            “Life can find another wingman.”

            “You know I can’t. Harry’s already coming with Niall. Zayn.” Louis implored. “I need you to help me out with this one.”

            Zayn really didn’t want to be sucked into another of his parties. They were all the same—held at some downtown club that only the art kids ever went to, full of white girls with dreads who talked about their childhoods and pretentious hipster assholes who carried around journals in case ‘inspiration struck.’

            Louis was in love with one of those pretentious assholes, but Zayn was sure it wasn’t going to last. Louis wasn’t exactly known for having a long attention span, and besides, he was probably just chasing after him because he actually wrote more than Ernest-Hemingway derivative nonsense in his journal.

            “They’re lyrics.” Louis had told him. “First love and fading away and sunflowers—he’s like—a dream boy come to life.”

            “Sure he is. Did you bang him yet?”

            “No.”

            “Then that’s the only unusual thing about him.”

            Louis insisted that this boy was different, and in an effort to prove it to Zayn, he’d been to no less than five of these weird gatherings over the past month. Harry had only frequented a couple, during which he and Louis had snuck off to make out in dark corners, while Zayn had to pretend that he found the conversation interesting and wasn’t resisting the urge to blow his own head off.

            Odds were, Harry wouldn’t even be at this party. He had a thing about cellphones, apparently. And social media. And consistency.

            Zayn would have admired his appeal if it weren’t so frustrating. He just wanted to sleep. Why did Harry have to make it so difficult?

            “Come on, it’s themed!”

            “I swear to God, if you say it’s decades—”

            “Actually, fairytale—with a twist. To comment on the creepy misogyny and psychosexual undertones—”

            “Y’all will really make anything obnoxious, won’t you?” Zayn stuffed his head under his pillow. “I have a French test.”           

            “Good thing it’s not til next Friday then.”

            “Wait—how do you know that?”

            Zayn finally rolled over to look at Louis, who was beaming, his eyes bright and almost feverish. “Harry’s a French major. He’s friends with Professor Delacour.”

            “Of course he is.” Zayn ran his hands through his hair, trying to iron out the exhaustion. “I’m not dressing up.”

            “Oh, I think I can find something for you.” Louis smirked.  He ran a hand along Zayn’s cheek. “You have such lovely bone structure.”

            Zayn leaned back against the pillows. “I’m only staying til midnight.”

            “Midnight? But the party’s hardly begun then.”

            “I’ll dress as Cinderella. It’ll be poetic.”

            “It will be pretty meta.” Louis said. “And I think I have something just for that.”

            “Blue suit. Tiara. Lace mask.”

            “Tulle skirt?”

            “No.”

            “You’ll come around.” Louis ruffled Zayn’s hair. “You always do.”

            “Who are you going as?”

            “The big bad wolf.” Louis smiled with all his teeth.

            “You’re 5’7”.”

            “I’m 5’9”!”

            “Whatever you need to tell yourself.”

            “At least let me do your makeup.” Louis said. “I’m going to make you look so fucking edgy. Every guy in there will die.”  

            “If you abandon me in there, I’m never going again.”

            Louis smiled wryly. “You know, one day Zayn, someone at these parties is going to catch your eye, and you’ll be the one leaving me.”

            Zayn flung a hand over his eyes. “Don’t hold your breath.”

            Louis kissed him on the cheek. “I love you.”

            “Love you more.” Zayn mumbled.

LIAM

The party was in full swing by 11 PM. There were three giant jugs of jungle juice dispersed throughout the living room and dining room, and Andy had already passed out after no less than twelve shots of tequila. Liam was dancing in the middle of the floor, twirling Kasey around in her red dress. They’d done a formal dress code for the first mixer, and it had definitely paid off. Kasey looked dangerous, and mesmerizing, her red lipstick already a little smudged from the making out they’d done earlier.

Liam was trying to enjoy himself, he really was. He’d loosened his bowtie and made the rounds, clapping the new pledges on the back, cheering when Shelley managed to do a kegstand. He’d even wingmanned a couple hookups.

But he didn’t want to be here.

“Bathroom!” Liam shouted to Kasey. Before she could respond, he rushed through the crowd and outside to lean against one of the Corinthian columns, breathing in the soothing night air.

He sighed. What was wrong with him? He’d never been so resistant to this kind of thing before, never been so hesitant to even attempt to fit in. Kasey was hot, she was a good kisser. What else did he want?

He just kept wishing that he was somewhere else, with people who had no idea who he was.

Liam pulled out his phone and opened SnapChat. Nearly everyone at the party had posted, but there was one from a kid in his U.S. history class, Niall Horan. He tapped the screen and read the details of the party that Niall had posted. An edgy fairytale masquerade.

Liam thought for a moment. He definitely had a mask inside, and it would be a relief to get out of this house, and away from the people who knew him, who always expected things of him.

He looked up the address. Only a few blocks away—downtown. He’d never heard of the bar, except in passing, but he’d seen it before. “Cello’s.” One of those hipster places full of underground artists and SLAM poets. Liam had never wanted to be anywhere like that.

Except—no one at this party would be caught dead somewhere like that.

And before he could talk himself out of it, he was rushing upstairs and rummaging through his bedroom drawer. Shelley had made him get a mask last year for a sorority thing—there it is! It was black lace, and he’d taken it off because it was “too girly.”

He grabbed his mask out of his drawers, nodding at the rest of the frat boys as they stumbled down the hallway with girls dangling on their arms, or alone to pass out. “Payno, wassup?” Andrew raised his head from Liam’s pillow.

“Crashing at Shelley’s.” Liam said hastily. “Don’t wait up.”

“Never do, man.” Andrew resumed his snoring. He probably wouldn’t even remember this conversation in the morning.

Now all he had to do was sneak back through the crowd downstairs. Unless he ran for it, like he just had, he’d be delayed. Someone would ask about his mask, and he was never a very good liar. And then they’d ask to come, and the whole thing would be ruined.

Liam eyed his bedroom window. It opened onto a balcony, and really wouldn’t be much work to shimmy down the trellis and out.

He looped his mask around his hand and tucked his phone into his back pocket, then crossed to the balcony.

A few moments later, his feet touched the grassy lawn, and he took off running. He didn’t look back.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 2: THE BALL

ZAYN

            The party was in full swing by the time Zayn and Louis arrived. Zayn was feeling slightly buzzed—Louis had made them take shots at the apartment, and then he’d said something about how Zayn needed to loosen up more, so Zayn had downed two entire mini bottles of bourbon, just before the Uber arrived.

            The room spun slightly at first, but he and Louis had been circulating the dance floor for over an hour, and now Zayn felt warm and tired. He wanted to get back into bed, crawl beneath the covers, and fall asleep to the soothing background noise of the Batman animated series.

            Louis had been texting Niall nonstop, trying to figure out when Harry would arrive. Apparently, the two of them had insisted on getting something to eat before arriving, then Harry had spilled something on his shirt, then…

            Zayn ran his fingers beneath his mask. He’d opted for a simple white lace mask, which perfectly complimented sheer, lace sleeves of his suit. Louis had wanted him to convert his slacks into a skirt, but Zayn felt more comfortable this way. Like he was both prince charming and Cinderella all at once.

            Zayn tugged on Louis’ shoulder, turning him away from a gaggle of girls dressed as differing versions of Snow White. “Can we go?”

            “Harry will be here any minute,’ Louis said. He held out a hand.  “Dance with me!”

            Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’m gonna get another drink.”

Louis shrugged and took the hand of one of the Snow Whites. He pulled her into a turn, and she squealed with delight.

            Zayn made his way through the crowd, hating the suffocating feeling, wishing he was anywhere else. He made eye contact with a couple of guys on the dance floor, and for half a moment, he thought of walking over and starting up a conversation. After all, he needed to make this night at least somewhat worthwhile. And, as Louis had said when he’d dusted the glitter across Zayn’s cheeks, “A jawline this cut is a terrible thing to waste.”

            Zayn was about to head over to them when something knocked into him from behind. He fell to his knees, bringing out his arms instinctively to catch himself. A jolt of pain shot up them, radiating through his shoulders.

            “Fuck!”

            “Sorry!” Someone tugged at his shoulder, helping him to his feet. “I didn’t see you there.”

            Zayn growled. Was he invisible? Would any of these parties ever be anything but an unmitigated disaster? He threw off the hand and turned around. “Watch where you’re—”

            He stopped, stunned. The boy who had helped him up wore a black lace mask, paired with a rumpled tux, the bowtie loosened. His eyes were dark beneath the mask, which obscured the top half of his face, but Zayn knew exactly who he was. “Liam—Liam Payne?”

            The boy withdrew his hand. “Sorry, no.” He said. “You must have me confused with somebody else.”

            “No, it’s definitely you.” Zayn said slowly. And, before he could stop himself, “I’d know you anywhere.”

            “Okay,” Liam admitted. “It is me, but—"

            “You don’t remember me, do you?’

            “Well, you are wearing a mask.”

Zayn shook his head. “You people are all the same.”

            “People?”

            “You know, frat president, rich parents. Silver spoon and all that.”

            “I—” Liam searched Zayn’s face. “You do look sort of familiar. Did we go to camp together?”

            Zayn turned away in a huff. “Forget it. Have a nice life.”

            “Wait!”

            Zayn kept walking, making his way out of the club and into the still night air.

LIAM

            Liam had really messed up.

            He’d come here expecting to spend the night as somebody else, somebody other than Liam Payne. Frat president. Golden Boy. Prince of UA.

            But here he was, too self-absorbed to remember someone who obviously was supposed to mean something to him. Someone with a jawline that could cut glass, who looked incredibly sexy in a white lace suit and matching mask, the perfect mirror of himself. Cinderella to his Prince Charming.

            The suit was sheer on the sleeves, and maybe Liam had been a little distracted by the corded muscles beneath, the tattoos that artfully wound their way around the arms. Maybe that was why he had no idea who this person was.

            Something about him did look familiar. The dark hair, the ZAP tattoo. Where had he seen it before?

            It must have been at some party, when he was too drunk to pay attention. Maybe they’d drunkenly made out, and Liam had forgotten…

            But he was sure he’d remember kissing a boy like that.

            Liam still remembered the first boy he had kissed.

            He was seventeen, and he was at the Bible camp his parents had foisted him into. If they had known what exactly he’d been doing there, they may not have sent him. Everyone knew that Camp Savior was the place you went to lose your virginity. It was why he went every year—there was always a girl or two more than willing to have some fun, and he was old enough to be a junior counselor—which meant free time and zero accountability.

            He hadn’t thought of kissing any boys before. Much. Just a couple of fleeting remonstrances—he’d catch himself studying the way stubble climbed down someone’s jaw, the flex of their smooth shoulders in the sun.

            He’d thought it was envy, but maybe it was something else.

            Alex was a year older than him, a senior counselor. He was going to be a freshman at UT the next year, and he always wore friendship bracelets wound around his wrist, too many to count. He was tan from running around in the sun, and his eyes were this curious mixture of brown and gold.

            He and Liam had been sitting in their cabin after dark, taking swigs from the last bottle of vodka. The post-camp party was in full swing, and they’d only gone there to get more supplies before rejoining the fray.

            But then, Alex had opened the bottle, and they’d taken turns drinking, and  then, in that odd time warp that only occurred when you truly drunk, they were suddenly laughing on the floor, whispering secrets.

            Liam remembered the warmth of his shoulder pressed against Alex’s, the heat that made it feel like the sun was inside his skin, held there after so many days outside. He remembered the fuzziness the alcohol had brought on, tinting everything into a glow, making Alex’s features even more captivating.

            And he couldn’t ignore it anymore.

            He remembered the warm, wet taste of Alex, and the burn of the vodka down his throat. He remembered salty sweat and lips moving along his neck.

            He remembered what had happened after Alex got up to lock the door, and asked him if he was too drunk, and Liam had only said, “More. Please. Yes.” And kissed him harder.

Liam ran a hand through his hair, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. This couldn’t be like that. When Alex had left, Liam had blocked all of his calls and deleted his number. Liam hadn’t gone near a boy he found attractive in years.  He didn’t want to acknowledge what he had realized that night. He’d thought he had managed to push it down,s o far that it would never resurface, not even when he was drunk.

But what if he was wrong?

            Why did this random guy have to ruin everything, with his contemptuous words and his careful movements and his alluring stare? Why did those tattoos ring a bell in Liam’s mind that resounded all the way into his chest?.

Liam had been having fun. Enjoying his anonymity. He’d made eye contact with attractive men in suits, borrowed some eyeliner from a drunk girl in the bathroom. He wasn’t worrying about what pictures would be posted and what anyone thought, if he was living up to his Golden Boy image. He was free to want what he wanted.

            No one could know that he was here. They’d ask too many questions, and he didn’t have any answers that didn’t lead to the truth he’d been trying so hard to fight, to the person he had realized he was, kissing Alex in a cabin at the end of the summer.

 And what if this guy had been someone Liam had hooked up with? What if this was his only chance to kiss someone like that, and remember it, ever?

            Liam ducked through the crowd and into the night air, hoping the boy wasn’t gone already, wanting at least to apologize.

            He saw him leaning against a streetlight, lighting a cigarette. Silhouetted against the glows of the neighboring bars, he was somehow set apart from the gaggle of clubgoers stumbling up and down the streets, navigating fearlessly from one party to the next, not a care in the world.

            Liam just wanted one chance to be that careless. Just one night where he wouldn’t have to worry about anyone but himself.

            “Excuse me?”

            The boy turned around; the cigarette held loosely between his lips. He blew a cloud of smoke directly into Liam’s face. “What?”

            “I just wanted to apologize.” Liam said. He dug a cigarette out of his pocket. “Got a light?”

            The boy looked him over for a moment, then pulled out his lighter. Liam leaned in to light his cigarette, balancing it between his lips.. “Thanks.” He said.

            “You still don’t know who I am?” The boy turned back to the street, his voice a little hoarse from the smoke.

            “I’m sorry.” Liam said. “Sometimes I don’t remember what happens when I’m drunk.”

            “I don’t think you were drunk when we met.”

            “If it was at a party, I was definitely drunk.”

            The boy smirked around his cigarette. “It wasn’t a party.”

            “Then where do I know you from?” Liam touched the boy’s sleeve, letting his fingers linger for a moment. “It seems like I’d remember someone like you.”

            The boy looked down at Liam’s fingers. “I didn’t think you were into people like me.”

            “I—I don’t usually advertise it.” Liam said. “Most conservative university in the state, and all.”

            The boy chuckled. “Well, then I see no reason to change that.”

            “What do you mean?”

            “I’m going home. I’m not going to be your little gay experiment.” He put out his cigarette and tossed it on the ground.

            “Wait.” Liam grabbed the boy’s sleeve, turning him around. “You wouldn’t be an experiment.” Liam said softly. “I know exactly who I am. I’ve known for a long time.”

            “Then what am I to you?” The boy had turned back toward him, and his eyes seemed to have gotten even darker. The streetlight cast him in a halo, a fallen angel cast down from Heaven. A prayer, penance or salvation.

            Liam pulled him closer by the lapels, his cigarette tossed carelessly aside. “Mine.”

ZAYN

            So Liam Payne was queer. That was an—interesting thing to know.

            Zayn was having a hard time thinking coherent thoughts. For some reason, he kept fixating on miniscule details as Liam kissed him, trying to maintain at least a semblance of a grasp on reality. The way his own mask rubbed against his face. The smell of smoke. The flash of the lights behind his eyes, which left imprints, like when he was a child and used to dig his hands into his eyes until he could see the tiny lights pop on behind them.

             Liam Payne, the fraternity president, the closest thing this godforsaken school had to a prince, was into guys.

            And damn, he could kiss.

            Zayn didn’t know what made Liam’s kissing so fucking good. Maybe it was the way he’d growled “Mine,” before pulling him in, like he was in a movie, like he didn’t care that they were making out in the middle of the street. Maybe it was that his hands were twisting themselves in Zayn’s immaculate suit, no doubt causing all kinds of unsightly wrinkles. Maybe it was that Liam’s lips were plump and moist and just a little bit hotter than the rest of him, as though he’d been biting them in anticipation.

            Maybe it was that Liam had moved in to nuzzle Zayn’s earlobe, and Zayn was pretty sure he was about to get a boner in front of God and everybody out on Market Street, but he wasn’t sure he cared. He wanted to shove Liam into an alley, yank down his pants, and take him in his mouth.

            No one had ever made Zayn feel like this. So unmoored. So utterly incognizant of what was going on around him. So out of control.

            But finally, something did break Zayn out of his lust-fueled, red tinged reverie.

            The click of a camera shutter. The sudden flash of bright light.

            Zayn recoiled, covering his eyes, and in the next moment, it was as though the sound on the world had been muted, then dialed to eleven. There were voices all around them, shouting; a few bold hands grabbed at Zayn’s jacket, and suddenly Liam’s arms, which had held him so securely, were wrenched away.

            He looked into Liam’s eyes, trying to read something in their depths, but it was hard to see his expression in streetlight glow, with his mask.

            “Oh my god.” A girl’s voice said. “That is Liam Payne.”

            And Zayn didn’t need any type of insight to know how Liam felt then. He felt it himself. The cold fear, curdling deep in his gut. The feeling that he was standing naked, exposed.

            Liam Payne was not openly queer.

            But he was now.

            Whether he wanted to be or not.

            He saw Liam’s hands start to shake, and Zayn knew that there was only one thing left for them to do:

            “Run.”

            Liam’s eyes locked on his, and then he was gone, busting through a crowd of photographers so quickly that he nearly knocked one of them over.

            Zayn took off in the opposite direction.

.

Chapter Text

LIAM

            Liam didn’t go back to the frat house that night. There was no point. He didn’t want to answer any questions, and he knew that the pictures were already splattered all over Instagram.

            He used his mother’s credit card to check into a hotel. She had texted him, and not quite knowing where she stood on the possible gay son thing, he hadn’t replied, but he wanted her to at least know where he was.  Honestly Liam wasn’t sure where he stood on the whole possible gay thing either (Was it a one-time thing? Was he bi? He wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure that she wouldn’t be happy about him making it public knowledge by being caught making out with a masked stranger in the middle of the street.)

            Run.

            A flash of understanding had crossed the boy’s face when Liam had pulled away.

            Understanding, and sympathy.

            The boy was obviously a far better person than him. He’d at least had a modicum of compassion, and not totally bolted the second things got weird.  Not to mention, the boy had said they knew each other, and even though that kiss had felt like a lightning bolt in the calm skies of Liam’s life, he still had no idea who Cinderella was.

Liam didn’t even know the guy’s name. Didn’t even know if he’d made it out of the crowd and home without being hounded, without his identity revealed.

            Liam wasn’t usually followed by photographers. It had to just be some drunk girls and the clumsy flash of their phones.

            Only, that had definitely been a shutter click.

            Only, his mother was the president of the most conservative school in the state, and even though she had been trying to change that ever since she was in office, there was still a certain image Liam was supposed to maintain.

            Liam ducked into his room, making sure the door locked securely behind him. He thought about throwing his still-vibrating phone out the window, but then he reconsidered and tossed it on the couch.

            He went to the bathroom, turned on the shower and got in, fully clothed, his mask still on.

            Liam sank to the floor slowly, trying to take deep breaths. Trying to calm himself down. He was shaking so hard, he could barely move, and the air seemed thin.

            Dimly, Liam recalled what the family therapist had told him to do if he ever had a panic attack. Liam hadn’t really had many—just a few freak-outs before finals, or when he’d gotten rejected for prom.

            Put your head between your knees.

            Liam did so.

            Deep, slow, breaths. You can breathe. You have enough air.

            Liam inhaled, held it, then exhaled.

            Think of something familiar. Something with easy steps.

            Okay, Liam thought. Driving. Open the car. Put the keys in. Push in the clutch and the brake. Start the car. Put the car in neutral. Release the clutch, foot on the brake. Foot on the clutch again. Shift to first. Slowly ease off the clutch. Gas. Clutch. Second…

            It seemed to be helping. He could feel his heart slowing down. He could feel his breathing start to return to normal.

            With his most pressing crisis averted, Liam realized that, due to climbing into the shower fully clothed, he didn’t have anything to wear besides the complimentary hotel robe.

            Which meant he should probably call his mother.

            Liam took a deep breath and got to his feet. He started to undress, and something about it calmed him down. Maybe people hadn’t looked too closely. Maybe not everyone knew. Maybe….

            For a moment, Liam let himself think of that moment, before it had been interrupted.  The golden tint to the boy’s eyes, glittering beneath the mask. The way his chin fit perfectly in Liam’s hand as he cupped it. The way he’d given a little shiver of pleasure when Liam had nuzzled his earlobe. The way he had clung to Liam, like he couldn’t let him go.

            Liam had kissed a lot of girls. And he liked it.

            But he liked this, too. It was like some part of him that had always been there, always just under the surface, had broken free.

            Liam felt something crumble in his chest. He was aware that, whether or not the whole school knew it was really him in the “scandalous” photos they had undoubtedly seen, there was no going back. No putting lie to what was going on inside him, tamping it down or ignoring it anymore.

            Because in spite of how terribly it had ended, all Liam wanted was to uncover the identity of the mysterious boy he couldn’t get out of his mind.

            All he wanted was to get him in his arms again.

            Liam cleaned off and wrapped himself in a towel, resisting the urge to look at his reflection. Would he look different? Had something about his face changed?

            Or had he been like this all along?

            He stumbled over to his phone, ignoring the cavalcade of texts and snaps from his frat, even the concerned ones, who all said variations of is that you? Are you okay? Or Andy’s, I fucking knew it.

            There was one missed call.

            Only his mom knew him well enough to know that he wouldn’t answer texts when he was really going through something.

            He swiped to return the call and waited.

            “Are you alright?”

            “I’m fine.” Liam said.

            “Liam—”

            “It was me, okay? It’s not a—it was me.”

            “Liam—”

            “I’m really sorry, Mom. I know that this will get you in trouble with the board, and—”

            “LIAM.”

            Liam stopped. “What?”

            “Honey, listen to my voice. Close your eyes.”

            Liam closed his eyes, and his head spun. He sat down on the bed, embarrassed to feel a sob rise up in his throat. “Mom.”

            “Where are you?”

            “Four Seasons. I used your card, and it’s under your name.”

            “Do you want me to come get you?”

            “No—I—Mom—”

            “Honey, how long have you known? How long has this been going on?”

            “I—I didn’t know him. I mean—I didn’t do anything—”

            “But you knew.”

            Liam felt tears drip down his cheeks and onto the carpet. “Yes.”

            “Why didn’t you tell me?”

            “I—I don’t—”

            “It’s okay, Liam. Listen to me. I love you.” Her voice was iron, fierce. “Your father is on his way back from DC, and he loves you, too. We love you so much.  Don’t worry about the board. You are my son. They can kiss my ass.”

            Liam felt a little bit of the shock and horror of the night replace itself with warmth. “I love you.”

            “It will be okay. I’m going to be right here with you, the whole time. I’m not going to abandon you. Okay?”

            “Mm—hmm.” Liam was sobbing so hard, he could barely speak.

            “I’m gonna head over.” She said. “Don’t worry, I’m friends with the hotel manager. No one will see me.”

            “Okay.”

            “Anything you need me to bring?”

            “Um.” Liam gasped. “Clothes?”

            “On my way, Baby. Love you.”

ZAYN

            No one said anything to Zayn at the coffee shop the next day. The sorority girls who were gossiping loudly about Liam Payne from behind their phones never stopped to ask for his input. They never turned to him and said, “Hey so how was it kissing Liam? Is he really gay?”

            Zayn figured it was a blessing in disguise. Even though some part of him rankled at being Liam Payne’s ‘mystery Cinderella.’ The whole thing was a heteronormative cliché. He hadn’t even wanted to go to the stupid party.

            And part of him felt relieved that neither Liam nor anyone else had any idea who he was.

            Zayn wasn’t ashamed of his sexuality, but he was a private person. He didn’t want his every detail splashed all over the internet, didn’t want complete strangers scrutinizing his sex life and wondering what had ‘turned’ the guy he was making out with.

            Every single word of the conversation set Zayn’s teeth on edge, to the point that he retreated to dishwashing, where at least the roar of the faucet and the soothing rhythm of the scrubbing drowned out the noise of the café, leaving him to relive the entire, ridiculous, night.

            Zayn had told Liam to run without thinking at all of himself, a mistake he realized a moment later when the crowd turned their attention on him. He ducked into a few alleys and vaulted over a few fire escapes, and pretty soon they were nowhere near him.

            Zayn had been lucky. If they had been in a different part of the city, one he didn’t know as well, who knew what would have happened?

            He’d had to, humiliatingly, call Louis and interrupt his hookup with Harry to get a ride home.

            Louis, of course, could not understand what the big deal was. “Why don’t you just tell him it’s you?”

            “Because I’m not an idiot.”

            “He obviously likes kissing you. You liked kissing him, or you wouldn’t be such a mess. What’s the big deal?”

            “He’s Liam Payne. The prince of the university. Liking him, dating him—it’s not just that it would be totally different from anything, anyone, I’ve ever been with. It’s not just that he’s— astronomical. Uncharted territory. He’s basically the prince of the university, and  he basically just got outed, and who knows how this fucking shitbag of a school is gonna take it. I’m not getting in the middle of that.”

            Louis looked at him out of the corner of his eye. “A couple assholes have never stopped you before.”

            Zayn ran a hand through his hair. “Maybe they should have.” The motion reminded him of Liam’s hands, pulling at the hair on the nape of his neck. His arms wrapping around Zayn like he never wanted to let him go. The pouty way he kissed, like he was in the middle of a frown. The way Liam had melded his body to his, like they were fused together, impossible to separate….

            “He didn’t even recognize me.”

            “You were wearing a mask.”

            “So was he!” Zayn shouted. “But I’m just a fucking barista, so he doesn’t care about who I am. He doesn’t know.”

            “Then you should tell him.”

            “I’m won’t.”

            Louis must have finally got the message, because all he said was. “Let’s just go home.”

            Zayn didn’t speak to anyone before he left for work in the morning. As soon as he woke up, he checked his phone. He’d set up a google alert for Liam, which had lead him to a few articles published about the previous night in “The Scarlet”, the university’s tabloid. They were calling Zayn “Cinderella.”

            Zayn scrolled through the words numbly, trying not to take in the overall message. The way many of them said that Liam was ‘experimenting.’ Using words like ‘sordid’ and ‘clandestine’ to describe a kiss in the middle of the street. The mock outrage from his exes and hookups, who were clearly trying to milk every last bit of sympathy from the public possible. My ex might be gay! The horror!

            It frustrated him that they never even seemed to consider that Liam might be something other than gay. Like bisexuality or pansexuality were just made-up terms.

            Of course, maybe Liam was gay. Maybe Zayn was just projecting. Maybe Liam had just seen it as harmless experimentation, because after all, human sexuality was more of a spectrum, and terms for identities could often be construed as too limiting, and…

            Zayn sanitized the last set of spoons and began to drain the sink, watching dully as the suds sank to the bottom and scattered along the stainless-steel surface.

            Then he heard it.

            “Another croissant, please.”

            Zayn turned. It couldn’t be.

            “Liam?” he blurted.

            “Uh…yeah.” He frowned, squinting at Zayn’s name tag. “Zayn? Were you here last time?”

            “I’m here nearly every day.” Zayn crossed his arms.

            Liam blushed. It was adorable. “Right. Well—I was just wondering if I could have a croissant. It’s been a long day.’

            “Coffee?”

            “Sure. Iced with oat milk.”

            Zayn nodded, then started working on his drink. He pulled the croissant out of the display case and started to heat it up, trying not to make eye contact.

            He wanted to say something comforting. Liam had literally treated him like he didn’t exist, but he still wouldn’t wish last night’s experience on anyone.

According to the gossip he hadn’t managed to avoid overhearing, the board of regents were already threatening to take his mother’s presidency away. All because he didn’t fit their definition of what the president’s son should be. The prince of the university, even if it was an unofficial designation, had acted unbecoming. One of the sorority girls, Kayla, had whispered that it was “homophobic bullshit,” especially since Liam had a reputation as a partier already, but there didn’t seem to be much that could be done.

            “Did you text him?” one of them had asked.

            “Yeah, but he didn’t respond.” Kayla replied. “I wouldn’t respond either to be honest. I’d just want everyone to leave me the fuck alone.”

            “Glad you didn’t hook up with him now?” the girl asked.

            Kayla stormed out, and Zayn stopped listening after that.

            He snuck a glance at Liam while he was pouring his coffee. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he stood a little hunched, like he was worried about somebody looking at him.

            Zayn’s heart ached, in spite of his anger at Liam’s apparent indifference. It must hurt to feel that exposed, to know that your life would never be the same again.

            Zayn put the drink and croissant on the side of the table. “On the house.”

            “No.” Liam was already reaching for his wallet. “It’s okay. Really.”

            “Dude.” Zayn said, trying desperately to avoid eye contact. He focused on the split in Liam’s left eyebrow. “It’s cool.”

            Liam took a shuddering breath, and Zayn forgot he wasn’t supposed to be looking at his eyes.

            When their eyes met, Zayn could swear that there was a spark of recognition there. Some kind of familiarity. Did Liam remember him? Was he just pretending?

            “Those girls over there—” Liam flicked his eyes to the right. “They’ve taken like, four pictures of me since I came in. They’ll say something.”

            “Oh.”

            “I don’t want you to be involved in this.” Liam looked down. “What was your name again?’

            “Zayn.”

            “Yeah, Zayn. I don’t think anyone would want a piece of what I’m going through right now.”

            “Maybe I would.” Zayn said quietly.

            “What?”

            “Nothing—” Zayn swiped his card and handed it back. “Have a good one.”

            “I’ll try.” Liam took his drink and trudged over to the opposite corner from the girls. Zayn watched as he put on a pair of Beats headphones and opened a textbook. Zayn started to wipe down the counter, keeping an eye on the girls, but all they did was stare, chattering from behind their hands.

            Finally, they left, and Zayn returned to the dishes. It was only an hour or so until closing, and he didn’t want to be here too late. He hadn’t exactly slept well the night before.

            He glanced over his shoulder at Liam, wondering, wishing.

            But Liam just stared obliviously at his textbook.

            He obviously isn’t looking for me, Zayn thought. He probably just wants to forget the whole thing.

LIAM

            “Mind if I sit here?”

            “What?” Liam took his headphones off and squinted. A small, lean boy was standing over him. He had short brown hair that he wore artfully swept across his forehead, and piercing blue eyes. There was an air about him, something that was a combination of his small stature and thin smile—something mischievous. Like he was in the middle of some fantastic prank.

            “Mind if I sit here?” the boy asked again.

            “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Liam said.

            “Liam Payne, right?”

            Liam sighed, and the boy sat down, grinning broadly.

“I’m Louis,” he said, “Like the French king who got his head chopped off for being too gaudy and hating poor people. We have history together.”

            “How do you know that?”

            “History minor.” Louis said. “Focus on the French Revolution.”

            “No—how do you know we have history? My class is like, 500 people.”

            “Hard not to notice you and your entourage.” The boy grinned. “Your admirers follow you everywhere.”

            Liam couldn’t tell if he was joking. “Why are you here?”

            “Well, I need a study partner, and I may have insta-stalked you through Kappa Nu’s page.”

            “I’m not interested.”

            Louis leaned forward. “But I am.”

            Liam leaned back. “Are you hitting on me?”

            “Don’t be ridiculous.” Louis snorted. “Think of me more as your—fairy godmother.” His eyes lit up.

            “I’m good, thanks.”

            “How many people have unfriended you since the story broke?”

            “I—”

            “Coming out.” Louis nodded. “It can be rough. I came out the last day of senior year, of high school. The disownings started rolling in a few minutes after that. It made the graduation party pretty awkward.”

            “I’m fine.”

            “Of course you are. You’re Liam Payne.”

            “I’m not even gay.”

            “You mean you can’t be.”

            “I mean I’m not. It was—a mistake.”

            Louis’ gaze softened, and he leaned in. “The way people found out was a mistake. It was really fucked up. But it wasn’t a mistake. You can’t just lock away the truth. If you’ll pardon the pun.”

            “What do you want with me?”

            “I told you, I’m your fairy godmother.” Louis said. “And I wanted to tell you something.”

            “Just leave me alone. I don’t want to talk to you. I don’t want to talk to anyone.”

            “Okay.” Louis leaned forward and scribbled a few digits on the inside of Liam’s textbook. “But if you ever need anything, let me know—”

            “I’m not—”

            “Totally platonic.” Louis winked. “You’re not my type, anyway. I happen to be happily involved with a ferociously tall, clumsy idiot.”

            “Congratulations.” Liam crumpled the note in his hand, turning his gaze back to his book, hoping the boy would get the hint.

            “I think you’re really brave.”

            Liam’s head snapped up. “What?”

            “I just thought you should know. Me, the people like me on this stupid, conservative Bible-thumping campus. You kind of like—gave us a little bit of hope last night. You’re brave.” Louis patted him on the shoulder. “I hope things work out, Liam. And if you need anything, you’re one of us now.”

            “That kind of makes it sound like a cult.” Liam said.

            Louis laughed. “I’m not the one who’s a frat president.” And with that, he sauntered out of the coffee shop, the bell chiming behind him.

ZAYN

            Louis refused to tell Zayn what he’d said to Liam, even though Zayn had been texting him incessantly.

            Welcoming him into the family, Louis had said.  He’s one of us now.

            Which gave Zayn absolutely no information.

            He figured that if Louis had told Liam who he was, Liam probably wouldn’t still be sitting at the back table, sipping his coffee and intently copying down notes from his textbook. Zayn saw Liam take out his phone a couple times, but he didn’t do anything more than unlock it, look at the screen, and then place it back in his backpack.

            It was 15 minutes until closing. Zayn knew that he probably needed to warn Liam, but he was nervous to go over there. What if Liam recognized him? What if Liam thought he was being rude?

            Liam was the only customer left in the store; Martha and the rest of the staff had left after 9, when most of the late-night studiers had filtered out to their various parties, or resigned themselves to nursing their final cup of coffee as they banged out papers on their laptops.  

Martha had been the only one here when Liam had showed, and she hadn’t done anything but politely ask him if he needed a refill. Only Zayn knew that she only did that with customers she liked, or she thought were going through something (way too many tear-streaked sorority girls came through here in the Monday morning rush). The rest of his coworkers had seemed utterly unconcerned with the current drama circulating the campus; though Zayn was unsure if that was because they didn’t know or simply didn’t care about it. Martha had never had a problem with Zayn mentioning his dates, but a lot of his coworkers were the type to marry their college sweethearts just so they could have sex without feeling guilty, so Zayn wasn’t really sure where they stood with the whole gay thing. Sometimes, he felt like he operated under a ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy.

            Louis and his friends, of course, were following the story obsessively. Louis had probably come in here for noble reasons, but he was a huge gossip. Zayn knew he would be telling all of their friends about whatever Liam had said, even though Louis would never dare to tell them who Liam was with the night before. That was the thing about Louis: he was a lot sometimes, but he was fiercely loyal.

            Zayn wiped the counter down and looked at the pristine dishes. Liam’s drink was in a plastic cup, and he’d already swept most of the floor and mopped behind the counter. The food was safely stored back in the fridge or allocated to be donated to the local food bank.

            It was 11:55.

            Zayn sighed and shuffled his feet. The least Liam could do was look up from his laptop, but all he ever did was glance at his notes, then the screen again. There was this adorable little pucker in the middle of his forehead, and Zayn wanted to smooth it out with his fingers.

            Just as Zayn started to walk over, Liam looked up. Something about his posture relaxed when he saw Zayn, and Zayn felt another jolt of panic.

            But all Liam said was, “Oh my God, are y’all closing? I’m so sorry!”

            Frat boy manners, Zayn thought, astonished. He’d expected Liam to be one of those people who walked into retail stores three minutes before the doors were locked, but he looked genuinely apologetic as he started to load his laptop into his bag. “I’ll get out of your way,” Liam said. “I’m sure you want to—shit!”

            He had accidentally knocked the coffee with his laptop, and it had spilled all over the floor, creating a puddle that nearly reached to Zayn’s shoes.

            Zayn groaned internally. Now he would have to clean and mop up. There was no way he would get out of here by midnight. I’m so tired, he thought. I just want to go home.

            “Here.” Liam stood, his hands open like he was expecting Zayn to toss him a mop. “Let me help you.”

            “Don’t worry,” Zayn said in his customer service voice. “I got it.”

            “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s the least I can do. Let’s see—paper towels in the bathroom, right?” And Liam was gone before Zayn could argue, leaping nimbly over the spill and brushing past him so close that Zayn smelled a hint of his cologne.

            The scent transported him back in time; Zayn felt like a romance heroine on the deck of a ship, hair blowing in the breeze while a sailor held him in his arms. His blood warmed, and he could feel himself blushing. “You—you don’t—”

            But Liam waved a hand, disappearing into the men’s room.

            Zayn stood there awkwardly for a few seconds. Finally, his brain reconnected to his limbs and he rushed to get the mop out of the back.  He was filling the bucket with cleaning fluid and water when he heard Liam return.

            Zayn wheeled the mop onto the floor and tried not to stare too obviously at Liam’s ass as he bent over and mopped up the mess. There was a wad of paper towels on the floor beside him, so Zayn took them and started cleaning up the spilled liquid as well.

            Their hands met in the middle, and Zayn blushed, and withdrew his. “Sorry.”

            “You’re fine,” Liam said airily.

            Zayn kept his eyes on the floor, concentrating fiercely until they’d finally gotten all the liquid. “Thanks, I’ll take it from—”

            SPLAT.

            “Here.” He finished.

            Liam was already mopping the floor, but he was doing it all wrong. He hadn’t bothered to squeeze the mop out, and he was sloshing liquid all over the place.

            Stupid rich boy, Zayn thought, surprised at the sense of fondness he felt as Liam blundered with the mop.

            “Okay, um—”

            “No worries, man. I got it.”

            “No, it’s just—”

            But Liam was clearly determined to soak the entire floor and clean nothing, so Zayn finally went over to him. “Here.”

            He reached around Liam’s waist, having to strain a little to get to the wooden handle of the mop. Liam was pretty muscular, and stacked, like a football player.

            Zayn felt all of the muscles in Liam’s body tense. Shit.

            But Liam only said. “It’s mopping. How complicated is it?”

            “You’re not doing it totally wrong,” Zayn said, his breath on the back of Liam’s neck. “It’s just…you have to go a little smoother, like this. And you need to squeeze it out—” he walked Liam over to the bucket and let go of him, walking around him to take the mop again. He showed him how to twist it properly and press down on the handle so that all the liquid squeezed out. “See?”

            Liam looked bewildered. His cheeks were a bright red, and his eyes glittered. “Yes—I think so.” He looked around at the mess. “I’ve created more work for you, haven’t I?”

            “It’s okay,” Zayn said, surprised to realize that he meant it.

            “Not it’s not.” Liam ran a hand through his hair, still flustered. “I was just trying to help.”

            “Seriously,” Zayn started to mop the floor, trying to let whatever had risen up between them dissipate with the work. “It’s fine.”

            Mopping the floor up only took a few minutes, and Liam volunteered to go dump the bucket out in the alley.

            When he returned, Zayn was doing a final sweep of the place, checking for missed trash and that everything was ready for the morning.

            Liam wheeled the bucket and mop back behind the bar. “Is here okay?”

            “Yeah, that’s fine.” Zayn grabbed the bucket from him. “I’ve got it from here, if you wanna head out. Thanks for helping.”

            “No problem.” Liam said, but he didn’t move. He just shifted his feet awkwardly.

            “So, uh—have a good night.” Zayn said awkwardly.

            Liam looked up at him. “I—I wanted to ask you something.”

            “What?” Why did Zayn’s chest feel so tight? Why did the way Liam looked at him make it feel like all the air had gone out of the room?’

            The lights were dimmer now, slowly winking out since Zayn had turned them off, and Liam’s face was cast in a golden glow.

            “I just—shit—”

            And then Liam was kissing him. Again.

            Zayn had been hoping that the night before had been a fluke. That he’d just been imagining how good Liam was at this, how amazing it had felt. I was a little drunk, Zayn had thought. It can’t have been that good.        

            But when Liam kissed him again, he realized it wasn’t just as good as it had been last night. It was better.

            Liam backed Zayn up until he was up against the counter, and with a tiny movement, he managed to hoist him up onto it. Zayn wrapped his legs around Liam’s waist, and the kiss deepened. Zayn could feel his bones searing with heat, melting into the kiss.

            For a moment, Zayn had the wherewithal to remember why he shouldn’t be doing this. He was at work, and Liam had already kissed him the night before and had no idea who he was, and he needed to stop this—

            And then Liam moaned into his mouth. This beautiful, deep sound that made Zayn hard and ready. Zayn forgot everything that wasn’t Liam. His mouth, his hands, reaching gently behind Zayn to dip into the waistband of his pants. Zayn couldn’t move, couldn’t think.   

            But then he felt a hand push against his chest, and suddenly they broke apart, both of them breathing hard. “I—I’m sorry.” Liam said, his lips bright red from where Zayn had bitten him. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

            “I didn’t exactly mind.” Zayn said.

            “No—I mean, I have a lot going on right now. People—"

            “I know. I—it’s okay,” Zayn said, not even realizing what he was admitting to. He was punch-drunk on Liam’s kisses, all his self-preservation instincts flown out the window.

            Liam looked down. “So you know what happened last night?”

            “Of course I—” Zayn stopped, the realization sending a chill down his spine, a weight settling in his stomach. How could this be? How could Liam have kissed him twice, and still have no idea who he was?

Zayn felt the blow resonate through his body, and he tried to fight it. Tried to fight the voice in his head that kept saying, You’re just not interesting enough. Forgettable. Worthless. Replaceable. How could Liam Payne be expected to know someone like you?

            Zayn hopped down from the counter, trying not to let the emotions cross his face.

Liam seemed to know that something was wrong, “I didn’t mean to jump on you. I didn’t expect it to be that—and you were just—” he seemed overcome, and didn’t finish the sentence.

            Zayn was trying really hard to keep it together. But he just kept seeing Liam’s lack of recognition, the way he hadn’t even remembered Zayn before, except as a possible random, drunken hookup. I’m just—an experiment. I’m nobody.

            “I think you should go.” Zayn said.

            Liam reached out a hand. “No! I didn’t mean that you were—I like you, Zayn. Really.”

            But Zayn was already backing away. “Nah, man. I’m not about to be part of this. Get the fuck out.”

            “I didn’t—” Liam tried again.

            “Get. Out. You fucking asshole.”

            He didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, and he regretted it instantly when he said it. Liam’s face fell, and his lip trembled. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

            Before Zayn could say anything else, Liam was gone.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 4: THE BALCONY

LIAM

            “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”

Liam’s parents were standing in the doorway, bedecked in their maroon and white gear. With his mother’s hair pulled back into a jaunty ponytail and his father’s coal grey sweater, they could easily have passed for college sweethearts, the same way they’d probably looked when they’d been students, if not for the graying at both their temples.

            ‘No, I’m fine.” Liam said for the twentieth time.

            “You could come sit with us,” his mother said. “We’re all the way across the field from the student section. Nobody would bother you.”

            “Except the cameras.” His father said. His mother smacked his arm.

            His father had taken to Liam’s coming out about as well as he’d expected. At first, he’d given him a huge hug, one that seemed to have lasted forever. Then for a day or so, he’d just left him alone, emerging at the door to his bedroom with everything from offers to watch the recorded basketball games to a glass of Bourbon.

            Then, Liam kept finding random gay stuff all over the house. A pride flag next to the college banner on the mantlepiece. Queer literature next to his father’s legal tomes.

            Liam had actually come into his study the night before to see him on a webpage that said The Lingo of the Gay community: A Beginner’s Guide. And like his mother, his father had agreed that the board of regents didn’t have a leg to stand on when it came to taking away his mother’s presidency.     

            His mother had been on the phone constantly with her lawyer and publicist, trying to ensure that the narrative was at least spun in the least harmful way possible. It was because of her that the previous day’s edition of The Scarlet had boasted the headline “Who is Cinderella?” Rather than the numerous other pejorative terms the staff had originally come up with.

            Liam had been following the story.

Intermittently.

Against his parents’ advice.

            For every comment that said something along the lines of what his parents were telling him, for every supportive message from one of his frat brothers, there were a dozen that were violent and angry, or that expressed cold judgement and disappointment. One person wrote, “It discourages me that the values of the president’s family are so far compromised, and she has done nothing to address them.”

            Today, he’d let himself look up the news on his laptop, where he was less likely to redownload his social media or examine the hundreds of text messages he’d been ignoring.

Liam had checked his Instagram just after he’d gotten home from the café a week ago, the kiss buzzing around in his head.  He didn’t want to return to the frat house, with the taste of Zayn still on his lips, intermingling with the memories of kissing the boy dressed as Cinderella until it was difficult to distinguish the two.

            He’d lost over a thousand followers, and his dms were  riddled with messages. He got to the first couple lines of the first one, “Can’t believe u let a man’s dick—” before he Deactivated. He’d followed that by deleting Snapchat, Twitter, even the old Facebook account he’d started when he was thirteen.

            Maybe he’d be okay enough eventually to have a social media presence again. But for now, he kept his phone across the room, on silent, unplugged. To keep his hands busy, he was taking copious notes from his chemistry textbook, fiddling with the Rubix cube on his father’s desk, and flipping between reruns of Gotham and Love Island.

            Anything to keep away the silence.  Anything to turn the noise up.

            Being at home, with all of his distractions, was the only thing keeping him from breaking down.  The last place he wanted to be was a football game, with forty thousand people whose eyes would follow him, with the jumbotron flicking to his parents’ box every few seconds. He was home, he was safe.

            But somehow, in the midst of the biggest crisis of his life, he still couldn’t stop thinking about Zayn.

             You fucking asshole.

            Now that he’d finally admitted it to himself, now that everyone knew and there was no going back, it was like those memories had been dialed to eleven. He kept replaying that night in the café in his head. When he wasn’t doing that, he was reliving his kiss with “Cinderella,” wondering if he’d made it home okay, trying to remember if there was anything familiar about those deep, dark eyes, that golden brown skin.

            The memories didn’t bring the same feelings as when he recounted his hookups with girls.

It felt different—not better or worse.

            It made his head spin.

            Once his parents left, Liam darted upstairs and picked up his phone from where he’d left it in his room, swiping through the myriad of message and email notifications without bothering to open them.

            It only took him a few minutes to see the list in the Scarlet’s digital edition. “OMG! Which one of these hunks might be Liam Payne’s Cinderella?”

            Liam clicked and scrolled through the slideshow, reading each caption feverishly, trying to gauge the height, the hair color, the precise shade of those brown eyes.

            But none of their imaginary suitors were the right one, Liam was sure of it. He had felt something when he’d seen Cinderella. He was sure he’d recognize him in an instant.

            Liam took his phone back to the couch and sat down, dusting off the debris of chip crumbs from last night’s Love Island marathon. How was he supposed to find this person? Did he even want to be found? Did it matter?

            For something to do, Liam flipped on the game. The score was 17 to 21, with his school leading.

            Liam looked at his phone again. There was a new message from Andy: Wish you were here. Love you.

            Liam felt a little better, but he still couldn’t join the rest of his brothers. He wasn’t ready to explain, wasn’t ready to have so many people either pretend to understand or be downright hostile. He’d been around for the jokes they made when they were drunk, the way none of them really had any queer friends. He knew that even if they said they were okay with it, they wouldn’t be. Some of them might even be moving now to take away his presidency.

            Let them, Liam thought. I can’t go back to being that person anyway.

            What he needed, Liam decided, was to get out of the house. To be somewhere he didn’t have to explain himself, where no one really cared what the president of Kappa Phi Nu did. To avoid the underlying need to scroll through photos of every guy at the university or Google himself and read the vitriol on the Gossip sites.

            “Hello?” the voice came through almost as a shout, competing to be heard over the cacophony of laugher and music.    

            “Hey, it’s Liam. Liam Payne.” Liam said, surprised. He hadn’t meant to dial the number, but the person on the other end was already shushing everyone around him.

            “LIAM!” Louis screeched, and Liam winced, holding the phone back from his ear. “What’re you doing, man? Come on over.”

            Liam fought to be heard over the music. “I just wanted to talk, but if you’re busy.”

            “Hang on.”

            There was a slamming noise, and the other end suddenly became much quieter. “Watch party,” Louis said. “What’s up?”

            “It can wait—”

            But again, Louis seemed to detect something in Liam’s voice that even he didn’t notice. “Come on over,” he said. “I’ll sober up by the time the game’s over, and we can talk.’

            “I don’t really want to crash your party.”

 “Seriously, dude. Head over.”

            Liam pinched the bridge of his nose. He looked at the notifications on his phone again. HE had already been bombarded with a dozen more texts, another news article, even more speculation, even less people who would see him as anything but a sideshow…

            “What’s the address?”

ZAYN

            Zayn liked one thing about working on game day: the quiet.

It was noon, and the game had just started. Everyone was either in a bar or at the stadium, getting increasingly drunk regardless of the game’s outcome. When it ended in a few hours, everyone would crowd into all the local bars.

            It was going to be a slow day, apart from the families with kids that would come in, harried mothers that nearly swayed on their feet from exhaustion dragging their kids behind them.

            That would be its own chaos, but for right now, all was quiet. The town was the university. And the university was football.     

            It was nice to be here in the stillness, the calm tint of sunlight through the windows, wiping down the bar with a rag to look busy every few minutes.         

            He had spent almost ten minutes watching Snapchat stories, as Louis invited what looked like the entirety of the liberal arts department over for a rager. They were all quoting Shakespeare and discussing Foucault in between shots of tequila, and it looked like somebody had managed to get their hands on absinthe.

            Louis had already made Zayn promise to actually join the party this time (Zayn usually spent Louis’ parties in his bedroom, headphones on and the door locked), but he was planning to just stay here after his shift and draw. With everything that had happened over the last few days, he just wanted to lay low. Forget about the masquerade ball, and that night, and –

            Zayn took a deep breath. It kept sneaking up on him. He would be fine, just doing work or talking, and something would remind him of Liam. It didn’t even take much. The cast of light on the wall of the café, a picture he must have taken in his mind without knowing. A guy who walked through the door who looked just a little bit like him, standing the way Liam stood, shifting his weight.

            When he’d come in to work the morning after, and the lights had still been dimmed, the mop propped against the wall where Zayn had forgotten to put it away, the force of the feeling had made his knees buckle. It was suddenly a Herculean effort just to get across the room.

            A week later, he tried not to look at the corner where they had been kissing, the spot on the bar where Liam had lifted him.

            But every time his gaze drifted, he would go through the whole thing all over again. The talk. Kissing. Liam’s lips against his neck.

            Get. The fuck. Out.

            Zayn shuddered.

            He didn’t understand why people said that you only had feelings for someone in your chest, or your stomach. Zayn’s entire body was on edge, like the day after he’d pulled an all-nighter for a paper and drank way too much espresso, in preparation of opening and closing the shop that night. Or the first time he’d ever been drunk, and it had started to feel like he was swimming through a room that had lost its air, that he was moving in slow motion, his every limb painful and heavy.

            Zayn didn’t know what to do about it. He’d had his heart broken before, but that wasn’t what this felt like.  That had been a swift, clean slice. Easy to heal as it was easy to scar.

            This was a slow fragmenting, cracks across his heart, his skeleton, his lungs. This was shards that made it hard to breathe, but just as often left him alone. This was normal until he saw an article, or heard a girl whispering on the quad, or just caught a glimpse of the Cinderella suit in his closet.

            It had already happened twice today, brought on by the quiet. Nothing to distract him, so one moment, Zayn was getting coffee and checking over his homework and texting with Louis.

            And in another, he was doubled over the sink, the knot in his stomach never ceasing, Liam’s face swimming behind his eyes.

            Zayn took a deep breath. Let it out slowly.

            He started to wipe the counter again, concentrating for the first time on the “Mellow Christian Sounds” playlist that Martha had running.

            This, it turned out was even worse than thinking about Liam.

            Zayn put in his headphones, about to start blasting Conan Gray until he felt normal again, when the bell tinkled, and a parade of customers rushed in.

            He sighed. At least he’d be distracted for a little while.

LIAM

            Louis lived in a maze of an apartment complex.

Liam had been driving around for ten minutes, and he still couldn’t figure out where Louis’ building was. It was just an array of tall, brick buildings that all looked virtually the same, some strung with Christmas lights even though it was just November.

            Liam finally found building 38 and parked in one of the visitor spaces, then walked up to the door. At the walkway, he froze, wondering if he was doing the right thing. He didn’t know any of these people, and Louis had seemed pretty wasted, and what was he even going to say?  “Hi, I’m Liam. I might be gay, but I think I’m probably more likely bi, and uh—I’m having an identity crisis? Pass the weed?”

            Liam shook his head, kicking himself. He should just go home. He should just hole up in his parents’ house until Christmas break, where there was a never-ending cavalcade of reality shows and Madden and no need to think—

            “Oh shit.”

            Liam looked up.

            A thin figure, his arms corded with tattoos, a cigarette hanging out of his mouth, was staring at him from one of the balconies. He was wearing all black, and his hair was thick and luxurious, and—

            “Zayn.” Liam let out his name like an exhale. “Hi-“

            “Wait, are you here—” Zayn nudged the boy next to him, who Liam finally saw was smoking a joint, and pointed. “Is he yours?”

            Louis grinned and waved. “I’m so glad you could make it! Come on up. Do you smoke?”

            “I actually just wanted to—”

            “Oh, don’t be ridiculous.” Louis darted inside and Liam heard a door opening, and the rattle of feet down the stairs, before Louis emerged, wobbly but upright. He grabbed Liam by the arm, surprisingly strong for someone his size. “You have to meet everyone.”

            “I just wanted to—” Liam tried to say again.

            “Trust me. Everyone’s too fucked up to remember you anyway. I’m pretty sure Harry’s tripping too hard to even work his phone. There is literally no social risk.”

            He tugged Liam up the stairs.

ZAYN

            Zayn sat down against the balcony’s railing, trying to keep his hands from shaking. He took another drag of his cigarette, and a sip of the tequila-berry-concoction Harry had brought. Then he gagged and took a swig of water.

            Liam Payne.

            Zayn took another drag of his cigarette.

            I’ll just stay out here until he leaves, Zayn thought. Liam had looked so uncomfortable, and he probably didn’t want to see Zayn again, and Louis was going to overwhelm him by introducing him to every gay liberal arts major in the entire school, and—

            Yep. Zayn shivered slightly. He hadn’t brought his jacket, intending to only go for a smoke, and he’d already been out here for ten minutes, listening to Louis valiantly try to recall his sophomore thesis while stoned out of his mind (he kept referring to Marie Antoinette as “Kirsten Dunst”—it was sort of endearing), and anyway, he’d only come here because this was where he lived, and he’d been on his way to his room, and—

            The door opened, and a couple came stumbling out, kissing. The girl tripped over Zayn’s sneakers, and Zayn had to keep her from falling.

            Before she could say anything, Zayn rushed back inside, where a game of beer pong had been set up.

            Harry and Louis were playing on one side, and Liam was alone on the other. The rest of the party was gathered around, watching. Some of them were even cheering as Liam sank another one, and Louis and Harry drank.   

            “Isn’t it unfair that he has to compete alone?” Zayn asked in a girl’s ear.

            “He doesn’t need it.” The girl shouted back.

            “Okay.” For a moment, Liam’s eyes met Zayn’s, and Zayn’s heart twisted up again. That same feeling was rushing over him.

            Not good, Zayn thought.

            He maneuvered to the kitchen and poured himself a glass of water. He would make the rounds, say hello, look totally nonchalant about the fact that Liam was here, and then he’d go to bed.

            But then he heard it.

            “ZAYN!” Louis was shouting, so loud that it easy to hear him over the din of the music. Zayn groaned and downed his water. Whenever Louis wanted him at a party, it was never for anything good.

            Zayn look across the kitchen counter to the living room, where a girl had taken Louis’ place in beer pong. Liam had his hat flipped backward on his head, and he seemed to be in his element, his eyes shining, his cheeks flushed.

            Harry made a shot, and Liam drank it in one, his cheeks turning bright red.

            Meanwhile, Louis had managed to, in spite of his size, bulldoze his way through the assembled crowd until he cornered Zayn against the refrigerator.

            Before he could say anything, Zayn spoke, “I’m not playing beer pong with you. I’m going to bed.”

            Louis was unfazed. “Go talk to him.”

            “I can’t.”

            “Look, I know it’s all a mess with him right now, but he’s a nice guy. I really don’t think he’ll be upset you haven’t told him. If anything, he’ll feel bad that he didn’t recognize you.”

            “No.”  

            “Why are you always running from things?” Louis’ eyes were bloodshot, and he was slurring his words, but his tone was sincere. “Not everyone is going to walk out of your life. Not everyone is going to leave.” His gaze met Zayn’s meaningfully.

 “Liam doesn’t want to see me, or talk to me. He just wants to forget I ever happened.”

            “If he wanted to forget, he’d be with his frat brothers right now.”

            Zayn pulled Louis into the corner, lowering his voice. “He didn’t recognize me. At the coffee shop, the day after the ball.”

            “Well, you can’t expect him to,” Louis said reasonably. “It was daylight, nobody was drunk—”

            “We—sort of made out..”

             “You hooked up on the clock? I’m so proud of you!”

            “And he still doesn’t recognize me.” Zayn said. “We’ve kissed twice, and they were the most fucking epic kisses of my entire life, and he—has no idea who I am. So I told him to fuck off.”

            The smile slid off of Louis’ face. “Zayn—"

            “Trust me. He doesn’t want anything to do with me.” Zayn felt his voice crack, and took another sip of water to conceal it.

            Louis’ eyes softened. “Zayn, this doesn’t have to—”

            “It’s hot in here.” Zayn cut him off.  “I’m going outside.”

            “Wait! What if I talk to him?”

            “No.” Zayn felt his stomach flip again, and a wave of nausea went through him. “Just—don’t tell him, please. Don’t tell him anything.”

            Louis tried to say something else, but Zayn had already rushed past him, back onto the balcony.

            Thankfully, the couple was gone, nothing but a few stubbed out cigarettes and the joint Louis had abandoned.

            Zayn leaned against the wall and sank down onto the ground, stretching his legs out across the dirty, ash-strewn concrete.

            Then he lit another cigarette.

LIAM

            Liam hadn’t had this much fun in a long time.

            He hadn’t allowed himself to have this much fun.

            He’d had to keep his guard up for years. Be drunk but not too drunk. Do something crazy but not too crazy. Never let anyone too close. Never give them a chance to guess.

            And now, he was owning everyone at beer pong, and then somehow he was on the couch, his cheek nestled in some guy’s shoulder who smelled strongly of tequila, and it was utter bliss.

            It was exactly what he needed.

            The party had calmed down a little bit, and they were all sitting on Louis’ couch, crammed almost on top of each other. The conversation had dwindled, too. Instead of the long rants about Michel Foucault and Karl Marx that had begun the evening (Liam had been lost, and trying not to show it by agreeing with everyone, which turned out to be a nightmare), the conversation had devolved into pursuits that, luckily, made him feel less like he was the only person in class who hadn’t done the reading.

            “All I’m saying is, if he wanted Anakin to be evil enough to kill younglings, he shouldn’t have made him that hot.” The girl next to Liam said. She was wearing dark purple lipstick, and she was staring intently into the eyes of her girlfriend, who was shaking her head bemusedly.

             “You’re giving Lucas too much credit,” she said. “Star Wars is batshit crazy. That entire franchise never had a coherent, long thought-out plot in its entire life. Everything’s made up. It doesn’t matter.”

            “Okay, hang on,” a guy interrupted. “You can’t say Star Wars doesn’t make sense. That’s like—”

            But Liam was distracted from the conversation by someone poking his shoulder. He turned around. A guy with copious amounts of perfectly curling hair and an infectious smile was grinning at him.

            Liam had seen him earlier, wrapping an arm around Louis during beer pong and making the other boy look tiny and adored by comparison. He was wearing black skinny jeans, a shirt that was only partway buttoned, leaving his incoherent array of tattoos on display.

            There was something about him. The moment he walked into the room, it seemed like it had gotten brighter. It wasn’t just that he was beautiful, even though he was. He was—radiant.

            “Having fun?” the boy asked.

            “Trying to keep up,” Liam said awkwardly. “Is it bad if I say I don’t even remember the Star Wars movies?”

            “Oh, don’t worry. They won’t remember a word of this conversation in the morning.” Harry gestured to the other partygoers, who were all in varying states of passed-out. Liam himself was feeling pleasantly sleepy, and he was thinking of calling an Uber to take him home. He could get his truck in the morning—

            “My name’s Harry,” the boy said. “I’m Louis’ boyfriend.” 

            “I didn’t know he had a boyfriend.”

            “Neither does he.” Harry said. “We haven’t had the talk yet. But it’s pretty inevitable at this point.”

            “Oh. Uh—congratulations.”

            The boy shrugged. “Anyway, I came to ask you—”

            “Oh, I was planning to just grab an Uber home.” Liam said. “Really, tell Louis thanks, but—”

“Do you remember Zayn?”

            “Zayn?” Liam looked around, realizing that, in all the revelry, he’d lost track of Zayn. “Of course I remember him!”

            “You remember him from…” Harry tilted his head meaningfully.

Liam frowned. How could Harry think he wouldn’t remember being kissed in that café? He was pretty sure he was going to remember that kiss for the rest of his life.

            “The coffee shop.” Liam said. “I think I sort of freaked him out.”

            “Well, he does have cheekbones that can cut glass. He’s a lot to take in.”

            “I feel so terrible. He must have felt so ambushed, and if anyone had seen—the whole Internet’s still trying to find Cinderella.”

            Harry’s eyes darkened, and he opened his mouth to say something, but then—

            “Harry!” Louis emerged from the balcony to squeeze onto the couch. “There you are.”

            “I was just getting to know Liam.” Harry glanced at Louis meaningfully. “I was trying to talk to him about Zayn.”

            “You were telling him about—”

            “The coffee shop.” Harry said hastily. “I was just going to tell him that Zayn wanted to apologize.”

            “Well,” Louis turned his blue eyes on Liam, giving him the uncomfortable feeling that he was being X-rayed. “Zayn is on the balcony. Have at it.”

            Liam frowned. “I was just going to-- “

            “Go.” Louis and Harry said together.

            Liam must have been still pretty drunk, because he didn’t even protest as they both yanked him bodily to his feet and nearly shoved him back out onto the freezing balcony.

ZAYN

            “Hey,” Liam said awkwardly.

            Zayn was still sitting down, his back against the wall, his cigarette long since put out on the concrete and stubbed into the ashtray. Liam sat down beside him, his legs nearly reaching the edge through the balcony’s iron bars.

            “What do you want?”

            “Louis said you wanted to apologize?”

            “Oh, right.” Zayn shook his head. “Sorry for being an ass. It’s just—”

            “I kind of jumped you,” Liam said sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to do that.” He looked out over the balcony, staring at the glowing headlights of a couple of cars as they swept into the parking lot. “It was—a rough week. I made you uncomfortable.”

             “Oh I was into it.”

            Zayn could feel Liam snap his head around to look at him. “You were?”

            Zayn shook his head, amused in spite of himself. “Of course I was.”

            “Then why…” Liam trailed off, and Zayn could hear the hurt in his voice.

            He wanted to make it better. To kiss and apologize and give them their happy ending. Wasn’t that what balconies were for? Declarations, promises?

            The truth?

            But here he was, silhouetted in moonlight, his skin silver, shivering.

            And Liam was drunk, his lips puffy, his eyes bright.

            And he still had no idea who Zayn was.

            Liam had just come out to the entire school. He was losing his presidency. Half his frat brothers probably wanted him out of the fraternity, and the other half were probably planning religious interventions.

            The last thing he needed was some stupid barista, bringing up the night that had ruined his life all over again.

            “I shouldn’t have kissed you back,” Zayn said instead. “I’m just not interested in being with someone like you. Someone who’s still figuring it out.”

            “Oh.” 

            “It’s not that I don’t like you, Liam.” Zayn turned to look at him, and nearly threw all caution to the wind at the sight of him, dark eyes gleaming wetly, his chest rising and falling in the night air, his lower lip starting to tremble. “I really, really like you. But I’ve done the coming out thing. All of my friends have, and I’m just not willing to go back there. I don’t want to go through all that again. I need someone more—”

            “On your level.” Liam finished. “I get it.”

            I don’t, Zayn thought. It’s all bullshit. Bullshit, that we’re not in the same place. Bullshit that the timing is off. Can’t you see that I’m lying? Can’t you tell that timing never matters when it’s the right person?

            But Liam didn’t seem to notice the turmoil going through Zayn’s mind. He just reached over and took Zayn’s hand, running his fingers along the Zayn’s palm in way that made Zayn want to forget everything he’d just said, and probably the entire English language while he was at it…

            “I’m not really in a space for being with anyone, either.” Liam said. “My brothers—some of them won’t talk to me. And—I like you, Zayn. I like Louis and Harry, these people—it’s nice not to hide, you know? Not to feel like I’m putting on a show all the time.”

            “So—”

            “So maybe we could just be friends?” Liam asked hesitantly. “Not to sound like a frat president at the end of the hookup, except I am one.”

            Zayn laughed at that. “I like the sound of that. But no more make out sessions at the coffee shop.”

“Well, not unless I knock something over again,” Liam said slyly.

Zayn leaned his head against Liam’s shoulder and sighed.

Then they talked.

Zayn talked about the way Martha had reacted when she’d seen his late clock out. How Louis had applauded him for ‘hooking up on the clock.’

And Liam spoke, in a way that made Zayn think he hadn’t talked like this in a long time. He told Zayn that the only calls he’d been answering were from his parents, Niall and Andy, and this girl Kayla, who was surprisingly cool about the whole thing. About Love Island and Gotham. About trying so hard to fit in, you thought you would just become what you wanted to be. You thought you could fake it until you made it.

Zayn tried not to focus on the way Liam’s shoulders shook when he laughed. The way that his whole face crinkled up when he smiled. The warmth of his hand in Liam’s. The scent of tequila and deodorant that clung to Liam’s skin. The warmth of Liam’s breath on the back of his neck, and the moonlight.

            He tried not to think about the way he’d held Liam close as Cinderella, the edge of his mask tickling Zayn’s face. Tried to let the truth stop sticking in his throat, and swallow it down.

To let all that was said, all that was there now, be the only things between him and Liam that existed.

            But he knew, like the night that was gradually lightening to dawn, that none of it was going to last. 

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 5: THE GLASS SLIPPER

LIAM

       Thanksgiving came and went with alarming speed, and before Liam knew it, he was cramming for finals. The skies darkened to heavy gray on rainy days, only a weak sunlight poking through the clouds otherwise, and he spent more time drinking hot lattes than cold ones, trying to power through all of his exams and assignments. Football games had become windy, obnoxious affairs, and he spent most Saturdays with his parents, lying between them on the couch while they threw popcorn at the screen, and pretending that everything was normal.

Liam was still ignoring the texts and phone calls from his frat brothers through finals week, until Niall finally arrived at his parents’ house one morning, sopping wet from the rain.

“You’ll drip all over the carpet if you—” Liam began, as Niall shouldered his way past him.       

            Niall wrung out his shirt and pushed his hair back. “You need to come home.” He said.

            “I am home.”

            “You know what I mean. I’ve been trying to get you alone on campus, and I’ve been texting you for weeks.”

            “Look, I’m sorry, it’s just with the holidays and everything. Finals—”

            “Don’t lie to me! I can tell you’ve already replaced us with that crowd of art nerds. What the Hell is wrong with you? You’re our president!”

            “Haven’t they impeached me already?”

            “They haven’t, as a matter of fact, because I won’t let them!” Niall shouted. “But they’re about to, because you’d rather just start a new life than deal with all the shit from the old one.”

            “That’s not fair. I’m bisexual, Niall.” Liam still nearly choked on the words; he’d been saying it out loud to himself, and he’d said it to Zayn and Louis, but he still hadn’t quite gotten used to the feeling that came with it. “Everything changed when I kissed—when everyone saw. I can’t just pretend it didn’t.”

            Niall looked at him, exasperated. “Where’s your shower?”

            Liam frowned. “Um—"

            “I’m about to die of hypothermia. Where is it?”

            Liam pointed.

            Niall rushed past him, then turned when Liam wasn’t following.

            “Are you coming, or?”

            “Um—"

            “Oh, shut up.”

            And with that, Niall grabbed Liam by the wrist and yanked him into the bathroom.           

            “Listen, I don’t know what kind of weird intervention this is,” Liam began. “But—”        

            “You’re still frat president.” Niall planted Liam in the bathroom and then stepped behind the shower curtain. There was a rustling noise, then wet plops as Niall’s soaking wet clothes landed on the tile.

“Hey!” Liam shouted, as he narrowly avoided being hit in the face with Niall’s boxers. “Watch it!”

The shower turned on, steam beginning to fill the room almost instantly.

             “You have responsibilities.” Niall shouted over the water. “You can’t just walk out on us.”

            “I’m not walking out on you.” Liam said. “Y’all don’t want me there!”

            “Yes, we do.”

            “Really? Then why is Josh trying to take my spot? Why is he coordinating all your events, and organizing formal, and—”

            “Because you aren’t there! If you would just come back—”

            “Look, I’m not just going to pretend—”

            “I’m not asking you to pretend.” Niall’s voice had turned soft, and Liam had to strain to hear him over the water. “I just miss you.”

Liam flinched. Was Niall crying?

            Niall Horan had a smile on his face 24 hours a day. He literally smiled in his sleep.

            “Niall,” Liam began. “I love you guys. But I don’t want to keep pretending to be something I’m not.”

            “I’m not asking you to pretend to be straight.” Niall said. “Liam, listen, some of us—we kind of knew.”

            “What?”

            “Just the way you were at parties, sometimes. The way you always seemed in your own head, off somewhere. I mean, we didn’t know about this, obviously. We just felt like there was something—different. Something you were afraid to say to us.”

            Liam ran a hand through his hair. “I—”

            “Just say you’ll come to formal,” Niall said. “It’s tomorrow night.”

            “I’m not seeing everyone for the first time after all this at a stupid dance.”

            “Then come see them now.” Niall stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around himself. He pushed past Liam into the hall. “Do you have any clothes I can borrow?  I’m freezing!”

            Liam rushed after him, about to say something rude, but then he froze. Both of his parents were at the other end of the hallway, looking thoroughly amused.

            “Niall,” his mother said politely, “Perhaps Liam didn’t tell you. But we don’t typically allow him to bring—er—guests over."

            Niall grinned. “Sorry.” He turned to Liam. “So? Clothes?”

            Liam took one look at his parents, and another at Niall, assertive and confident in his towel, and burst out laughing.

ZAYN  

            Zayn hadn’t ever really imagined what it might be like to be friends with a frat boy.         

            Much less, what it would be like to be friends with a disgraced frat president who didn’t know that Zayn was the boy he had gotten caught kissing, which had caused him to become ‘disgraced’ in the first place.

            The more people saw the two of them in public, the more nervous Zayn got.

            When he’d gone bowling with Liam and Louis and the guys, there was a girl whispering behind her hand and looking at something on her phone.

            Was she comparing Zayn’s height? Paying attention to the way Zayn and Liam seemed to take nonverbal cues from each other, the uncanny way that Zayn would lean into Liam without even thinking about it?

            How long would it take someone to guess?

            Zayn knew he was being paranoid, but it was hard not to be. In spite of his promise to himself, and to Liam, that they would just be friends, there was this undeniable thing between them. It was like every time Zayn was next to Liam, it felt natural to lean into his embrace, plant a kiss on his cheek, squeeze his hand whenever he was trying to get his attention.    

            Zayn kept trying to maintain a minimum safe distance from Liam, even when they went out. He usually kept Louis as a buffer, but whenever Louis went off with Harry, it was impossible for Zayn to stay away. He always ended up cuddled under one arm, his head resting on Liam’s shoulder. He’d always end the night with a brush of a kiss against Liam’s cheek.

            It was taking all of Zayn’s willpower not to just absolutely maul Liam every chance he got, and he didn’t know how much longer he was going to hold out. How much longer he would, before—     

            “Hey—” Louis poked Zayn on the shoulder with the end of his pencil. “You good?”        

            Zayn shook himself, trying to focus. Their history final was tomorrow, and Louis had been making him study for days, cramming all the possible information he could to earn a hundred percent.

            Louis had a thing about being a history major. Apparently, since he wanted to study history, that meant he had to be absolutely flawless on every history-related exam. No mistakes.

            “I’m fine,” Zayn said, stifling a yawn behind his hand. “What time is it? I’m tired.”

            “It’s 2 PM.”

            “Sorry. I was up late. Liam and I—”

            “When are the two of you going to bone and get it over with?”

            Zayn blushed. “We’re not. We’re just friends, you know that.”

Only, last night Liam had come over to watch Civil War, and even though it was one of Zayn’s favorite movies of all time, he hadn’t been able stop thinking about the warmth of Liam’s thigh against his, the feel of Liam’s chest as he breathed in and out, the sharp scent of him.      

            Zayn felt like these hang out sessions were becoming some kind of masochistic torture, but he couldn’t stop. He spent every moment with Liam in agony, trying not to get too close, and every moment away from Liam thinking about how he might get closer next time.

            There had been a moment, last night. Liam was leaving, and he kept lingering at the door, biting his lip like he was working up the courage to say something.

            But then all he’d said was, “See you later,” and walked out.

            Leaving Zayn to fall back onto the couch and stare at the ceiling, until the wonder and adrenaline subsided, and he could finally sleep.

            “Just tell him you like him. What’s the problem?

            Zayn stretched, scratching his neck. “I already told him I wasn’t interested. And if you’ll recall, he also does not know that I’m—” Zayn couldn’t even bring himself to say it.

            “Because you haven’t told him!”

            “Come on—” Zayn sputtered. “Do you really expect me to tell him? The only reason someone doesn’t remember kissing the same person twice is if the kiss never meant that much to begin with.”

            “I think a kiss that outs you to the entire world, and has you obsessing over Scarlet articles, definitely means something.”

            “What do you mean ‘obsessing’?’

            “Oh nothing.” Louis said airily. “Like you said, he obviously didn’t think the kiss meant that much.” He smirked.

            Zayn glared at him. “Can we just study, please?”

            “You were the one who got distracted.”

            “Because you keep—” Zayn’s phone buzzed. “Hang on.”

            “Tell Liam I said hi,” Louis said, turning back to his notes.

            Zayn got up and walked toward the back of the café. He and Louis had been studying there since classes had officially ended. It was a nice change of scenery from the apartment, Zayn could wrangle them free drinks, and people in coffee shops didn’t have the harried, panicked looks of the ones who camped out in the library.

 Zayn was pretty sure he’d be shot if he opened a bag of chips in the library during finals week.

            “Hello?”

            “I need a favor.” Liam sounded breathless and excited.

            “Sure.” Zayn said. “What is it?”

            “Well, before you agree,” Liam began. “It’s about a dance.”

            Zayn took a moment to mentally scream into the void at the irony the universe was flinging upon him.

Then he coughed slightly and said. “A dance?”

            “It’s the Winter Formal for Kappa Phi Nu. It’s tomorrow night. I know it seems stupid.” Liam paused. “But I miss my brothers, and some of them have reached out, and I might not necessarily have to be impeached if I just see…”

            “I mean, go for it.” Zayn said. “You said Niall and Andy have been really supportive, right? So you should be good.”

            “It’s not just that.” Liam began. He gave a half-laugh. “You’re gonna think I’m crazy.”

            Zayn’s heart was beating so fast, he felt like he was getting lightheaded. I need a cigarette. “What is it?”

            “Well, I was thinking—um—remember that guy I kissed? Cinderella?”

            “Yes…”

            “Well, what if I gave him another chance to meet me? To come to formal, and we’d try to—pick up where we left off. I can’t stop thinking about him.”

            “Oh.”

            “So I was wondering if you think that would be a good idea. I could put out an ad—”

            Liam was still talking, but Zayn couldn’t hear a thing. The blood was rushing in his ears, and his vision had gone fuzzy at the edges. He looked around the room desperately, and caught Louis’ eye.

            “WHAT?” Louis mouthed at Zayn’s panicked expression.

            “HELP ME.” Zayn mouthed back.

            “That sounds—uh great.” Zayn managed to squeak out, once Liam had finished speaking.

            “You think so?” Liam said anxiously. “You don’t think—he won’t want to meet me?”

            “Liam,” Zayn closed his eyes, willing himself to not to pass out. “He’d have to be crazy not to meet you.”

            There was a long pause on the other end. “Thank you for saying that.” Liam said. “I—I really appreciate you, these past few weeks. I don’t know why, but us hanging out. It helps.”

            Zayn’s stomach clenched.. He was about to say something, but then Liam continued—    

            “I was also wondering, um, if you’re not busy—could you come with me? I need someone there when I see him again. Someone who gets it, you know?”

            Louis was now less than two feet away from Zayn, and he looked at Zayn, incredulous. “SAY YES!” he mouthed. “SAY YES!”

            “I might have to work…”

            “Oh.” Liam said quietly. “I guess I can see if Louis—"

            Louis reached through Zayn’s shirt to grab his nipple and twisted. “OW…”

            “Are you okay?”

            “Yeah, I’m—hang on.” There followed a brief wrestling match, which resulted in Louis grabbing the phone from Zayn’s hand. “Hi, Liam.” Louis said cheerfully. “I’m getting someone to cover Zayn’s shift so he can make it to formal.”

            “That would be awesome!” Liam said. “And hey—you and Harry can totally come, too.”

            “We’d love to!” Louis beamed. “See you tomorrow night! Bye!”

            “You can’t get my shift covered.” Zayn said. “You don’t even work here.”

            “We both know damn well you aren’t scheduled for tomorrow night.”

            “How do you—”

            “You pin your schedule to the fridge. Dumbass.”

            Zayn’s heart was still beating like he had just run a mile. “Louis. I can’t do this. I can’t tell him it’s me. Did you hear him? He’d never want to be with someone like—”

            “You’re doing this.” Louis said firmly. “But I agree this should have a little—flair. The suit’s still in your closet, right? With the mask?”           

            “Yes, but—”

            Louis put his hand on Zayn’s shoulder. “Trust me.” He looked into his eyes meaningfully. “You can do this.”

            “I really can’t.” Zayn started to pack up his stuff, throwing his notes haphazardly into his bag.

            “What are you doing?” Louis said. “You’re going. You have to stop being so scared, Zayn. You have to try.”

            “I’m not going.” Zayn said, firing off a text. “I’m working tomorrow night.”

            “But you aren’t—”

            “I am now. I’m not doing this, Louis. Going there. Seeing the look on Liam’s face when he realizes it’s me—you don’t understand.”

            “Then explain it to me!”

            “You got your person! You found someone to love, and they love you back! But I—”

            “Zayn, just because Perry didn’t love you—”

            “The minute they find out who I really am, they leave.” Zayn could feel his eyes blurring with tears. “I’m just not—worth it. Not worth the family drama, or breaking up with your girlfriend, or the commitment—”

            “That’s not true.” Louis said fiercely.

            “It happens every time.” Zayn said. “Have fun at the formal.”

            Louis said something else, but Zayn was already out the door.

            Liam couldn’t ever find out Zayn was Cinderella. After all that had happened, he’d feel so betrayed.                  

            And wasn’t the fact that Liam didn’t know who Zayn was already, in spite of those kisses, in spite of all the time they’d spent together, proof that they weren’t meant to be together? There was too much between them that was different, too much discrepancy between the frat president and the barista, for there to be any semblance of a real relationship.

            He doesn’t want the barista, Zayn thought as he got into his car. He wants the man in the mask.

            He rested his head against the steering wheel, as tears started to sting the corners of his eyes.

            This isn’t cowardice. It’s self-preservation.

            He thought of Liam’s crinkly grin, the way his eyes softened when he looked at him, the way he kissed, desperate and urgent and heated.

            Zayn felt his body start to shudder with sobs. He was falling in love with Liam. There was no way of stopping it. He might have started falling before any of this had happened, that first day at the coffee shop.

            And it was precisely because of that, because of the fragility of his heart, stubbornly beating in his chest, that he had to be nowhere near the formal tomorrow night.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 6:  THE BALL (AGAIN)

LIAM

            “This was a mistake,” Liam said. “I’m going home.”

            “Absolutely not.” Louis and Niall said together. Since Louis had arrived, he and Niall had gotten along famously. All Louis had to do was quirk his lips a certain way, and Niall would burst out laughing.

            Liam wished he could share in the mirth, but he was too busy wiping his sweaty palms on his slacks and resisting the urge to sprint out the nearest exit.

  “I shouldn’t be here. If I had known it would be like this—”

            “Oh, what’s a couple extra people?” Niall said.

            “A couple?”

 There was an enormous crowd spilling out of the entrance to the hotel ballroom, all dressed in their finest, craning their necks to catch a glimpse of him. The ones who could see him weren’t even bothering to whisper behind their hands, or act like they weren’t recording the entire thing on their phones.

What was I thinking?

            In support of Liam, the dress code at the formal had been changed to an elegant masquerade, and Liam was surrounded by masked, glittering people, all watching him with the obsessive scrutiny of viewers of a reality tv show waiting for the drama to unfold.

            “It looks like half the school is here.” Liam said. “What am I supposed to do now?”

            “Well,” Louis linked his arm through Harry’s as Niall took Liam’s. “We’ve got a lot of work to do if we want to find your Cinderella before midnight.”

            “He’s probably not even here.” Liam said. “Who would want all this attention?” He shook his head. “This is a disaster.”

            In spite of his protests, Louis and Niall were towing him inexorably toward the entrance.  Liam could see that inside, the entire place was bedecked in snowflakes and icicle Christmas lights, and as Liam watched, couples arrived to take their photos in the booth set up by the entrance.

            He was seized with a sudden flashback of all the times he’d been where they were, arriving at a party with a glittering, beautiful girl on his arm. Posing awkwardly, trying to make sure he didn’t smear her makeup when he kissed her.

            Would Liam bring Cinderella to the dances after this? Would he arrive with a beautiful man on his arm, and just hope everyone would act normal?

            Liam still hadn’t been able to face the guys.

            He was planning to do it here, where the decorum of the event would keep them from being too rude. And with Louis, Harry, and Niall, Liam was sure he could handle it.

            Except…        

            Liam really wished Zayn had been able to come.

            Got scheduled last minute. Can’t make it. Sorry.

            Liam knew Zayn couldn’t control his schedule, but it still hurt that he wasn’t here. There was something about being with Zayn that always made Liam feel calm, safe. Even when they’d been in that café after hours, kissing like crazy, it had felt natural. Like it was supposed to happen.

            Zayn had a way of making Liam not care about anything else.

            Liam shook his head. He was here for Cinderella. The guy he’d kissed under the moonlight, who had kickstarted this whole thing. When he’d been so wrapped up, everything else had faded away.

            Liam shuddered. What if he didn’t come? What if he didn’t want to?

            “It’s going to be great when half the university watches me get stood up.”

            “I find that highly unlikely,” Louis said. “Let’s just go in.”

            Liam walked through the doors into the ballroom and gasped.

            It was a sea of Cinderellas.

            Every man in the room was wearing some semblance of the Cinderella suit, trimmed lace and long sleeves, a delicate mask obscuring their features. Some of them had even chosen to wear some form of a Cinderella gown, with flowing skirts cascading from a tight waistcoat. Even the women had joined the theme, with many of them wearing sparkling white dresses, gleaming suits, or simple tiaras on their heads.

            Liam tried to remember exactly what his Cinderella’s suit had looked like—the juxtaposition of hard and soft lines, the golden skin peeking out underneath it, but it had been over a month. Was there lace on the cuffs? Was the shirt cropped? Was there a waistcoat?

            Liam turned to Louis. “This is all your fault.”

            “Well, I meant for people to just follow the Cinderella theme.” Louis said. “I didn’t realize everyone would take it so literally.” He glanced over at Harry, who took off his coat, to reveal a frocked, gorgeous ballgown, glimmering a bluish white. Louis withdrew a tiara from his coat pocket and placed it on Harry’s head.

            “Yeah.” Liam said. “You seem real broken up about it.”

             “Don’t worry.” Niall said. “It’s just the ones here without dates we have to narrow down, right? Maybe he’ll ask you to dance?”

            “This was a mistake. I should go.’

            Louis turned away from Harry to take Liam’s arm.  “Dude, look at all these guys. People are literally lining up to date you.”

            “But only one of them is Cinderella. The real one.”

            There was that meaningful glance between Louis and Harry again. “Maybe a fairytale isn’t the way to start this.” Harry said. “It might be better if you just—start over. No magic. No epic grand gestures.”

            “That would sound a lot more convincing if it wasn’t coming from someone wearing a Cinderella ballgown.”

            Harry shrugged. “Or maybe he’ll be here—” he looked at Louis, “He could still make it, right?”

            Louis sighed.  “I hope so. He needs to get his head out of his ass first.”

            “Hang on,” interrupted Liam. “What are y’all—”

            “Excuse me, Liam?” a deep, gravelly voice made Liam turn around.

            There was a very attractive man standing behind him. He was a little shorter than Liam, with corded muscles and dark hair that he’d pulled back into a ponytail.

            He was wearing the Cinderella suit.

            Liam squinted. Was that right? Had there been golden buttons, or silver ones? Was there glitter?

            “Would you like to dance?” The man’s golden eyes met Liam’s through the mask.

            “Look I don’t know if you’re—”

            “I’m not.” The man, said, grinning. “But I’d like to dance with you anyway.” He leaned in close, and Liam felt himself blush. “I’ve always had a little crush on you.”

            “Who—”

            “Jace!” Niall said out loud. “From freshman year.”

            Jace smiled sheepishly. “Caught me.”

            Jace had been Niall’s roommate. They’d gotten drunk a couple of times together, but Liam didn’t know him that well. He’d thought he was beautiful, of course, with his olive skin and dark hair, but those weren’t things he was letting himself think at the time.

            “I didn’t think you liked me.” Liam said.

            “Oh, I did. I just wanted what I couldn’t have.” Jace brushed his fingers down Liam’s jaw, and Liam shivered. “So? Dance?”

            Liam nodded.

ZAYN

            Zayn started washing the latest set of mugs and dishes, sinking his hands carefully into the water, unconcerned that his apron was getting soaked.           

            Typically, Zayn didn’t pay much attention when washing dishes. A few rinses, a dip in the sanitizing liquid, and they were done.

            But now, he was meticulous. There was a crack in this mug, and he was trying to see if he could get any dirt or grime out of it. The crack went right down the middle of the university logo in an ominous sort of way, and it made him feel like it was important that the crack be the only flaw, that the rest of the mug remain immaculate.

            Finally, Zayn moved on to the next stack. The water was getting dirty, so he unplugged the drain and let it swirl to the bottom, watching the discarded bits of food gather in the strainer like soggy cardboard. He emptied them in the trash can, trying not to touch any. Wet food always grossed him out.

            But now, even that familiar twinge of disgust only seemed to reach him distantly. Zayn refilled the sink, glancing idly at the clock. 9:15. The party would have just started, and Zayn had gone a whole 20 minutes without checking his phone to see if Liam had texted.

            Liam had been texting constantly in the leadup to the ball. Louis and Harry helped me get the word out. I’m a little nervous. Wish u were here. Miss you. Weird to say it, but I do.

            Zayn closed his eyes for a moment, trying to banish the thoughts that invaded his mind.

Zayn was driving himself crazy over the little dimple in the middle of Liam’s lips, the way that it seemed to beg for a finger to press down upon it. He kept recalling what it felt like when he would snuggle up to Liam during a movie, and feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed, that special warmth that he never got with anyone else.  Zayn was going insane with wanting, and never-ending scenarios about what might happen if he arrived at the ball, if Liam showed up here, kept playing in his head on loop, each more wonderful and unlikely than the next.

            In the movie version of this situation, Zayn whipped off his apron and dashed to the ball. When he arrived, it didn’t matter that everyone was masked, or that Liam hadn’t recognized him before. Liam saw him and the lights went gold, and everything glittered, and their first kiss happened beneath a shower of confetti, just as the clock struck midnight.

            Or, Liam arrived here, and he said, “I just knew.” And that was all that needed to be said.

            Zayn shook his head violently, trying to banish the thoughts from his mind. Stop it. You know what’s really going to happen:

            He would finish his shift, and go home. After a few hours staring at his phone and a few words in his journal, he would fall asleep to the soothing rhythm of Gilmore Girls. When he woke up, it would be to find that Louis and Harry had a wonderful night, and Liam had ended up with someone beautiful, and—that was it.

            Movies have it wrong. Movies have you thinking that a kiss and a ball and a mask mean something, when so often they are just events, strung together due to the  linear passage of time and nothing else. In a movie, you think, “But this has to be a sign. This has to resolve itself. There will be a bell tolling midnight, and everything will change.”

            But in real life, the truth is much more mundane. Time passes. The numbers on the clock tick upward and pass the point of no return. The hours of magic and mystery and the last-minute chances drain away like water down an unblocked sink.

            And nothing else really happens.      

            The sink was finally full. Zayn started scrubbing a plate, willing his eyes not to mist over. Haven’t I already learned that I’m not meant to love? I’m not meant to find anyone, because when they leave, I can’t handle it.

            It’s better this way.  Zayn bit his lip so hard, he felt the skin fold beneath his teeth. At least wanting keeps all the fantasies clear, and in some fairytale timeline, we could be happy.

            Just as he was finishing another set of dishes, he heard the bell to the front tinkle.

            He carefully dried the final set of dishes and restacked them in the appropriate cabinets. Then, he looked out over the nearly-empty café. Since finals had ended, there was no movement, apart from a grad student in the back working on his thesis, who had been drinking espresso for the last two hours. His eyes had gone droopy, and he was spending more time checking his phone than typing. Zayn couldn’t see if anyone else had come in—maybe they’d just looked in for a moment, or gone to use the bathroom.

            Zayn grabbed a rag and started to wipe down the counter. He glanced at the clock. 11:00. The Formal had probably turned into a full-blown party by now, and Zayn was sure that Liam had danced with everyone in a Cinderella costume. Maybe he even thought that some of them were the one.

            If Zayn actually did go, Liam probably wouldn’t even notice him.

            The bell tinkled again, and Zayn felt a gust of cold wind as someone came through the door. “Be with you in a minute.” he said absently, not even bothering to look up. There was a particularly stubborn stain across the granite, and he was hoping to get it out by the end of the night…

            “What the Hell are you still doing here?”     

            Zayn groaned and looked up. Louis, Harry, and some blonde guy who looked like he belonged in a frat were standing at the counter, glaring at him.

            “I knew you would try something like this.” Zayn crossed his arms stubbornly. “It’s not going to work.”

            “Oh, don’t be silly.” Louis said. “I know that you love him. And as Liam’s fairy godmother—”

            “Stop acting like this is some stupid fairytale. This is real life, Louis! Liam isn’t going to magically fall in love with me just because I wore a nice outfit one time.”

            “As if that isn’t the entire ideology behind the Met Gala,” Harry muttered.

            “What’s a Met Gala?” The blonde guy asked.

            “I don’t even know who you are,” Zayn said to him. “But whatever Louis told you, it isn’t true.”

            “He didn’t tell me much,” the boy said. “Besides that you and Liam have been attached at the hip, and you were supposed to be his date tonight, and you just happen to be the exact height of that guy in the photos, give or take—”

            Zayn’s hands clenched into fists. “Stop it.”

            “—I also know that Liam hasn’t shut up about you since he came up with this whole idea. I know that when we left him, he was dancing around the party with some guy, and he was looking for you. I’m pretty sure he looks for you everywhere he goes.”

            Zayn started scrubbing at the spot again. “Either buy something, or get out. I have work to do.”

            “So do I,” Harry said, and he dropped a garment bag right on the counter where Zayn had scrubbed a moment before.

            “I’m not wearing the Cinderella suit again,” said Zayn. “You know damn well that everyone at the party is wearing it. That isn’t going to make any difference to Liam. Nothing is.”

            “Look,” Louis hopped up on the counter and swung himself into the staff side. Zayn, nearly frozen with surprise at this clear violation, watched, stunned as Louis took a can of whipped cream and sprayed it into his open mouth. “Liam obviously has feelings for you. Didn’t he ask you to go out, and didn’t you say you couldn’t handle it?”

            “That’s so unsanitary.” Zayn said. “We’re going to have to throw that entire can out.”

            “He cares about you.”

            “He’s Liam Payne. He’s royalty. Did you know his father is a lawyer, and his mother is the university president? He has two summer vacation homes, and he drives a Hummer. He’s—he’s—”

            “I didn’t know you were such a snob.”

            “It’s not that,” Zayn ran his fingers through his hair. “Everyone in his world, they’ll take one look at me—at my tattoos, my nose ring, my skin, the fact that I’m a boy—and they’ll hate me, and him, because he’s with me.”

            “I think you’d know Liam pretty well by now to know that sort of thing doesn’t matter to him.”

            “Of course it matters!” Zayn exclaimed. “The first time he kissed me, we had already met. But he didn’t know. Because I’m just the barista. Just the weird gay friend he made one time in college. I’m just—nobody.”

            “You have to stop saying stuff like that!” Louis actually looked angry now. “You keep deciding to walk off the battlefield before the fight has even started. You’re not doomed, Zayn.”

            “He’ll say it’s fine. He’ll say it doesn’t matter. But he won’t be able to keep it up. The difference between my world and his, the way people will look at us, he won’t be able to handle it. And then we’ll be broken up anyway, but it’ll be worse, because we’ll know how great it was.”

            “That’s some faulty logic. You’ve decided it’s over, so you may as well not even try?”

            “It makes the most sense.” Zayn plucked the can of whipped cream out of Louis’ hand and tossed it in the trash. “It’s easier this way.”

            “You know, I don’t think that’s true.”

            Zayn sighed. “Louis—”

            “I think you’re scared.” Louis interrupted. “I think Liam Payne scares the hell out of you, and instead of actually facing how amazing it might be, you’ve concocted a whole bunch of reasons it won’t work.”

“You shouldn’t let the fear of striking out keep you from playing the game.” The blonde guy added, making Zayn jump. He and Harry had made their way through the staff door without Zayn noticing.

            “I’m gay. I don’t get sports metaphors.”

            “Well, it seemed homophobic to assume that because you were gay, you didn’t understand sports—”

            “Niall.” Harry patted his arm. “I get that you’re trying. But not now.”

            “Okay.” Niall grinned. “But Louis is right. Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean that you don’t try. It’s not just that he wants you, Zayn. Liam needs you. He keeps looking around the stupid party, wondering why his Cinderella isn’t there.”

            “Cinderella is there. There are about two hundred of them, judging by the Likes on The Scarlet’s Instagram.”

            “But not Liam’s Cinderella. Not the right one.”

            “He can’t expect me—” Zayn sputtered, feeling his resolve crumbling. “I don’t—”

            “I know it’s not quite how the fairytale goes.”  Louis began, “but I think that if anyone needs to be saved tonight, it’s Liam. He’s waiting for you. He might not know it yet, but he is.”

            “STOP.” Zayn shouted. “You think you can just ambush me, and tell me he needs me, and expect me to come? You think it’s that easy?”

            “I know it’s not that easy.” Harry said. He walked around Zayn until he got to Louis, and took his hand. “I know it’s not simple, like it’s supposed to be. But that’s what the fairytales don’t really tell you. Love isn’t just about a clock that strikes midnight, or a great outfit. It’s about—the little things. About choosing each other in the smallest, most difficult moments. Showing up even when you don’t have to, even when it might be easier to stay away, and prevent both of you from getting hurt.”

            Louis leaned into Harry’s shoulder, smiling.

            Zayn could feel his stomach twisting with all the reasons he could send them away, a thousand scenarios playing in his head, where he told them all to go back to the ball, and he stayed here, and Liam moved on.

            And it was easier.

            But Zayn knew. He’d known, if he was honest, the moment He’d seen Louis standing on the other side of the counter.

            With Liam Payne, he didn’t care about easy.

            “Let me guess.” Zayn said. “My suit is in the bag.”

            “Well, suit is a strong word,” Louis said. “You didn’t think I’d let you wear the same outfit twice, did you?”

LIAM

            Liam had been abandoned. Niall, Louis, and Harry had snuck off to God-knows-where, Andy was wrapped in the arms of his date, and Liam was dancing with—“What was your name again,  sir? I didn’t quite hear before.”

            “Gubb. Kensington Gubb,” the elderly man said, his arms expertly guiding Liam in a waltz, though he was several feet shorter than him. “And I must say, you are a divine dancer. I quite think that my donation to this ball will be well spent among men of your caliber—"

            “Sir, that’s very kind of you, but—” Liam cast his eyes about the room, searching frantically for his friends. He’d been dancing and making small talk for hours, and everyone seemed interested in only one of two things (1) currying favor with his mother, or (2) convincing him they were his Cinderella. Or in the case of Chasen Gubb, this elderly man’s son, both, apparently.

            Kensington had been going on about Chasen for at least half of their dance.  Chasen was head of every club on campus, and “You seem like just the right sort of gentleman to get Chasen to loosen up a little.”

            Liam didn’t have the heart to tell Kensington that Chasen was a pledge at another fraternity already, and, judging by the situation he’d walked in on at the height of said pledge party last November, he didn’t have any issues with ‘loosening up.’

Liam was having a hard time saying much of anything—Kensington’s cologne was particularly strong, and between that, and the perfumed air, Liam felt like he could barely breathe.

            He took several deep breaths and forced a smile on his face, finally spotting a group of Cinderella-dressed men at the edge of the crowd. Perhaps one of them would graciously cut in, and save him from Kensington’s so-called thrilling story about rabbit hunting with his nephew. Liam had danced with half a dozen Cinderellas already, and even though he was sure none of them were the right one, it would be more entertaining than this, at least.

            “Oh, look!” Liam exclaimed, pretending to spot someone over Kensington’s shoulder. The guy in question was dressed in a black Cinderella suit, with sheer lace sleeves, an off-white bowtie, and  a crown to complete the ensemble. He raised an eyebrow at Liam indulgently, and then sauntered over to the two of them.

            ‘Liam Payne,” the man said. “So nice to finally run into you.”

            “Wait a moment!” Kensington gasped. “Is this your—”

            “Of course I am,” the man said, just as Liam replied, “No.”

            “I—he—we—uh—”

            “Oh come on, Liam. You don’t recognize me?”

            Liam looked closer. “Alex? From camp?”

            “I see I have interrupted a reunion,” Kensington said, excusing himself, but Liam was hardly paying attention. He’d stopped still on the dance floor, staring.

            Liam had thought about reaching out to Alex a lot of times over the past few weeks. The first few nights especially, when he’d been thinking about what they’d done at camp, and how they’d never talked about it afterward. Alex hadn’t ever spoken to Liam again. Did he resent Liam for it? Did he want to know why?

            Liam held out his hand. “I’ve been meaning to call you.” He said. “What with everything that’s going on.”

            “But you haven’t.” Alex smiled in a way that didn’t reach his eyes, which gleamed an almost-glowing blue beneath the mask. He’d done something to them to make them brighter—mascara or eyeliner, perhaps, or some kind of contacts. Surely no one had eyes that glowed like that.

            “I wanted to,” Liam led Alex around the floor, trying to dodge the penetrating gazes of the assembled girls and Cinderellas, who were watching him carefully. “You came all the way here.”

            “I was in the neighborhood,” Alex shrugged. “My boyfriend goes here.”

            “Your—” Alex gave a nod, and Liam looked over his shoulder to see another of the Cinderellas, toasting them with a glass of champagne.

            “We met freshman year,” Alex said. “Not long after—”

            “After I fucked you and ran,” Liam said.

            “I recall it was I who did the fucking,” Alex smirked, and Liam felt the attraction that had once bloomed between them rise up again, and for a moment he was seventeen, so eager to chase the feeling wherever it went that he didn’t care what it would mean.

            He drew back, blinking. “So you’re not—Cinderella, are you?”

            “Of course not! I hope you’d recognize me a little better than that.”

            “Well, it’s just—I was drunk—and something he said—”

            Alex tipped his head to the side. “Same old Liam,” he whispered. “So involved with yourself you forget everyone else.”

            “I don’t forget everyone else! I’ve kind of been dealing with a lot lately.”

            Alex sighed. “I’m not trying to be mean, Liam. It’s just—sometimes, after we’d fooled around, you’d just leave like it was nothing. And that last day, I gave you my number, and you just made a little paper football with it and flicked it to Cassie.”

            “Because you had a crush on her!”

            “Liam.” Alex’s eyes met his meaningfully. “What we were doing that summer—it meant something to me. It was more than just a hookup, I mean.”         

            “But—” Liam stopped dancing, and Alex only narrowly saved him from being bowled over by Kayla and her date, who weren’t even bothering to waltz, just doing some weird combination of the hand jive and the chicken dance.

            Alex took Liam by the elbow and drew him into a corner, where, thankfully, the rest of the other partygoers couldn’t look on. “But—you didn’t say anything.” Liam said.

            “I didn’t want to have to be the one to say it.” Alex said quietly.  “I wanted you to say it. To want it. To do what you’re doing now—have an epic ball just to tell me you love me.”

            Liam opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. “I was really that awful to you?”

            “To be with someone, and then act like you’re ashamed of them? To treat them like they’re nothing to you, because the most awful thing in the world would be other people knowing about the two of you?” Alex shook his head. “I mean, I understand. I get that you didn’t want to be out—but I kind of loved you. And you just—”

            “Didn’t notice.” Liam said. Was that what he was doing now?  Making a grand gesture to someone who’d never contacted him this entire time, who already thought that he should have known exactly who they were?

            “Get. The fuck. Out.”

            It felt like an entire ice bucket had been poured over Liam’s head, and suddenly an avalanche of images came in quick succession. The kiss with Cinderella. The whispered word, “Run.” The kiss with Zayn at the coffee shop, and the feeling that he knew him from somewhere—

            “I’m late for a date,” Liam said sheepishly.

            “Have a good one.” The barista’s eyes met his, and something about their softness made Liam want to lean in. Forget about Kayla and learn more about the man facing him across the bar, with his artwork of tattoos and the dark circles under his eyes—

            The images kept coming into Liam’s head, faster and faster, as though Alex’s words had unlocked a box in Liam’s brain. The softness of Cinderella’s lips on his, the little moan that Liam did when Zayn had licked into his mouth at the café, the feel of Zayn’s shoulder pressed against his on the balcony, his voice tight and strained, telling Liam that he only wanted to be friends—

            And the weeks they had been friends, only with all the parts Liam had been missing. How Zayn seemed to check himself every time he was next to Liam, kissing him on the cheek and then wincing afterwards, as though he’d made a mistake. The knowing glances between Louis and Harry. Zayn, copping out of coming tonight when Liam had told him his plan to get Cinderella to show his face again.

            Zayn. It’s always been Zayn. How could I not have known?

“How could I have missed it?” Liam said aloud.

            Alex patted him on the shoulder. “You weren’t looking for it. You didn’t want anything to make your life hard. But I’m guessing, based on how much your hands are shaking, that you know whoever it is you were missing now.” He looked past Liam. “And it looks like my date’s come to rescue me after all.”

            “Alex.” Liam grabbed his hand before he moved away.

            Alex glanced at Liam’s hand, and he let go quickly. “You don’t have to say anything.”

            “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry that I didn’t—I wasn’t ready.”

            Alex gave Liam a quick kiss on the cheek. “I know. I wasn’t, either. Just—don’t blow it a second time, alright?”

            “Yeah.” Liam said, watching Alex walk effortlessly into the arms of his date, who drew him in, bending down to whisper into his ear. Liam felt his hands clench around nothing, and he started scanning the room the way he had been all night, looking and looking, and, he realized, even though he hadn’t known it, he had been looking for the same person all along.

            Suddenly, Liam’s eyes caught on a sparkling figure precisely in the middle of the dance floor.

            And he felt his heart change its rhythm in his chest.

            Before he could think, before he could consider all the ways he’d messed up, all the time he’d wasted, Liam was running.

Chapter Text

CHAPTER 7: THE WALTZ

ZAYN            

            So this is what it feels like to be in a fairytale, Zayn thought.

Zayn wondered if the other partygoers could see him flush under the soft lighting as Liam got closer, if the music that swelled was truly marking the steps Liam took to Zayn, or if it was all in his head.

         Zayn’s dress was a retailored Cinderella suit, the pants replaced with a long, white, flowing skirt. The suit jacket was similar, though it came in a little higher at the waist and had more ruffles along the sleeves.

            “I fucking knew it.”  Louis panted, his cheeks flushed from the effort of literally sewing Zayn into the dress, but he didn’t look any less triumphant or proud as he watched Liam run toward them. “You can do this.” He patted Zayn on the shoulder, and then Zayn was alone, standing in the middle of the dance floor, as the love of his life got closer and closer.

            And he was terrified.

            When Zayn had looked at himself in the mirror of the café’s restroom, he had almost believed that he really was the hero in the story.  The longer he wore the dress, the more he felt like he was someone who belonged on the arm of Liam Payne. Someone who could dazzle and fascinate, someone who was free to be himself, unconcerned with the stares or the whispers.

            This is it, Zayn thought, as Liam stood before from him, his eyes glittering beneath his mask, so that it was impossible to know what he was thinking.  No more running.

LIAM

            Liam didn’t notice that there were over two hundred people watching as he sprinted toward Zayn; his mind was too busy reeling over what he’d just realized, over the way Zayn looked, dazzling underneath the lights, like a dream that had crossed into waking.

Zayn was the man he had kissed that night, when he had forgotten to be afraid, when all of this had begun. And it was Zayn in the café, and Zayn squeezing his hand on the balcony, and Zayn on all their movie nights and hang outs with Harry and Louis, and Zayn who Liam had wanted with him today more than anyone, and Zayn, who he had been looking for the entire night, and his entire life, without realizing it…

            Liam slowed and stopped an arm’s length from Zayn, breathing hard, adrenaline pulsing through his veins. Zayn was wearing a ballgown beneath his suit jacket, his chest bare but for a thin, see-through dress shirt, and Liam was afraid that he wouldn’t be able to catch his breath if he kept looking at him.

            He couldn’t find the words, couldn’t get enough breath to explain, to apologize, to say that of course it had always been Zayn, and he was sorry for not realizing for so long, and Zayn looked so stunning, so ethereally gorgeous with the white shimmer dusted across his eyelids and the winged eyeliner that swept out from them, the sprinkle of glitter along his cheekbones, like he was an angel come to life, “Cinderella.”

            Liam held out his hand.

            Zayn took it.

            And they began to dance.

ZAYN

            The top of Zayn’s head just reached the bottom of Liam’s chin, and Liam had pulled him in so close, they felt less like a couple and more like an extension of one body as Liam expertly led them across the dance floor.

            The waltz was not a dance that Zayn knew, apart from what he’d seen in the Yule Ball dance scene in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Zayn had never danced with anyone, much less a boy at a ball. He didn’t like to dance, and besides, it wasn’t like people were just lining up to do ballroom—

            At first, Zayn kept stepping on Liam’s toes, which made him even more stiff, which led to even more missteps. He to remember what McGonagall had said, “ONE two three, ONE two three, ONE two three.” But when he did that, his entire body tensed up even more, and it turned into a kind of battle, Liam’s strength against his, his hand bearing down.

Then, Liam leaned in to whisper, “Breathe, Zayn,” and Zayn forgot about McGonagall, and counting the steps. His entire body relaxed into Liam’s, and they spun around the dance floor.

            By the time they reached the end of the hall, the music was all Zayn heard as it swelled around him, and all he felt was Liam shifting against him, guiding him with the gentlest of touches.  Zayn could feel his cheeks igniting like twin flames that traveled down his entire body.

            “Liam,” Zayn said finally, trying to gain some sense of composure. He needed to tell him, before it became too much, before Liam asked him why he hadn’t come—

            “Wait,” Liam said quietly, and Zayn stepped back in surprise, looking up at him.

            The dance stopped.

LIAM

            Zayn stood still in front of him, and Liam’s heart was seized by a sudden surge of tenderness so powerful, it felt like it would knock him flat.

            “Come with me,” Liam said, and he tugged Zayn out of the party, racing hand in hand through the enormous double doors into the hotel lobby, then through another door and up several flights of stairs, Zayn panting behind him all the while.

             “Where are we going?”

            “Too many people,” Liam panted. “This has to be—I wanted—”

            “But couldn’t we have taken the elevator?”

            “Almost there.”

            They finally made it to the top floor, and Liam tapped a code into the keypad, one that a very well-meaning guard had given him when he’d called the hotel earlier, not daring to hope, figuring that he would arrive on this rooftop alone after the party, and drink champagne until the bubbles lifted away even his own, incalculable hurt.

            The rooftop garden was festooned with Christmas lights, and there was a gently splashing fountain at the center of it. Liam led Zayn to it by the hand, and they sat together on a nearby bench, ivy curling around the metal legs.

            Zayn was trembling, and Liam felt goosebumps rise on his skin from the night air, the race up the steps and the emotion that was coursing through him, making every touch of Zayn’s hand against his prickle like a thousand tiny electric shocks.

            “Liam,” Zayn removed his mask. “I—it’s me. I’m—”

            “Cinderella.” Liam reached out to run his hands over the ridges the mask had made in Zayn’s skin.

            A look of frustration crossed Zayn’s face.  “Louis—”

            “Didn’t tell me a thing.” Liam kept his hand on Zayn’s cheek, and Zayn closed his eyes, leaning into his touch. “. I’ve been wasting so much time looking, when you were right here all along. Right in front of me. I should have known at the café the next day, or at movie night, or on the balcony, or any of the dozens of places we’ve been since then. I should have known when I saw you that first day, and I could feel you against my skin even though I hadn’t even touched you, and I’m sorry—”

            Zayn caught Liam’s wrist, and his eyes snapped open.

            “I’m in love with you,” Zayn said. “I’ve known this whole time, and I thought I could ignore it, I thought I could—that if I just stayed your friend and didn’t say a word, it would be easier, and I understand if you want to leave, if you need more time,  and I’m sorry if it ruins everything.” He pulled Liam’s hand from his face. “I’ll understand if you—if you don’t want to see me anymore.”

            Liam took Zayn’s hand and guided it up to the back of his head, moving his fingers to the fastenings of his mask. Zayn pulled at the ribbon and drew Liam’s mask off, his hands shaking. He ran his fingers tenderly around a matching indent the mask had made across Liam’s cheekbones, his fingers tracing along Liam’s jawline in a way that made his body flush with heat.

            “’Need more time’?” Liam said softly. “Look at you, touching love with your fingertips and still so certain you will not have it.”

            Liam got to his feet, pulling Zayn up with him. “Come on.”

            And they began to dance again.

ZAYN

            There was no music.

No crowd murmuring in the background.

No sudden swelling of violin strings, no hushed voices; even their feet were nearly soundless across the garden’s grassy ground.

Or maybe there was music playing. Maybe there were people watching from some other rooftop, maybe those below could hear the footsteps Liam and Zayn made as they danced above them.

But Zayn couldn’t hear a thing.

For him, the world had muted the moment he had removed Liam’s mask and looked upon him full in the face for the first time, with none of the secrets, none of the walls or masquerade or fears, lying between them.

All that Zayn could hear or see was Liam.

. “I love you,” Liam said. “That’s why I knew it was you. I realized it at the same moment—that the man I loved and the man I kissed were one and the same. How could I not? And now that I know—I would recognize you in a hundred lifetimes, among a thousand Cinderellas.”

            Zayn felt tears prick behind his eyes. He had never thought Liam would ever say something like that to him. Never thought that anyone would feel this way.

And even now, every instinct told him that he should run, that there was still time to make it out alive, that if he kept going, it would be too late. When his heart got broken, there wouldn’t be any putting it back together.

            But what if it doesn’t end? Zayn thought, as Liam pulled him even closer, and he felt his breath on the back of his neck. What if this time, there is no such thing as broken? No such thing as running?

            Zayn pulled back, placing his hands securely on Liam’s shoulders. “If you’re going to say you love me,” he began, “and I’m going to say I love you, then there isn’t any going back. It’s easy now, when it’s us and the ball and the dress. But what about in the morning? What about when all this wears off? We come from two different worlds, and I won’t ever belong in yours.” Zayn lowered his voice and leaned in. “Maybe we do love each other, but will that be enough?”

Will you love me when I’m petulant and angry and poor? Will you love me when the clock strikes midnight?

            Liam tilted Zayn’s chin up so that he was looking directly into his eyes.  “You’re right.” He said. “Things will change. You won’t like that I party too much, and I won’t like that you drink too much coffee and stay up too late. My frat might kick me out for being open about loving you, and the whole damn university might make us the center of their gossip spotlight for as long as we’re in this town. And maybe it’ll be too much for you. Maybe it’ll be too much for the both of us.”

            Zayn took a deep breath, trying not to let the panic rise.

Liam gripped his chin even more tightly. “But I’m in, if you are. I think I might be in regardless. So are you ready, Zayn? Are you ready to be there when I get drunk on a flask in the men’s room at a boring fundraiser, and start crying over Lebron James? When I wake up hungover and irritable, will you still love me?  Are you ready to fight, and hate each other, and have crazy makeup sex? Are you willing to get it wrong in front of all these people, just for the tiniest chance that we might get it right?”

And something in Zayn changed. The fear that held him back, that had him shaking, blew away. With Liam looking at him like that, fierce and sure, Zayn chose. He chose to believe that he was worth loving. He chose to believe in midnights.

And most importantly, he chose to believe in the man before him, who was brave and kind and sure and fearless, even when it cost him everything.

“Yes.” 

            Liam leaned in and kissed Zayn, hard and long. Zayn felt his head swim, and tears fell unbidden down his cheeks. And the kiss was their first real one, as nothing but themselves, with no lies and secrets between them. It was a kiss of promise and passion, a kiss that, with every movement of Liam’s lips against his, meant that they would both stay, through the garden and the glitter and after midnight, when the fairytale wore off.

            Liam pulled back to brush away the tears, his touch tender and soft, his eyes wide in wonder. “No matter what we go through, no matter what happens, being with you is never a mistake, Zayn Malik. I’m choosing you. And I’ll choose you every time.”

            Zayn wondered if this is what it felt like to truly be in love with someone who loved you back, to have so much emotion and wonder inside of you that it felt like your body might burst from trying to contain it. “I love you,” he whispered.

            Liam pulled him in by the lapels. “Then come here.”

EPILOGUE

Prince Charming finds his Cinderella!

OMG! Scarlet reporter Joni Jefferson on scene at the Winter Formal reports the prince of the university himself, locking lips with his Cinderella!

 Zayn Malik, an art major who moonlights as a barista, is the masked princess who stoke  our prince’s heart! The two shared a waltz before disappearing to the roof of the Mariott, where, no doubt, they celebrated the clock striking midnight in their own way ;)

Payne and Malik were approached for a comment, but reporters were accosted by a small, uncouth man and his gangly boyfriend, who simply kept shouting “Fuck off, you fucking losers!” and waving their hands at the crowds of photographers and partygoers like they were landing a plane. We encourage anyone with tips on the new relationship to send them to [email protected] .

Happy Holidays, and here’s hoping that this reporter’s Prince Charming comes in the New Year!