Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue

 

He was seventeen when his father got offered the job in America. He was seventeen when he had to decide then and there whether he was going to stay in his little hometown, the one that only ever brought in tourists because of the local university and had a population of less than ten thousand, or move to the other side of the world to stay with his family.

Honestly, if they had asked him a year before, he would have gone with them without question. But then, when he was literally months away from starting his first year of university, when he had his whole life planned out ahead of him, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t leave the home he’d grown up in. He couldn’t leave his friends or his town or the school he was planning on going to, that he already had a full scholarship to.

He was staying, and his parents and his sisters were packing up and leaving for six years. He was used to having his father gone; being a military man meant that he was only home for a few months out of the year. And the job he was offered in America promised that he’d be home for ten months instead of just six, and they couldn’t pass that up, not even if it meant completely relocating to a place that none of them were accustomed to.

They weren’t selling their old house for several reasons. For one, it had been in their family for over a hundred years. Louis’ grandparents’ grandparents had grown up in their house (which has been remodelled so many times that it technically doesn’t even resemble the house it used to be, but still, it’s the thought that counts). For another, they were planning on moving back at the end of the six years. Their whole family on both his father’s and mother’s sides lived there, and they were all very close.

So Louis was staying with the house. That was the deal. That was the plan. And maybe that had a little to do with his decision to stay, too, because what seventeen-year-old wouldn’t want an entire house to themselves?

 

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Chapter 1

Louis is clutching the flyer tightly in his hand. He has a stapler in the other, and in the bag on his back he has a whole stack of the exact same flyers. And yet he is just standing there, staring blankly at the wall, and he is really questioning the idea to actually do this. Not that it was his idea. It was Liam’s idea, and while normally Liam has wonderful ideas, Louis doesn’t think this is one of them.

Louis wants a car. That’s why he is doing this. He wants a car, and he doesn’t want to have to do more shifts at the store, and this is the best way to get enough money to do so without actually doing anything.

With a sigh, he reaches up and places the flyer against the bulletin board and then, before he can talk himself out of it, he staples the flyer down and walks away, not taking another look at the words on the page because he’s already memorized them.

Housemate wanted. Negotiable rent. In-house washer and dryer. Rent covers all utilities. Free internet and cable. If interested, call the number listed below; ask for Louis Tomlinson or Liam Payne.

Underneath the words, the flyer has been cut into little strips, each one with the home phone number on it, ready to be ripped off if anyone is interested. The flyer doesn’t really say much about the entire house, because they didn’t want to mention the fact that there are four of them already living there. Or that they’re all clinically insane (with the exception of Liam, possibly, but Louis is still on the fence about that one).

He spends the next twenty minutes stapling up the flyers on every bulletin board he can find on campus. When he’s done, he puts the stapler in his bag, stops at the campus coffee shop to reward himself with a large, three-creams coffee with whipped cream (the barista tries to tell him that they don’t do that, but Louis offers her an extra large tip and he gets his whipped cream), and then starts towards home.

He’s done this walk thousands of times in the two years he’s been attending the university, but he seriously hates it. It’s early in September and the sun is still feebly attempting to shine through the clouds, giving his forehead a nice layer of glistening sweat that also sticks his hair to his skin in a way that really fucking irritates him. It’s better than the snow in the winter, though, so he can’t complain all that much (though he still does, just a bit, to himself, in his mind—Example A of the insanity issue).

By the time he gets home, his coffee is nearly empty. Zayn’s shitty car is in the driveway; there are two orange construction cones taking up residence in the backseat, which Louis isn’t even going to ask about because Zayn is fucking weird.

It’s as he’s climbing onto the porch that he hears it. It filters through the cracks in the door and through the open window upstairs. The wailing of Mariah Carey’s We Belong Together is clearly discernible despite the fact that he can’t hear the actual words. And it makes his blood run cold in his veins, because that is not good. That is not good at all. Mariah Carey is clearly a sign of a problem of catastrophic proportions.

The front door is unlocked; when he pushes it open, the music is like a physical thing that presses against him, attempting—and probably succeeding—in escaping out into the neighbourhood. He tosses his bag in the front closet and kicks off his shoes before heading for the living room. He finds Niall on the couch, laptop on his lap, clothed in nothing but a pair of boxers and a sleeveless shirt, a streak of purple paint on his face.

Looking up the staircase, he sees Niall’s mattress leaning against the wall and he thinks he can see the corner of Niall’s side table in the hallway. He squints, recognizes the chipped corner from when Niall tried to nail a shelf to his wall and accidentally broke the table when he slipped instead. Definitely his side table, then.

“What the actual fuck,” Louis starts, yelling to be heard over the music, “is going on?”

Niall only looks up from his laptop for a short moment before returning his attention to it. “I was sitting in my room, right,” he says while typing away, “eating lunch because I didn’t get any between my classes today because I was too busy talking to that chick from my—”

“Fast forward, Niall,” Louis says impatiently.

“Right, sorry,” Niall says, pushing his laptop away from himself. “He came into my room with two cans of paint and was like, ‘Brooke and I broke up’, and I was like, ‘What?’, and he was like, ‘Get out, I’m going to paint your room’, and then he kicked me out and didn’t even give me a chance to put on pants.”

Evidence of this is clearly visible, given the way Niall’s legs seem to reflect the overhead light. Louis will take him to the tanning beds one day, if not for Niall’s benefit then for the benefit of all of humanity.

“Wait—he and Brooke broke up?” Louis asks, coming back to the real issue at hand, which is the still loudly playing music that seems to shake the floorboards under his feet.

Brooke is a nice girl with flaming red hair and an unhealthy addiction to Skittles. She also enjoys sitting on their couch in nothing but one of Zayn’s shirt while eating their food, and their answering machine is constantly filled with messages from her because Zayn told her that he didn’t own a cell phone so it was the only way for her to get a hold of him. And it’s extremely shocking that they broke up, because Brooke is very obviously infatuated with Zayn—which is more than a little unfortunate for her, since Zayn’s feelings for her are mild at best.

“Apparently,” Niall says, unconcerned. He stands up and runs a hand through his hair before giving Louis a panicked look as another Mariah Carey song, this time Heartbreaker, comes on. It makes Louis panic, too, because he knows that this means. Zayn is not just listening to any Mariah Carey CD. He is listening to his greatest hits CD. “I don’t want a purple room,” Niall adds. “Fix this.”

“Right.” Louis nods, more to himself than anything. They have a system worked out for this; they’ll be fine. “Where’s Liam?”

Niall shakes his head. “No idea,” he answers. “I’ll text him. You turn this shit off and get him out of my room.”

“I’ll do my best,” Louis says solemnly.

See, Zayn is possibly the most predictable person in the entire world. And the moodiest. Thankfully, his moods can usually be predicted. But, in the off-chance that they’re not, it’s always very easy to gauge just how upset he is, because Zayn has two tells for when he’s upset:

First there is the music. Normally he listens to upbeat, catchy songs. If he’s in a good mood, you’ll likely hear Bruno Mars or Usher playing through his door. If he’s in a bad mood, though, he starts with the early 2000s pop songs (songs that Louis might have been a fan of when he was young and stupid, but now there’s only so many times you can listen to Justin Timberlake’s Cry Me a River before you want to literally cry a river). The next stage is Mariah Carey. Normally he sticks to her more recent songs. It’s when he pulls out the Mariah’s Greatest Hits CD that you are in for a world of trouble.

His second tell is the art. Zayn is an art student at the university, so it’s not really all that odd for him to be found sketching at the kitchen table. When he’s upset, though, you’ll find balled-up pieces of inked paper all over the house. If he’s in a really bad mood, he’ll start digging through the recycling for empty bottles and his hot glue gun will be plugged into one of the sockets, ready to form random pieces of plastic into what Zayn likes to call “art” and Louis likes to call “last week’s garbage”. And when he’s really, really upset, he paints. Not just on a canvas, either. When he gets angry, Zayn likes to have a bit more room to express himself.

Thankfully, they haven’t had a greatest hits/painting worthy problem in months, not since Zayn found out his grandfather was sick on the same day that he’d walked in on Liam having sex with Joseph From Down The Street With The Exceptional Butt on the couch. Their kitchen is still lime green, and Louis still has no idea how he’s going to explain that to his parents when they come back in four years, but he tries not to think about it all that much.

Obviously this is a seriously bad problem, though, which is why Louis heads for the kitchen first, pulling open the cupboards. He locates his last container of chocolate icing—he sobs internally at the sacrifice—as well as the box of chocolate chip cookies that Niall bought the other day. With his arms full of sugary peace offerings, he heads up the stairs.

The way the house is set up is simple: when you walk in, you’re in the main hallway. If you continue forward you get to the living room on the right side, and then the door to the kitchen on the left. Beyond the living room is another hallway, off which you will find the downstairs bathroom, the second largest bedroom, and the door to the basement. Up the stairs there’s one long hallway that branches off in two directions. To the left are Zayn and Niall’s bedrooms (Zayn’s facing the backyard, Niall’s facing the front). To the right is Louis’ bedroom facing the back, the other bathroom facing the front, and Liam’s bedroom at the very end of the hall.

The music is obviously coming from Zayn’s room, which is where Louis heads first. He steps over discarded piles of clothing and a sculpture made out of finished toilet paper rolls until he gets to Zayn’s stereo system. He turns the volume all the way down and considers taking out the greatest hits CD and snapping it in half, but Zayn would likely stab him to death with the broken shards, so he doesn’t bother.

“Turn that shit back up, Niall!” Zayn calls from across the hall.

Louis rolls his eyes and pulls off the lid of the icing. He heads across the hall and pushes open Niall’s already partially ajar door. The chemical smell of paint invades his senses and makes him wrinkle his nose.

Zayn is standing in the middle of the room on his blue painting tarp. He’s already painted three walls, two of them a bright, blood red, one a deep royal purple. Zayn is also covered in purple and red paint, having splattered it all over his grey sweatpants and the white tank top he’s wearing. He’s got it in his hair, too, like he’s run paint-covered fingers through it without thinking. And he’s holding a paintbrush covered in red paint in his hand, pointing it threateningly at Louis.

“I come with chocolate,” Louis says, holding out the icing.

Zayn’s eyes narrow, but he lowers the paintbrush, at least. “Why did you turn my music off?”

“Because I have a dick,” Louis tells him. “There’s only so much Mariah that I can handle before it crawls up inside my body.”

“Liking music written and/or performed by female artists does not make you any less of a man, you sexist—”

“What happened?” Louis asks, cutting him off.

Zayn shrugs and moves towards the wall. “Brooke broke up with me.” A sharp, diagonal slash of red on purple. “Apparently I wasn’t committed to her or some shit.” Another slash. “Like, what the fuck does that even mean?” He steps back and whips the brush at the wall, but keeps a steady grip on it so only the paint goes flying. “And then Liam’s not even fucking here because he’s got a date.” The wall is nearly completely red now. “Steve, or something. Liam says he’s nice. He works at Starbucks. He’s a complete hipster fucking douchebag.”

“Ah,” Louis says quietly. “So that’s it, then.”

Zayn turns back around, fire blazing in his eyes. “What’s it?”

“So this Brooke thing,” Louis says, ignoring him. He steps farther into the room, carefully keeping a good distance between himself and Zayn while doing so. “We’re upset about that?”

Zayn gives him an incredulous look. “We dated for two fucking months, Louis. So, yeah, we’re upset about that.”

“And this has nothing to do with Liam’s date,” Louis clarifies.

Zayn dips the red brush in the purple, and then turns to the red wall that was already painted and starts attacking it much in the same way that he had with the purple wall, alternating colours. “Why would that have anything to do with this?” he asks, facing the wall, back tense. “Like I give a flying fuck if Liam wants to date guys who wear fucking scarves and listen to Coldplay and have a fucking beanie collection. Good on him. I’m sure fucking to Fix You is thrilling.”

“Zayn,” Louis says quietly. “Put down the brush. Step away from the paint. And stop humming Mariah Carey under your breath.”

Zayn drops the brush in the paint can, drops of red splattering onto the blue tarp. “What?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“There’s no need to get greatest hits upset about this,” Louis tells him firmly. “Okay? So let’s just—leave Niall’s room alone, have some chocolate, and I’ll even sit in your room with you while you have one of your disgusting cancer sticks.”

Zayn eyes him warily. His defensive look crumbles into something piteous. “Scarves, Lou. He has, like, ten of them.”

Louis frowns, cocking his head to the side. “How do you even know that?”

Zayn shifts uncomfortably. “I may have Facebook stalked him,” he says quietly. “Just to make sure Liam wasn’t going out with some psycho.” He lifts his chin defiantly. “I’d do it for you or Niall, too, so don’t act like it’s a big deal because it’s not.”

“I wasn’t going to,” Louis says quickly. He nudges the purple paint can with his toe. “So, we’re going to stop attacking Niall’s walls?”

Zayn sighs and nods, stepping away from the wall.

“All clear?” Niall asks, appearing in the doorway. “You’re done fucking with my room?”

Zayn flips him off. “Your room looks awesome and you know it.”

It does. Louis would never claim that Zayn wasn’t a great painter. But his parents are so going to kill him if they find out that he allowed someone to cover their cream-coloured walls with red and purple paint. He’ll just repaint them before they get back, that’s all. What they don’t know can’t hurt them, right?

Louis hears the sound of the front door opening and closing as Niall attempts to pry the chocolate icing from his hands. A moment later Liam calls, “Where is everyone?” and Zayn goes white before realizing that Louis has already turned off the Mariah. Liam is possibly the only one in the entire neighbourhood (Zayn listens to his music really loudly) who isn’t aware of Zayn’s shitty music addiction, mostly because Zayn is very careful to make sure that Liam is never around when he plays it. The two of them are honestly so ridiculous Louis can even begin to comprehend it.

Zayn runs a paint-coated hand through his hair, getting even more red and purple in the dark strands. “I need a smoke,” he mutters, moving towards the door. Liam is there before he can get out, though.

“Hey, why are you all—” He stops and gapes at Zayn, and at the walls, before his expression softens with worry and he asks, “What happened?”

He might not know about the Mariah, but it’s a little hard to hide the fact that Zayn + painting their walls = bad.

“Brooke broke up with me,” Zayn says offhandedly. He shoulders past Liam, heading for his own room. Louis watches as he pulls a pack of cigarettes out of his coat, which is lying on his bed, and then takes one of them out.

“I’m sorry,” Liam says to Zayn’s back, though he definitely doesn’t look it. There is a relieved, joyous look on his face. One that he schools as soon as Zayn turns back around.

“How was your date?” Zayn asks through the butt of the cigarette as he lights it.

Niall and Louis are watching them like two exhibits at the zoo. Zayn would be the lion, all thick hair and loud roars. Liam, on the other hand, would be some small, adorable, fuzzy animal that could kill you with one bite without even meaning to.

“It was nice,” Liam says slowly. He runs a hand over his hair and darts a look at Louis and Niall, like he wants them to save him from answering.

“Did you fuck to Coldplay?” Louis asks sweetly.

Liam gapes at him. “No, we didn’t,” he says flatly. “We went to the park, got lunch, had a picnic, fed the ducks. It was nice.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Zayn breathes, letting out a cloud of smoke. “Did he Instagram it, too?”

“Um—maybe?” Liam admits, frowning. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Figures,” Zayn mutters.

“Anyway,” Louis says brightly, knowing that, if he lets them, the two of them will go at each other all night, arguing over little things without admitting what the actual problem is, which is the obvious fact that they’re head over heels, disgustingly in love with each other. “I put up the flyers today. We could be getting a call at any time from a potential new roommate.”

It’s really fucking creepy, the way that the phone rings literally seconds after he’s spoken. The four of them all look at each other, no one moving or saying anything. The sound of the phone ringing downstairs continues to echo through the whole house.

“Is anyone going to get that?” Zayn demands finally. He gives them all a look like he’s questioning their intelligence. That look is Zayn’s trademark, though. It’s as much a part of him as the cloud of smoke that is drifting through his room.

“Shit,” Louis says, moving towards the door just as the phone cuts off and the answering machine picks up. It’s an old thing, one that his mum had bought so many years ago. It was one of the only things she’d left behind when they moved.

“Um, hi,” says a scratchy, tinny voice, barely audible from all the way upstairs. “I’m calling about the room. My name is—um, Harry. So. Yeah. I guess I’ll try again later. Bye.”

Louis gapes at his flatmates and then, before anyone else can beat him to it, he runs for the stairs. Niall is right behind him, and Zayn is, too. Liam is always yelling at them to not run in the house because the hardwood floors are dangerous if you’re in socks, so he doesn’t run with them.

Louis gets to the phone first. He picks it up and checks the caller I.D. and then presses the ‘talk’ button. He taps his foot impatiently as the phone rings. Niall stays leaning against the wall, eyebrows raised; Zayn is grabbing Louis’ shoulder as if he’s considering literally prying the phone from his fingers; Liam is shaking his head at the three of them.

“Hello?” a voice on the other end of the line says. The answering machine is well known for distorting voices, and Louis finds that Harry has a very nice voice. Smooth, deep, relaxing. If his personality is anything like his voice, he’ll be a good fit. They could use a little more sanity (which Liam struggles and mostly fails to supply) in this house.

“Hi,” Louis says brightly. “I’m Louis. You just called about the ad? I’m sorry, I was a little tied up when the phone started ringing.”

“Oh,” Harry says. “Don’t worry about it. And, um, yeah. I was calling about the ad.”

Louis swears he hears a female giggling on the other end of the line, and then the muffling sound of someone covering the receiver.

“Great!” Louis says enthusiastically. “It’s still available. If you’d like to come check it out—”

“Tell ‘im to pick up pizza from John’s and he can have the room,” Niall says loudly.

“Warn him about the haunted attic,” Zayn puts in.

“The attic is not haunted, Zayn, the pipes are old and they make noise,” Liam corrects with a roll of his eyes.

“Haunted,” Zayn and Niall repeat.

“Whatever,” Liam replies.

“Can you three shut the fuck up?” Louis asks without covering the receiver. He winces and says into the phone, “Sorry, I—”

“So how many of you are living there?” Harry asks, cutting him off.

Louis sighs internally, mostly because he knows this is going to be the deal breaker. Harry seems calm and normal, and not at all like the psychos Louis thought would end up calling for the ad. But chances are he won’t want anything to do with them when he realizes that, yeah, the four of them live together. And they’re sort of hard to deal with sometimes.

“Four,” Louis says quietly. The others are finally quiet, thankfully.

“Cool,” Harry says. “So can I set up a time to come check out the room, or…?”

“I—what? Serious?” Louis blurts.

“Um. Unless you don’t want me to,” Harry says awkwardly.

“No—no, definitely. Right, the address is 1209 Russell Street. It’s the one with the piece of shit car out front,” Louis says quickly, lest Harry change his mind. “Come by at any time, really. Just ring the doorbell.”

“My car is not a piece of shit,” Zayn says, glaring at him.

“It’s a 1994 Ford Escort that should have been taken off the road ten years ago,” Louis argues. “It’s a piece of shit.”

“I’ll come by later tonight at seven, if that’s okay?” Harry says, reminding Louis once again that he’s on the phone.

“That’s perfect,” Louis tells him. “Absolutely perfect. I look forward to meeting you.”

“Mutual,” Harry says. “Um. Bye.” He hangs up before Louis can awkwardly return the sentiment.

He hangs up and puts the phone down on the side table in the hallway. “He’s coming at seven,” he tells the rest of his housemates.

“That’s only three hours from now,” Liam says quietly.

“Shit,” Niall says, equally quiet.

“Shit indeed,” Louis agrees. He stands a little straighter. “Everyone start cleaning. Zayn, open Niall’s window to air out the smell of paint. Liam, the dishes in the kitchen are literally overflowing out onto the counter. Niall—put on some pants, please, for the love of God.”

Louis grabs the broom from the front closet and starts in the living room. The house is fairly messy, and he wants to make a good impression. It’s not that they’re slobs, they’re really not. But there’s four of them, they’re all male, they have no adult supervision, and—yeah, okay, they’re slobs.

“Why the fuck is there a half-eaten banana under the couch?” he shouts.

“I forgot about that,” Niall says from the top of the stairs. “Sorry, mate.”

Louis throws it at him. It doesn’t even make it to the landing at the top of the stairs, but instead falls dejectedly on the third step from the top with a disgusting squelching sound. Ugh.

By the time they’ve finished cleaning and airing out the smell of paint, it’s nearly six. Louis sighs and collapses on the couch beside Liam. Niall and Zayn are upstairs, Niall doing whatever it is that Niall does, Zayn showering to get the paint off his skin.

Louis changes the television over from cable to the DVD player and starts up on the episode of Supernatural he’d started last night. He’s on season five now—Zayn owns every season on DVD, and he’s passive-aggressively forced them all to like it—but one day he will be completely caught up. One day. Not a day in the near future, obviously, because they’re hour-long episodes and there are, like, thirty of them in each season.

“Is Zayn really okay?” Liam asks, not really paying any attention to Jensen Ackles because Liam has horrible taste in men.

“He’ll be fine,” Louis says with a wave of his hand. “You know how he is. His soul thrives on dramatics.”

Liam snorts. “That is possibly the most hypocritical thing you’ve ever said.”

“Don’t be rude,” Louis scolds. Liam looks instantly guilty. “Anyways, how was your date?”

Liam shrugs, finally looking at the television screen, suddenly incredibly interested in the Winchesters. “Like I said, it was fine. Steve is nice. He just—isn’t what I’m looking for.”

Louis shakes his head. Of course Steve isn’t what Liam’s looking for. While they’ve only lived together for two years, Louis has known Liam his whole life. Liam had moved in with Louis as soon as his parents moved out, leaving his own parents (who live only a few blocks over, not that Liam ever really sees them on purpose) behind. But in all the time they’ve lived together, Liam has dated plenty of guys and none of them have been what he’s looking for. Probably because what he’s looking for happens to be coming out of the shower at the moment and playing Usher’s Yeah loudly in his room. Louis knows Liam far too well to be fooled into thinking it’s actually because of the douchebags he tends to go for.

“Well,” Louis says instead of pointing this out, “I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for soon enough.”

Liam grunts noncommittally. Eventually Niall and Zayn come down to join them, Niall sitting in the armchair with his laptop because that thing is practically fused to his body, Zayn sitting on the couch next to Liam, an arm around Liam’s shoulder.

“Saving people,” Zayn says in a low, rough voice, shaking Liam’s shoulder for emphasis, as the episode starts up. “Hunting things. The family business, Liam!”

Zayn will try to tell you he’s cool. This is a lie.

The doorbell ringing has them all jumping in their seats. Zayn pauses the show and Liam gets up. The look that Zayn gives his back is one of complete, unabashed longing, the kind that he only gives Liam when Liam isn’t looking, because Zayn is a balls-less son of a bitch who can’t admit his feelings to anyone, possibly not even himself.

“I’ll get it,” Liam says quickly.

“That’s probably a good idea,” Niall says. Louis has to agree with that. Liam is definitely the least intimidating of the three of them.

Louis hears the door open, and then Liam’s greeting of, “Harry, right? I’m Liam. Come on in.”

“Hi,” Harry responds, and his voice is even deeper in real life. Sort of rough but still smooth somehow, not that that makes any sense. Also vaguely familiar, which has Louis’ eyebrows drawing together as he tries to place it.

And then he and Liam walk into the room, and Louis’ mind screams no. Nope. He can’t live with them. That’s it, it’s finally. Not happening.

“Hi,” Harry says again, awkwardly waving at the three of them.

 

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The music is so loud it actually hurts his ears. It’s his first uni party, and he’s really starting to question why he’s even here. But then he remembers: Niall wanted to come, and Louis happens to adore the little shit, so he went with him.

It’s fairly surprising that the police haven’t shown up, he thinks. If the music isn’t enough to draw them, the flashing lights and shouts of the people crammed into the tiny, one-storey house should be. And yet, everyone is just drinking, singing, laughing, dancing, having an all-around good time, not at all worried. So he tries to do the same as Niall drags him through the house.

Less than an hour—and not enough alcohol to calm him—later, he decides that he shouldn’t have come without Liam. Liam is his rock, his anchor, his lighthouse guiding him to shore through treacherous waters (okay, maybe he’s had a fair amount of alcohol, actually), and Louis is sort of lost without him. Niall ditched him off about twenty minutes ago to make out in a closet with some short brunette with a really, really annoying voice, leaving Louis completely alone in a sea of people he’s never met. He recognizes a few faces from some of his classes, but none of the people here are the ones that he normally associates with.

“You look lost,” someone says to his right.

Louis turns abruptly, the liquid in his clichéd, red plastic cup sloshing over the brim, splashing the tops of his shoes. “Can I help you?” he demands, raising an eyebrow.

The boy in front of him has wide green eyes and the kind of face that does not suit his body, nor his style. His cheeks are red and round in a way that makes him look fairly young, and his mouth is wide, pink lips spread over white teeth. Pleasant, friendly, cute. His body, on the other hand—he’s tall, really tall, and thin, too, but his shoulders have a good bit of definition. He’s wearing what are possibly the tightest jeans Louis’ ever seen, though, with a band shirt, sleeves rolled all the way up to those shoulders, revealing a collection of tattoos. And he’s got massive hands. Louis has no idea why this is important, but it definitely is.

“I don’t know,” the guy says, raising his eyebrows. “Can you?” Louis rolls his eyes and turns back around, but this guy is not letting up. He moves so he’s in front of Louis now, a grin on his face. “I’m sorry,” he says quickly. “I don’t really know how to, um, do this.”

If it weren’t for the bashful, apologetic tone, Louis might have just walked away. As it is… “How to do what, exactly?”

“Talk to the hottest guy I’ve had the pleasure of laying my eyes on tonight,” the guy says, pushing his curly hair off his forehead. A moment later he extends his hand to Louis. “Nice to meet you.”

The rest—he sort of has no idea how the rest happened. One minute Curly is asking him his name and Louis is refusing to answer until Curly gets him a drink, and then the next he’s in the bathroom, knees probably bruising on the tiled floor, sucking him off. That was not the plan. Louis doesn’t really do this, but he’s a tiny bit drunk, out of his element, and hey, isn’t this was university is all about? Experimenting, finding yourself? And plus, Curly is sort of deliciously attractive, and he’s got a way with words that seems to crash through Louis’ walls with little resistance.

When they’re done, they leave the bathroom, heading back into the party. “Later, Jeremy,” Curly says, patting Louis on the shoulder. “It was nice meeting you.”

“It’s Louis,” he says automatically, frowning.

“Is it?” Curly asks, his expression mirroring Louis’. “Could have sworn you said Jeremy.”

And then he’s just—gone. Drifting back into the party. Half an hour later Louis finds him pressing some girl with nothing but a pink bra to cover her upper body against a wall, her hands fisted in that curly hair that had been silky to the touch. Louis leaves then, texting Niall once he’s in the cab on the way home.

 

---

 

At least he has a name for the douchebag now, he thinks. It’s not that he hasn’t seen Harry many times on campus. Their university isn’t all that big. They don’t have any classes together, though, and they run in different crowds. Occasionally Louis will pass him in the coffee shop, or the cafeteria, or in the quad, and Harry will look right through him, the way someone does with a stranger that they’ve never met. So he let it go, decided it wasn’t worth his time, but Louis is very, very good at holding a grudge.

“What’s up, bro?” Zayn says lazily, nodding his head towards Harry in greeting.

Niall looks up from his laptop and quickly says, “You’re not allowed to use that word in the house. House rules.”

“Do you want to see the room?” Liam asks abruptly, probably stopping an argument before it can begin.

Harry looks at each of them. His eyes do not linger on Louis any longer than they do on Niall or Zayn. There is no recognition in them at all.

“Sure,” Harry says. He grins, lopsided and sort of endearing, and follows Liam through the room, towards the hallway. Louis can kind of hear Liam muttering something, and Harry replies, but he can’t make out their words.

“He is so not living here,” Louis says, slapping Zayn’s shoulder.

Zayn makes a face at him. “Don’t hit me, you dick.”

“Emphasis, Zayn,” Louis hisses, hitting him again. Zayn moves to the edge of the couch while Louis leans over the back, making sure that Liam and Harry are still in the room. “Tell Liam he can’t stay here.”

“Why not?” Niall demands, not whispering the way Louis had been because he obviously doesn’t understand how to be sneaky at all.

“Because,” Louis says, sitting properly on the couch again. He hesitates. Niall has no idea what happened that night, mostly because Louis isn’t a sharer. Liam happens to know, but that’s only because Liam knows, like, everything about him. “He’s not allowed. I don’t like him. Look at that hair. You can’t trust someone with hair like that.”

Before Zayn or Niall can comment on this, Liam and Harry come back into the room. Louis goes to say something, like “Get the fuck out of my house now before I put to use that lawn mower in the shed that hasn’t been touched since my parents left.” Harry speaks before he can, though.

“Is that Supernatural?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the back of the couch.

Zayn frowns up at him. “Yeah, it is.”

“Awesome,” Harry says, grinning. “Fifth season. I personally like the third season best. That episode with the Trickster, where Dean dies, like, a hundred times? I’ve seen it so many times I bet I could recite the dialogue from memory.”

Louis’ heart sinks as Zayn’s eyes widen. “You can have the room,” he says breathlessly.

“Um, no, he can’t,” Louis snaps. Harry turns to him, confused, and Louis sort of wilts under his gaze, feeling guilty instantly. “We need to have a house meeting about it,” he explains swiftly. “Make sure everyone’s comfortable. We’ll get back to you as soon as we’ve decided.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Harry says. “And you’re, um, which one again?”

“Louis,” Liam supplies. “The one beside him is Zayn, and the one with the laptop grafted to his body is Niall.”

“Can you cook?” Niall asks without warning.

Harry shrugs and says, “A bit, yeah. Nothing, like, major, but I’m not bad.”

“Have you ever caught an entire kitchen on fire while making salad, though?” Zayn asks.

“No?” Harry looks a little wary now.

“That was a fucking accident,” Niall hisses. “And Zayn likes to randomly redecorate bedrooms, in case you’re wondering why it smells like paint in here. He gets angry and takes it out on the walls. And he has a Mariah Carey obsession.”

“Louis takes hour-long showers!” Zayn says loudly. “And he leaves his clothes everywhere all the fucking time.”

Louis gapes at him, for a moment forgetting about Harry’s entire existence. “Don’t bring me into this. But if we’re going to have a Who’s The Worst Roommate show-off, Liam labels all his food obsessively and he also wakes up before six, even on the weekends.”

“Leave Liam out of this,” Zayn snaps at him.

“Why? Because you’re so in—”

“Anyway!” Liam says loudly. “We’ll call you by Friday to let you know either way, Harry. But I have a feeling things will work out, if you’re still interested in the place.”

“Nice to meet you guys,” Harry says, moving away from the couch. “Thanks for showing me the room, Liam. Hopefully I’ll see you guys later.”

Liam sees him out. The door shuts behind Harry and a moment later Louis hears a car starting up, followed by the headlights flicking on just outside the curtain-covered window. He watches the car drive away as Liam comes back into the living room.

“He seemed really nice,” Liam says, falling into the seat between Louis and Zayn once again.

“He’s not,” Louis says darkly.

Liam gapes at him. “What? Why?”

“He can’t live here,” Louis says instead of explaining. He doesn’t want to in front of Zayn and Niall. “I didn’t like him and it’s my house, so.” He shrugs, end of conversation.

“Yeah, but we all live here,” Liam reminds him. “Majority rules. We’ll all take a vote on it. Personally, I think he’s great. He didn’t even react when Zayn and Niall opened their mouths, and he doesn’t seem like the type to sacrifice the neighbours’ cats to Satan or anything. I think we should give him a chance.”

“Seconded,” Zayn says instantly.

“He seemed alright,” Niall puts in. “He’s got my vote, I guess.”

“He’s not getting the room,” Louis says flatly.

Liam raises his eyebrows, schooling Louis with a look that is very reminiscent of the one his father used to give him when he was in trouble. “Why? What was wrong with him?”

Louis flounders for a moment, trying to think of something. And then he blurts, “Because he’s attractive. I refuse to live with someone that I want to have sex with. I mean, look at Zayn and—” He cuts himself off before he can finish and quickly covers his tracks. “Zayn and Niall. The sexual tension makes everyone else uncomfortable. I’m only looking out for the wellbeing and comfort of us all.”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Zayn asks.

“The obvious sexual tension between you and our computer addicted friend,” Louis says, waving a hand at Niall who is too busy playing on his computer to listen.

Zayn snorts and says, “I don’t fuck douchebags. It’s a rule.”

“Did you just call me a douchebag?” Niall asks, looking up.

“You own fourteen snapbacks, you drink nothing but cheap beer, and you once referred to your dick as The Torpedo,” Zayn reminds him. “Sorry, mate, but you’re a douchebag. A lovable one, but a douchebag nonetheless.”

Niall shrugs. “Eh, I came to terms with that a long time ago.”

“Good for you,” Zayn says.

“Can we get back to the issue at hand?” Liam asks. “Give me a reason, Louis. We were talking in the bedroom, and he’s got a really uncomfortable situation back at the dorms with his roommate. He just wants space of his own, and he really did seem like an okay guy.”

The thing about Liam is that Louis truly, deeply loves him like a brother. Liam is possibly the sweetest person in the entire world (not that you should assume this fact makes him weak, because he’s watched Liam punch a guy straight in the face once for shoving Zayn at the bar, and that guy had dropped like a sack of fucking potatoes). If Louis told him the reason why he doesn’t want Harry there, Liam would let up immediately and he’d probably have a strongly worded conversation with Harry about respecting others and treating them well, because that’s what Liam does. But, at the same time, Liam is also extremely determined, and he has a thing for wanting to save everyone. Unless Louis comes right out and tells him why he doesn’t want Harry there, Liam will not let it go.

And, a part of him rationalizes, that all happened almost two years ago. Is it really fair to hold a grudge for that long when Harry is probably not the same person? Not really, he knows. The past is the past, and Harry apparently doesn’t even remember that any of that happened. So maybe Louis should let it go.

He just can’t.

“I don’t want him here, Liam,” he says firmly. He tries to convey with his eyes what he can’t with his words. Liam frowns at him for a long moment, but Liam knows Louis just as well as Louis knows Liam. “Please, just—no.”

“Okay,” Liam relents after a moment, nodding his head slowly. “I guess we’ll just see who else calls for the ad. I’ll give Harry a ring tomorrow, tell him that things didn’t work out.”

“No,” Louis says quickly. “It was my decision, I’ll do it.”

Liam sighs, shrugging. He looks at the television screen instead of Louis. “Sure. Whatever.”

He heads for the hallway and grabs the phone. Harry’s is the last number that was called, so he hits redial and waits as the phone rings. A moment later Harry picks up and says, a confused lilt to his voice, “Hello?”

“Hi,” Louis says. He coughs to clear his throat. “It’s, um, Louis.”

Harry is quiet for a moment. “Louis,” he says slowly. “Hey. What’s up?”

“I was just—”

“Calling to tell me I can’t have the room,” Harry guesses, sighing. “Yeah, I figured that. Too good to be true, you know?”

Louis pauses, eyes on the wall in front of him. There’s a smudge of something there. Something red. He prays it’s not blood. “What do you mean by that?”

Harry laughs, but it’s sort of bitter and wrong. “Just that the place was great,” he explains. “You guys seemed pretty normal, the room was in good shape. Last place I checked out, I’m pretty sure the one guy was actually selling crack out of the living room. The one before that probably should have been condemned by now. Not that many rooming houses in this city, weirdly enough.”

“Oh,” Louis says, wondering why his stomach twists uncomfortably. “Well—”

“Thanks for letting me check it out anyway,” Harry says abruptly. “It was nice meeting you, Louis.”

“Um. Yeah. Nice meeting you, too,” Louis says softly.

“Bye.” Harry hangs up.

Louis puts the phone down and then spends the next minute glaring at it. He does not feel guilty. It’s not his fault Harry can’t find somewhere to stay. It’s not his fault that people are selling crack in town. It’s not his fault. Karma, he thinks. Harry doesn’t deserve his pity.

And yet…

“Oh, fucking hell,” he mutters, reaching for the phone. He hits redial again. When Harry answers, instead of saying hello or anything like that, he says, “You can have the damn room.”

 

Chapter Text

 

Liam wakes up slightly later than he’d like on Friday. He doesn’t have his shift at the diner until noon, at least, so he technically could go back to bed if he wants. Except he actually can’t, because Liam is one of those people that is up when they’re up. Once he’s blinked open his eyes and read the time on the alarm clock, there is no chance of him falling back asleep.

With a sigh, he gets out of bed and heads for his dresser, slowly tugging on a pair of sweatpants and an old shirt. He digs around in his top drawer for his iPod but he doesn’t find it. It takes him another moment to remember that he’d lent it to Niall to take to the library with him yesterday. Crap.

He knows Niall’s not home. Niall and Louis both have morning classes on Friday. Zayn doesn’t, but he’s probably still asleep.

Liam happens to be the only one in the house who doesn’t attend university. It just wasn’t for him. He has a good job down at the local diner that’s owned by Anna, who is practically a second mother to him. In a few years, he figures he’ll go back and take a few classes but for now it’s just not something he wants to do. He was never good at the whole school thing. It’s not that he’s stupid, or he doesn’t think so at least; he just prefers hands-on stuff as opposed to books and tests.

As quietly as he can, Liam slips out his door and pads down the hall to Zayn’s room. He lightly knocks on the door but, unsurprisingly, Zayn doesn’t answer. Liam twists the doorknob and carefully pushes the door open, knowing that if he pushes it open too far it’ll creak.

Zayn’s room is dark, his curtains black and thick enough to block out literally any and all light. Thankfully Liam knows Zayn’s room almost as well as he knows his own. Against the wall behind the door is his dresser, and then there’s the bed against the wall with the window. To the left of the door is his stereo system, and then beside his bed is a small table with a few drawers. The walls a painted black with splatters of fluorescent colours making it appear much lighter. It looks really cool, Liam’s always thought.

He moves towards the bedside table. Blindly he searches around on top if it until his fingers feel the cords of Zayn’s headphones. He grabs them and the attached iPod and slips back out of the room. All the while, Zayn’s breathing stays even and level.

Liam slips on his shoes when he’s at the door, and then he’s outside, iPod blasting music in his ears, running across the pavement. It’s one of his favourite things, his morning runs. It lets him think and clear his head, and there’s something really gratifying about the slight ache in his muscles when he finally gets back home and gets in the shower.

He runs past the store at the corner and continues onward until he’s in his old neighbourhood. His mum’s car is in the lot but she probably just got a ride from his dad to work. The front lawn is, as always, perfectly mowed. The flowers in the garden are still going strong, all bright colours and misguiding cheerfulness. And there’s his old bedroom window, now covered by some curtain of his mother’s, all of his things either in his room now or in the garage, packed away and never to be touched again.

Liam tears his eyes away and runs faster.

By the time he gets home, he’s a sweaty mess. If he hadn’t shaved off his hair at the beginning of summer, it would be plastered to his forehead at the moment. As it is, his scalp and forehead are coated in a thin layer of perspiration anyway and his shirt is clinging to his body.

He kicks off his shoes and keeps the headphones in as he heads for the fridge, pulling out one of his water bottles. They’re all neatly labelled with his name because his roommates are known to finish all of his stuff before he can even touch it, though he doubts that any of them would actually touch his water.

He downs half the bottle and screws the lid back on before putting it back in the fridge and jogging up the stairs. He knows Zayn’s schedule well enough to know that he’s still likely unconscious, so he just raps his knuckles lightly on the door while pushing it open.

Zayn is not asleep. Zayn is sprawled out on his bed, one leg bent at the knee, his chest heaving and his head thrown back as he strokes his cock with a tight fist. His lips part in a silent moan that Liam can’t hear due to the music that still plays from the headphones in his ears. And Liam can’t fucking move. Logically, he knows that he should. That’s what you’re supposed to do when you walk in on one of your best friends and roommates wanking, but he can’t move. Or tear his eyes away from Zayn’s fist, which is almost blurring over his dick now as he tilts his head and opens his eyes.

Liam watches as Zayn’s lips form his name and then, a moment later, his eyes widen and he shouts, “Shit!” loud enough for Liam to hear it over the music. And because Liam is a rational, level-headed person, the only possibly thing for him to do at this moment is to rip the headphones from his ears and throw the iPod at Zayn as he bolts from the room, slamming the door behind himself.

He practically runs down the hall and hides in the bathroom, locking the door behind himself and running the shower immediately so he can pretend not to hear if Zayn knocks on the door. The only bad thing about this plan is that he obviously really does need to shower, and showering involves getting naked, and he’s so achingly hard right now that he really doesn’t trust himself not to get off to the memory of Zayn’s hand wrapped around his own cock as Liam’s name fell from his lips.

The universe is a cruel, unfair place, because it’s as if every single time he’s almost convinced himself that maybe, just maybe, he actually isn’t in love with Zayn, it goes and throws something like that in his face to remind him that, yeah, he’s definitely still in love with Zayn. And ridiculously attracted to him. And it’s just not going to go away, apparently, no matter how much he desperately needs it to because Zayn is his friend. Not to mention that he’s out of Liam’s league on so many levels, not just in looks but in personality, because Zayn is smart and artistic and brilliant in every possible way and Liam is just not.

He somehow manages to will away his boner with nothing but his complete determination, and then he gets in the shower and wishes that the water could wash away memories as well as dirt and grime and sweat.

When he gets out, he expects Zayn to be waiting for him, is prepared for the lecture on personal space and knocking on doors (one that he’s had to give Louis hundreds of times). Except Zayn’s not waiting for him, so Liam quietly slips into his room and changes into his clothes for the day.

Zayn is not home, apparently. Unless he’s still in his room, but Liam doesn’t have the guts to go check, and he figures that Zayn is gone anyway. He’s grateful for this very obvious out that Zayn is giving him. Zayn will leave for a bit and he’ll come home after everyone else already has and he’ll pretend like nothing happened unless Liam brings it up to apologize or something. And Liam won’t because he doesn’t even want to think about it at all, let alone talk about it.

He makes himself breakfast and then heads out for the diner, knowing he’ll be early enough to get a cup of Anna’s coffee, which is the best in town (something that Louis backs him up on, mostly because Anna always knows to top his glass off with a good helping of whipped cream).

“Morning, darlin’,” Anna says from behind the counter when he walks in, the familiar sound of the bell above the door ringing through the room. Anna is a fifty-something-year-old woman who moved here from Alabama when she was nineteen and somehow managed to keep the accent that she’d come with. She is possibly Liam’s favourite person in the world over the age of thirty.

“Morning,” Liam says with less enthusiasm. “Coffee?”

Anna frowns at him, pale blue eyes narrowing in concern. “What’s up?” she asks, because Anna has always been like a mother to him and it’s a bit creepy how well she senses his feelings.

“Nothing important,” Liam says, waving her off.

Anna snorts at him and puts a hand on her hip. “This about your boy?” she asks, raising an eyebrow knowingly.

Liam swallows and flushes. “No,” he denies.

Anna shakes her head, greying blonde hair falling over her shoulder. “I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again.” She reaches for the coffee pot and pours him a glass. “You need to man up and just tell that boy how you feel. I’d bet my left hand that he feels the same way. You’re a good-looking young man, Liam, but more than that, you’re a good person.”

“Thanks,” Liam tells her, though he knows that she’s wrong. There are just some things that you know about yourself, like your favourite colour or the fact that you don’t like mustard. And Liam knows that he’s painfully average, and he’s totally okay with that. Some people burn brightly, like Louis and Zayn, and some people fade into the background, like Liam. But someone like Zayn would never be interested in Liam for the long haul; he’s too uninteresting, while Zayn is possibly the most fascinating person Liam has ever met.

“Now finish your coffee and get to work,” Anna tells him. “I don’t pay you to sit on your ass all day.”

Liam grins at her and drinks a little faster.

 

--

 

It’s nearly six by the time his shift ends. Liam leaves with a fairly good amount in tips. Work at the diner is always good, though, because it’s on the far side of town, away from the university, frequented mostly by people who actually live in town and not the university students that can’t really afford to tip much.

Some days, if he’s not busy, Zayn will come pick him up after work. Liam doesn’t even look for his car today; he knows Zayn won’t be there. That’s sort of the reason why he also leaves the diner with a brown paper bag, Zayn’s favourite spicy chicken sandwich inside, the one that Liam can never fully eat before his mouth is on fire, because Zayn—and Niall, too, actually—has a much stronger pallet than he does.

Personally, Liam loves their town. He knows that some people his age are waiting for the day they graduate and get enough money to move far, far away, to a city that’s much bigger and far more exciting. But Liam doesn’t really need anything more than what he has here. People who knows him either by name or sight. Stores that he’s frequented since he was a child. Knowing every single street, getting lost being completely impossible. Maybe he will stay here forever. Work towards a job at the fire department, spend the rest of his life in a small town. Louis probably has other plans, though, and Liam has a feeling that if Louis moves out of town, he’ll drag Liam with him.

Zayn’s car is not in the driveway when he gets home. That makes Liam’s stomach twist uncomfortably, mostly because Zayn is almost always home at this time. Zayn is a homebody and, unless it’s for class or Niall dragging him out to the club, Zayn will be on the couch or in his room or sketching at the kitchen table.

Liam’s not the first one home, at least. Louis’ shoes are at the front door (not lined up neatly the way that Liam leaves his, but there is one a few feet from the door and one almost in the living room, like he’d literally kicked them off) and he can hear the water in the kitchen running.

“Liam!” Louis shouts. “Is that you?”

“Who the fuck else could it be?” Liam hears Niall ask as he gets closer to the door to the kitchen. “You’d hear Zayn’s rusted piece of shit from down the street.”

“Mm, you’re right,” Louis says as Liam steps inside the kitchen.

Louis is at the sink, arms coated in suds. He’s wearing sweatpants and a wrinkled t-shirt, hair hidden by a beanie.

Louis has two settings: preppy schoolboy and laidback slacker. Some days Louis comes down the stairs in jeans that are tight and so bright it’s almost painful, his hair meticulously styled, a grin on his face. Other times he slouches down the stairs, eyes narrowed, dressed in a shirt that has been worn at least three times since he last washed it, whatever sweatpants suit his fancy, and his hair barely touched, hidden underneath a hat.

Niall is sitting on the counter a few feet from him, his shirt completely soaked at the front, like Louis had thrown a pot of water at him—which is entirely plausible, actually.

“You’re… cleaning,” Liam gasps dramatically, clutching the paper bag to his chest. “Willingly, without someone forcing you into it. Who are you and what have you done with Louis Tomlinson?”

Niall gives him a warning look. “I said the same thing and then—”

Liam gets a face full of water. It gets in his eyes and his mouth and it drips down his body, soaking the front of his t-shirt. He lets out a surprised sound and jumps backwards, nearly slipping on the now wet tiles of the floor. When he manages to wipe the water from his eyes, he finds Louis smirking at him, one hand on his hip, the other one clutching an empty pot.

“You prick,” Liam says, mouth hanging open.

“If I’m the prick,” Louis says, dropping the pot in the sink with a loud clank that Liam’s pretty sure means Louis just broke at least one of their coffee mugs, “then why is our resident psychotic painter not here and why are you clutching a paper bag that I’m willing to bet contains a single ‘I am so sorry for whatever I did, Zayn’ sandwich?”

Liam ignores him and moves toward the fridge, placing Zayn’s sandwich on the bottom shelf. “I didn’t do anything,” he lies. Well, technically it’s not a complete lie. It’s a half lie. He did throw an iPod at Zayn, but he can’t really be held accountable for accidentally walking in on him wanking, right? It was an accident. Though he could be held accountable for just standing there.

Okay, it’s a complete lie.

“Whatever,” Louis says, waving a hand as if to say that he really doesn’t care. “We have a new housemate moving in in a matter of hours and I don’t want his second impression of us to be that we’re slobs.”

“But we are slobs,” Niall points out.

“Yes, but let’s let him know that after he’s paid first and last month’s rent.”

Liam rolls his eyes just as the sound of a loud engine filters in through the open window above the sink. A moment later it gets even louder as it pulls into their driveway, and then it cuts off abruptly. A beat afterwards, the front door opens and then slams closed, and Zayn comes into the kitchen, headphones in, sliding across the floor in his socks, playing an imaginary guitar until he gets to the fridge. He pulls it open, pulls out the paper bag, and unwraps his sandwich.

Louis snorts loudly. “I honestly can’t believe he manages to convince people that he’s sophisticated and mysterious.”

Liam can’t either, really. While Zayn does have his broody, tortured artist moments, he’s also the biggest dork Liam has ever met.

“What?” Zayn asks, pulling out his headphones. “Why’re you all staring at me? And why is Louis cleaning?” Louis threateningly lifts a pot of water and Zayn raises his hands defensively. “That’s a pretty fucking reasonable question, Lou.”

Louis sighs and shuts off the running water, leaving the dishes abandoned as he dries his hands on a towel. “I thought it might be good to make sure the house is clean for when Harry comes tonight.”

Zayn sinks down onto the chair at the kitchen table closest to the fridge. He bites into his sandwich before saying, mouth full, “What time’s he coming?”

Everyone looks to Liam except Zayn, who hasn’t actually met Liam’s eyes since he’s been home. “Why are you all asking me?” Liam demands.

“Because you’re the one who knows things,” Niall says, like this is obvious.

“You’re like our nanny, maid, and lawyer all in one,” Louis adds. “Remember that time when we were thirteen and you convinced Wilson that the chocolate bar had actually fallen into my pocket without my knowledge and he let us off after making me return it?”

“I try really hard not to, actually,” Liam says. He’d been terrified at the time, convinced that he and Louis were definitely going to jail all because of one stupid chocolate bar. “And I have no idea what time he’s coming. You’re the one who talked to him on the phone. Why didn’t you ask for a time?”

Louis groans loudly and says, “Whatever, I’ll just call him and ask.”

“You do that,” Liam tells him.

Niall follows Louis, leaving Liam and Zayn alone in the kitchen. Liam heads for the cupboards beside the fridge and grabs his box of cereal, the one that is carefully labelled with his name. When he turns back around, box in one hand, Zayn is regarding him with a look that he can’t quite figure out. A moment later, Zayn brings a finger to his mouth, sucking off a bit of mayonnaise from the sandwich, tongue snaking out between his lips exaggeratedly. Liam takes his cereal and follows Louis and Niall out of the room because his jeans are far too tight to stay and watch that.

“He’s coming in literally twenty minutes!” Louis yells shrilly from the front hallway. “Twenty minutes, and there’s underwear in the living room!”

“Those are yours,” Niall shouts back at him.

“Oh.”

Liam rolls his eyes and trudges up the stairs to his room to change, since his shirt is still soaked because Louis is an asshole. He can’t help thinking that, for someone who was pretty reluctant to allow Harry in the house in the first place, Louis is getting fairly worked up over this whole thing.

He heads back downstairs before Harry’s set to arrive, mostly because Liam is always the mediator. Louis doesn’t seem to have a filter between his thoughts and his mouth, one of Zayn’s favourite things is arguing with him because of this, and Niall only adds enough to the conversation to fuel their fires.

Zayn and Louis are both on the couch, playing Call of Duty split screen on the television. Niall is in his armchair (technically it belonged to Louis’ dad but Niall had claimed it as his own almost as soon as he moved in), laptop in his lap, because that thing is never out of his hands for more than a few minutes.

The doorbell rings before Liam can even sit down on the couch between Louis and Zayn, and both boys only look up long enough to say, “Get the door, Liam!” and, “Can you get that, babe? I’m in the middle of a game here.”

Liam rolls his eyes and heads for the door. When he pulls it open, Harry is standing there, a duffle bag over his shoulder, grinning widely. “Come on in,” Liam tells him.

“Thanks,” Harry says, shouldering past him. He’s got a car parked out front, one that’s definitely newer than Zayn’s but is still shitty and rundown. “Got more things out there, this is just the first load.”

“Do you want help?” Liam asks, leaving the front door open.

Harry turns and shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. Don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

“I really don’t mind,” Liam assures him.

Harry chews his lip for a moment before he relents and says, “Yeah, sure, if you want. There’s just boxes and shit.”

Liam nods and heads out for the car. He grabs the first box on the backseat and carries it into the house. It’s heavy and he has a feeling it’s filled with books. He passes Harry on his way to Harry’s room, and he deposits the box at the end of the bed. The room comes fully furnished, mostly because it was a guestroom even when Louis’ parents lived here and there wasn’t really any reason for them to take the old bed frame and dresser.

Harry walks into the house carrying another box, this one much smaller. Both Zayn and Louis freeze in their game, and Louis says, “Get that thing out of my house.”

Harry pauses mid-step, alarm evident on his face. “What?”

“Get that thing,” Louis says slowly, “out of my house.”

“It’s a PlayStation 3,” Harry says, looking confused.

Liam rolls his eyes and takes the box from Harry’s hands. “Ignore them. They’re consol snobs.”

“This is an Xbox house!” Louis says loudly.

“But PlayStation’s the superior system,” Harry tells him.

Both Zayn and Louis gape at him as if he’s said something blasphemous. Liam ignores them and helps Harry with the rest of his boxes, and then leans in Harry’s doorway as he moves them around in his room.

“I’ll unpack later,” Harry decides, putting his hands on his hips. He turns to Liam with a grin on his face. “Honestly, I’m just looking forward to sleeping in a room that doesn’t smell like cheese, where two people aren’t fucking two feet away from me.”

Liam winces sympathetically. “So I guess you’re used to crazy roommates, though,” he reasons.

Harry nods. “I’m definitely used to crazy roommates, but at least here I can shut my door to get away from it, you know? I just really needed my own space, so this is a really good thing for me.”

“Well, we’re happy to have you,” Liam says honestly.

Harry’s grin widens, and then he says, “Wait, shit, I forgot.” He digs around in his pants and pulls out a handful of bills. “Do I give this to you or Louis?”

“Louis,” Liam answers. “Just ignore his PlayStation shaming.”

“Will do,” Harry says. “Um, so should I just—go out there? Or…?”

Now Liam’s the one who grins at Harry. “I’ll give you a word of advice,” he says. “Or a few, actually. First is to get in the shower as soon as you’re awake. If you wait, someone else will get there and you’ll likely have to either skip your shower or be late to your classes. Second, label your food, even if Louis calls you a prick because of it. If it doesn’t have a label they’ll take it as fair game, and Louis has an addiction to all sweets and Niall and Zayn have an addiction to literally everything else.” Liam pauses, trying to remember if he has anything else to add. “Oh, and we’re all seriously easygoing. Just sit yourself down in the living room whenever you want. If you find really weird stuff around the house it’s probably for one of Zayn’s art projects. And if Louis comes home drunk, the next morning you might not want to make any noise until after three in the afternoon, unless you have a death wish.”

“It’s a little intimidating,” Harry admits while running a hand through his hair. “You’re all pretty close, you know? I’m sort of like the outsider.”

“Zayn said the same thing a year ago, but trust me, I’m pretty sure you’ll fit in just fine.”

“Liam!” Louis shouts loudly. “You and Zayn are going to the grocery store to pick up stuff for dinner. We’re going to have a lovely homemade affair as a welcoming celebration for Harry.”

Liam sighs and backs out of the room, Harry right behind him. Zayn is waiting in the hallway, keys in his hand, rocking back on his heels. Louis is still into the game, only he’s playing single player now, and Niall only looks up long enough to nod a greeting at Harry.

“PlayStation boy,” Louis says without moving his eyes from the screen. “Do you know how to play on an actual gaming system?”

Harry looks to Liam with a question on his face. Liam shrugs and nods, and then Harry says, “I know enough to kick your ass, most likely.” Liam smiles because, yeah, he’ll fit in just fine.

Zayn turns on his heels and heads for the door, not waiting for Liam to put on his shoes before he’s out it, shutting it quietly behind himself. Liam stares at the closed door and debates asking Niall to go with him instead. The whole thing is going to be just really, really awkward, and Liam doesn’t want to have to deal with it. Either they’ll completely avoid talking about it but it’ll be so blatantly obvious that’s what they’re doing that it’ll be uncomfortable, or they’ll talk about it and it’ll be uncomfortable. Either way it’s a lose/lose situation.

Liam slips on his shoes anyway and heads out the door.

Zayn already has the car running, and he gives Liam an impatient look through the window. Liam quickly gets in the passenger seat, looking over his shoulder before he does up his seatbelt. “Are those construction cones?” he asks.

Zayn pulls out of the driveway. “Yeah,” he answers.

“And where did you get them?” Liam wonders.

“Construction site.”

“And they were just giving them out for free?”

Zayn makes a face at him. “No. Niall stole them for me.”

“Zayn,” Liam says, exasperated. “Didn’t we all have a ‘no stealing for your projects’ intervention, like, three months ago?”

Zayn grins at him and turns the corner. “Yeah, but I technically didn’t steal them. Niall did. And it’s not like they’ll be missed.”

“You’re ridiculous.” He tries to say it in a scolding way, but it comes out far more fond than intended.

“You’re ridiculous,” Zayn argues.

Liam goes to continue with the banter, but instead what comes out of his mouth is, “I’m sorry for this morning.”

Zayn’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel, knuckles nearly turning white. “What part? Walking in on me jerking off or hitting me in the face with my iPod?”

Liam lets out an embarrassed sound and covers his face to hide his blush. “I didn’t know it hit you in the face. I sort of ran before it made contact.”

Zayn shrugs and says, “It’s no big deal, Liam, honestly. I’ve walked in on Louis jerking off multiple times, and Niall practically does it with the door open.”

Yeah, but that’s different, Liam thinks. He can’t say that, though, because then Zayn would ask why, and Liam would have to bring up the fact that he had watched him. He didn’t just run from the room. He’d just stood there.

“Okay,” he says instead. “No big deal, then. Completely forgotten?”

“Completely forgotten,” Zayn confirms.

Liam nods and looks out the window, watching the familiar houses pass by. The sound of the car is enough to fill the silence, to keep it from being awkwardly quiet.

“So what do you really think of him?” Zayn asks suddenly, as they pull into the lot of the grocery store. It’s not that far from the house; Liam could have walked and made it back within half an hour. He’d rather not do that with arms full of groceries, though. “Harry, I mean.”

“I like him,” Liam says easily. “I think he’ll fit in well. And he doesn’t seem like a psychotic animal murderer.”

Zayn snorts. “Neither did Louis or Niall when I first moved in—for the first week anyway. And then after that it was like living in the nut house. Remember? Louis bought a water gun and Niall had sex on the kitchen counter.”

Liam remembers the day Zayn moved in very clearly. He’d just gotten out of the shower and Louis had dragged him downstairs, thrown open the door, and gestured to Zayn with a cheerful, “Liam, this is Zayn, our new roommate. Zayn, this is Liam. Don’t touch his juice and you’ll get along fine.” And Zayn had smiled at him.

Liam had sort of instantly been in love with him. He can’t be blamed for that, though, because Zayn is just the type of person that people fall in love with easily. When they go to the mall, all the female sales people flock to him. When they go out for coffee, Zayn’s drinks always have numbers written on them. Girls and occasionally guys turn on the street to watch him as he walks by. Zayn is all sorts of beautiful, but not just that, he’s interesting. You don’t even have to know him to know that. One look and you can just tell, from the ink on his arms to the various different hairstyles. From the way his lips are almost constantly tilted up in a half smirk, like the world amuses him, or the way he holds a cigarette between his long, thin fingers.

Liam initially thought that Zayn would definitely, definitely not fit in with the rest of them. He was quiet and reserved and had an air of I’m-too-cool-for-you that surrounded him.

That was before he really knew Zayn, though, and Zayn is possibly more of a dork than even Liam, which is saying something.

“Did Louis even say what we needed to grab?” Liam asks when they’re inside the store. He grabs a basket and follows behind Zayn, who is already making his way through the aisles like he knows exactly what he’s looking for.

“Nope,” Zayn says simply. “I figure we’ll just get something to pop in the oven. I don’t want to accidentally give Harry food poisoning on his first night, like some people.”

“I thought it was blue cheese,” Liam says defensively. “It’s supposed to be mouldy.”

“It was white cheddar, Liam.”

“Are you ever going to let that go?”

“No.”

When they get to the freezer section, he pulls open the door and tugs out a frozen lasagna. “How about this? Just throw it in the oven and it’s good to go, and we could make garlic bread to go with it.”

“Fine with me,” Zayn says, grabbing the basket from Liam. “I need to get a few things still, though.”

Liam follows Zayn through the store. Zayn is the best person to grocery shop with, because Niall doesn’t know where anything is unless it’s in the freezers and Louis tends to sneak random things into the cart just to be annoying, since it’s not like any of them have ever expressed a need for three jars of picked eggs.

When they’re done, they get in line and Liam is the one who starts placing things on the conveyor belt. Zayn is too busy leaning on his elbows and grinning at the cashier, a girl with short black hair and bright blue eyes, who grins back at him just as widely. Liam purposefully knocks into Zayn to push him off balance as jealousy surges through him.

It’s really not fair that he reacts this way, because it’s not like he has any claim on Zayn. But watching him flirt with other people when Liam is literally close enough to touch him is just too much.

“Bit rude, isn’t it?” someone whispers in his ear.

Liam jumps, ready to push away the creepy stranger who thought it was okay to invade his personal space. Except he turns and meets a pair of green eyes that are nearly concealed by dark black hair that’s covered by a grey beanie. And then he takes in the guy’s band t-shirt and the tattoo of a dagger on the inside of his forearm and the unbuttoned plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up.

“Excuse me?” Liam asks, a little dazed because fuck. Liam does not have a type, okay? Despite what Louis says, he doesn’t. But on the off chance that he did, this guy would definitely be it.

“I just mean,” the guy says, leaning forward a bit. He’s got a basket in his hands, and it’s filled with typical single guy foods; anything that’s bad for you that can be cooked in a matter of minutes, “That if you were my boyfriend, I definitely wouldn’t be flirting with average-looking women in front of you.”

Liam feels his cheeks grow warm. “He’s—we’re—he’s not my boyfriend. Just my roommate.”

“Oh,” the guy says, lips spreading into a grin that is a little too sharp. Liam sort of really likes it. “In that case, would it be a bit too forward to ask you for your number?”

Liam is about to say that, yeah, it sort of is, given the fact that he doesn’t even know Liam’s name. But then Zayn is at his side, eyes narrowed as he grabs a bottle of Pepsi out of their basket. “Who the hell is this?” he asks Liam.

“I’m Alex,” the guy answers, extending his hand to Zayn. Zayn doesn’t take it.

“How about you give me your number instead?” Liam asks suddenly.

Zayn gives him an incredulous look, like he’s seriously questioning Liam’s sanity, but Liam ignores it and pulls out his cell phone. Zayn turns his back on them and dumps the rest of their stuff onto the conveyor belt.

Alex reads off his number, and then he says, “Do I get a name first, or am I going to have to wait until you call me?”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “Who said I was definitely going to call you?”

Alex’s grin turns cocky. “You’ll call.”

Probably not, actually, Liam thinks. It’s just that Zayn can flirt with literally every person he meets, and why can’t Liam do the same? Answer: he can, thank you. He just has to stop caring about everything so much. And Alex is definitely attractive and, though a little inappropriate, maybe, Liam sort of likes him a bit.

“Are you coming, Liam?” Zayn snaps.

Liam turns and gives Alex one last look before hurrying after Zayn, who’s somehow already got their stuff bagged up and is ready to go, an annoyed, impatient look on his face.

Liam turns his phone around in his hands almost the whole way home, questioning whether or not he should just delete Alex’s number. Liam isn’t really the type of guy to pick up someone at the grocery store. That’s more Niall and Zayn’s thing. Liam’s a bit classier than that.

“That guy was, like, exactly your type, wasn’t he?” Zayn asks as they pull into the driveway.

Liam frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

Zayn snorts. “Come on, Liam, those skinny jeans looked painted on.”

“Really,” Liam says flatly. “Because I’m pretty sure you have literally the exact same pair upstairs in your closet.”

“I actually don’t,” Zayn denies, chin tilted up a bit. Liam keeps his gaze steady until Zayn says, “Mine are grey, not black.”

“Whatever. He was nice,” Liam tells him while reaching into the back to pull out their bags.

“He was creepy, is what he was,” Zayn argues.

“Did you strike out with the cashier or something?” Liam snaps. “Is that why you’re being a complete dick about this?”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “Don’t be dramatic. I’m not being a dick; I’m pointing out facts. That guy was creepy as fuck, and for the record, of all the 80s bands he has to choose from, he goes with Whitesnake? The guy’s a douche.”

Liam ignores him and carries the bags inside, slamming the front door behind himself. A moment later, Zayn comes in behind him, a satisfied look on his face, like he was trying to piss Liam off and was immeasurably pleased that he had. Liam stomps towards the kitchen, ignoring Louis and Harry’s inquiring looks. Zayn follows him, and a moment later Louis comes into the kitchen, too.

Liam tosses the bags onto the counter as Louis asks, “What happened? Why was there door-slamming? Why does Liam look about ready to punch you in the face?”

“Because Liam got hit on by some creepy bloke at the store and I pointed out how much of a douchebag he was,” Zayn supplies.

“At least I didn’t throw myself at the cashier,” Liam says hotly.

Zayn grins at him. “I don’t throw myself at anyone, babe. If I really wanted that girl, she’d be upstairs in my bed screaming my name as we speak.”

And the thing is, he’s probably right. That only fuels Liam’s annoyance, though, because it’s really not fair that Zayn can just do whatever he wants, but God forbid Liam gets some guy’s number. All of the guys he goes out with are apparently not worthy, but Zayn can bring home whatever guy or girl from the club and Liam never insults them because he’s not an asshole, unlike Zayn.

“We got lasagna,” Liam says to Louis. “Have a good dinner. I’m going to bed.”

“It’s seven thirty,” Louis points out.

Liam just shrugs and pushes out of the kitchen. “Welcome to the house, Harry,” he calls over his shoulder as he climbs the stairs. He doesn’t even slam his bedroom door closed, mostly because he’s already done that once today and the slamming thing is more Louis and Zayn’s forte.

When he falls onto his bed, he stares up at the ceiling for a long time, stewing over the last fifteen minutes in his mind. And then he pulls out his phone, brings up Alex’s contact, and presses the ‘call’ button.

 

Chapter Text

 

Harry has lived with them for a total of three days, and Louis is still not sure how he feels about this. Harry is weirdly adaptive. He’s already understood that the recliner beside the couch is Niall’s and not to touch Liam’s food or question when Zayn stumbles into the house on Sunday with a giant replica of a fish skeleton made out of metal. And he holds his own with the rest of them, easily slipping in and out of arguments with Louis, helping mediate the fight between Zayn and Liam the night before, driving Niall to the computer store at eight in the morning when his laptop battery suddenly stopped working for no reason.

But he’s also sort of annoyingly charming and distracting. The only boundary he has crossed is stealing Liam’s seat on the couch between Zayn and Louis. Liam isn’t upset about this, apparently, because he’s been avoiding Zayn since Friday. But it bothers Louis because Harry always sits an inch or two too close to him, their arms and thighs constantly brushing. Louis just doesn’t get it.

There is a part of him that wants to cringe every time he spots Harry on his couch, though. Every time he goes into the kitchen and finds Harry there. Every time he so much as thinks Harry’s name, because he’s a fairly pathetic person. He hates Harry, he thinks, but more than that, he feels pitiful. Harry had effectively embarrassed him, made him feel worthless without even trying. And he doesn’t even remember it, either. It’s like this personal hell that Louis is aware of, being near Harry. It’s a constant reminder of the fact that people apparently enjoy using him and he is stupid enough to allow it.

He’s trying, though. Harry is living with them. That is just a fact. And, if he could push his own biased opinions away, he’s not completely horrible. Plus, Liam seems fond of him and Louis is fond of Liam, so he’s trying.

The one plus side to Harry (his love of that disgusting PlayStation 3 aside) is that he’s far worse at Call of Duty than Zayn, and Louis can actually kick his ass if he tries. Which is exactly what the two of them are doing on Monday night while Niall sits in the recliner. Every once in a while Niall butts into the conversation, but mostly it’s just a chorus of, “Did you seriously just shoot me while I was taking a sip of my drink?” and, “I’m going to shove a cactus up your ass, you dick!”—it’s fairly obvious which one was from Louis.

They don’t stop playing until Zayn comes downstairs, and then Louis exits the current online game they’re playing so he can appropriately gape at his housemate. Niall looks up, too, and he snorts out a laugh that is so loud it must have been painful.

“What the fuck,” Louis says slowly, eyes moving over Zayn, “are you wearing? Is that a scarf ?”

Zayn pulls at the offending material, eyes narrowed. “I borrowed it from Harry.”

“It was my sister’s,” Harry explains when Louis looks at him. “She left it at my dorm when she visited a few weeks ago.”

“That doesn’t explain why the hell you’re wearing it,” Louis says to Zayn. “And is that my beanie? Wasn’t that buried deep in my box of winter clothes?”

“And that’s my plaid shirt,” Niall adds. “I don’t remember lending that shit to you, man.”

Zayn looks, in essence, like every single one of Liam’s boyfriends that he’s ever made fun of. The beanie placed on top of his dark hair, fringe flat against his forehead; the grey scarf loosely tied around his neck; the red and black plaid shirt unbuttoned over a white t-shirt; the dark skinny jeans that cannot be comfortable on his junk. And then it clicks in Louis’ mind that that’s the point.

“Dear God,” he says, shaking his head. “This is too good. I need popcorn. Snacks. I can’t wait to watch this play out.”

Zayn glares at him. “Don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about, Louis.”

Louis grins sweetly at him. “This sudden makeover has nothing to do with the fact that Liam has a date tonight with the lovely and possibly creepy Alex?”

Zayn flips him off and stomps off into the kitchen. Louis sinks back in his seat and turns to Harry. “Just watch,” he tells him. “This is going to be extremely entertaining.”

Harry frowns at him, leaning in just enough that Louis is overwhelmed by the sickly sweet smell of candy and the spice of whatever cologne he wears. He smells so good that Louis sort of wants to jump him, not that he actually would. He really needs to get a grip on himself. Think hatred, not lust.

“Why?” Harry asks, eyes moving to the kitchen door. “What’s going to happen?”

“Should we tell him?” Niall interrupts.

Louis looks at him for a moment, debating, and then decides that it can’t really hurt. Harry’ll figure it out soon enough on his own anyway.

“The thing you need to know about Liam and Zayn,” he starts, wavering a bit when Harry gives him his complete, undivided attention, green eyes warm and interested, “is that they’re ridiculously in love with each other.”

Harry cocks his head to the side and then nods, considering this. “I can see that, yeah.”

“Okay, good,” Louis continues. “Neither of them have admitted this to themselves or each other, so instead they passive-aggressively dance around one another. See, Zayn will bring home nearly any attractive thing that moves, but Liam is the more rational of the two so instead of getting upset or doing anything about it, he’ll just mope around the house all night and then snap at Zayn all through breakfast until dinner the next day. But Liam, on the other hand, has a habit of dating douchebags, and Zayn will spend the entire time before Liam’s date poking at him and making fun of whatever guy he’s going out with. And then Zayn will either spend the rest of the night listening to Mariah Carey—”

“Mariah Carey?” Harry asks, interrupting him.

Louis nods solemnly. “We should have warned you before you moved in. Trust me, it’s not pretty. But now you’re sort of stuck with it. Anyway—” He runs a hand through his hair, “if Mariah doesn’t help, Zayn will instead spend the next week purposefully bringing home as many guys and girls as he can, and the sex will be both loud and disturbing, assuring that Liam has no choice but to hear it.”

“Okay,” Harry says slowly. Louis waits for him to comment on their roommates’ idiocy, or maybe to even demand his money back and pack up his things. Instead he says, “I’ll invest in some good headphones, then.”

Louis searches his eyes for a moment before saying, “I suggest that you do.”

Harry leans back in his seat and crosses his arms behind his head. “Why don’t they just tell each other, though?” he asks. “If they feel the same way, and I think it’s pretty obvious to everyone that they do, why don’t they just man up and go out with each other instead of settling for people that they don’t like just to make each other jealous?”

Louis is too distracted by the way that Harry’s tight t-shirt rides up above the waistband of his jeans, revealing the lighter coloured skin of his stomach and the thin trail of hair there that—

“Because that would just be too easy,” Niall tells him. “Plus, not that I’d ever tell him this, Zayn does some pretty sick art when he’s pissed at Liam.”

“It’s true,” Louis agrees, tearing his eyes away from Harry’s skin. What the fuck is wrong with him? He needs to get laid, apparently, because he would never stoop so low as to ever consider Harry. “Have you seen Niall’s room? Or the basement? It’s pretty impressive.”

“What about the green kitchen?” Harry questions.

Niall and Louis exchange a dark look. “That one doesn’t count. That time it was actually justified.”

Harry opens his mouth to say something, but then Liam’s voice reverberates through the house. “Zayn!” he shouts, and Louis winces. Liam doesn’t yell often, and when he does it’s only when he’s really, really upset (or when he’s accidentally hurt himself, because Liam is sort of like the Hulk when he gets hurt).

“And so it begins,” Louis says quietly, turning in his seat so he can lean over the back of the couch. Harry does the same, but with a lot more subtlety; if Liam or Zayn catch him, he can turn back around and pretend that he wasn’t watching them.

Liam appears at the top of the stairs at the same moment that Zayn comes out of the kitchen. They look completely ridiculous, Zayn still in that stupid fucking scarf, Liam in just a pair of black boxers.

“What?” Zayn asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“You were—” Liam stops himself. “What are you wearing?”

Louis can see the faint blush in Zayn’s cheeks but the other boy covers it well with a sharp, “What are you wearing?”

That was apparently the wrong thing to say, because it has Liam letting out an angry growl. “I’m not wearing anything,” he points out. “You did laundry and all of my clothes are still fucking damp!”

Zayn raises his eyebrows. “Are they? When I folded them, they seemed pretty dry to me.”

Liam’s mouth opens and then closes with a snap. He holds up a finger and disappears. A moment later he reappears at the top of the stairs, and he throws the shirt in his hands at Zayn, who steps sideways at the last moment to avoid getting hit. The shirt hits the ground with a wet, audible snap.

“I’m not cleaning it again now that you’ve thrown it on the dirty floor,” Zayn tells Liam.

“I have a date,” Liam grinds out. “He’s going to be here in less than half an hour and all of my fucking clothes are wet.”

“Shame,” Zayn says. “Want to borrow something of mine?”

“Just because none of your relationships work out,” Liam hisses, “doesn’t mean that you have to sabotage mine.”

“Oooh,” Louis says softly, discreetly sliding down the couch. He grabs Harry’s arm and tugs him down, too, until their heads are no longer peeking over the edge. “We need to leave.”

“What?” Harry asks, just as Zayn does the same, letting out a much softer, “What? What did you just say to me?”

“We need to leave now,” Louis says, jumping off the couch.

Niall is already out of his chair, laptop unplugged and closed in his arms. He moves towards the door, slipping on his shoes as Louis tugs Harry off the couch and to the front door.

“I’m just saying that I actually have standards,” Liam says to Zayn. “Unlike you, I don’t just spread the legs of any available—”

Louis tunes them out and pulls on his shoes before gesturing for Harry to do the same. He does, stepping into them quickly and then following Niall out the door after swiping his keys off the table. Louis is right behind him, shutting the door on Zayn’s angry retort.

It’s almost dark out, the sun hanging low in the sky. Niall has already deposited himself in the back of Harry’s car, and Louis gets in the passenger seat before Harry slides into the driver’s.

Harry looks mildly alarmed. Louis was waiting for this, was waiting for him to really realize what it was like to live with four other guys. It’s not exactly easy sometimes, and this isn’t the first time Louis and Niall have slipped out of the house during one of Liam and Zayn’s fights. They don’t happen often, mostly because Zayn hates to do anything to genuinely upset Liam under normal circumstances (though Louis is pretty sure that everyone tries not to upset Liam, because he gets all wide-eyed and sad and it’s literally painful), and Liam is mostly convinced that Zayn is the greatest thing since whipped cream topped coffee. When they really fight, though, it’s bad. That’s because they both aim to cut with their words, and they know each other so well that they almost always succeed.

“They’re not going to ruin their friendship, are they?” Harry asks, concerned. He honestly, genuinely seems worried about this, which does not compute with Louis’ idea of Harry being some cold, heartless, horrible person incapable of human emotion or decency.

“Definitely not,” Louis assures him. “They’ll be fine by Wednesday, at the latest. Unless Liam’s date goes horrible, in which case they’ll be fine by tonight because Zayn will lick his wounds for him.”

“Oh,” Harry says quietly. “So where are we going until they stop fighting?”

“Can you drop me off at the coffee shop on Morin?” Niall asks.

Harry nods and pulls away from the house, leaving behind their fighting roommates. Honestly, Louis wishes they would both just own the fuck up to their feelings. He knows that Liam has every right to be angry right now. Zayn is constantly with a new guy or girl, and Liam rarely dates (in fact, he’s a little surprised at the fact that Liam’s had more than one date in a month), but when he does date, Zayn does everything in his power to ruin it, the wet laundry only at the bottom of a long list of shit he’s pulled in the last year. But Liam would never do that back to him, because Liam isn’t good at malicious or sneaky acts.

When they pull up at Ben’s Brews, Niall gets out with a short goodbye to the two of them. Harry and Louis watch him enter the shop, set up his laptop at a table, and then flirt shamelessly with the dark-haired girl behind the counter.

“What about us?” Harry asks a beat later.

Louis realizes, right about then, that he’s sort of stuck with Harry. He can’t go home just yet, not unless he wants to deal with that shit storm, which he so doesn’t. He can’t think of anywhere else to go, either, because sitting in the coffee shop, surrounded by the many students he looks to avoid as soon as the school week is over, is not appealing. And it’s fairly obvious that Harry plans to accompany him wherever he goes, though he can’t fathom why.

“Um.” He licks his lips. “What do you want to do?”

Harry frowns. “I don’t know. I haven’t really spent much time off campus, to be honest. Only reason I knew how to find this place is because it’s only a few streets from the dorm, and it’s apparently got the best coffee in town.”

“It doesn’t,” Louis tells him. “That’s just what we like the non-natives to think.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “Really.”

“Really,” Louis says, grinning in spite of himself. There is always something satisfying about knowing something that someone else does not. “I’ll prove it to you. Keep driving down this street until we get to Winton and then take a left.”

Harry obeys and, less than ten minutes later, they get to Drennan Diner. “This is where Liam works,” Louis explains as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “It’s far enough from campus that it’s sort of a local secret. Best burgers you’ll ever have, too. And if you ever get the chance, you should definitely come in on Thursdays and try the chili. It is the best thing you will ever eat, hands down.”

Harry grins brightly at him. “I will, but only if you come with me.”

Louis frowns, eyes narrowing. Is Harry hitting on him? Just when Louis was considering the idea that he might not be a total rat bastard. But no, maybe he’s not, actually. Harry is just sort of like that. Naturally flirty. He’ll let it go, for now.

The diner isn’t all that busy. There are a few people who Louis recognizes by name and a few others that he recognizes only by sight, and maybe two or three university students. Louis guides Harry straight over to his favourite booth, deeply inhaling the scent of pancakes and bacon as they go.

The moment they sit down, a menu is slapped onto the table in front of him while another is placed more gently in front of Harry. Louis looks up with a grin that Anna returns, though hers is filled with fond amusement and exasperation.

“Louis,” she says. “And who’s your curly-haired friend?”

Harry smiles politely at her while Louis answers with, “Anna, this is Harry, our fifth and final housemate.”

Anna’s eyes widen. “You buys were serious about bringing another one in?” she asks, and then turns to Harry. “Run while you can, boy.”

Harry chuckles. “I’m afraid I’m already in too deep.”

A foot rubs against Louis’ ankle and Louis shifts, heat rising to his cheeks. Harry stops immediately, frowning more at himself than at Louis. “Anyway,” Louis says, much louder than intended. “Zayn and Liam are fighting, so—”

Anna rolls her eyes and sighs, placing a hand on her hip. “Those boys are thicker than Curly here’s hair.”

Louis snorts at the way Harry tugs self-consciously at a strand of said hair. “That they are,” he agrees. “But sadly I don’t see that changing any time soon, so I removed us from the line of fire. I’m going to need a large coffee and a stack of chocolate chip pancakes.”

Anna nods and pulls the pen out from where it’s tucked above her ear. She writes this down quickly and then turns to Harry and says, “You want a coffee while you read over the menu?”

“Um, sure,” Harry answers, eyes dropping to his menu before moving up to Louis’. “Unless you want to order for me? I’m sure you know what’s good, and I eat practically anything as long as it doesn’t have beans, peas, or cauliflower in it.”

“What do you have against cauliflower?” Louis asks. He shakes his head. “Never mind. Get him the bacon burger and a plate of your spicy chips. Actually, get me a plate of the chips, too.”

Anna writes this down and then heads for the counter to call in their order and make their coffees.

“You’re getting chips and chocolate chip pancakes?” Harry asks a moment later.

Louis picks up the fork on the table by his elbow and points it at Harry. “Don’t judge me. I like what I like.”

Harry runs a hand through his hair and then swipes it off his forehead before placing both of his elbows on the table. He leans forward a bit and then asks, “So you grew up around here, then?”

Louis plays with the salt shaker on the table. He dumps a bit out and then pushes it around with his fingers. “I was born here,” he answers. “Most people who are end up staying here, you know? Like—once you’re here, you’re here for good. Unless you’re one of the uni students, of course. But I could name almost every single person in this place right now.”

“Really,” Harry says, a challenge in his eyes. He points to a booth at the other side of the restaurant where an older couple is sitting, nothing but two cups of coffee on their table. “Who are they?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Far too easy. That’s Joseph and Carla. They live two streets down from us and their daughter owns the thrift shop on the main street. They’ve been together since they were twenty-two, and they eat at this diner every night except on Sundays.”

“That is creepy,” Harry informs him. “Okay, what about them?” he asks, pointing to a couple that just walked in. They’re in their early thirties, probably, and Louis recognizes them immediately.

“That’s Mark and Elaine,” Louis replies. “Elaine used to date Mark’s brother, Anthony, until Anthony moved to London to pursue a career in alternative dancing and singing. Also, fun fact, her left leg isn’t actually her left leg. She lost it six years ago during a trip to Australia.”

Harry gapes at him. “You made that up.”

“I did not,” Louis denies.

Before Harry can question him about anyone else, Anna is back. She slides two large mugs in front of them, both topped with a generous helping of whipped cream. “Food’ll be another couple o’ minutes.”

“Thanks,” Louis says, while happily pulling his cup towards himself.

“Thank you,” Harry puts in before she walks off. When she’s gone, he eyes his cup warily. “Whipped cream? Really?”

Louis grins at him. “Just drink it. It’s good, I promise.”

Harry complies, taking a hesitant, small sip. When he puts his glass down, there’s whipped cream on his top lip and this tongue snakes out to wipe it away. That has got to be illegal, Louis thinks. Definitely. It’s offensive at the very least.

“’s good,” Harry admits. “Really good, actually.”

Louis’ grin morphs into a smirk. “You will learn, Harry,” he says, while scooping up a bit of whipped cream with his finger, “that I am always right and therefore you should never question me.”

Harry’s eyes drop to Louis’ lips as Louis sucks his finger into his mouth, and the way his pupils blow wide and his lips part just a bit makes Louis’ pants way too tight. He takes a large sip of his coffee to distract himself, but it’s hot enough that it burns his tongue and he hisses, dropping it on the table too forcefully, a bit of cream-coloured liquid sloshing out onto the table.

Harry snorts and uses the napkin on his side of the table to clean up the mess. When he’s done, he frowns at Louis and says, “You’ve got a bit of—” He stops and reaches out a hand. “Here, just let me, yeah?”

Louis has no idea what Harry’s asking, but he’s pretty sure that Harry could tell him to strip off his clothes and sing karaoke right in the middle of the diner and Louis would likely do it, as long as Harry kept looking at him like that. It’s a ridiculous thought, one that he hates himself for, but he can’t help it.

Harry reaches out and brushes his thumb along Louis’ upper lip. He pulls back and then sucks his thumb into his mouth and grins around it. Louis possibly whimpers. Harry is definitely a fucking asshole, he decides.

Thankfully, Anna chooses that moment to drop a plate of pancakes in front of him. Louis grins brightly as the smell of butter and syrup wafts up from the plate, and Anna adds a small vat of maple syrup to the table before telling Harry that his food is nearly done and walking off.

Louis gives his pancakes a considering look and then says to Harry, “If you share your burger with me, I’ll share my pancakes with you.”

Harry debates this for a moment before saying, “Yeah, okay. Deal.”

Louis pushes his plate to the middle of the table and grabs the maple syrup. By the time Harry’s good and both of their chips arrive, Louis’ pancakes are but a distant, sugary memory. And there is nothing weird about sharing food with someone, okay? He shares food with all of his housemates.

“This really is the best burger I’ve ever eaten,” Harry admits after his first bite. Louis grins at him and pops a chip in his mouth.

Weirdly enough, the longer he’s alone with Harry, the easier it is to forget everything. The easier it is to just enjoy it, because Harry’s funny in an awkwardly endearing way, and he’s got a sweet grin. But, at the same time, this only puts Louis even more on edge, because he really, really shouldn’t let his guard down here. Look what happened last time; he is not going to be stupid enough to put himself in that kind of situation again.

They split the bill equally, though Louis is pretty sure that Harry’s burger and chips cost more than his pancakes and chips. “Think we’re safe to head back home?” Harry asks when they’re in the car.

Louis nods. “Definitely. Liam left for his date about twenty minutes ago, and Zayn is probably painting the living room as we speak.”

The drive home is mostly silent. When they get inside, the music playing is deafening. Mariah Carey’s Don’t Forget About Us echoes throughout the house, but Louis only has to take a few steps inside to realize that Zayn is not, in fact, painting. He is instead lying on their living room floor, facing the ceiling, arms crossed over his chest. He looks up when Louis kicks him softly in the shin.

Harry seems completely unfazed by all of this. Louis is mildly impressed. He remembers his own first Moody Zayn encounter. He’d been too stunned to do much else but sit and watch as Zayn shouted along to Mariah and splattered the basement walls with paint. In fact, Harry is singing along to the music, grinning brightly.

Louis snorts and pushes past him, quickly climbing the stairs and heading straight to Zayn’s room. One of these days he’s going to cut the cords of Zayn’s stereo. That day will be one of bloodshed, he knows, but there’s only so much he can take.

When he gets downstairs, Harry is nowhere to be seen. Zayn is leaning up on his elbows, regarding Louis with a pathetic look on his face. “Can we go out?” Zayn asks. “I need to get wasted. And laid. Both. At the same time.”

“I’m not going to enable your terrible coping habits,” Louis says firmly, crossing his arms over his chest.

“First round is on me,” Zayn bargains.

“Deal.”

“Harry!” Zayn shouts. A moment later, the boy in question ducks his head around the corner, curly hair falling into his eyes. “Want to come out to the club with Louis and I?”

Louis’ heart plummets into his stomach until Harry shakes his head. “Nah, I’m good. Have fun, though.”

“Okay,” Zayn says with a shrug. Louis lets out a relieved sigh.

Harry disappears into his room and Zayn gets off the ground, brushing off his pants. “Give me, like, ten minutes to change.”

Louis nods. “I’ll message Niall and see if he wants to come.”

 

-

 

Louis is on his way to being pleasantly intoxicated by the time the first text comes in. He’s still sober enough that reading the text on the screen is very easy, at least.

“Who’s that?” Zayn asks, though the look on his face is far too curious and it tells Louis that Zayn knows exactly who it is.

They’re at Louis’ favourite booth at Indecision, the only club in town. It’s right by the university, and the room is filled with other students. Niall is on the dance floor with the dark-haired girl from the coffee shop, his red snapback on her head. His cheeks are flushed, too, but then Louis’ probably are as well, and Zayn’s definitely are.

The lovely thing about Niall is that Niall is the most carefree, drama-free person in the entire world, possibly. While the rest of them get moody and angry, Niall tends to stay out of all major fights. When he decides to remove himself from his laptop (rarely), he is also a brilliant friend. While Liam is obviously Louis’ favourite, and the one person he confides in, and Zayn and Louis are very similar in temperament, Niall is great to talk to. He’ll take you out, get you a beer, put a hand on your shoulder while you talk to him, and then afterwards he’ll nod slowly and say something like, “That really sucks, mate,” and then he’ll get you drunk and you’ll have a great time dancing and partying, and by the time you get home, your problems have sort of disappeared, been thrown to the wind, forgotten. Because that’s just how Niall is. It takes a lot to faze or upset him.

“It’s Liam,” Louis says while reading over the text.

Things r goin goooooood I think? He’s really sweet but do u think its weird to bring out childhood pics on the 1st date? I think its kinda cute but idk… it’s sorta weird.

Louis frowns. No, Liam, baby pictures should be saved for at least the, like, tenth date, or for when you meet the parents and the mother shows them off just to be embarrassing—or never, really. But he doesn’t say that. Instead he ignores the text because Zayn is glaring daggers at him, and Louis feels mildly bad. Though technically he could blame Zayn’s unhappiness completely on Zayn, because he’s an idiot.

Still, Zayn is his friend, and Louis is about to pat his hand consolingly, although Zayn would probably deny that there was anything there to console. His phone beeps again with a new message, though, so he postpones the sympathetic touch until after he’s read it.

That pic was not of him apparently but was a pic of Justin timberlake when he was 3??????????

Louis snorts, rereading the text to make sure that he’d gotten that right. He can’t help but reply this time, and he sends Liam a short, What?

Zayn is looking really, really wasted by the time the next text comes in.

He went to the bathroom and left his phone on the table. louis theres 342 pics of Justin timberlake on here help me

Louis is laughing now, and he turns the phone towards Zayn, who struggles to read the words on the screen. “What?” he asks a moment later, lifting his eyes to Louis.

“Liam’s date is apparently a very fanatical Justin Timberlake fan,” Louis informs him happily. “Doesn’t that brighten your night?”

Zayn scoffs. “Why would it?” he asks, looking around. He spots a girl not far from them giving him a very obvious look and slides out of the booth. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Louis doubts this. The way the girl was eyeing him promised that, if Zayn is interested at all, he will not be back for a long time. And Louis can’t see anyone that he would even think of approaching right now, except maybe that guy in the corner with the tight white t-shirt and—oh, okay, now he’s making out with a random girl. Eh, he’d rather heard about Liam’s date anyway.

He knows justins birthday down to the minute and there was a pic on his phone of britney spears and justin but he had himself photoshopped onto britneys face get me out of here louis

A moment later, he gets another, much shorter, SOS.

Louis sighs and gets out of the booth, finding Zayn easily. “Liam needs us to come save him,” he shouts over the music.

Zayn has his arms around the girl from earlier, and he fixes Louis with a barely tolerant look. “And? Not my problem.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Zayn—”

“Get Harry to pick him up,” Zayn suggests. “I’m a little busy, Lou.”

“You’re a little asshole, is what you are,” Louis mutters, but he takes Zayn’s advice and sends a text to Harry’s number, which Liam had actually programmed into his phone, not Louis (and Louis hasn’t deleted it only because it might come in handy in an emergency, which was apparently a smart idea).

Harry agrees to go pick Liam up almost instantly, and Louis sighs in relief. As much fun as it was to hear about Liam’s disastrous date, he still feels slightly bad. This always happens to him. Liam has a habit of dating the worst possible people in the world. Though normally, his dates go wrong because Liam refuses to put out on the first date (bless his innocent soul), and more than a few guys have dropped him off at home as soon as he let them know this. Whenever this happens, Zayn would be right there, assuring Liam that if he were the one taking Liam out, he would happily wait a hundred years by Liam’s side because Liam deserves that. It’s times like that when Louis totally gets why Liam is completely in love with him. Most of the time, Louis really doesn’t get it at all, though.

“So the date didn’t go well, then?” Zayn asks, sliding into the booth. Louis looks around for the girl he was with but he can’t see her anywhere.

“Apparently not,” Louis admits. “He is allegedly a very enthusiastic Justin Timberlake fan and showed him pictures of Justin when he was three years old.”

Zayn smirks. “Told Liam that guy was creepy.”

“Yes, yes, you always know what’s best for him,” Louis says dismissively. “Don’t bring anyone home tonight, though, okay?”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Zayn says, leaning back in the booth. Louis can tell that he’s being serious, too, because that grin on his face is far too pleased. He has a feeling that Zayn is going to be all smug as soon as they get home. He’ll likely rub the whole thing in Liam’s face and they’ll fight again, and Louis really hates his roommates, Jesus fucking Christ.

 

-

 

Louis is fairly wasted by the time they get in the cab to go home. Niall has a number written in pink ink on his arm with the name Cher written beneath it. Louis grins at him for this, and Niall grins right back. Zayn is possibly talking to them, though Louis thinks he’s really just talking to himself, when he suddenly blurts, “D’you think Liam knows I wank over him sometimes?”

Niall and Louis both gape at him for a moment before Louis says, very slowly, “Please don’t discuss your masturbatory fantasies about my best friend with me, I’m begging you.”

Zayn drops his head onto Louis’ shoulder and moans loudly. “But he’s so fit, Lou. And he, like, runs and shit, and gets all sweaty and…” He stops himself abruptly and sits up, eyes wide. “Fuck, I didn’t say any of that. Please tell me you two are wasted enough to forget that I said that.”

“Sadly, I’m not,” Louis says solemnly.

“I don’t retain half the shit any of you say, so I probably won’t remember,” Niall offers.

Zayn consoles himself by humming Touch My Body under his breath.

They split the cab fare, each of them pitching in a handful of change. Louis stretches when they get out, yawning widely. He’s just on the right side of being drunk, in that pleasantly tired and loose state. Maybe he’ll just crash on the couch, he thinks. Or maybe he’ll knock on Harry’s door and—no. Nope. He’s not going to go there. Bad Louis.

Liam is on the couch when they get inside, and the first thing Zayn does is sing, “Don’t be so quick to walk away; dance with me. I wanna rock your body.”

Niall snorts and shoves Zayn’s shoulder on the way past him, but Liam does nothing more than look dejected from where he’s sitting on the couch, legs pulled up underneath him, a blanket around his shoulders. It’s just too much for drunk Louis.

“I’m going to go shower,” he says suddenly.

Neither Liam nor Zayn react in any way. Zayn is still singing Rock Your Body, now with exaggerated dance moves, because Zayn is a grade A asshole sometimes. Louis walks straight past him, pats Liam’s head on his way, and then adds, “I’m just gonna use the shower down here. It’s easier than going upstairs, you know, because that’s all the way upstairs, and the water pressure down here is better, and…” He trails off since no one is listening anyway.

In the hallway, he pauses and knocks on Harry’s door. Harry opens it, wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Louis eyes his naked chest, taking in his tattoos and the fact that his stomach muscles are defined enough that Louis really, really wants to lick them.

“Louis—” Louis cuts him off by putting a hand over his mouth.

“Can I—” He covers his own mouth now, but this time it’s to hold back a burp. “Sorry. Can I ask you something?”

Harry frowns at him. “You’re really drunk, huh?”

“No,” Louis denies instantly, shaking his head. The world spins around him, going out of focus. “Okay, yes.”

Harry leans in the doorway. “Shoot.”

Louis nods, trying to sort out his thoughts. “Do you, um, remember—a few years ago, we, um—”

“We what?” Harry urges.

“Never mind,” Louis says, shaking his head. “Forget it.”

“Louis—”

“It’s Jeremy,” he calls over his shoulder, unable to help himself. He doesn’t turn to see if Harry’s face is a mask of confusion or realization. He heads upstairs instead and locks himself in his room, shower completely forgotten.

 

Chapter Text

 

Liam spends most of the day out of the house. He just isn’t into being home after last night. He hates fighting with Zayn more than anyone else, because Zayn knows how to hurt him better than anyone’s he’s ever met and that’s definitely saying something, given his relationship with his parents.

By the time he finally comes home, it’s almost eight. The house smells like food, and he figures that Harry probably cooked dinner. Liam has already eaten at the diner and the smell of food makes his stomach twist. But he’s really thirsty, so he braves the kitchen.

Louis is inside, watching as Harry cleans the dishes. Niall is at the table with his laptop, eyebrows furrowed as he types something, hitting the keys so loudly that the sound echoes through the room.

“Liam,” Louis says brightly. “So nice to see you again. I nearly forgot what you looked like.”

Liam rolls his eyes and retrieves one of his water bottles from the fridge. He’s uncapping it just as Zayn comes into the room, eyes narrowed. “Who used my body wash?”

Liam stiffens, eyes wide, aware of the fact that he looks guilty. His own had run out this morning and he’d desperately needed it after his run. He hadn’t thought it was a big deal, but, judging by the look on Zayn’s face, it definitely was.

“Wasn’t me,” Niall says without looking up.

“I shower downstairs,” Harry puts in.

“I didn’t touch your shitty ass body wash,” Louis adds.

Zayn frowns and then steps closer to Liam. He ducks his head to the crook of Liam’s neck, and Liam can feel his breath on his skin as he inhales. He feels goose bumps spread over his arms before Zayn pulls back and grins easily. “Just ask next time, Li.”

And then he’s out of the kitchen again, the sound of his feet stomping up the stairs loud even through the closed door. Liam stands there, staring at the last place he had been, eyes still wide.

“Well, that was indecent,” Louis says, pulling Liam’s attention back to the real world.

“What?”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You two are gross,” he states. “But we’re all going out in about an hour, so you might want to get ready.”

Liam takes a sip of his water before asking, “Indecision?”

“Yeah,” Niall answers instead of Louis. “El wants to go out, so I figured I might as well take the four of you with me so she doesn’t think it’s, like, a date.”

Liam watches as Louis’ eyebrows furrow. “Eleanor who works at the Starbucks just off campus? What happened to Cher from Ben’s Brews?”

Niall shrugs sheepishly. “I’m taking her out on Tuesday.”

Now it’s Liam’s turn to frown, because he swears he remembers Niall mentioning going out with someone the other day. “What about the girl from the campus shop? Danielle or whatever?”

Niall is flushed red now as he looks up at all of them. “What?” he demands, probably because they’re all gaping at him. “I haven’t paid for coffee in three months! Don’t judge me!”

“Dear God,” Louis breathes. “You genius.”

Liam shakes his head. “This is going to come back and bite you in the ass. You can’t just play with people’s emotions like that and not expect some type of backlash.”

“Eh,” Niall says, looking unfazed. “We’ll deal with that when we get there. Until then, I’m swimming in free coffee and donuts.”

Liam shakes his head again and leaves the kitchen (and his ridiculous housemates) behind.

 

-

 

He really doesn’t want to be at Indecision tonight. The music is too loud, the lights are too blinding, the crowd is too thick, and the smell of beer and perfume and smoke is too strong. He has no idea where Louis and Niall went off to, either, but unfortunately he knows exactly where Zayn is. About ten feet away, having exchanged the attractive guy he was dancing with for a short red-haired girl who has her back pressed up against him, his hand on her stomach.

Liam tosses back his shot, knowing that he’s safe to drink because he doesn’t have to worry about getting anyone else home. That’s Harry’s job tonight as designated driver.

“You okay?” Harry asks, putting a hand on his arm.

Liam shrugs. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

It’s almost creepy, the fact that Harry has managed to become his friend so quickly. Though he has a feeling that there is definitely something there between Harry and Louis (there’s something in the way that Louis looks at Harry when he thinks no one else notices, and something in the way Harry seems to gravitate towards Louis unconsciously, always sitting closer to him on the couch, always in the kitchen when Louis’ cooking, always near him), Liam is fairly certain that he’s the closest with Harry out of everyone in the house. And Harry already knows him well enough to be able to tell that he’s lying.

“Come on,” Harry says, standing up. “I’ll take you home. The others can get a cab. We’ll play Call of Duty or something.”

Liam debates saying no because he doesn’t want to ruin everyone else’s night, but then his eyes go back to Zayn, who now has his lips pressed to the redhead’s neck, and he just can’t do this. “Yeah, okay.”

Harry’s hand is around his wrist as they make their way through the crowd, shoulders bumping into their bodies from all sides. Liam just doesn’t get it. Doesn’t get the appeal of getting so wasted that you can barely stand or what’s so fun about being suffocated in a sea of people. It’s just really, really not his thing.

The drive home is mostly silent except for the music and Liam’s apology, which Harry shoots down instantly, turning up the radio a little louder so Liam can’t continue saying he’s sorry for ruining his night.

When they get home, Harry turns off the car but makes no move to head inside. Liam’s hand hovers over his seatbelt, wondering if he should wait.

“Can I ask you something?”

Liam shrugs. “You just did.”

Harry rolls his eyes, but his lips quirk up a bit, and Liam thinks that this is really weirdly comfortable. It’s not at all like Harry is someone he met literally a week ago. It feels as normal and easy as it would if Zayn were in the driver’s seat, or Niall, or Louis.

“Okay,” Harry says after a moment. “I know about you and Zayn.”

Liam goes cold and completely retracts everything he just thought. “Me and Zayn,” he repeats slowly. “Don’t know what you mean, mate.”

Harry gives him a knowing look, eyebrows raised. So maybe he really does know about Liam and Zayn.

“Am I that transparent?” Liam asks, leaning his head back against the seat.

Harry gives him a sympathetic look. “No, you’re not. Louis and Niall might have told me.”

“So Louis and Niall know, too,” Liam groans. “Great. And Zayn as well, I’m sure.”

“No, I think he’s pretty oblivious,” Harry assures him quickly.

Liam lets out a sigh of relief. Honestly, he’s aware of how pathetic this all is, thanks. He’s been aware of it for nearly a year now, but for some reason he just can’t get over it. He dates guys he’s attracted to; fuck, he’s had more than one serious boyfriend in all that time. And yet in the end it’s still always Zayn. It’s always Zayn that he wants to spend the night with on the couch while watching shitty television programs. It’s always Zayn that he wants to fall asleep with. It’s always Zayn that he wants to wake up to, or kiss, or even just be with.

“Please don’t tell him,” he pleads softly.

He can’t handle Zayn knowing. Zayn is one of his best friends, and Liam knows him well. He knows that Zayn would never ridicule him or be rude to him about it if he knew. In fact, he would be achingly sweet about the whole thing, because that’s who Zayn is underneath the leather jacket and the tattoos and the cigarettes. He’s a genuinely good person. And he’d still be Liam’s friend, and he’d still act like everything was normal. But it never would be. The weight of Liam’s feelings for him would always hang over Zayn’s head; they’d never be able to ignore it the way they do now. Zayn would be careful not to lead him on, would stop sitting so close to him on the couch, would stop putting an easy arm around his shoulder, and picking him up from work, and basically doing all of the things that sort of made Liam fall in love with him in the first place.

“I’m not going to tell him,” Harry says slowly (even for him, which is sort of impressive). “I am going to help you, though.”

Liam cocks his head to the side, confused. It’s a bad habit, one Louis has laughed at him for many times, claiming that it makes Liam look even more like a puppy than his big brown eyes and shaggy hair already do (which may have been a contributing factor to him shaving it off). “Help me?”

Harry nods, grinning. “Yep.” He turns in his seat, keys in hand, and gives Liam a very serious look. “My plan,” he starts, “if executed correctly, could get you exactly what you want.”

Liam’s eyebrows furrow together. “What do I want?”

“Zayn,” Harry says, like it’s obvious. “Because, come on, Liam, admit it; you went out with that Justin Timberlake guy to make Zayn jealous, didn’t you?”

Liam shifts uncomfortably because, yeah, he sort of did. And he thinks that it might have actually worked, though he isn’t positive. Maybe Zayn really had just thought (and had been right in thinking so) that Alex was creepy and was genuinely trying to stop Liam from doing something stupid.

“That’s what I thought,” Harry says. “And I know that all we have to do is get Zayn jealous enough that he finally snaps and admits to what everyone already knows. You make him jealous, he flips and tells you he’s in love with you, voila. Harry is a genius.”

Liam gives him an incredulous look. “That only works if Zayn actually has feelings for me,” he reminds him, and he knows that Zayn doesn’t. He’s seen Zayn with people he’s interested in, and he knows that Zayn is the kind of person who always goes after what he wants. If there was something there, he would have made a move already, and he never did because he doesn’t have any desire to.

Harry snorts. “Just trust me on this, Liam.”

Liam wants to point out that he hardly knows Harry, and that he doesn’t trust him at all. But that’s sort of not true, because there’s something sincerely hopeful in Harry’s eyes, and Liam is fond of him already. He reminds Liam far too much of both Louis and Niall, with the mischievous glint in his eyes but also a sort of sweet, kind face. And then Zayn, too, because of the way he dresses and the tattoos that cover his skin.

“Alright, look,” Harry says, when Liam still hasn’t answered, “I used to be a dick, okay? A few years ago, when I first started university here, I was a kid in a candy store. I come from a town even smaller than this one and I’ve never been on my own before. I took advantage of that. I went after what I wanted, whenever I wanted, and I never gave a shit about anyone else. So, while I might not be like that anymore, I’m still fairly experienced in knowing how to manipulate people into doing things and getting what I, or in this case you, want.”

Liam blinks at him, surprised. That’s kind of hard to believe; Harry’s been nothing but open and kind, in Liam’s opinion. “But,” Liam says, raising his hands defensively, “you just said so yourself. It’d be manipulation. I don’t want to manipulate him.”

Harry groans. “It’s not like we’re tricking him into dating you,” he says. “We’re just—getting him to admit something that he should have a while ago. And, in the end, he’ll be a hell of a lot happier than he would if he just lied to himself for the rest of his life and never went after you the way he obviously wants to.”

“Okay,” Liam says, dragging out the word. “Now, I’m not saying I agree to this at all, because I don’t really do sneaky—and this is definitely sneaky, not to mention malicious and hurtful and wrong—but, hypothetically speaking, if I were to agree, what’s your plan?”

“All is fair in love and war,” Harry says with a swift grin. “And my plan is for us to date.”

Liam waits for him to continue. When he doesn’t, he realizes that’s it, and that Harry is serious. “You—I—what? How would that help anything? And I’m sorry, Harry, I don’t mean to be rude, but I don’t really see you that way, and—”

“I know,” Harry says exasperatedly. “I mean we fake date.”

“There’s no way that could possibly work,” Liam says seriously. It’s an insane idea for so many reasons. First of all, Liam is fairly certain that Harry is wrong about Zayn wanting anything to do with him romantically. Second of all, Louis would kill them. Louis doesn’t believe in playing with people like that, and he’d get really upset with Liam and Harry for even considering it.

“Insane minds have the best ideas,” Harry tells him.

“I’m fairly certain that the exact opposite of that is true.”

Harry sighs. “The worst thing that could happen is that it doesn’t work, right?”

“Wrong,” Liam says firmly. “There are a lot of worse things that could happen. Like Louis potentially murdering us both, or him kicking you out, or Niall burning down the kitchen again.”

“What does that have to do with my plan?”

“We’ll be too distracted by your plan to supervise him, and Niall needs constant supervision.”

“So that’s a no, then?” Harry asks.

“A definite no,” Liam answers. “Sorry.”

Harry shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Want to head inside and play Call of Duty and eat Louis’ new container of chocolate icing?”

“That,” Liam says, pushing open his door, “is actually a good idea.”

As they’re walking inside, Liam notices the flashing light on the answering machine, meaning that someone left a message. He figures it’s just someone else responding to the flyers that are still hanging up around campus, because they’ve had four phone calls asking about the room so far, and Liam has had to tell them all that they’ve already rented it out. To someone who is possibly as insane as the rest of them, apparently. He is starting to wonder if that’s a positive or a negative, and he can’t really tell.

He hits the little button that plays back the messages, and he hears a feminine giggle. “Hey Zayn, it’s Meghan,” a female voice says cheerfully. Liam can hear the music in the background. “I feel so weird because you’re literally right beside me, but you told me to call your house and leave my name and number so you can call me tomorrow, so that’s what I’m doing.” She lists off her number in a slightly slurred voice. “So call me and we can arrange a time to go out, and you can show me that thing you promised, where you use your tongue to—” Beep. The message cuts off.

Liam stares at the answering machine. So the redhead’s name is Meghan. And Zayn’s promising her tongue things, whatever that even means. Liam doesn’t want to think about what it means. Liam doesn’t want to think about some girl grinding against him while he whispers filthy things in her ear in that low voice he sometimes gets, the one that always makes Liam shiver and look away because he just can’t handle it.

Liam moves into the living room, where Harry is already sat on the couch. “Okay,” he says.

Harry looks up at him and frowns. “Okay what?”

“Okay to your plan,” Liam says. “I’ll do it.” Harry grins brightly at him and Liam says, “So what now?”

Harry grabs an Xbox controller. “For now—nothing.”

Liam frowns and sits down on the couch. “That’s anticlimactic.”

Harry chuckles and hands Liam a controller. “Just relax, I know what I’m doing.”

“Do you?” Liam wonders. “I have a feeling that you definitely don’t.”

Harry playfully punches him on the arm with a mock-offended look on his face. They start up the game and Harry is actually fairly good. Not as good as Zayn, and Liam still beats him, but he’s more of a challenge than Louis. That throws him off a little, since Harry seems to lose spectacularly whenever he pays Louis. And then it sinks in that he probably does that on purpose just to make Louis happy.

At one point, Harry gets up and heads to the kitchen, returning with a bag of popcorn. Liam takes a handful and Harry says, “I really do like living here, though. You’re all sort of crazy, but in a really good way. Even if none of you can cook to save your lives. I have no idea how you managed without me.”

“Neither do I,” Liam admits, chuckling. “A lot of takeaway was involved, though. And our microwave was used more than is probably healthy.”

He hears someone turning a key in the lock, and then Harry drops his controller with a muttered, “Shit.”

Liam watches as Harry rips off his shirt, ruffles up his hair, and then suddenly Harry’s on him without warning. Liam’s head hits the armrest of the couch painfully, but that’s sort of hard to think about since Harry is kissing him.

“Make it look convincing, Liam, honestly,” Harry says, pulling back briefly.

The front door opens and Liam gets it. This is part of the plan. And while he still thinks that the plan is a really, really fucking bad idea, he’s not exactly thinking clearly and he did agree to it. So he fists a hand in Harry’s thick hair and kisses him without really thinking, because if he thinks it’ll get really awkward and uncomfortable.

The front door slams shut and Harry pulls back, looking up at the door with a surprised look on his face that Liam knows is fake. Liam turns and adopts a look that is fairly similar, and then he meets Zayn’s eyes.

Zayn’s hair is a mess, and Liam knows that he didn’t leave the house with it like that. Someone has obviously been running their hands through it, which is only further proven by the smear of red lipstick at the corner of his mouth. His mouth which is hanging open just a bit. His eyes are wide, too, and there’s a flush in his cheeks.

“Holy fucking shit,” Louis says suddenly, and Liam realizes that Zayn isn’t the only one standing there.

Harry says something and moves off him, and Liam sits up, unable to pull his eyes away from Zayn, who continues to do nothing more than gape at him until, without warning, he’s moving briskly through the house. Liam hears Harry’s door open, and Louis follows Zayn, and then Liam hears him mutter something but he can’t make out the words, and then Zayn’s snapped reply followed quickly by the sound of something hitting the floor loudly.

“And you thought he wouldn’t be jealous,” Harry says, shaking his head. “I’m gonna go make sure you possessive as hell boyfriend doesn’t break all my shit.”

Liam watches him go and then turns his attention to Niall, who is just standing there, eyes narrowed slightly. And then they widen suddenly and he says, “Oh, Liam, come on.” Liam gives him a helpless look. “That is so not going to work, you realize that, right? That you’re playing with fire here?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Liam lies feebly.

Niall just shakes his head and says, once again, “So not going to work. Mark my words. This is going to blow up in both of your faces.”

“Yeah, probably,” Liam admits quietly. He frowns down at his hands but Niall doesn’t reply. He hears Niall head up the stairs, and then the sound of his door closing behind him.

And Niall is right. This whole thing is really stupid, and Liam doesn’t really like the idea of lying to everyone, especially Zayn. But there is something deeply satisfying about the look that had been on Zayn’s face when he’d walked in. So maybe he’ll see how this plays out, just for a little while. And then when it obviously doesn’t work, he’ll call it off.

 

-

 

Harry drops him off at work the next day. He doesn’t have class, so he’s not really busy, and he apparently wanted to stop for some chips anyway. He leaves about twenty minutes later, though, and Liam doesn’t get home until nearly eight. He’s exhausted and ready to just change into something comfortable and lounge on the couch. Niall is in the living room with his laptop and Harry’s there, too, books spread out around him, apparently doing homework. Liam pauses on his way to his room to make sure that that is actually what he’s doing.

“Yeah, he’s actually doing homework,” Niall says without looking up.

Liam frowns at Harry like he’s some sort of science experiment. “No one in this house does homework,” he says slowly. “I’m uncomfortable right now.”

Harry stops scratching things down on the page to look up at him. “What?”

“We do that shit in the library,” Niall explains. “I think the only person in this house who has ever cracked open a book is Zayn, and then I’m pretty sure he only does it to make himself look smarter than the rest of us.”

“Should I—should I stop?” Harry asks hesitantly.

“No,” Liam says quickly, just as Niall says, “Yeah, it’s fucking weird.”

Harry shuts his textbook with a sigh. “I don’t want to work on this anyway. I’ll set up Call of Duty while you change?”

Liam nods and runs up the stairs, stripping off his shirt on the way. He tosses it in the hamper in his room, kicks off his workpants, and then pulls on a loose, worn t-shirt that he’s actually fairly certain belongs to Zayn. It must have gotten switched in the laundry, but Liam’s going to pretend that he has no idea because it smells faintly like Zayn’s cologne and smoke.

He gets downstairs just as the front door opens and Zayn comes in, attached at the lips to a short girl with shocking amounts of dark hair. It’s like they’re not even aware of anyone else in the room as Zayn walks backwards, hands on her hips, one of hers tangled in his hair as the other one tries to push up his shirt.

Zayn pulls back only long enough to say, “Sorry.” Then they’re up the stairs, stumbling and giggling on the way. Liam is gaping at their backs even as they disappear down the hall, out of sight. He hears Zayn’s door slam and then, a moment later, a thump, like someone was pushed up against it. A loud, feminine moan echoes through the stupidly thin walls, and Liam wants to fucking throw something.

Harry gets off the couch and grabs Liam’s arm. “Come on,” he says, just as Zayn’s voice rings through the house.

“Fuck, babe, your mouth.”

Liam allows Harry to drag him into his room, leaving the door open slightly. “Sit,” Harry orders, pointing at his bed. Liam sits.

Harry’s not even been there a month but he’s already put his mark on the room. There are posters all over the walls of bands Liam’s never heard of, and there’s a CD player on top of the dresser and a CD rack in the corner filled with endless CD cases. There’s also a different blanket on the bed and a string of lights on the ceiling that give the room a soft, welcoming glow. Liam likes it.

“What are we doing?” he asks as Harry grabs a laptop off his bedside table and then sits on the bed, legs crossed.

“We’re waiting,” Harry says while opening the laptop.

Liam frowns at him and grits his teeth when he hears Zayn moan loudly. There’s no fucking way that’s necessary, he thinks. And the fact that his stomach gets tight, and so do his pants, at the sound of it (and the thought of what it would be like if it were him being the one to drag those sounds from Zayn’s mouth) is really not fair.

“For what?” Liam asks, sounding far less annoyed than he feels.

“For them to be done,” Harry says simply. “Come here, there’s this video of a cat that knows how to skateboard.”

Liam sighs and scoots further up on the bed so he can see the screen. He can still hear Zayn and the girl, too, but he tunes it out as best he can and watches video after video with Harry until he forgets why they’re in here and he starts laughing at them and pointing out suggested videos that look good.

When he hears Zayn’s door open upstairs, Harry gets off the bed, shuts the door, hits the volume on the CD player and then moans, quite loudly, “Fuck, Liam, right there.”

Liam raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing?”

Harry rolls his eyes as the song playing suddenly goes from something soft to something incredibly heavy and loud. He moves towards the bed and grabs the bed frame before pushing at it. Even with Liam’s weight on it, he manages to hit the headboard off the wall, and the sound of it is loud enough to be heard over the music. He does it again, then again.

“Oh, fuck,” he moans. “Liam. Fuck, your cock.”

Liam’s cheeks go red, but Harry just grins at him and jumps onto the bed, pulling the laptop towards himself. “Go on,” he urges, while bringing up Facebook. “Moan out my name or something.”

Liam shakes his head. “Why?”

“Because what he just did was a real fucking dick move,” Harry tells him while scrolling through his newsfeed. “And payback is a bitch.”

Liam gets it, then, and while he isn’t like Harry, he can’t exactly just moan exaggeratedly about someone else’s dick, he does say, hesitantly, definitely awkwardly, “So good, Harry.”

Harry covers his face with his hand and laughs silently, body shaking with it. “No,” he says after he’s recovered. “Just—try, ‘Yeah, Harry, you love my cock, don’t you?’”

“I’m not saying that,” Liam tells him.

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’ve got to do everything around here, don’t I? Liam, fuck. Harder, babe. Oh, shit. Fuck, I’m gonna—” He cuts off with the loudest moan yet, and there’s no way everyone in the house doesn’t hear it.

Harry starts bouncing on his knees as he types on the computer, the headboard hitting the wall repeatedly. He keeps this up for two more songs, and then finally stops and grabs a water bottle from beside the bed and unscrews the lid. He lifts it to his head and dumps a bit of water onto his hair and then rubs it in so a few of the curls stick to his forehead, flat and limp. He then cups his hand and pours a bit into it, and then wipes it across Liam’s forehead before rubbing a hand over his own lips.

“Rub your lips, too,” he orders.

Liam frowns at him because, yeah, Harry is decidedly the weirdest person he’s ever met and that’s saying something, because he’s best friends with Louis Tomlinson. Still, he lifts a hand to his mouth and rubs at his lips, continuing when Harry urges him to do so until his lips feel red and puffy.

“There,” Harry decides. “You look well fucked. Let’s go play Call of Duty.”

Liam really doesn’t have any choice but to follow him. Zayn is moving up the stairs as they head for the living room, and he doesn’t spare either of them a glance. A moment later, his door slams and Liam can hear the opening lines of what he’s fairly sure is Sean Paul’s Temperature, which he hasn’t heard in, like, six years.

“You know,” Niall says as Liam sinks down onto the couch, “If you two’re gonna pretend to fuck, maybe one of you shouldn’t be updating your Facebook status while you’re doing it. Just a suggestion.”

Liam’s cheeks burn but Harry just says, “I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

“Next time?” Liam asks.

Harry raises his eyebrows. “I have a really good libido. We’ve got to make it believable.”

Niall shakes his head and makes explosion sounds and gestures with his hands. Liam ignores him and focuses on taking the controller from Harry, and then on beating Harry mercilessly until Louis gets home and dramatically throws himself into Liam’s lap.

“Work was horrible,” he says passionately. “I’m quitting. I refuse to do this anymore.”

Liam brushes a hand through Louis’ hair and Harry watches them with a look in his eyes that could almost be considered jealousy. “You say that every day you work,” Liam points out.

Louis pouts. “I’m serious this time. One man slapped my ass and a woman tried to have a five-minute conversation with me about whether or not thong underwear were superior to boy-cut.”

“Where do you work?” Harry asks suddenly.

Louis sits up and fixes his shirt. “At the clothing store on the main street, Gals and Garments. The only reason why I was hired was because their entire staff was female and they wanted a male employee, and the woman who runs the store used to babysit me. It’s horrible. All I do is stack shelves and get sexually harassed by the people who come inside. Never work retail, Harold, you’ll regret it.”

Louis’ words make Liam think for a moment, and then he asks, “What do you do, though, Harry? I mean, Niall works at the grocery store on Hempford, Zayn waits tables at the restaurant two streets over, and I work at the diner. What about you?”

Harry grins. “I don’t.”

Louis and Liam both frown at him. “Then how do you get money for rent?” Louis asks.

“Have you ever been to Sound Attack? There’s a chain in the next town over, the record store?” Harry asks.

Liam nods because he and Zayn had gone there a month or so ago so Zayn could get a few CDs. The store in town is too small to have any of the stuff he was looking for. “Yeah, why?”

“My parents sort of own that, and all twenty-three branches,” Harry says nonchalantly.

Louis gapes at him. “Are you serious?”

“Pretty serious, yeah,” Harry says, clicking a button on his controller to start up the game again.

“But—but that means you’re, like, really fucking rich,” Louis informs him, as if he’s not aware of this.

“Yep,” Harry says before biting down on his bottom lip as the sound of animated gunfire fills the room.

“But your car is a piece of shit,” Louis states, still looking dumbfounded.

Harry sighs and pauses the game again. “My car is shit because I don’t like taking money from my parents. I bought that myself when I was sixteen from the money I made working at the bakery in my hometown. The only reason I take money from them now is because I’d rather focus on my studies and not try to juggle classes and schoolwork with a part time job.”

That’s actually very smart of him, Liam thinks. It’s too early in the year right now for Louis and Niall and Zayn to be swamped with work, but the closer they get to exams, the worse it will be. Liam remembers last year, how Louis went two straight nights without sleep and Zayn quit his job before begging his boss to take him back and Niall had spent three days in the living room on the couch, claiming that he was protesting life. He refused to shower. It was an unpleasant time for all.

“Makes sense,” Niall says finally. He turns to Liam. “What’s for dinner?”

“Why are you asking me?” Liam demands.

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Because Harry made breakfast, Niall isn’t allowed to touch the oven, I just got off work, and Zayn is—wait, where is Quiffy, anyway? His equally shitty car is out front.”

No one answers. Harry is back into the game, Niall doesn’t look up from his laptop, and Liam’s not going to be the one to do it. Instead he says, “I’ll see what we have in the fridge.”

Louis doesn’t answer because he’s taken Liam’s controller and he’s focusing on beating Harry, which he’s apparently doing, if the score on the screen is any indication. Liam shakes his head because it’s really obvious that Harry is throwing the game, but Louis looks extremely pleased about it, so he doesn’t point it out.

Liam heads to the kitchen and realizes that no one has done the dishes from breakfast, which means that the sink is piled with plates and two frying pans. He sighs and decides to deal with that first, because it’s not like anyone can cook if everything is dirty.

He’s up to his elbows in suds when he hears the door open. He doesn’t turn, assuming it’s just Louis checking to see if he’s made any progress on the food. It isn’t until the smell of a familiar cologne invades his senses, a hand slides up his back, and a finger hooks under the collar of his shirt and pulls it down a bit that he realizes it’s not Louis.

“That’s my shirt,” Zayn comments, stepping away from Liam’s back.

Liam puts the plate he’s just finished cleaning in the drying rack. “Is it?” he asks. “I didn’t realize.”

He picks up a new plate and starts washing it, not turning to face Zayn until he says, “Were you wearing it while you fucked him?”

Liam chokes on air and nearly breaks the plate in his hand as he whirls around. His mouth is hanging open, he knows it, but he can’t seem to close it. Zayn is just standing there, leaning against the table with his hands behind himself, fingers splayed wide on the oak.

“I—no,” Liam gasps out.

Zayn levels him with a look that Liam can’t quite figure out. It’s too blank and closed off, and it makes Liam feel cold because Zayn is always open with him normally.

“You were quite loud,” Zayn tells him while pushing away from the table. He steps slowly towards Liam, a considering look on his face. “Or, Harry was quite loud. You were pretty quiet, actually.” He’s only nearly a foot away from Liam now, and Liam steps back until he hits the counter, trapped. “You sure you were enjoying yourself?”

Liam swallows and tries to clear his head. “I was, actually,” he says, sounding far more convincing than he thought he would.

Zayn’s eyes narrow darkly but then his face smoothes out and his lips quirk up. He tugs the plate from Liam’s hand and says, “You start on dinner, I’ll finish the dishes.”

“Okay,” Liam agrees, if only because he’s grateful for the excuse to move away from Zayn before he ends up leaning into him or telling him the truth, or telling him all of the truth and kissing him right there just to see if Zayn would kiss him back. More likely than not, he’d just push Liam away, and that’s why Liam needs to get away from the temptation that is Zayn’s lips.

They end up eating spaghetti (because it’s the only thing Liam can really cook, pretty much), with Harry, Liam and Zayn on the couch, Louis sprawled out on the floor, and Niall—as always—in the recliner. Louis puts on Supernatural and Zayn hits the lights, and Liam suddenly feels trapped between the two warm bodies. Harry grabs his hand at one point, but Zayn starts discreetly running his fingers up and down Liam’s forearm, tracing a pattern there that Liam can’t see. It makes him shiver, and the look on Zayn’s face doesn’t help. He looks distinctly satisfied, especially when Liam lays his hand flat on the sofa, palm up, giving him more skin to drag his fingers over.

He thinks back to what Niall said earlier, and he can’t help but think that he’s right. This is going to explode in their faces, but, with the way Zayn’s touching him right now, he can’t see any reason to stop. It might just work.

 

Chapter Text

 

 

On the Saturday exactly one month after Harry moved in with them, Louis wakes up to a shout of alarm. He groans and rolls out of bed, thinking that it’s rather fitting, actually.

When he gets downstairs, he finds Zayn blocking the door to the kitchen, eyes wide. Harry is inside, sitting at the kitchen table with an easy smile on his face. And Niall is—Niall is—

“Oh, God,” Louis gasps, clutching his hand to his chest. “Someone stop him. Niall, step away from the stove before someone gets seriously hurt.”

Niall glares at him, pointing a wooden spoon threateningly. “Harry’s teaching me,” he says, as if this makes it okay. It doesn’t. The fire department is seriously getting angry with them at this point. “It’s just eggs.”

Someone slams into Louis’ back, and then Liam is holding out his phone, asking, “Should I just call the fire department now or wait until something actually catches on fire?”

“You’re all assholes,” Niall says, turning back to the stove. He pushes around something in the pan and Louis takes a hesitant step into the room.

“He’s doing good,” Harry offers. “Nearly chopped his finger off while cutting the onions and peppers, but I’m pretty impressed.”

“I like you,” Niall says to Harry. “Them? Not so much.”

Liam pushes past him, heading for the fridge. His shirt is wet with sweat, and his forehead is shiny with it. Louis isn’t the only one who notices this, apparently, because Harry says, “Fuck, babe, you look really hot like that.” Louis bites his tongue to stop from laughing, or punching Harry in the face.

In all honesty, Louis has no idea how he feels about this Harry and Liam thing. For one, it was sort of out of nowhere (though a voice in his mind says that maybe it’s not, since Harry is sort of exactly Liam’s type, and Liam is more than attractive, in his own right, and also a wonderful person, so why shouldn’t Harry want to date him?), and he still can’t really believe it. For another, he wants Liam to be happy. He really, really does, but he doesn’t trust Harry at all, with good reason. So while he wants to tell Liam all this, while he wants to shelter his friend from potentially getting hurt, he doubts anything he says now will make Liam change his mind. He sees the good in people, Liam, and he’ll try to reason with Louis until he finally gets annoyed with him and tells him to back off. So Louis is sort of stuck watching this entire ridiculous thing play out, and he just prays that Liam doesn’t get hurt. If he does, Louis will totally murder Harry in a creative, painful way, though. That thought helps him sleep better at night.

There is also a small, tiny, very stupid part of Louis that considers the fact that he might be jealous. Possibly. But probably not.

“Doesn’t he look really fucking hot, Zayn?” Harry asks suddenly. He gets up and steps towards Liam, who looks like a deer caught in the headlights as Harry leans in and presses their lips together.”

And then Louis realizes that he’s really, extremely jealous. Watching him kiss Liam, Louis wants to throttle them both, and he rarely wants to cause Liam physical harm because, you know, it’s Liam. He pushes those thoughts away, though, because he doesn’t want to deal with them.

I hate Harry, he tells himself. I hate Harry. Harry is an arrogant asshole with a track record of fucking me over. No reason to be jealous of Liam right now. In fact, I should be pitying him and stopping this before he gets hurt.

Louis turns his gaze to Zayn, who lets his eyes move up Liam very slowly. “Actually, he looks really fucking sweaty. Go take a shower, Liam, Christ.”

Liam knocks into Zayn’s shoulder roughly on his way out the door. A moment later, Louis follows him out, pausing only long enough to give Harry a look that screams, “You better follow me, you asshole.”

Liam isn’t in the living room, and before Louis can even get into the hallway, he hears the sound of the shower starting upstairs. He sighs and heads for Harry’s room. He pushes open the door and takes a look around. He hasn’t really been in here since Harry moved in, and move in he has. It doesn’t even look like the same empty guest room anymore. There are lights hung up, casting the room in a warm glow, illuminating the many posters on the wall.

“What?” Harry asks from behind him.

Louis turns and tugs Harry into the room, pushing the door closed behind him. He then searches the room, finds a stereo system that isn’t nearly as impressive as Zayn’s, but it still works, so he turns up the volume and presses play, filling the room with the sounds of a band he’s never heard before.

“You think that’s funny?” Louis demands.

Harry gives him a look of innocence. “What did I do?”

“You know damn well what you did,” Louis says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you about Zayn and Liam, and while I can’t tell you or Liam who to date, I think it’s really unfair that you’re flaunting it in Zayn’s face. If you to want to—whatever, fine. Go ahead. But you need to stop being so forward and brazen about it. You two are not the only ones living in this house, and it’s making the rest of us uncomfortable.”

“Is it?” Harry asks, grinning. “Is it making you uncomfortable?”

“Yes,” Louis states.

Harry chuckles and falls onto his bed. He lets his legs hang off, holding himself up on his elbows. “We’re not dating,” he says after a moment.

Louis blinks at him, surprised. And then his eyes narrow again and he reaches for the nearest object. Sadly, it’s only a sweater so it won’t do much damage, but he throws it at Harry’s head anyway. “You better not be fucking with him,” Louis warns. “If you hurt Liam, I swear to God I will—”

“Liam knows we’re not dating,” Harry says quickly, sitting up so he can raise his hands defensively. “We’re fake dating to make Zayn jealous.”

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t laugh to let Louis know it’s a joke. In fact, he looks fairly serious, so Louis gapes at him. They’re—they’re what? No. No way. And—Liam wouldn’t. “Liam wouldn’t do that.”

“Apparently he would,” Harry says easily, relaxing once again. “Go ask him.”

Louis stares at Harry for a moment, mind whirling, and then he says, “I will.”

Harry smirks at him. “You do that.”

Louis opens the door and steps over the threshold. He turns back around to demand that Harry come out with the actual truth, because he can’t believe that Liam and Harry are fake dating. That doesn’t even make sense. Harry shuts the door between them before Louis can— and before he can, like, slap him, which is probably a really good thing.

He sighs and heads for the stairs. The stairs that Zayn is just coming down as Louis gets there, wearing a different shirt than he had been before. Louis pauses, eyebrows drawn together. “Wait,” he says slowly, and Zayn freezes mid step. “If you’re here, and I’m here, and Liam’s in the shower, and Harry’s in his room—”

Zayn’s eyes widen and he jumps down the last three steps as Louis bolts for the kitchen door, just as the smoke alarm starts beeping so loudly it seems to pierce his brain. Smoke billows out of the room and Harry runs over to them, alarmed.

Niall is attempting to put out a fire with a dishcloth, but the cloth catches on fire, and then he shouts and tosses it into the sink before picking up the flaming book (apparently the source of the fire) and tossing it in the sink as well, yelping in pain when the flames lick at his skin. He turns the water on quickly, extinguishing the flames, and then faces the rest of them.

“You all just fucking stood there!” he shouts. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“You were unsupervised for, like, two minutes!” Zayn shouts right back.

Louis ignores them, heading for the sink. He hesitantly reaches for the now soggy and burnt book. He flips it over, grimacing at the damp, ashen pieces of it that stick to his skin, and then he says, “Why the fuck was my chemistry textbook even near the stove? This thing cost me ninety dollars!”

Niall rubs the back of his neck. “I thought it was a cookbook.”

“Shit,” Louis groans. “I—I need that for class tomorrow! I have a lab, and—”

“I’ll give you money for a new one,” Niall says quickly.

“They don’t sell them here!” Louis snaps. “I had to order it online from the shop in the city.”

Zayn huffs and rolls his eyes. “I’ll drive you in,” he offers. “I was planning on going for myself this weekend anyway.”

Louis turns to him, eyebrows raised. “Really?” Zayn nods. “Bless you. I take back every rude thing I’ve ever said about you when you weren’t there to retaliate.”

Zayn’s eyes narrow. “What things did you say when I wasn’t there to retaliate?”

“Never you mind,” Louis says easily. “We’ll go in an hour? I need a shower.”

Zayn heads for the stove and pulls a burnt piece of red pepper out of the frying pan. “Whatever,” he says, popping it in his mouth. “I’m leaving in exactly an hour, then. If you’re not ready, I’ll go without you.”

Louis nods and gives Niall a stern look. “No touching the stove. Ever. Again. Ever.”

Niall flips him off as he heads out the door. Upstairs, he bumps into Liam in the hall and stops, grabbing his arm.

“I need to talk to you about what you and Harry are doing,” he tells him, lifting his chin in annoyance. Liam goes absolutely white, and there’s a severely guilty look in his eyes. Louis’ lips part in surprise. “Oh, my God. That curly-haired son of a bitch was telling the truth.”

Liam grimaces. “I—I know it’s ridiculous,” he says quickly. “And—”

“Wrong, manipulative, evil, conniving, sneaky,” Louis offers.

“I know,” Liam says quietly, eyes dropping to the floor. “I just—I just couldn’t take watching him with other people anymore. And—and even if it doesn’t work, it’s sort of nice to be the one flaunting it around for once, you know? I mean, he always does stuff like this, and it hurts, Louis. It hurts every time he brings someone else home, and—so loud that I have to hear it. It hurts.”

All of Louis’ shock, annoyance, and anger slips away at the look on Liam’s face. He moves forward, wrapping his arms around his best friend. “I’m sorry,” he says. “You’re not conniving.”

Liam swallows thickly and then pulls back, nodding. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” he counters. Then he frowns and wrinkles his nose. “Do I smell smoke? Wait—”

“Already dealt with,” Louis assures him. “Niall burned my chemistry book. I’m head into town with Zayn to get a new one.”

Liam brightens at the mention of Zayn’s name. “Really? Can I come?”

Louis goes to say yes because, if it were up to him, he could. But it’s Zayn’s car, and Louis really isn’t sure anymore if Zayn would want him to. Things are so rocky between them, and Louis doesn’t want to say yes and have Zayn be upset.

“Ask Zayn,” he says, ducking into the bathroom before he has to witness Liam’s hurt look again.

 

--

 

It’s not until they’re almost out of town that Louis remembers that Liam had asked to come with them. He turns and checks the backseat for him (it wouldn’t be the first time that Louis has managed to completely overlook his presence); there’s nothing back there but a few things for another one of Zayn’s sculptures, though.

“I thought Liam wanted to come,” he says, frowning at Zayn.

Zayn’s fingers tighten around the steering wheel. “He did.”

Louis doesn’t have to wonder why he’s not here. He knows that Liam didn’t change his mind. “You’re an asshole,” he states. “What did you tell him when he asked why?”

“I didn’t,” Zayn says as they pass by the sign that tells them they’re leaving their town, Population 10397 (which doesn’t include the university students).

Louis slaps his arm. “Are you stupid?” he demands. “Fuck, he’s probably sitting in his room moping right now with those damn sad eyes he gets.” Louis can picture it and it makes his chest ache. He gives Zayn a horrified look. “Why would you?”

“Because I didn’t fucking want him here, Louis!” Zayn snaps. The car veers dangerously left until he straightens it. “Fuck. He’d probably want Harry to come, too, and I can’t fucking sit here and watch—”

“And watch what?” Louis asks, pursing his lips.

“Fucking couples,” Zayn spits. “The way that they—touch each other constantly, and, like, fucking look at each other like—It’s just fucking gross, okay? Don’t look at me like that.”

Louis continues to look at him like that.

“It’s all couples, it’s not just them!” Zayn says defensively. “Okay? Fuck. PDA is gross. Fuck off.”

Louis’ gaze doesn’t waver.

“It’s not like I’m jealous, alright? I’m not fucking jealous.”

Louis does not move.

“Why would I be jealous?” Zayn demands. “Like I give a flying fuck if Liam wants to fuck that hipster douche. He listens to All Time Low like that makes him fucking cool. I started listening to All Time Low years ago.”

Louis lets out a quiet huff of breath.

“I said I’m not jealous!” Zayn shouts, eyes moving between the road and Louis’ face. “I don’t give a shit. I don’t. I couldn’t care less about who Liam fucks. Or if Liam… fucks… fuck. Fuck.”

“There we go,” Louis says, breaking his silence. He was quite amused to watch that all go down; Zayn is exceptionally vulgar when he’s really upset, apparently. Louis counted the word fuck about sixteen times, and that was only, like, ten sentences. “Go on, admit it. It’s been over a year, Zayn, come on. Say it.”

“I’m jealous,” Zayn says quietly.

“Because?”

“Because I’m in love with Liam.”

“And?”

“And I want to punch Harry in the fucking throat.”

Louis blinks. “That was a bit more violent than what I was expecting, but good for you,” he says, patting Zayn’s shoulder mostly because Zayn looks completely lost, like someone just told him that quiffs are no longer in style or that Mariah Carey has suddenly lost the ability to sing.

Zayn rubs a hand over his face. “Shit,” he groans. “Shit.”

It dawns on Louis at that moment that perhaps, just maybe, Zayn actually hadn’t realized until then that he is in love with Liam. That he was actually completely oblivious to his own obvious pining and jealous rage. And he looks so broken about the whole thing that it breaks Louis’ heart.

“You didn’t know,” Louis breathes.

Zayn gapes at him, eyes leaving the road for only a moment. “Of course I didn’t know!” He shakes his head, like he doesn’t want to believe this. “You fucking asscake!”

“Don’t creatively swear at me,” Louis retorts. “I honestly thought that you knew.”

“I didn’t.”

“Well, you’re fucking stupid.”

“You’re fucking stupid,” Zayn gasps. “I think I’m having a panic attack. I’m driving and having a panic attack. Fuck. Fuck. There’s a—there’s a CD in the—in the—”

Louis nods and scrambles to pull open the glove compartment. He doesn’t even sigh when he grabs the Mariah Carey CD and pushes it into the CD player. A moment later, the music fills the car and Zayn’s breathing becomes more even and relaxed.

When he seems more stable, Louis turns the music down a bit and regards him with a wondering look. “You seriously didn’t know?”

Zayn groans. “I knew I liked him. I did from the moment I moved in, obviously. Have you looked at Liam? He’s impossibly fucking fit, right? But he’s Liam, and it wouldn’t work. I screw shit up. I don’t date, you know? Like—fuck. And, yeah, I get jealous every time he goes out with someone because that should be me, except it can’t be, because we’re fucking best friends or some shit, and he doesn’t look at me that way, and—whatever.” Zayn shakes his head and adds, much softer than the rest of his rant, “I didn’t know I was in love with him, though. That’s different. That doesn’t go away, no matter how many people I fuck, no matter how many times I tell myself we’re just friends. That’s different. That ruins everything.”

Louis groans internally—or, actually, judging by Zayn’s look, externally—and then pushes his hair off his forehead impatiently. He’s said it a million times, and he won’t hesitate to say it again: Zayn Malik is an idiot. He might be smart technically (far smarter than the rest of them, at least), but he is actually just really, really stupid.

“You’re going about this the wrong way,” Louis tells him.

Zayn glares. “How should I be going about this, then?”

Louis shrugs. “Easy. Instead of pining ridiculously over him, you should be showing him exactly what you just said to me. That it should be you, not some nameless hipster douche—by the way, you are so hypocritical because you own, like, six denim jackets and you drink your coffee black and I watched you poke the lenses out of those 3D glasses—that he’s with. And you might want to do it soon,” he adds. “Because one of these days his date isn’t going to suck. One of these days, he’s going to decide to adopt adorable little hipster babies with someone other than you.”

“No,” Zayn says, horrified.

“Yes.”

“Those are my adorable, metaphorical hipster babies.”

“They aren’t right now,” Louis points out.

Zayn nods to himself, lips forming words that he doesn’t actually speak. Louis stares out the windshield, giving him a moment. Finally, he says, “You’re right.”

“Always am,” Louis says, cheerfully.

“But—if you knew,” Zayn says slowly, “does everyone know?”

“Everyone but Liam, I suspect,” Louis admits.

“Even Harry?”

Louis frowns. “Possibly, yeah.”

Zayn’s eyes widen and then narrow darkly. “I’ll kill him,” Zayn says quietly. “He knows and he still—right in front of me—and—” He pauses. “He’s doing it on purpose,” he realizes. “Why?”

Louis bites his tongue and turns his head. Zayn punches him on the arm hard enough that it stings. “I don’t know,” Louis denies, quickly. Zayn raises his hand again. “I have no idea why Harry would fake date Liam to make you jealous so that you admit your feelings for him to everyone. I don’t know anything about that. Please don’t punch me again, I bruise easily.”

Zayn stares at him, eyes off the road for far longer than Louis is comfortable with. Finally, Louis snaps and shoves his shoulder until he starts driving more responsibly again. The car is painfully silent except for the quietly playing music in the background. He can hear his own breathing, as well as Zayn’s slightly more laboured huffs of breath and sharp inhales.

“He wouldn’t,” Zayn says finally. “Liam—he wouldn’t do something like that.”

Louis gives him a sympathetic look. “Hard to believe, isn’t it? But, apparently he would.”

“To make me jealous,” Zayn clarifies. “He and Harry have been—to make me jealous.”

“They haven’t actually, you know. That was just an act,” Louis says quickly, knowing that if he doesn’t, Zayn will likely get home and put to use some of the less used kitchen utensils that Louis boxed away a long time ago after Niall nearly lost a finger to the blender. Though, he’s not actually sure if that’s true. He didn’t really get any details on the whole thing, did he? Maybe Harry and Liam were actually having sex to make Zayn jealous. But—no. Harry might be capable of that but Liam isn’t. Kissing is one thing. Sex is a whole other one. Also, Liam is a prude.

Zayn turns to Louis for a moment, and the look on his face is only slightly less homicidal than Louis’ is the morning after a good night of drinking. “You can’t tell them that I know.”

Louis frowns at him, taken aback. “What?”

“You can’t tell them that I know,” Zayn repeats. “Liam or Harry. This is really, really fucking bullshit, and I’m not letting them get away with it.”

Louis swallows thickly. “What are you going to do?”

Zayn grins maliciously. “You’re just going to have to watch and find out. You’re not off the hook yet, either. You were in on this. You’re guilty by association.”

“Yeah, but at least I told you. I didn’t have to,” Louis points out.

“I know,” Zayn says with a shrug. “And I appreciate that.”

Louis sighs, knowing that there’s no changing Zayn’s mind now. “You’re going to have really loud sex with as many people as possible, aren’t you? Just to get back at him.”

“No,” Zayn says seriously. “I’m not. I’m just going to fuck with their heads the way they fucked with mine.”

“Well, at least you’re not murdering anyone,” Louis says, resigned.

Zayn smiles brightly. “I still haven’t ruled that option out yet, actually.”

“Great, bow I’m an accomplice to murder.”

“You knew and still let them flaunt their fake relationship in front of me,” Zayn reminds him. “If I need help burying a body, you’re going to help me bury a body.”

“But jail food is gross and they don’t have internet or good cable channels,” Louis whines.

Zayn gives him a look that says he really doesn’t care, and this conversation is over. Louis turns the music up a little louder, letting Mariah keep them from bringing it up again.

Harry is going to kill him. Or Liam. Or both of them, actually. Especially after Zayn does whatever it is he’s planning on doing, which Louis still has no idea about, because Zayn is psychotic and he has access to a lot of power tools because of his sculptures. He’s known about their plan for exactly, like, an hour, and he’s already gone and told Zayn.

He doesn’t feel at all bad, though. He’s glad Zayn got it out of him. In fact, he has no idea why he was keeping that secret in the first place. What they’re doing isn’t right to Zayn, even if it did work, apparently.

When they get to town, Zayn parks on the main street and they go their separate ways. Louis manages to find a used copy of his textbook and uses the leftover money from Niall to get himself a bagel and tea. He thinks he deserves it after that car ride, even if Liam would chew him out for it because tea has become only a special occasion thing for him.

“What did you buy?” Louis asks when he gets back to the car, frowning at what appears to be a life preserver and enough tiles for them to redo the upstairs bathroom, all sitting in bags in the backseat.

“Sculpture stuff.” Zayn shrugs. “Also known as none of your fucking business.”

 

--

 

The next week is so calm, and yet Louis spends it anxiously waiting for something to happen. Harry and Liam continue to keep up their ridiculous façade, only Zayn barely reacts at all, which just makes them try harder. Louis can’t count the number of times he’s walked in on Liam and Harry in the kitchen, Zayn sitting there with coffee and a book, Harry purposefully touching Liam as inappropriately as possible, Zayn barely batting an eyelash.

Louis doesn’t really have much time to care, though, because Halloween is coming up, and he and Niall are throwing their annual bash. They’ve had one the last two years, and he doesn’t plan on breaking that tradition now.

“So, who are you bringing as your date?” Louis asks as they walk through Shop Of Horror, which is a Halloween store that is only open during September and October. The rest of the year, it’s technically a thrift shop, though if you ever need it, they always have an array of wigs available.

Niall pauses to grab a couple bags of fake spider webs to add to his basket. “What do you mean?” he asks, reaching for another one and then pausing, as if he’s not sure they’ll really need five.

“I mean, who are you bringing as your date,” Louis repeats. “Since you’ve got four girlfriends on the go, last time I checked.”

“Oh.” Apparently, Niall decides that five is needed. Louis isn’t going to stop him. The fake webs are his favourite part. “I wasn’t really planning on inviting any of them.”

Louis snorts and picks up a can of glow-in-the-dark spray paint. They’ll use that for the basement, definitely. He adds two of them to his own basket. “You realize that this party is, like, the biggest party of the year, right?” he asks. “And therefore, even if you don’t invite them, at least two of them will end up coming anyway?”

Niall shrugs. “We’ll all be in costume. It won’t be a problem.”

Louis shakes his head. Is everyone ridiculously stupid except for him? Apparently, because all of his roommates have been making terrible decisions lately. Actually, it’s usually the other way around. He’s the one who should be doing ridiculous things, and Liam should be there to tell him to stop, and Zayn should be dramatically sighing, and Niall should be calling him crazy while simultaneously helping him anyway. Everything is so off lately, and Louis knows exactly why:

Harry Styles.

He’s thrown off the careful, precarious balance of the household, and now everything is in chaos. And while Louis normally enjoys a bit of chaos, he doesn’t like it when he’s not the one causing it. There’s no fun in cleaning up a mess if you weren’t the one who enjoyed making it.

“You know what?” he asks suddenly. Niall raises his eyebrows. “I’m just going to take a step back, get some popcorn, and watch this explode in everyone’s faces.”

Niall shakes his head. “That’s my thing. That’s what I do.”

“That was before you started dating four people at once.”

Niall sucks his lips into his mouth for a moment before saying, very quietly, “Five.”

“What was that?”

“Before I started dating five people. Not four.”

Louis gapes at him. “Another one? There isn’t any other coffee shops in town, Niall!”

“The uni cafeteria sells coffee,” Niall says sheepishly with his eyes on the ground.

“You have a problem,” Louis informs him. “A sick, serious problem. An addiction to dating baristas. I bet there’s a support group for that.”

“Fuck off,” Niall tells him. “Are we gonna shop or are you gonna make fun of my dating habits?”

“Can’t we do both?” Louis asks. Niall slaps his arm. “Okay, fine, shopping it is.”

By the time they leave the store, they’ve each got five bags. The Halloween party fund is something that each of the housemates pitch in for. Splitting the bill five ways means that it doesn’t actually cost them all that much, really. Plus, it’s worth it. Their party is always fantastic.

Harry is waiting for them outside, windows rolled up, nodding his head along to the music. When Louis pulls open the passenger seat, the music spills out, louder than he thought it would be.

“Do you mind turning that down?” he snaps at Harry.

“I do, actually,” Harry says, turning it up even louder. He pounds his hands on the dashboard along with the beat, and then the guitar solo ends and he shouts along with the music. Louis stands there with a hand on his hip as Niall packs the back of his car with their bags.

“Are you quite finished?” he asks when Harry turns the music down.

“Quite, yeah,” Harry says with a swift grin. Louis rolls his eyes and slides into the passenger seat. “Picked up stuff for dinner while you two were in there. Zayn’s apparently gone vegetarian this week, so how does chicken fajitas sound? I’ll just keep the chicken out of his, and I figured we could have salad with it, and…” He trails off, frowning at Louis. “What?”

Louis shakes his head, realizing he’d been staring at Harry with a look that was far too fond for his liking. It’s just that Harry is undeniably sweet sometimes, in the least pretentious way. Like, he puts some of Liam’s water bottles in the freezer and then leaves one out on the counter for him so it’ll be cool and just melted when he gets back from his run. And he covers Niall’s dishes when it’s his turn because he knows Niall hates doing them because his hands get all itchy from the soap. And he makes popcorn for Louis and Zayn on Supernatural nights, and Zayn stops hating him for the hour that it’s on because of it. And he’s always, always, always got coffee ready for Louis in the morning. He does all of these things without being asked, and without being thanked most of the time, too.

Harry Styles is Satan, Louis firmly reminds himself. He is not sweet. Satan. Not sweet.

“Nothing,” he says, narrowing his eyes. “Are we going to get home before the chicken you bought starts going bad, or would you like to spend the whole night sitting here and conversing while Niall attempts to steal your crisps?”

“What?” Niall asks at the sound of his name, jerking his hand back from where it was digging around in the grocery bags beside him. “I wasn’t touching anything.”

Harry snorts and mimics the fond look Louis just had on his face. Louis looks away because it makes him feel too warm.

 

--

 

Louis doesn’t hate his job, by all means. He has fairly good hours, and his boss is a family friend that has been as much of a fixture in his life as his actual aunts. But the customers at the store are usually rude and the uniform shirt is made out of satin, which Louis does hate because it’s too soft and slippery and it’s just ridiculous, and he’s not allowed to drink on the job. He seriously, seriously needs a coffee (actually, a tea, but he’s been drinking tea more often than usual lately, and he doesn’t need a repeat of the 2008 tea intervention that Liam had held for him) or he is going to stab someone with a coat hanger.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he says, for the sixth time. “We don’t have that shirt in the back, either.”

The woman huffs out an annoyed breath. Honestly, who does she think she is? Louis is the one who’s had to run into the back, search through everything, and then run back out to the front desk six fucking times.

“Your website says—”

“Our website says that certain items need to be reserved ahead of time to assure that we have them in stock,” Louis says in a clipped tone. He’s near his snapping point, he really is. The stupid fucking satin of his shirt is not retaining any of his sweat, and the air conditioning is so cold that he’s literally freezing. In fact, he’s fairly certain that he woman he’s serving keeps looking at his nipples. He’d snap at her and tell her to leave if he weren’t working with Heather, but Heather is a bitch and will certainly tell his boss, and he doesn’t want to get fired today. Maybe next week.

“I did call and reserve my order,” the woman hisses, face going red. Louis figures she might actually be pretty if she wasn’t a raging fucking lunatic.

“Well, I’m extremely sorry but we don’t have it,” Louis tells her.

“I specifically need that fuchsia top!” the woman snaps. “I have a party in four hours, and if I don’t have that shirt—”

“Okay, look, lady,” Louis says, leaning forward on the counter. “I don’t have your goddamn fuchsia shirt, which wouldn’t be a flattering colour on your skin tone anyway, so how about you hop off my ass and we find you something else. Or you can walk out of here and wear that thing you’ve got on to the party, but I seriously suggest that you don’t unless you want to look like a forty-year-old soccer mom.”

The woman gapes at him, and then Heather is at his side, grabbing his arm and pushing him out of the way. “I’m so sorry,” she says to the woman. “I promise our manager will be hearing about this. How about I help you instead?”

The woman ignores her, eyes on Louis. “Do I honestly look like a soccer mom?”

Louis figures it’s best to just not answer. He ducks out from behind the counter, heads for the nearest rack, and grabs out a handful of shirts. He lifts them up and eyes the colour, but he honestly has no fucking idea what he’s doing. He might work at a clothing shop, but Louis’ knowledge of clothes is miniscule at best. Zayn is the fashionable one when he wants to be, when he bothers to wear something other than a faded band shirt. Louis likes his jeans and t-shirts. That’s about as far as he goes on a normal day.

“Just try these on,” he tells the woman.

The woman frowns down at the clothes but, before Louis can literally throw everything in his arms at her, strip off his stupid as fuck shirt and quit his job, she nods. “Okay,” she says, taking the clothes. “Thank you.”

Louis blinks and watches as she heads into one of the changing rooms, and then he ignores Heather’s glare as he heads for the door.

“Where are you going?” Heather calls after him.

“I’m out for the day,” Louis says without turning.

“Your shift isn’t over for another twenty minutes!”

“I’m searching for fucks to give, and yet I can’t seem to find any,” Louis says before pushing open the door and stepping out into the cold October air. He sucks in a deep breath and tries to calm himself, but he feels like his skin is on fire and his heart is thudding in his chest.

When he feels a bit more sane, he spots a familiar car two spots down from the shop. He frowns, Harry easily visible in the driver’s seat, and takes a step towards it. He knocks on the window, which Harry rolls down, and then raises his eyebrows.

“Thought I’d pick you up after work,” he explains, grinning lopsidedly. “I brought coffee.”

Louis’ eyebrows lower and then draw together as he notices the two cups in the holders, Harry apparently telling the truth. He has so many questions all of a sudden. Why would Harry do that for him? How did Harry even know he was working? How did he know Louis’ schedule? And why would he do this? Why does he have to be disarmingly sweet and nice and likable? Why can’t he just let Louis hate him in peace?

“Great,” Louis mutters, heading to the other side of the car. He gets in and reaches for the coffee instantly, not even thanking Harry. He needs the caffeine too much.

It isn’t until he takes a sip and gets foam on his lips that he realizes Harry even got whipped cream on it, just the way he likes. It makes his chest hurt in a weird way, so he avoids looking at Harry the whole ride home, and then he gets out of the car and slams the door on his way to the house without a single thank you.

Whatever game Harry’s playing, Louis is not stupid enough to fall for it again. And yet, when they have dinner that night, Liam and Harry and Zayn on the couch, Niall in the armchair, and Louis on the floor, Harry grins at him in a secretive sort of way and Louis finds himself smiling back without even thinking.

He is so screwed.

 

 

Chapter Text

 

With Halloween quickly approaching, the house gets a complete makeover. Liam’s always been impressed with what Niall and Louis manage to do, but it’s even more incredible with Zayn’s help. The first noticeable difference is the front yard. There are fake tombstones set up that they’d bought years ago, as well as a fake skeleton hung by a noose that cackles and shakes when you get too close to it. There are fake spider webs covering the front door and windows, which are also covered in heavy black curtains to hide everything inside. There are expertly carved pumpkins (done by Zayn) and a mushy, ruined mess of a pumpkin (done by Louis) on the porch steps, accompanied by a rocking chair with a fake mechanical scarecrow on it that blinks only once every minute or so, which makes it really, really creepy because every time you think that it doesn’t move, it does, and then it won’t do it again until you’re absolutely sure that you’ve imagined the whole thing.

The inside is decorated, too. Niall and Louis always go overboard with the fake webs, so it’s all over the walls, accompanied by fake blood and a few decorative bats and such. The basement is the winner, though. There’s a little maze set up down there, something that Louis’ parents used to do even before they moved out, so all of the stuff was already built, just hiding away in storage until this time of year. There’s a sound machine and things that jump out at you, and it might not be very big, but it’s very cool.

Liam hates throwing parties, personally. The mess, the noise, the people that you don’t know invading your home. He loves the Halloween party, though. It’s always incredible and fun, and Louis and Niall take full responsibility with the cleanup afterwards, which doesn’t happen often.

“So,” Zayn asks on the thirtieth, as they watch television on the couch. Niall and Louis are both out doing who knows what, and Harry is at the library, catching up on some last minute essay. “Got your costume all picked out?”

Liam nods. “Have for weeks,” he says, eyes on the screen.

Lately, their plan has not worked at all. At first, it really seemed like it was. Now Zayn barely reacts when Harry and Liam are together. And he’s calling this whole thing off tonight, he decides. It’s pointless, a lost cause. And he shouldn’t have agreed to it in the first place.

“And?” Zayn demands. “Are you going to tell me?”

“Captain America,” Liam admits.

Zayn grins. “Sticking with the superhero theme, then?” Liam nods. “What about Harry?”

“I don’t know,” Liam admits, frowning. He wonders, for a moment, if Harry will even dress up. And then he wonders what kind of costume he’ll come up with, if he does.

“You’re really lucky, you know,” Zayn says wistfully.

Liam finally turns to him. “I’m what?”

“Lucky,” Zayn says again. He bites his lip and drops his eyes to his lap, cheeks red. “Harry’s really great, Liam.”

Maybe it is working, then. Maybe Harry was right, and this is actually going to work. Liam’s breathing gets ragged and he blinks quickly, trying not to let a grin spread over his face as he considers what would happen if Zayn actually liked him. If Liam could actually kiss him and tell him how he feels and not ever have to watch him with someone else again. If they could curl up together on the couch, Liam’s head in Zayn’s lap, and watch stupid television (mainly Supernatural, since Zayn has an obsession, and he’d mouth along to the dialogue the whole time), or talk softly with each other, or even just sit together in silence. If he could fall asleep with Zayn’s arms around him and wake up in a bed that smells like his cologne.

And then Zayn ruins that fantasy. Crashes it to the ground. Rips Liam’s heart out of his chest and stomps on it before throwing it under a train and then shoving it back into its cavity, where it feebly attempts to work again despite the fact that it is obviously damaged beyond repair.

“He’s really attractive,” Zayn says, still blushing. “I mean, obviously you two are together, and I’d—I’d never do anything because you’re my best mate, yeah? But—I don’t know. It’s the dimples, or—or the way he talks all slow, you know? It’s just really hot. Guess you’re glad you made the move first, right?”

“Right,” Liam says hollowly. “Lucky me.”

Somehow, he stays there on the sofa. Somehow, he sits beside Zayn for the next hour, not moving or screaming or throwing things or crying. He doesn’t have a right to. He’s an idiot, and he knew that it wouldn’t work, he just—he didn’t realize that this would happen. He never could have anticipated this, or the way it hurts so fucking badly. It’s one thing when it’s a stream of random, faceless strangers. It’s a complete other thing when it’s someone Liam knows. When it’s someone he can compare himself to (which he does, and he comes out on the losing side every time). When it’s someone Liam can’t even dislike out of jealousy because he really, genuinely likes Harry.

When Niall and Louis come home, Niall takes one look at Liam and Zayn and then heads up to his room. Niall has a really good intuition, and he is great at sensing when bad things happen. If Liam went upstairs and asked if he could talk to him, Niall would no doubt lend his shoulder for Liam to cry on. But, if he can help it, Niall avoids everything like this. He senses danger and removes himself from the situation.

Louis, on the other hand, pauses and frowns at Liam for a long time. “Come in the kitchen with me,” he says, waving Liam off the couch.

Liam shakes his head. “I’m going out,” he says, heading for the door. Louis lets him go, but he has a feeling he’ll still have to explain later.

It’s getting cold out now, and the sweater he’s wearing really doesn’t cut it for the weather. He doesn’t care. He walks all the way to the library, ignoring the fact that his nose is stuffy by the time he gets inside. He sniffles and looks around, breathing in the warm air and the smell of books.

Eventually, he finds Harry. He’s at a long table, books spread out in front of him, head ducked, hair falling into his face. When Zayn gets like this, really into his work (which Liam has only witnessed twice in—ever, really), he chews his bottom lip until it’s a raw mess, and he runs his hands absently through his hair until it’s fluffed up. He also scratches at his arm in irritation and scribbles on the sides of his paper until he cuts right through it.

Harry lifts his head and blinks up at him. “Hey,” he says, grinning. “What’s up?”

Liam slides into the seat across from him and folds his hands carefully on the table. He examines them for a moment while he sorts out his thoughts, and then he says, “I’m done with this whole thing.”

Harry looks confused for a moment, but then realization dawns on him and he nods. “Figured you would be soon,” he admits. He rubs his chin for a moment. “I really don’t see why it didn’t work. It was working. I don’t know what happened, but something did. It’s weird.”

“It’s not,” Liam denies. “I knew it wouldn’t work. Like I said, he actually has to, you know, be interested for it to work. And he’s not, so it didn’t. No big deal. I’ll get over it.”

“Will you, though?” Harry asks. He puts his hand on top of Liam’s, still folded together. “Maybe you should just try telling him. Forget the whole sneaking around shit. Just—come right out and say it. At the end of the day, he could reject you. Or he could tell you that he feels the same way, and you two live happily ever after or some shit. Or you could hold it in for the rest of your life and wonder what would have happened.”

Liam makes a face at him. “I’m supposed to be the voice of reason,” he jokes feebly, before sighing. “I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“You do that,” Harry tells him. “Do you think you could get me a coffee while you do, though? This essay is going to kill me, I swear. Or I’m going to kill my teacher. I’m taking law. I could get myself off the charges. It’d be worth it.”

Liam shakes his head fondly. “I’ll see what I can do,” he promises, standing up. Harry grins at him before returning to work, so Liam heads for the doors, crossing the street to the nearest coffee shop.

The coffee shop is full, as it usually is. There are two harassed-looking girls behind the counter, both of them running back and forth as they try to fill their orders. Liam puts in one for a small coffee (for himself) and then a large one with whipped cream (for Harry, because Louis has apparently rubbed off on him), and then he waits.

As the girl is handing his drinks over, she frowns at him. She’s got light blonde hair with coloured streaks in it that remind him of candy floss, and her eyes are wide and blue. “You’re Liam, right?”

“Um. Yes,” Liam admits. He tries to place her but he can’t.

“I’m Perrie,” she says, grinning at him. Liam tries not to look too confused, since he’s obviously supposed to know who she is. And he does vaguely remember someone mentioning someone named Perrie, he just can’t remember who. When he doesn’t answer fast enough, her grin falls and she adds, “Niall’s girlfriend.”

“Niall’s—oh,” Liam says, horrified. He tries to school it quickly. “Perrie! He’s told me a lot about you.”

She grins again. “I’m glad,” she says. “I’ve, um, sort of got a lot of customers, but it was really nice meeting you, Liam. Niall talks about you guys all the time.”

“Same—same about you,” Liam says awkwardly.

Perrie goes to walk off, but before she does, she says, “I heard you guys were having a party tomorrow, but Niall never invited me. Is—is there something wrong? Has he mentioned anything?”

There’s something so wounded in those wide blue eyes that Liam can’t help but feel bad. “No, definitely not,” he assures her. “Niall’s just really horrible at remembering things, I’m sure you’ve noticed. He told us all he was inviting you, though. You should definitely come.”

“I will,” Perrie says cheerfully. “Nice meeting you, Liam!”

“You, too,” Liam says before leaving. He needs to get out of there before he does more damage. Damn Niall and his many girlfriends. And Liam thought his love life was complicated. He has nothing on Niall.

 

--

 

Niall doesn’t get mad at him for inviting Perrie, but he does panic, apparently having planned to invite another one of his girlfriends to the party. Now he has to be careful to spend enough time with both of them while not having either of them become aware of the other. How he plans to do this, Liam has no idea.

Perrie shows up early the next day, though, dressed in a tight Catwoman suit that makes Liam very grateful he didn’t go with Batman again this year. Niall looks her up and down as she comes in, and if he had to guess, Liam would say that he looks like he doesn’t at all regret the amount of effort he’s going to have to put into tonight. Her being in that outfit is, apparently, worth it. Zayn is right; Niall is sort of a douche.

Niall himself is dressed as Hannah Montana. He’s got the wig and a sparkly sequined top, filled out with fake breasts and everything. Honestly, in comparison to Louis, this is tame and normal.

“Nice to see you again, Liam,” she says happily, all sunshine and smiles. It makes sense that her and Niall would be together. Niall would gravitate towards someone like himself, all easy grins and not a care in the world. “Where are the others?”

“Is that a female?” Louis demands from the kitchen. “Are guests arriving already? We’re not ready yet!”

Perrie winces apologetically. “Am I that early? I thought I’d offer some help setting up, but it looks like you’ve already done a good job around here.”

“No, it’s fine,” Niall assures her. “Louis just gets panicky before a party.”

Louis comes out of the kitchen in his tight leather outfit that rivals Perrie’s. Except his is all red pants and a plastic-looking top thing that sort of cuts triangularly and juts up past his shoulders, which are bare. He’s got a blonde wig on that actually sort of matches Perrie’s hair, and his makeup is extravagantly done (by Zayn). Perrie gapes at him, at a loss for words. Liam knows that feeling.

Louis’ costumes are always ridiculous. There was the time when he went as Sweeney Todd and spent the night slicing everyone’s throats with a fake razor (fake blood got everywhere; also there was a lot of singing), and then the time when he went as Bumblebee from Transformers and used an Australian accent the whole night (still not explanation on why the Australian accent), and the time he went as the Mad Hatter (which was a great costume, actually), and then finally the time he went as a Vampire Hunting Zombie Harry Potter (Louis’ actual description).

“I’m Man Gaga,” Louis explains. “Like Lady Gaga, but, you know, not a lady.”

Perrie opens her mouth, lets out a weird, quiet mumbling sound, and then sucks her bottom lip into her mouth and nods very, very slowly, like Louis might attack if she makes any quick movements.

“This is Perrie,” Niall says, seemingly unaffected.

“Perrie,” Louis says, considering. “Like—”

“Not like the platypus from that fucking cartoon,” Perrie snaps before he can finish. Liam takes a step back, surprised, and Louis’ eyes widen (which is kind of frightening, given the makeup). “Sorry,” she adds. “It’s, um, nice to meet you.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, not returning the sentiment. He turns to Niall. “Harry wants to make cupcakes but we don’t have eggs. Could you and Perrie head to the store for us?”

“Sure,” Niall says, shrugging.

Louis grins. “Or Perrie here could just lay one for us. Platypuses lay eggs, right?”

Perrie glares at him until he disappears into the kitchen once more, cackling the whole way. Liam stands there for a moment before following him, unsure of what else to do.

The kitchen is a mess. There are several bowls of punch and candy on the table, as well as a few other treats. The counter is covered in flour, as is Harry (dressed very simply as Danny Zuko, which Liam is fairly sure has something to do with Louis’ love for Grease, though he’s not mentioning that). Louis steals a mini candy bar and unwraps it, leaning against the table as he bites into the chocolate.

“Are you really going to wear that?” Liam asks as he heads for the fridge.

“What’s wrong with Man Gaga?” Louis asks, sounding genuinely baffled. Harry sniggers. “It’s creative. And why aren’t you in costume yet, Liam? Where’s the holiday spirit?”

“I’ll change later,” Liam says. His costume is sort of tight and really form-fitting. He’d rather put it on after they’ve dimmed the lights. He’s kind of regretting getting it, at this point.

Before Louis can chew him out for this, Zayn comes into the room. He’s wearing a suit with a beige trench coat, his hair flat instead of in its quiff. Louis glares at him for his lack of creativity (Liam doesn’t think it lacks creativity, but then, he’s also not the one who came up with Man Gaga, so maybe he doesn’t have a right to judge these things), but Harry lets out an appreciative whistle.

“Castiel,” he says, nodding. “Nice choice.”

Zayn literally blushes and blinks bashfully at Harry, eyelashes looking impossibly long as they graze his cheekbones. “Really?”

“No, it’s not,” Louis snaps. “He went as Dean Winchester last year. He goes as a Supernatural character every year.”

“Badass,” Harry comments, grinning. “If I would have known, we could have matched. You could have recycled that Dean costume and I could have gone as Sam.”

“Next year,” Zayn says, smiling so wide it hurts Liam’s heart. “Sound like a plan?”

“Definitely.”

“Someone’s at the door,” Louis says suddenly, eyes wide. “My Man Gaga senses are tingling.”

Harry can’t hold in his laughter this time, and Zayn makes an incredibly disturbed face as Louis runs from the room, but he follows him a moment later. When he’s gone, Harry leans against the sink and grins at Liam.

“He’s great, isn’t he?”

“Who, Zayn?” Liam demands. His mind goes off on all cylinders, wondering if maybe Harry likes Zayn back. If maybe they’ll hook up and be together forever and—no. If that happens, it happens. He can’t do anything to stop it, not if they really liked each other. And if they do, then who is Liam to want to stand between that? He’d be happy for them. He really would.

“Louis,” Harry sighs. “He’s like—insane, but in a good way. And I can’t ever keep up with him. One day he’s all flashy and Man Gaga, and the next he’s got on sweats and a beanie, scruff on his chin, incredibly fucking hot. It’s overwhelming. The other day we went out back and played football while the rest of you were out and he got all into it, right? Like, really intense. Kicked my ass, too.” He pauses. “I think I like him.”

Liam tries not to look relieved, but this also isn’t very surprising. He’s had a feeling. “So what are you going to do about it?”

Harry shrugs. “What can I do? Technically, he’s my landlord. That makes it incredibly hard to do anything, doesn’t it?”

Liam chews his lip for a moment. “Yeah,” he admits. “But, coming from someone who has experience with this kind of thing, I suggest you make a move now, before you’re best friends and you’re too worried about screwing that up to do something about it. Trust me, it fucking sucks.”

Harry sighs and pats his shoulder sympathetically. “It’ll work out,” he says with complete conviction. “Go put on your costume. Your ass looks fantastic in that thing. There’s no way he won’t be drooling all over you.”

Liam makes a face at him, seriously doubting this, but he nods and heads upstairs anyway. He probably should get ready for the party.

 

--

 

Two hours later, their house is filled with strangers. Liam doesn’t recognize half of them, probably random university students, but Louis takes it all in stride as he always does. Usually both he and Niall host, but tonight Louis is stuck with doing it himself, since Niall is a bit busy trying to keep Perrie away from whatever other girl he’s invited.

Liam’s sort of been hiding from Zayn most of the night. Zayn and his very obvious crush on Harry. Harry, who he hasn’t seen in quite some time, too, now that he thinks about it. He frowns, looks around the living room, and tries to spot him. He can’t see the leather jacket he was wearing anywhere, though, so he heads for the kitchen, sidestepping Louis and a couple who are complimenting his costume for being the most creative they’ve seen. Liam rolls his eyes.

The kitchen isn’t as occupied as the living room, but it’s definitely not empty. There’s a couple making out against the wall, a group of laughing girls mixing drinks on the counter, and Zayn chatting with a few guys by the fridge. When Liam steps into the room, Zayn turns to him, eyebrows raised, and then he gives Liam a very obvious onceover, eyes lingering on his stomach and legs, which might as well be naked for all the costume does to cover them.

Liam goes to leave the room, not finding who he was looking for, but Zayn says something to the people he’s with and then makes a beeline for Liam, who can’t walk away now without looking like an asshole.

“Hey,” Zayn says, stopping in front of him. His eyes are a little glazed, his cheeks pleasantly flushed. He smells like alcohol, too.

“Hi,” Liam says, eyes darting around the room. He prays someone comes in and rescues him, but sadly no one does.

“You look sober,” Zayn comments, eyes narrowing. “No fun, Liam. Come on, I’ll get you a drink.”

“I really don’t—” Zayn is already dragging him across the room, pushing the group of girls out of the way.

He reaches for the bottle of vodka but pauses, frowning at it. Then he turns to Liam, eyes mischievously bright, a grin spreading across his face. “I have an idea,” he says, and he doesn’t need to add anything for Liam to know that it is a bad one. “Body shots.”

Liam lifts his eyes from Zayn’s lips and frowns. “Body shots?”

Zayn continues to grin as he moves around the kitchen, grabbing a shot glass and then a lime out of the fridge. Liam goes to pull the knife away from him, definitely not willing to let him use that thing while he’s this intoxicated, but Zayn darts away from him and he gives up. He chaperones, though; is ready to grab a cloth if Zayn cuts his finger off. He doesn’t.

When he’s got a slice of lime in his hands, Liam finally gets what he’s suggesting. “No way,” he says, shaking his head. “Bad idea, Zayn.”

Zayn grins wickedly and starts removing the many, many layers of his costume. He might not be aware of it, but Liam is definitely aware of the fact that nearly everyone in the room eyes Zayn’s exposed skin with interest as Zayn grabs the lime-flavoured salt that Louis had purchased for drinks yesterday.

“Come on, Li,” he says, leaning in close to Liam. “Live a little.”

He grabs Liam’s hand and drags him towards the table. He pours out a shot and then jumps onto the table. Again, several people are watching as he leans back and tilts his head to face Liam while placing the shot so it rests on his belly button.

“Pour the salt,” he orders, and then holds the lime in his mouth.

Liam grabs the salt and chews the inside of his lip. He’s not the biggest partier, but he knows what to do here. He also knows that it’s a really, exceptionally bad idea, because his eyes are trailing up Zayn’s ink-coated skin and it’s making him feel too hot.

Zayn isn’t going to let him go without doing it, though. He pours the salt onto Zayn’s skin, just above the writing on his collarbone (it’s a copout, he thinks, because he could have put it anywhere but he went with the safest option). He sucks in a breath, and Zayn gives him a look of anticipation as he leans down and then, as quickly as he can, wipes the salt away with his tongue. Zayn makes a sound through the slice of lime in his mouth that makes Liam’s cheeks burn as he ducks down to wrap his mouth around the shot glass. He makes sure that it’s securely in his lips before tilting his head back, downing it with no hands. Zayn takes it from his lips as he moves up Zayn’s body and, careful to keep their lips as separated as possible, he takes the lime from Zayn’s mouth.

The salt burned his tongue, the drink burned his throat, and the lime has him grimacing. He straightens up, takes it out of his mouth, and says, “Are you happy?”

Zayn sits up as well, and he grins at Liam. “Not yet,” he says, swinging his legs off the table. “Your turn.”

Liam wonders if you can get drunk off someone’s skin, or the look in their eyes, because his head is spinning far too much to be excused by the single shot he’s done, and he feels unsteady on his feet. And, against his better judgment, he allows Zayn to move behind him and unzip the back of his costume. It’s a one piece, and the arms and chest part hang from his waist awkwardly as he climbs onto the table, ignoring the fact that Zayn’s eyes aren’t the only ones roaming his body.

Zayn holds out a slice of lime to him, and Liam takes it and holds it loosely in his mouth. It’s warm in the house but he feels cold. He shivers when Zayn pours the salt low on his hip and then places the shot glass on his stomach.

Liam cranes his neck to watch Zayn as he leans down, hands on either side of Liam’s body, and cleans away the salt with his tongue. It drags against Liam’s skin, rough from the crystals but warm and wet from his mouth. Liam’s stomach muscles tighten without him meaning to, and the shot glass definitely would have tipped over if Zayn didn’t already have it in his mouth. And then Zayn’s lips are on his, tugging the lime from between his own.

Liam sits up instantly and fumbles with the zipper on his costume, needing it back on. Zayn is sort of swaying on his feet, grinning happily once again because that, for him, was just fun. It didn’t mean anything. Sure, it isn’t exactly normal for two platonic friends to just do body shots off each other, but this is Zayn. Zayn does whatever he wants, whenever he wants, and he rarely stops to think about what’s normal, or whether or not Liam is as unaffected by what they just did as he is.

After a moment, Liam gives in, turning around to allow Zayn to do the zipper up for him. Zayn chuckles and zips up the costume the last of the way, but he keeps a hand on Liam’s shoulder to stop him from moving.

“Where’s your boyfriend?” he asks, breath ghosting over the skin at the back of Liam’s neck.

“I don’t know,” Liam admits, though it takes him a second before he actually remembers the fact that people actually think he and Harry are dating. “Haven’t seen him in a bit.”

Zayn’s hand trails up Liam’s spine. The material of his costume is flimsy at best, and Zayn’s fingers feel hot enough to burn right through it. “He looks really hot tonight, doesn’t he, Li?” Zayn whispers. “You should probably keep better tabs on him.” Zayn’s lips are so close they’re almost on his neck now. “Because, seriously, if you weren’t my friend, I’d—”

Liam whirls, eyes narrowed. He shoves Zayn away from him, which works fairly well, given the fact that Zayn is far more intoxicated than he is. He forgets all about the fact that he’d called everything off yesterday. He’s not calling it off anymore. So he’s a terrible, horrible person. He’ll keep fake dating Harry, but not to make Zayn jealous anymore. To keep him away from Zayn, because Liam cannot take the two of them getting together (even though the rational part of his mind says that Harry wouldn’t do that anyway).

Before he can open his mouth, the door to the kitchen opens and Harry comes in, a smile brightening his face when he spots Liam. Liam, who growls something incoherent and stomps towards him, fisting a hand in the front of his shirt. Harry makes a surprised sound, but Liam ignores it and kisses him. It’s a bit too rough, too forced, but Harry kisses him back with fervour anyway, going along with it. It’s not a bad kiss, either. Harry’s a lovely kisser, Liam’s sure, he’s just not, you know, interested in Harry at all. And he tastes like the rum and coke drink Liam saw him mixing earlier, and he smells a bit too sweet for Liam’s liking, but his lips are soft and he’s tall enough that Liam doesn’t feel like a giant next to him, so it’s pleasant, at least.

Until Harry is ripped from his hands, tugged back a few steps by Zayn, whose eyes are narrowed. “That’s enough,” he snaps, looking between Liam and Harry. Liam absently wipes at his mouth, noticing Harry doing the same.

Harry giggles. He actually giggles. “Oh, you’re both so lucky,” he says, tilting his head back, shaking it in amusement. “I am just the right amount of drunk to handle this right now.”

Zayn looks like he’s going to actually slap Harry in the face, but Liam must be reading him wrong, because the next thing he knows, Zayn’s kissing Harry much the same way Liam had, but he tugs roughly at Harry’s hair while doing it. Liam honestly almost throws up. Everything that seemed nice and light and fun about the party suddenly seem horrible. The too loud music coming from the living room making his head pound, the smell of alcohol and perfume and candy adding to the way his stomach churns. His costume too tight, making it hard for him to breathe. All of it. He just wants it to be over.

And then it is. Harry pushes Zayn away, eyes wide, lips red. Zayn crosses his arms over his chest, looking pleased with himself, eyes on Liam instead of the man whose tongue he’d just had in his mouth.

“Did Christmas come early?” Harry asks. “Seriously, why is everyone kissing me? I know I’m attractive, but really. This is a bit ridiculous. Also, Zayn, a little less hair-pulling next time, yeah? My scalp hurts. But, Liam—ten out of ten. Good form. A bit more tongue, maybe, but that was nice.”

“Sorry, mate,” Zayn says easily.

Liam is very aware of the fact that almost everyone in the room is watching them, which is why he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything, either, but turn and head for the door, just as Harry says, “Wait, shit, Liam—” He ignores it and keeps walking.

He doesn’t stop until he’s in his room, and then he thanks whatever gods allowed him one of the only two bedrooms in the house with a lock on his door. He turns it, grabs his iPod, and lies on his bed, ignoring everything. When someone knocks at his door, he just turns it up a little louder.

After a bit, the knocking stops, but a few minutes later his bedroom door opens and Zayn comes in, shutting it behind himself. He’s got the rest of his costume on again, at least, so he’s not still half naked, and he’s smiling sheepishly at Liam, who pulls out his headphones and glares at him.

Zayn holds up a small toolbox in his hand and says, “From when you locked yourself out of your room four tmes in one week, remember?”

He does remember, since Zayn had come to his rescue twice for it, so Liam went and locked himself out again several times that month so Zayn could keep helping him. Another not so proud moment of his, but whatever. He’s accepted a long time ago that, when it comes to Zayn, he is not level-headed at all. That’s probably the worst thing about the way he feels for him. It’s not about the fact that they’ll never be together, but the fact that Zayn has sort of ruined him in a complete, horrible, wonderful way.

“Is there something you wanted?” Liam asks, sitting up. He has every right to be mad at Zayn right now, not even for the jealousy issue. For all Zayn knows, Harry and Liam are together, and he just crossed the line severely. He did it with a grin on his face and everything.

“Can I sit?” Zayn asks, gesturing to the bed.

“No.”

Zayn sighs and sits anyway. He runs a hand through his hair while looking around Liam’s room. “Next time I have a bad day, I’m totally painting this place,” he says offhandedly.

Liam looks around at his pale, cream-coloured walls, and he sort of wants Zayn to put his mark on it. At the same time, he really doesn’t. Zayn’s already marked up Liam’s life in his too bright colours, and he’s not sure how much more of that he can handle after tonight.

“I guess I should apologize, then,” Zayn says after a moment. He looks at Liam with his eyebrows raised. “You should be apologizing too, you know.”

“For what, exactly?” Liam questions.

“Well,” Zayn says, leaning back on his elbows, one hand brushing Liam’s ankle, “I may have made out with your fake boyfriend, which you have every right to be pissed at me about, but you’re the one with the fake boyfriend in the first place, so I’m not the only one in the wrong here.”

Liam’s mouth falls open in surprise. “How—how did you know that—when—you know?”

Zayn nods, lips quirking up just a bit. “Have since that day psycho Horan nearly burned down our kitchen. Again. Nearly burned down our kitchen again.”

Liam can’t do anything but stare at him. He’s known this whole time. And he has no doubt about how he found out, either. Louis. And he’s not even mad because he probably should have expected it in the first place. But then it sinks in that Zayn knows, which means he might know why Liam was doing it, which means it might know that—

“Oh, god,” Liam groans, falling back against the bed. He closes his eyes and wills the world to just end, right then and there. He will sacrifice the rest of the human race to go down with him and his humiliation as long as he doesn’t have to deal with this.

Zayn’s hand isn’t just lying on his ankle now. He’s gently sliding it up, just enough pressure that Liam can feel it. He keeps his eyes closed, too embarrassed to open them because he knows that Zayn knows. And Zayn is actually trying to comfort him right now. But Liam can’t be comforted.

“Li,” Zayn says softly. Liam refuses to open his eyes. “Just look at me for a minute, would you?”

Liam shakes his head. “Could you just go, please?”

“I’m not going to—”

“Liam!”

Louis’ voice is loud enough that Liam literally jumps, sitting up. Zayn releases his leg so fast it’s like Liam burned him or something, and they both gape at Louis, standing in his doorway, still in that damn costume. He’s breathing heavy, too, and his face is red.

“I just—” He catches his breath and starts again, “I just saw—Niall and—he was—and—my world no longer makes sense.”

“Louis,” Liam says slowly. He notices Zayn staring down at his hands, wonders what he’s thinking, but he can’t ask him right now. “What happened with Niall?”

“His fifth girlfriend,” Louis gasps out. “Not a girlfriend.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s a guy,” Louis says, eyes fever bright. “I mean I saw Niall kissing a guy. His name is Josh. He has a penis, Liam! I asked him and everything! Definitely has a dick!”

Zayn’s eyes go wide, too, and his mouth goes slack. Liam looks between them for a few moments before saying, “And?”

“And?” Louis repeats. “And? And Niall is our token straight guy! What the hell is happening here? No, you know what’s happening here? Because I know what’s happening here. Harry Styles is Satan and he has come into this house, with his curly hair and his cooked-spaghetti-like limbs and his damn PlayStation 3, and he’s ruined everything. Absolutely everything. He’s taken my entire world and just thrown it into the air like a goddamn tornado or something, and I am so infinitely, completely, interminably, utterly done.”

“I heard shouting and thought something was getting broken,” Harry says, appearing behind Louis. His face is a cool, emotionless mask. “Satan, huh? I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a new one.”

Louis turns to face him, and Liam can’t see the look on his face but he has a feeling it’s one of horrified embarrassment. “I didn’t—”

“Whatever,” Harry says, ignoring him. “I’m heading out for the night, anyway. A friend from school invited me, so I’ll see you guys tomorrow or something.”

Louis winces as Harry walks away, and then he turns back to Liam and Zayn. “I didn’t know he was there.”

“Obviously,” Zayn says, rolling his eyes.

“I don’t think he’s actually Satan,” Louis adds.

Liam decides that he no longer cares about any of this, so he lays his head back against his pillow, grabs his free one, and covers his face to block out the light and the sound and his annoying housemates that he has never, until this point, actually regretted living with.

He still hears Louis saying something to Zayn, and then his bedroom door shutting, and he can still feel when the bed moves, Zayn shifting over, suddenly much closer than he had been before.

“Can we just talk for a minute?” Zayn asks hesitantly.

“No one’s stopping you,” Liam mumbles quietly.

“Without the pillow, Liam.”

“No.”

“Liam.”

“No.”

“You’re being childish.”

“You and Louis are always being childish. Oh how the tables have turned.”

Zayn sighs. “Fine,” he says. The room goes quiet for a long time. Liam’s breathing is a bit ragged because he’s partially being suffocated by the pillow, and the spot just above his mouth is getting grossly damp from his humid breathing. He wants to take it off, but after that argument, he feels like he has to keep it there to prove a point. “Do you remember after I first moved in, like, two weeks later you went out with that guy with the moustache from—”

“Landon,” Liam supplies instantly.

“Of course you still remember his name,” Zayn mutters. “But whatever, yeah, Landon. And I said—”

“You said that he looked old enough to be my father, and then asked if he was my father, and then told me that my blue shirt made me look like a homeless alcoholic Frenchman named Manuel.” Liam remembers this very well; he’d only agreed to go out with Landon because he was sweet and Liam was trying to convince himself that he did not like the new boy that had moved into the house. And then he’d almost cancelled because Zayn had made him feel so stupid for it, and he’d changed his outfit six times before he left because Zayn found something wrong with everything he put on.

“I’m a bit of a dick, yeah?” Zayn says softly.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees.

Zayn grunts his admittance to this, then once again the room goes silent. Warm fingers trace a pattern on his wrist until Liam jerks his hand away and crosses it over his chest. He has no idea why Zayn would bring that up, and he doesn’t want to talk about it. Or to him.

“It’s just—” He feels the disturbance in the air from Zayn waving his hand, though he doesn’t see it. “I get really jealous. And I didn’t get why at first, right? Like, I told myself that maybe all the guys you dated were douchebags, which they are, by the way. I told myself that I was just being protective, you know, because you’re you, and I know damn well that you can protect yourself just fine. I’ve seen you fight. But that’s physical, and you have this thing where you, like, see the best in people, even those who don’t deserve it, and I thought that you were going to get hurt dating all these fuckwads.”

Liam finally pulls the pillow away from his face so he can glare at Zayn. “Because none of the guys I choose to go out with are worthy, right?” he sneers.

“Exactly right,” Zayn says sincerely, nodding. “Not one of them deserved you.”

Liam rolls his eyes. “I’ll be sure to get you to screen all my future dates, since you obviously know what’s best for me.”

“I don’t like it when you’re mad at me,” Zayn tells him while not meeting Liam’s eyes. “And I don’t want there to be future dates.”

“Then you better start buying me cats now,” Liam replies swiftly, “or I’m going to get pretty freaking lonely.”

Zayn groans, like Liam’s being difficult. “I don’t want you to be lonely, either, Liam.”

“I know, that’s why we’re getting the cats,” Liam points out.

“Am I really going to have to do that clichéd thing where I kiss you to shut you up?” Zayn demands. “Because I will, Liam. I’ll do it if you force me into it, and Louis’ll never let us live it down.”

Did he really just say that? Liam sits up, too surprised to do much more than say, “What ?”

“I’ll wear scarves, too,” Zayn adds, looking far too serious. “And I’ll instagram all my coffee orders, if that’s what it takes. Fuck, I’ll download every Fun. song ever made, but I’m doing it illegally because I’m not paying for music that I don’t like. And I’ve already got, like, three plaid shirts, so—”

“I don’t date just hipsters,” Liam denies, though he can’t help the smile that pulls at his reluctant lips.

“Good, because I fucking hate scarves,” Zayn admits. “And I hate that you kissed that curly-haired little shit to make me jealous.”

Liam flushes and looks down at his hands. “I thought it might work, and I figured it was worth a try, since it’s not like anything else worked.”

“Oh, it did,” Zayn says. “I was ready to help him move back out that night when we’d walked in on you two kissing. Nearly broke his stereo system trying to move it form the room, too. Louis had to literally pry it from my fingers.”

Liam frowns at him. He thinks back to all of his (not very many, admittedly) previous dates. “Was that all on purpose?” he asks. “The wet laundry, the time you ‘accidentally’ broke my razor so I had to borrow one of Louis’ and was fifteen minutes late because of it, four different messages from Jordan asking me to call him getting deleted off the machine, that time I had a date with Colton and he said my roommate told him that there was no Liam living here and I thought maybe he just got the wrong house.” There’s more; that’s just off the top of his head. He’s not had a stress-free date since—since Zayn moved in, actually.

And now it’s Zayn’s turn to blush. “Like I said, I thought I was protecting you,” he reminds him. “Until I realized it was more than that.”

“More than that,” Liam repeats, because he needs to hear Zayn say it or he won’t believe it. No matter how obvious it is where this conversation is going, he needs Zayn to explicitly say it.

“You’ve lived with me for a year,” Zayn says quietly. “I’m sure you’ve noticed that I’m really shit at relationships.”

That is true. Zayn gets bored within a week. It’s almost possible to literally see the relationship dissolving in front of you. He starts out having his girlfriend or boyfriend of the month over every night, locked in his room, and then slowly their messages start piling up on the answering machine, and they come by the door obsessively while Zayn hides in the shower and refuses to answer. And then finally he gets the balls to break up with them, because Zayn is rarely the dumpee.

“Maybe you’re not shit at relationships,” Liam argues. “Maybe you’re just dating the wrong people.”

“Oh, so now you’re the one who’s telling me that my dates aren’t good enough?” Zayn teases.

Liam wants to chuckle and joke around, too, but he can’t. “Just get to the point, Zayn.”

Zayn nods and runs a hand through his hair while chewing his lip and looking more at Liam’s nose than into his eyes. “I’m a jealous bastard,” he tells him. “I doubt that’s going to go away any time soon. I get moody sometimes. I don’t like to talk about my feelings all that often, and I’m not going to do that heart to heart shit that you and Louis do. I tell you that all of these guys aren’t good enough for you, and yet I want you anyway, even though I’m not good enough for you, either.”

Liam would argue this if he thought Zayn would listen. In fact, Zayn is more than too good for him, he thinks. There’s not a thing about Zayn that Liam doesn’t either love or admire, like his art or the way everything says sounds smart of interesting, and the fact that he doesn’t care about anyone else’s opinion, he does what he wants, lives how he wants. Instead, he says, “Can you just kiss me now?”

“Wait, that was an option this whole time? If I had known, I wouldn’t have sat here talking like a dumbass,” Zayn says quickly. Liam can see him swallow, watches as he licks his lips, and then he leans in, Liam keeping completely still in case Zayn decides to change his mind and run from him.

He doesn’t. He cups Liam’s cheek gently, because Zayn is always like that when he touches him, and he moves close enough that all Liam can really see is his eyes, blocking out everything else. Sometimes they look lighter, like honey. Sometimes he swears they’re hazel. Right now, they’re a warm, dark brown. He presses his lips to Liam’s.

It’s not a hot, heated kiss. In fact, Liam is fairly certain that no one has ever kissed him so softly before in his life. And yet, he can’t really compare it to anything. A year. He’s been in love with Zayn for a year. It took them a year to get to this point, a year of pining and jealousy and sometimes pain from their rare arguments, and Zayn is finally kissing him. He waits for the disappointment, for the moment Zayn pulls back and the whole thing feels anticlimactic, because he’s waited so freaking long for this, didn’t even think he’s ever actually get it, and now that he has, there’s no way it could measure up to the fantasy he’s built up in his mind.

It doesn’t, either. It blows that fantasy out of the water. He didn’t think Zayn’s lips would be this soft, and he couldn’t have anticipated the way he licked them before he leaned in, either, making them slick and perfect. He hadn’t foreseen the way Zayn’s eyes close and his lashes brush against Liam’s cheek. He didn’t consider the fact that Zayn is close enough that all he can smell is the cologne that he wears or that he can feel the heat radiating from Zayn’s body.

There it is. There’s that spark, that fire, that thing he’s always been searching for but was never quite able to find with anyone else. There’s the electricity running through his veins, the need coursing through him. For a moment that’s all there is in the world; the fire, and Zayn’s lips burning against his, soft and perfect, insistently moving against his own like they were made for this. Like this is exactly where they’re supposed to be. Perfect. A perfect fit. They’re a perfect fit.

And then Zayn’s lips part, and his tongue pushes against Liam’s until his part, too, and the word ‘perfect’ is suddenly not enough. There isn’t a word in Liam’s vocabulary that can describe this. There isn’t a word good enough to describe the way Zayn tastes, or the way their bodies are pressed together. The way Zayn’s hand slips from his face and slides down his arm so softly, and then over his ribs in gentle, barely there touches.

Zayn moves his hand to the back of Liam’s neck, keeping him from moving as he pulls back. His nails absently scratch there, too, before he says, “Can we just agree to not kiss Harry ever again? Both of us?”

Liam snorts and playfully tries to pull back, but Zayn refuses to allow him to. Liam didn’t really want to move away from him anyway. “Really,” he says, though. “You kiss me and afterwards you want to talk about kissing Harry? Does that normally work for you? Talking about the other people you've kissed?”

“Babe,” Zayn says, leaning in so their lips are almost brushing again. “A lot of things work for me.”

“Remember when you were pointing out your flaws? You forgot to mention the part where you’re cocky as all hell.”

Zayn grins, not at all offended, and then kisses him again, almost the exact same way he had last time; like he’s afraid of breaking something if he isn’t careful. Liam doesn’t mind at all.

 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

Louis wakes up on the first day of November with a headache. He drank far too much last night, he knows. Enough that his head is pounding, his stomach is protesting, and he lost his pants at some point. His weird, plastic shirt is still on, though, so he tugs it off, seeking something more comfortable and familiar.

The house is like a dead zone. He can’t hear anyone. The television downstairs isn’t on. No water is running. No footsteps or music or pans clanking in the kitchen. It is blissfully silent as he pulls on his shirt that already smells like cologne from the last time he’d worn it. He tugs on sweatpants, too, not bothering to grab a pair of boxers first (what happened to the ones from last night, he has no idea; he really doesn’t want to know, either).

And then he hears a tiny, muffled noise, and checks his phone for the time. It’s only eleven. It’s only eleven and someone is making noise. Someone who is going to be dead in three seconds if they do it again. And they do, a moment later, the sound of a cup or something falling to the ground echoing through the house, followed by a quietly muttered, “Shit.”

The sound of it seems to stab at Louis’ head, and he narrows his eyes as he makes a beeline for his bedroom door, stepping over discarded clothes. The house is a mess, though that’s not very surprising, given the party last night. In fact, it’s not nearly as bad as Louis thought it would be. He can handle this after he’s had coffee and showered and made a conscious decision not to murder every single person he crosses paths with.

More noise comes from the kitchen, so Louis follows it, ready to rip whoever is inside a new one because they know to be quiet when he has a hangover. It is his one rule to living in the house. Hungover Louis needs quiet and sleep and coffee. If he does not get these three things, he is homicidal. They know this.

Harry doesn’t, though, and he’s the one on the other side of the door. The kitchen smells like eggs and bacon, and the coffee machine is already full. He’s doing dishes and clearing out plastic cups from last night, a pair of yellow rubber gloves covering his hands. He looks incredibly domestic, Louis can’t help but think. His arms are covered by either the gloves or the long sleeves of his jumper, and his hair is pushed back off his forehead by some sort of headband.

“I didn’t wake you, did I?” Harry asks, looking genuinely concerned. “I just got in, like, half an hour ago, and everyone else was gone so I thought—”

“Don’t talk to me,” Louis says, cutting him off. “Not until I’ve had my coffee. I will kill you. It will be painful.”

Harry closes his mouth and nods. He heads for the coffee machine, though, and grabs a mug before making Louis’ drink (he knows it’s for him because Harry takes twice as much sugar as he does) and placing it on the table. “Your food’ll be done in, like, five minutes,” he adds.

“My food?”

Harry nods. “I already ate, but I figured you’d still be asleep and probably hungry when you got up, so…” He trails off, shrugging as if this is no big deal. It is a big deal, actually. It’s a really big deal. Especially considering the fact that Louis accused him of being the king of the underworld last night.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Louis says, sitting at the table. He sips his coffee; it’s made perfectly, just strong enough (not at all like Liam’s coffee—always too weak; or Zayn’s—always too strong) and steaming, warming his insides instantly.

“I know,” is all Harry says in reply.

Louis decides that he is far too hungover to analyze that, and he probably wouldn’t even if the circumstances were different. It’s fairly easy to ignore the fact that Harry is a sweetheart when all he has to do is think the name Jeremy and he can look at everything in a different light.

He’s not even halfway done with his coffee (and he’s sipping as fast as he can, despite the fact that it’s still scalding) when a plate of food is dropped in front of him. Harry seats himself across from him, nothing but a cup of coffee for himself. He’s actually reading a newspaper, too, which is something that Louis had no idea anyone under the age of thirty-five did.

“Can I ask you a question?” Harry looks up at him expectantly, hesitancy in his wide green eyes anyway. He has a feeling that Liam has mentioned Louis’ moods after a too good night of drinking.

“No one’s stopping you,” Louis says after a moment, forking up a bite of eggs right afterwards. He’s being a bit prickly, he knows that. This is as good as he gets with a hangover, though. At least he’s not throwing things. And he’s only threatened Harry with murder once. That is progress.

“Is there a reason for any of it?” Harry inquires after a moment. Louis must look confused, because he barrels on a moment later with, “It’s just—right now you’re, like, punk rock hot. Scruff, the hair, the t-shirt and sweatpants. And then last night you were…” He cuts off with an awkward hand gesture.

“Man Gaga,” Louis supplies. That was a damn good costume and no one can tell him otherwise.

“Exactly,” Harry says, only the corner of his mouth twitching up, like he’s trying to be serious but can’t quite manage it because Louis is too ridiculous for him to handle. He’s used to this kind of look. “So is there a reason for it?”

Louis shrugs. “No and yes,” he says cryptically. “It’s just who I am. Some days I just want to have fun and be a little crazy, and others I want to relax and simmer it down a bit. As Liam would say, I’m all extremes. Either I’m extremely upbeat, or I’m extremely not. Or, you know, I’m an asshole. Though those are Zayn’s words, not Liam’s.”

Harry grins full out now, like Louis has just shared some personal, private part of himself. He really hasn’t. “Cool,” Harry says. “I like that. I mean, you’re just—you’re just you. I like that.”

Louis looks down at his eggs and decides that he’s going to throw up, so he practically runs for the bathroom. He only just makes it, and thankfully the lid of the toilet is up because everything he’s eaten in the last, like, twenty-four hours is being ripped out of him by some unknown, evil force that wants him to die.

A hand rubs his back soothingly, and he knows it’s Harry. No one else is here. He tries not to think about it too much, repeats the scene in his mind where Harry had just blown him off like he meant absolutely nothing so he doesn’t fall for whatever this is. And when he’s good enough to stand again, he heads upstairs to brush his teeth and shower. He needs to do something today, but he can’t think of anything that will distract him. No class, no work, no housemates except Harry.

In the end, he texts Niall and asks him if he wants to go for coffee. He doesn’t want Liam right now. Liam knows him too well, would pick up on Louis’ scattered mind. Zayn is, like, creepily intuitional and he’d probably guess immediately what’s going on. Niall, calm, ridiculous, slutty Niall with his four girlfriends (and one boyfriend, which Louis still can’t wrap his mind around, he really can’t) is exactly what he needs.

 

--

 

“Sit still,” Niall hisses, holding the camera in front of him. “I need this for my blog. Do you want people to see you looking like shit?”

“I can’t believe you have a blog,” Louis says for the tenth time.

“I told you about it, like, a million fucking times,” Niall says distractedly, trying to get the lighting right.

They’re in the park, even though it’s fairly cold out. Louis’ wrapped in a loose sweater over his t-shirt so it’s not so bad. The wind is harsh, though, and there are leaves blowing everywhere.

“I’m a self-centered son of a bitch,” Louis admits happily. “I rarely listen to anyone else. In fact, sometimes I talk just to hear my own voice. Take me or leave me, baby.”

“Don’t quote Rent at me just because you think I’m gay now,” Niall says, while still fidgeting with the damn camera that he’d pulled out of thin air. Louis has no idea where he got that thing.

“I don’t think you’re gay,” Louis argues. “I think you’re confused.”

“I’m not confused.” Niall finally gets the camera figured out, and the flash nearly blinds Louis. He blinks, dazed, as Niall adds, “I like hot people who like me, who also give me free coffee. Josh fits that description. I could give less of a fuck about sexuality and all that shit. Some people spend their whole lives trying to figure themselves out, but I don’t want to. I like what I like and I’m happy with that. So don’t make a big deal out of it.”

Louis sits there for a moment, processing this. That is such a Niall answer, he thinks. And it must be so nice to be Niall, because he can say he doesn’t want to figure anything out, but Louis believes that Niall has the whole world figured out in a way that the rest of them do not. In fact, Louis is fairly certain that Niall is one of those secret geniuses that don’t know they’re geniuses because they’re bored by everything so they don’t even bother to try. He wants to get Niall tested. Either his IQ or his sanity, because one of them has got to bring up some alarming results.

“Okay,” he says finally. “Can we make a big deal out of how much of a little slut you are, though? Seriously. Five people on the go, Niall. You are playing it hard, and this is going to totally come to an unpleasant end sometime soon.”

“We’ll deal with that when we get there,” Niall says offhandedly. That, too, is such a Niall answer. Louis loves him so much sometimes.

When he’s done with the picture, Niall pulls his laptop out of his bag and places it on the bench, squatting in front of the bench to use it. He has one of those internet sticks that lets him get wifi anywhere, because Niall is so attached to the damn computer and internet it’s almost a sickness.

“There,” he says. “Uploaded to my two hundred and seventy thousand followers.”

Louis blinks. “Your what?”

“Two hundred and seventy thousand followers,” Niall repeats.

Louis grabs the laptop and pulls it towards him. Niall doesn’t stop him. He finds a page with a professional and yet very Niall (see: blue background, red header, white boxes for text, black writing) page with a few pictures but more text posts. He reads the URL, lifewithniall.tumblr.com, and then starts reading the posts.

“Oh my god,” Louis says, not looking away from the screen. “You blog about us?”

Niall grins. “Yep,” he says. “People think we should have a reality show. Zayn and Liam also have a ship name.”

“A what?” Louis asks, not really paying attention as he reads,

Set the kitchen on fire. Oops. Also had a date with Danielle again. Harry and Louis shouted at each other a bit. I’m pretty sure Harry’s in love with him. I’m also pretty sure Louis is either close to stabbing Harry or fucking him. Have yet to decide which seems more likely, at this point. We’ll have to wait and see. I’ll let you know if there’s any bloodshed.

“Ship name,” Niall repeats. “Like Brangelina. People think they should date and they shoved their names together.”

If Louis leaves his underwear on the couch one more fucking time, I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna suffocate him with his own damn boxers.

“You tell two hundred thousand people that I leave my underwear in the living room?” Louis demands. “Niall! This is such an invasion of privacy. You little shit! This is what you do all day?”

“I also make YouTube videos, and I play a lot of World of Warcraft.”

Louis is honestly dumbfounded. Not just by the fact that Niall is doing this—he is so going to pay, Louis will get him back for this—but the fact that people are actually following it. Are actually, like, invested and really fucking interested.

“I want to kill you,” Louis decides finally, “but I am also vaguely impressed, as well as horrified, and I agree; we should totally have a reality show. Then we could add another thing to Zayn’s list of things he has in common with Pauly D, including the fact that they’re both douchebags and have stupid hair.”

He shuts the laptop. He’s read enough. He’s so telling the rest of the housemates, too. Liam will probably love it, Zayn will help Louis kill Niall for this, and Harry will probably laugh and get in on it because Harry is possibly even more insane than the rest of them, which is quite a feat.

“I’m bored again,” Louis says after a moment. His mind is already drifting back to Harry. “Let’s do something. Something illegal.”

“My life goal is to not get arrested until I’m at least thirty,” Niall tells him. “Sorry, mate.”

Louis sighs. “Can we get free coffee from one of your many girlfriends and/or your boyfriend, then?”

Niall grins. “I get free donuts, too.”

“You are a brilliant, evil man, Niall,” Louis says solemnly. He stands up and they walk down the path towards the nearest coffee shop (the Starbucks downtown), falling easily into step beside each other. “Do you want to explain to me how you managed to get into this situation, though?”

Niall sighs loudly and scratches his head. “I started dating Danielle first,” he says. “She has a second job at the dance studio in town, right, and she’s really, really fucking flexible. Like—wow. And then one day we were flirting and she gave me free coffee with her number on it, so I thought I’d call her. And then there’s Perrie, and she’s cool, you know? Like, sweet as hell but she also listens to really good music, and she has a really nice laugh. And then there’s Cher, and she’s got these tattoos and this grin and I couldn’t, like, not say yes when she asked me out. And then there’s El, and when you meet her she seems stuck up and shit, but she’s really down to earth and she’s sort of dorky, too, in a good way.”

“And where does your boy toy fit into this?”

“Josh plays the drums,” Niall says heavily. “And that drum set isn’t the only thing he knows how to bang really, really well, if you know what I’m saying.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. “I do, sadly. And you’re going to hell for this, I hope you realize.”

“I look forward to seeing you, Zayn, and Harry there,” Niall replies happily.

“Poor Liam,” Louis says sadly. “He’s gonna be all alone up there in heaven.”

 

--

 

Liam is still at work by the time they get home, and Zayn is at the library, catching up on homework. The whole house is spotlessly cleaned, and Louis finds Harry passed out on the couch, obviously having done the whole thing himself. Niall walks straight past him, not a care in the world (probably going to write about it on his damn blog, no doubt), but Louis can’t.

Harry looks really young when he’s asleep, his cheeks sort of round and his expression soft, mouth open. He’s got one arm dangling off the edge, too, and a leg bent at the knee. And it’s cold in the living room. Really cold. He doesn’t have a blanket.

Louis debates just grabbing him one, but then he gets this dumb idea. See, the most important people in Louis’ life are his sisters. He loves them more than anything ever. And he’s used to taking care of them. It’s not that his parents don’t do a good job, it’s just that his dad’s job keeps him away a lot and his mum is always so busy and stressed that he likes to do this part. And a lot of the time, that includes carrying one or all of them to bed. Harry did clean the whole house, so Louis owes him. And Louis also called him Satan, so he, like, double owes him.

He did not consider the fact that Harry is possibly a mutated lab experiment (he’s huge, okay? And heavy. He might be thin, but those long-ass legs are like damn tree trunks), and Louis only manages to grab him around the back and under the legs, lift him a few inches off the couch, and then they’re both tumbling to the ground, Harry waking up with a shout.

“How much do you weigh?” Louis demands breathlessly. Harry is half on top of him, and they’re both sprawled out, inches from the coffee table. It’s a miracle one of them didn’t crack their head open. “Are you a fucking rhinoceros?”

Harry struggles to push himself up, but he’s still half on top of Louis. And heavy. Very, very heavy for someone who looks so thin. “Did you really try to carry me to bed?”

“I’ll answer—when you get—the fuck off me,” Louis gets out, shoving at Harry’s shoulder. Harry rolls, elbow digging into Louis’ stomach, and then collapses on the ground, staring up at the ceiling. Louis doesn’t move, either. He is broken. Nothing specific, just all of him. “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“So the logical thing to do was to try to carry me,” Harry replies. “You realize how tiny you are, right?”

Louis glares at him. “I’m not tiny, actually. I’m just short and you’re related to Godzilla, you freak. I happen to have very thick biceps and manly shoulders, thank you.”

Harry snorts. “Let’s compile a list of things you’ve called me in the last twenty-four hours,” he says, lifting a hand. “Satan.” He lifts one finger. “Fat.” Another. “A rhinoceros.” A third finger. “Godzilla.” A fourth. “And, finally, a freak. One more and I’ve got to start on a second hand.”

Louis grimaces. Harry’s grinning, like he finds it funny, but Louis actually feels bad. Not about the other four, just about the one. “I’m sorry for calling you Satan and making fun of your pasta-like limbs.”

“Oh,” Harry says, lifting his other hand. He holds up the thumb along with the five fingers of his other hand. “A tornado. You also called me a tornado that apparently fucked up your entire life.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“I know, I’m paraphrasing.”

Louis sighs. “I really am sorry.”

Harry raises his eyebrows. “For saying it, or for me hearing you say it?”

“Both,” Louis admits honestly.

Harry nods and looks back up at the ceiling. “If you want me to move out, just tell me. I don’t want to be an inconvenience.”

Louis gestures widely. “Look at this place,” he says. “And you did it all by yourself. You’re not allowed to move out. We need you.”

As soon as he’s said it, he realizes it’s true. They really do depend on Harry a lot, even if he’s only been here a little over a month. They actually eat substantial meals. There’s an extra car if Zayn’s out and someone has an emergency. Zayn has someone to watch Supernatural with that understands everything and has seen all the episodes. And he makes Louis coffee every morning. Every. Single. Morning.

“Really,” Harry says softly. He turns his head, cheek on the floor that is probably spotless for once due to his cleaning.

“Yeah,” Louis admits, equally soft. He shakes his head and frowns, more at himself than Harry. “And Liam needs his fake boyfriend, right?”

“That’s actually a no-go now,” Harry tells him. Louis turns the frown on him. “Zayn kissed me last night.”

Louis waits for him to add something, but he doesn’t. And then he sits up so fast his head spins. “Shit,” he groans. “Shit. Shit. Fucking donkey cock.”

Harry sits up, too, looking pleasantly amused. “You have a way with words, Louis. Anyone ever tell you that?”

“This isn’t funny,” Louis says while tugging his phone out of his pocket. “Not funny at all. Oh, God.” He hits speed dial number one and waits. “Come on, Liam, pick up. Shit. I’m going to murder Zayn. I’m going to break each and every one of his Mariah Carey CDs if Liam’s crying, I swear to—”

“Louis?”

“Liam!” Louis says loudly, pushing himself up off the ground. He holds the phone to his ear, heading for the kitchen. Harry follows, not realizing that Louis was walking away to have a private conversation. “How are you, babe?”

“I’m great,” Liam says, and he sounds it, too. “Perfect, actually.”

Louis sinks onto one of the chairs at the table and runs a hand over his face. “You’re lying, aren’t you?” he guesses. “I heard about Zayn kissing Harry.”

Liam laughs. He actually laughs. There it is, the final proof that Liam really is as crazy as the rest of them. And Louis was so hoping that at least one of them would be sane. Such a shame. “Yeah, not a big deal,” Liam tells him. “He knew about the fake dating all along, but I’m sure you already knew that, right?”

Louis winces in guilt. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Liam says. “Zayn kissing Harry was possibly the best thing that could have happened.”

Harry leans against the counter, happy to just sit there and watch Louis on the phone. “It was?” Louis asks, baffled. “How, exactly?”

“Because he kissed me too.”

“Harry or Zayn?”

“Both.”

Louis looks at Harry, wondering why that upsets him so damn much. And maybe Harry should keep his tongue in his fucking mouth, he thinks. “Am I the only one not kissing every single person I meet?”

Liam sniggers. “I’m sure if you wanted, Harry’d kiss you too. He’s quite good. A-plus, actually. Would definitely recommend.”

Louis’ eyes dart to Harry’s mouth without even thinking. It’s pink and wide and his lips do look soft, but—“No. Not happening.”

“Suit yourself,” Liam says easily. “I’m at work, though. See you when I get home. Later, Lou.”

Liam hangs up on him. Louis places his phone on the table and glares down at it and then up at Harry for good measure. “All is well there, apparently,” he says. “Zayn kissed Liam last night.”

“Brilliant,” Harry says, looking genuinely pleased about this. “About time. I was honestly starting to think that it wasn’t ever going to happen.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I never doubted them for a minute. I just doubted Zayn’s ability to man the fuck up.”

Harry nods in agreement before yawning, which precedes the drawn out, obscene full-body stretch he does next. Louis has no idea where to look. Where his shirt lifts up; the underside of his arms where there’s a scattering of tattoos; his arched neck. It’s sort of overwhelming so he chooses to look at nothing, fixing their lime green walls with a look that is far more interested than called for.

“I’m gonna go shower,” Harry says finally.

Louis nods, still refusing to look at him. Harry leaves the kitchen and Louis finally gets up, heading for the fridge. At the last second he bypasses it (and the celery inside, which is what he was originally going for) to grab the container of chocolate icing. He pulls it out, pops the lid, and sticks his finger in. He deserves this, okay? No one can judge him.

It’s just that Harry’s attractive. And he’s sweet a lot of the time. And Louis is trying really, really hard not to like him, and he’s just failing miserably. A part of him says that he should stop trying, then. Another part argues that he let Harry’s charm get him last time, and that didn’t exactly work out in his favour, now did it? Definitely not.

Louis sighs and puts the icing away. He can hear the water running and he thinks about the fact that Harry’s completely naked right now, so he heads for the living room and turns on the television so he doesn’t focus on that thought.

There is nothing good on. He flips through literally every channel they get, finds nothing, and then does it again. And again. He’s going through them for a fourth time when he hears Harry yell his name. “Can you come here for a minute?”

Louis turns to look at the hallway, eyes wide. “What?” he shouts.

“Can you come here please?” Harry yells over the still running water, through the door of the bathroom.

Louis licks his lips and continues to just sit there for a minute before he finally gets up and slowly makes his way to the downstairs bathroom. He raps his knuckles on the door and says, “What do you want?”

“Can you get me a towel?” Harry asks, voice muffled by the sound of the water running and the closed door between them. “I forgot to bring one in.”

Seriously? Louis tilts his head to the ceiling and wonders how many people he killed in a previous life to deserve this. And yet he makes his way up the stairs to the linen closet and grabs a clean towel before coming downstairs anyway.

“Now what?” he asks.

“The door’s unlocked,” Harry tells him.

Louis looks at the door handle, eyes narrowed. He’d do it for Liam, though, or Niall and Zayn. In fact, he has. Multiple times, because Niall always forgets to bring a towel, and if someone doesn’t grab him one he will literally walk to his room naked, dripping all over the floor, and he’ll leave the mess there for someone else to clean up.

He pushes open the door, letting out the steam. The humid air instantly sticks to his skin, and the curtains are closed, thankfully. Until Harry pulls them back to grin at him and thank him, hair slicked back with water. Water that is dripping down his shoulders, over his chest and his stomach and the ridiculous tattoo there that is either a butterfly or a moth, Louis can’t tell, and then—

“Oh, God,” Louis mumbles, covering his eyes. He attempts to hang the towel up on the rack without looking, until Harry tugs it out of his hands.

“Thanks, Lou,” he says brightly, like he has no idea how uncomfortable Louis is right now.

“Anytime,” Louis says tightly, turning for the door. “Actually, not anytime. Learn to remember your damn towel next time.”

He slams the door on his way out and then leans against the wall for a moment, breathing heavily. This time, he decides, he needs Liam.

 

--

 

Over the years, Louis’ spent almost as much time in the backyard as he has in the house. It’s not the biggest backyard, but it’s still fairly spacious. There’s a shed way, way in the back against the fence, but other than that it’s all flat and grassy and unoccupied except for the two nets he’s had set up since he was old enough to kick a football.

He and Liam have played one-on-one for years, and they’re fairly evenly matched. Liam is a natural athlete, but Louis is really, really good at football. They play dirty, though. Liam passes him, knocking hard into his shoulder. Louis retaliates by kicking his feet out from under him, Liam crashing to the ground. It’s a little damp from the last rainfall, and his knees and shirt are coated in mud by the time he gets himself back up.

It’s a little after eight, which means it’s already getting dark. They have the backlight on, though, so it’s not a hindrance.

“Sorry,” Louis says without conviction. He grins and kicks, the ball hitting the back of Liam’s net. “Oh, and another one for the Tommo!”

Liam makes a face and pulls his shirt away from his chest.

“Just take it off,” someone calls from upstairs. Louis looks up to see Zayn leaning out his window, a grin on his face, cigarette in hand. Liam blushes and smiles up at him.

“You’re both gross,” Louis mutters. “Why don’t you take your shirt off?”

Zayn shrugs and does just that. Liam snorts a laugh and says, “Take off your pants, too.”

Louis wrinkles his nose. Zayn hangs his pants in the window so they know they’re off, and Louis can’t help it. “Now the rest. Don’t be a tease.”

The window is high enough that they can’t technically see anything, but Zayn’s boxers are now lying on top of his jeans, hanging half out the window. Louis laughs manically while Liam joins him, though he’s flushed so red that he can’t even blame it on the game. The game that they have paused for now, apparently.

“Oh, what the fuck?” Louis hears Niall yell through the open window. “Where are your clothes? Why is your door open? Normal people don’t do this shit! Do you really have lips tattooed on your asscheek?”

Zayn disappears from the window, his clothes with him, and then it slams shut a moment later. Liam lets out a loud breath and runs a hand over his hair before turning to Louis. “Take a break?”

Louis narrows his eyes. “What? You can’t play with a boner?”

Liam glares at him but mutters “No,” before falling to the ground, staring up at the sky. Louis does the same a moment later, right beside him, ignoring the fact that his ass is already damp from the ground. He crosses his arms over his stomach, trying to pick out specific stars. A cloud must drift past, because they disappear for a few minutes. He waits patiently for them to come back, because they always do, eventually, and then sighs a little when the tiny pinpricks of light are finally filling the sky again.

“Liam,” he says quietly, not looking away from the sky.

“Mhm?”

“Remember a few years ago,” he says, plucking at his shirt in agitation, mostly just for something to do, “when I went to that party? And there was that guy, and we hooked up or whatever, and then afterwards—”

“He called you Jeremy and you cried over two containers of chocolate icing,” Liam finishes. “Yeah, I do. Quite vividly. It wasn’t a high point for you.”

“I won’t deny it,” Louis admits. He sighs and closes his eyes. “What if I told you that guy was Harry?”

Liam slaps his arm so hard it stings. Louis looks over at him, and he’s sitting up with wide eyes, mouth hanging open. Louis just nods sadly and looks back at the sky because the sky doesn’t pity you, or judge you, or look shocked when you admit that you’ve given a blowjob to the guy who just moved into your house a little over a month ago and then afterwards he made you feel like shit and you cried while gorging yourself on icing.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” Liam asks finally. He puts a hand on Louis’ knee, thumb rubbing circles there. “You could have said something, Lou. We could have—”

“Kicked him out?” Louis guesses. “Yelled at him? Thrown things at him? Yeah, I know, but now—now I don’t know if I’d have wanted you to.”

“What do you mean?” Liam asks. He’s talking all quiet and soft, like he’ll hurt Louis if he speaks too loudly. It’d annoy Louis if it were anyone but Liam. As it is, it only makes him want to hug his friend.

“I mean—” He waves a hand, too confused to answer right away. “I don’t know. I thought I hated him, you know? And I have a reason to, I think. Or I did. But—he’s just… really sweet and nice and I don’t. I don’t hate him. I want to, but I don’t.”

Liam nods, like he understands. “I wish you’d have told me earlier,” he admits. “When you were protesting him moving in. If you’d said something—”

“You wouldn’t have pushed it. I know.” Louis sits up, too, close enough that he and Liam’s knees are touching. “I don’t think he remembers, anyhow.”

Liam chews his lip for a moment. “We should talk about it,” he says slowly. “All of us. Or even just you and him. I think you should talk about it. It’ll make you feel better. Get it out in the open. I don’t think he’s the same person he was, Lou. I think he genuinely cares about you. About all of us, actually.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Louis whines, ripping up a handful of grass. “Can’t we just ignore the problem until it goes away?”

“It won’t go away,” Liam argues.

“Maybe he will, though.”

“Do you want him to?” Liam questions, cocking his head to the side. Louis wants to tell him he looks like a newborn puppy like that, but he doesn’t. “Do you want to ask him to leave? It’s your house first, you should be comfortable. I’m sure he’d understand.”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah,” he says, tossing the handful of grass away from himself. He tugs up another pile, ignoring the dirt that cakes itself under his nails. “You guys like having him here. I like having him here, I think.”

Liam smiles cautiously. “I actually thought you liked him. Like, liked him.”

Louis looks down at the ground for a long moment before lifting his eyes to Liam’s again. “What if I do?”

“Then do something about it,” Liam says, leaning back on his hands. He spreads his legs out widely on either side of Louis’ body. “If you want, that is.”

Louis makes a face. “What, like you and Zayn?”

“Do you think he’s still naked?”

“God, you were thinking about that this whole time, weren’t you? I’m trying to have a heart-to-heart, and you’re thinking about Zayn’s dick. I am so disappointed in you. You’re a bad friend, Liam.”

Liam throws grass at him before getting up. He offers Louis a hand, which he takes, and they start for the backdoor. “Do you think Harry even has a dick?” Louis asks. “I mean, his jeans are always so tight, and yet I’ve never seen the outline of it. They’re really tight, Liam. Unless he, like, tucks it—”

Liam snorts loudly and grabs his shoulder to stop from stumbling. “I’m sure he has a dick,” he tells Louis. “Christ.

“I think he removes it when he puts on his jeans,” Louis retorts. “Puts it in a drawer or something for safe-keeping. There is no way he fits a dick in those pants. No way in hell. They’re practically painted on.”

Liam laughs all the way into the house. They head for the living room, where Niall and Zayn are already camped out. Liam and Louis are just sitting down when Harry comes out of his hallway, in another pair of those ridiculous jeans. They both lean over the back of the couch, Liam eyeing Harry’s crotch with a considering look.

“Huh,” he says. “Maybe you’re right.”

“I always am,” Louis tells him.

“What?” Harry demands, looking between them. He drops his eyes to his jeans. “Do I have a stain or something?”

“We’re just trying to figure out what happens to your penis when you put those things on,” Louis admits. “Care to share?”

Harry grins. “Well, see, unless you want everyone to see the outline of it, you just tuck it between your legs, right, and it helps to wear a pair of briefs instead of boxers, too, to keep it in place, and—”

Louis turns and fixes Niall with a threatening look. “Don’t you date put any of that on your blog.”

Niall smiles sweetly. “Too late.”

 

--

 

He doesn’t know when he fell asleep. At one point, Liam left for bed, and Zayn left not long afterwards because everyone knows the only reason he was still downstairs in the first place was because Liam was there. And then Louis had spread out on the couch, and the next thing he knows, he wakes to someone throwing a blanket over him. A blanket that smells slightly sweet and spicy.

Louis blinks open his eyes to find Harry adjusting the blanket so it lies over his feet. He yawns, not covering his mouth, and gives Harry an inquiring look.

“See?” Harry asks quietly. “This is the logical thing to do when you find someone sleeping on the couch.”

Louis shifts a bit, back aching already. “This couch is lumpy,” he complains. “Would have preferred you to carry me.”

Harry’s eyebrows raise. “I can do that.”

Louis sits up fast, shaking his head. “No, that’s—”

Harry tugs the blanket off him and grabs Louis’ waist. Practically in the blink of an eye, Louis is in his arms, legs wrapped around his waist, arms around his neck. Harry groans and tries to move.

“Remember when I said you were tiny?” Harry asks, voice strained. “I was wrong. You’re heavy as fuck.”

Louis almost bites his neck in retaliation. It’s right there, all smooth and smelling faintly of the same sweet and spicy combo as the blanket. He stops himself, though. “Well, now I’m off the couch. You have to carry me.”

“Didn’t say I couldn’t,” Harry grunts. And then he grabs Louis’ ass, wide hands splaying over it, adjusting him a bit so he can get a better grip. Louis makes a surprised sound before Harry adds, “Just that it’s going to be a bit harder than I thought.”

Harry takes a hesitant step backwards and then turns. When he walks, Louis fists a hand in his hair, feeling the world shift under him. “Put me down,” he hisses. “If you drop me, I’m going to break your neck and hide your body in the backyard, I swear to God.”

“I’m not—gonna drop you,” Harry says with difficulty. “I’ve got you.”

“I will cut off all of your hair in your sleep—”

“We’re good, I’ve—”

“—cactus up your goddamn ass and—”

“—slipping. You are slipping—”

“—pour lemon juice on the wounds until—”

“We’re going down,” Harry says loudly, and Louis scratches at his back as he feels himself fall. It’s not a long fall, though. His ass hits one of the stairs rather hard, but he is not dead or bleeding and there are no bones protruding from his body, so Harry will live. For now. “Sorry.”

Louis releases him and tries not to think much about their position. They’re halfway up the stairs, Harry’s still between his legs, and he’s got both hands leaning on the step above Louis to hold himself up as best as he can. And their faces are close enough that Harry’s hair is actually brushing his forehead.

Harry looks down at him. This close, his eyes look huge, like they take up his whole face. “Sorry,” he repeats, blinking slowly.

“Can you just get off me, maybe?” Louis suggests.

“Oh, right.” Harry pushes himself up on his arms and twists so he’s no longer practically lying on Louis, trapping him against the stairs. Louis sits up and rubs his back while wincing, but it’s not that bad. Not as bad as it could have been.

“Remember when I told you that I was always right?” he can’t help but ask. “Yeah. I was right about that, too. Just keep that in mind in the future.”

Harry makes a face at him and yawns. “Not my fault your ass is enormous.”

“So you drop me and make fun of the size of my ass.”

“I didn’t say that was a bad thing. I was just stating a fact. You have a great ass, actually. It’s just fairly large. And heavy. In a good way,” Harry’s quick to add.

Louis rolls his eyes. “Whatever. I’m going to bed.” He gets up and climbs the last of the stairs, but Harry follows him, grabbing his arm when they’re at the top. Louis whirls, eyes narrowed, and snaps, “What ?”

“I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” Harry tells him, a pleading look on his face, like he needs Louis to understand this. “It’s like taking one step forward with you and ten steps back.” He runs a hand through his hair and says, “I don’t know how to do this right. I just keep screwing everything up.”

Pulling his arm from Harry’s grip, Louis feels the anger rise inside him. He has no idea why. Honestly, he’s not really that offended by Harry’s comment. He knows damn well that Harry didn’t mean it in a bad way. It’s just all too much for him, how close Harry is, how he’s trying to get closer.

“You know, you said practically the same thing the first time we met,” he tells him.

Harry frowns. “Did I?”

“Mhm.” He crosses his arms over his chest. “Right before I blew you in the bathroom and you called me someone else’s name before wandering off with someone new not even half an hour later.”

Harry’s eyes get so wide it’s almost comical. Almost. He looks confused, too, for a moment. Louis can see the instant that the recognition kicks in, though. It’d be funny if it had nothing to do with him, the way Harry’s expression morphs into one of horrific shock. Except it does so it’s not. “Shit, Louis—”

“Goodnight, Harry,” he says, before stomping towards his room. He slams the door loud enough that, down the hall, Zayn yells, “Who the fuck is making noise?!”

Louis falls into bed without getting undressed, feeling both satisfied and hollow, somehow.

Chapter Text

 

 

Liam was under the impression that Halloween had meant that maybe he and Zayn were together—or at least getting together. And yet, in the following weeks, Zayn hasn’t kissed him again. They haven’t talked about it. In fact, not a thing has changed, except maybe the way Zayn looks at him over his bowl of cereal in the morning after his runs could be considered suggestive and meaningful. Other than that? Nothing.

Liam is not a coward. In fact, he prides himself on being fairly good at manning up to stuff, and he’s also fairly well-connected to his emotions. While he’s not one of those people that think they need to talk about everything, he knows when some things do need to be talked about, and he always does just that. But Zayn Malik makes him a coward. He’s never been this afraid to make the first move. Never been this afraid to just tell someone exactly how he feels and kiss them and just throw caution to the wind like that. He is with Zayn, though, so he waits, praying that Zayn will kiss him again first.

He doesn’t.

Liam comes home after a good day at work—pocketful of tips, almost double the usual amount because two of his regulars came in and tipped him exceptionally well—during the third week of November to find the answering machine lit up with a new message. He hits it while shrugging off his jacket, only half paying attention to the female on the other end until—

“—Zayn. Just calling to make sure you don’t forget our plans tonight,” she says brightly, and she has no idea that those twelve little words have Liam’s heart cracking into a hundred little pieces. “Call me back, babe.” Beep. A new female voice comes on. “To save this message, press one. To delete this message, press two. To save this message as unread, press—” Liam presses three and sucks in a breath.

So, he was right, then. Halloween hadn’t been what he thought. It hadn’t really meant anything. And, God, that hurts, it hurts so much. But he’s not even angry with Zayn. He’s just—cold. Cold and broken and fuck.

Someone knocks on the door. Liam groans and turns to it. He doesn’t want to see anyone right now. He doesn’t want to talk to anyone, either.

Before he can get it, Niall runs down the stairs, pulling a shirt over his head as he goes. He shoulders past Liam without a word and throws open the door, revealing a pretty girl on the other side with long brown hair and a pleasantly sweet smile.

“El,” Niall says breathlessly. “Come in.”

The girl steps into the house, carefully folding a pair of sunglasses as she goes. She keeps her heels on and fixes Liam with a sweet grin. “Hi,” she says cheerfully, extending her hand. “I’m Eleanor. And I’m also willing to bet that you’re Liam, right?”

“Right,” Liam says slowly. He recognizes her, now that he has her name. She works at Starbucks, not that Liam goes there all that often, especially after that date with Steve. That has more to do with the price of their coffee and less to do with avoiding him, though. “Nice to meet you.”

Liam is just releasing her hand when someone else knocks on the door. “Just go wait on the couch,” Niall tells Eleanor. “Liam’ll show you where it is.”

Liam doesn’t want to, thanks. Not that Niall asked. Nothing against Eleanor, though. She seems nice. He’s just, you know, heartbroken right now and he sort of just wants to climb the stairs, fall into bed, and cry until Louis finds him and cuddles him back to normal.

He guides Eleanor into the living room anyway, offering her a drink as they go. She accepts so, once she’s on the couch, he heads for the kitchen, grabbing two waters from the fridge. He brings them out and nearly drops them both when he finds Perrie sitting next to Eleanor on their sofa. The doorbell rings again and, a moment later, Niall walks in with a girl with wildly curly hair and a wider grin than Eleanor’s, though hers is less sunny, he thinks.

“Just sit and wait for a minute, Danielle,” Niall tells her, guiding her to the couch as well. The three of them are starting to look confused now, but Liam’s not. He grabs Niall’s arm and doesn’t say anything in fear of the rest of them hearing him, but Niall gets it from his look. “Don’t worry about it,” Niall assures him. “I know what I’m doing.”

Liam seriously doubts this, but Niall’s already heading for the door again, this time letting in Cher, the girl from Ben’s Brews. She smirks at Liam and says, “What’s good, Liam?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Liam says honestly.

Cher laughs like this is hilarious and heads for the living room, not needing to be guided. She falls into Niall’s recliner and turns to Danielle, who’s eyeing her with a confused expression. “Can I help you with something?” she demands.

Danielle shakes her head. Niall is answering the door again, letting in the fifth and final person. Louis wasn’t lying; Niall’s fifth, well, Liam can’t say girlfriend, so partner or whatever, is in fact male. He’s a little short for Liam’s taste, but he’s definitely cute. Wide shoulders, half smile that’s just lopsided enough to be endearing, brown eyes. Oh, this is going to be disastrous.

And then it gets worse. Louis pushes open the front door widely, kicking his shoes off. One hits Niall in the ankle, which earns Louis a slap. Louis laughs and heads further into the house, pausing when he finds the living room full. Liam watches as he takes in all five faces (which are all masks of confusion now) and then laughs, loud and unabashedly.

“Oh,” he says, grabbing Liam’s shoulder painfully. “Oh, this is going to be great. Give me a minute, I’m getting a chair from the kitchen. I want to watch this.”

“Fuck off,” Niall tells him.

Liam goes to leave. He really doesn’t want to watch this. Louis doesn’t allow him to, though. He grabs Liam and pulls him against the wall, leaning on it, leaving Liam no choice but to do the same. Niall is now standing in the middle of the living room, only a few inches from their entertainment stand, and he’s smiling.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re all here,” he starts, and everyone makes a sound of agreement. Josh (that was the name Louis had given him, right?) is awkwardly standing behind the couch, and he seems to be the only one who has figured out what’s going on here. His eyes are narrowed and his arms are crossed over his chest. “I guess I should just come out and say it, yeah?”

“Wait, wait,” Louis says, pushing away from the wall. He moves forward and swipes a glass off the table and holds it securely in his hands. “Sorry, I don’t want this to break the television when one of you inevitably goes out of control and tries to kill Niall with it.”

“Not helping,” Niall tells him, shaking his head. “So not helping.” He turns back to his guests and chews his lip for a moment. “So, um, I’ve kind of… been dating… all five of you.”

That’s it. That’s all he says. Everyone seems to be waiting for more, but Niall is not offering it. And then the chaos breaks out. Cher is the first one up. She slaps Niall across the face. Niall doesn’t even react; he just stands there and takes it and then nods when she’s done.

“Guess I deserve that,” he admits.

“You’re a son of a bitch,” she tells him. “I thought you were different. And if you come into the shop again, I’m gonna take your dick, rip it off, make use of the Panini maker, and then feed it to you. Got it?”

Niall nods mutely. She stomps from the room, not sparing Liam or Louis a glance. A moment later, Perrie stands up. She’s crying, mascara streaking down her face. She shakes her head sadly at Niall. “I thought I was falling in love with you,” she says.

Niall winces. “I really am sorry. I don’t really know how this all happened.”

“It’s okay,” Perrie tells him, swallowing thickly. Her tiny shoulders are shaking, and Liam sort of wants to comfort her. It’s not really his place, though. “Well, no, it’s not. And it hurts a lot, but—I don’t regret you. Ten years from now, when I’m an internationally famous popstar, you’re going to regret it, though.”

Niall reaches for her but she shakes her head and follows Cher’s path to the door. Danielle is next. She doesn’t say anything as she steps up to Niall, stomps on his foot with the sharp-looking heel of her shoe, and then tells him, “I faked it the whole time anyway.”

Finally, there are two. Josh is just standing there, expression unreadable. Eleanor, on the other hand, is doing nothing more than fixing Niall with a considering look. Finally she gets up with a sigh and takes a step towards him. “My yoga instructor,” she says, holding up one finger. “My coworker, Andrew.” She holds up another finger. “That guy from my English class that I’ve been studying with.” Another finger. “And finally my roommate. My female roommate.”

“What?” Niall asks, looking confused.

“Listing all the people I’ve fucked since we started dating,” she explains. “Saw you with Perrie a few weeks ago and figured that, if you weren’t being exclusive, neither am I. But since we’re getting it all out in the open, those are the people I’ve been with since we started seeing each other. Now, I don’t appreciate what you did, you lying sack of ass, but if you want, we’re still on for Friday at six.”

Niall gives her a sympathetic look. “Can’t, sorry,” he says.

Eleanor shrugs easily. “I wasn’t faking it, at least. Ever looking for some fun, call me.”

When the door finally closes behind her, Niall lets out a sigh and rubs a hand over his face. “I think my foot’s bleeding,” he says, turning to Josh. “Satisfied?”

Josh shakes his head. “Not really.”

Niall gapes at him. “But you said—”

“I said break it off with them and then I’d consider forgiving you,” Josh tells him. “Not ready just yet, though.”

Niall pouts. “Come on, you—”

“Can we do this without one of your roommates watching us like he’s dying for a bag of popcorn?”

Niall looks at Liam and Louis both, eyebrows raised. “Could you guys get the fuck out for a minute?”

Louis shakes his head. “I want to see if he punches you. He’s got manly hands, Niall. I bet you’ll bleed.”

Josh sighs. “I’m not going to punch him.”

“Would you like me to do it for you?”

Niall grabs Louis and pushes him towards the stairs. Liam follows him, giving Niall and Josh one last look before he drags Louis the rest of the way up the stairs and then into his bedroom. He shuts the door and goes to his bed, falling heavily onto it.

As good a distraction as that shit storm was, he can’t get that stupid message out of his head. Louis is grinning happily to himself because Louis thrives on chaotic situations, and that was like Christmas coming early to him, probably. He stops when he actually pays attention to Liam’s face, though.

“What happened?” he demands. “We just watched the greatest thing ever unfold, and you look like someone killed your childhood pet.”

Liam grimaces at him and looks down at his hands, folded carefully in his lap. “He’s got a date tonight,” he says pathetically. “Heard the message on the answering machine.”

“He does not,” Louis says automatically. “I mean, he can’t. He—he’s in love with you, Liam. Like, in the worst possible way. There’s not a chance in hell that he’d screw that up by going out with someone else. No way. You’re wrong.”

“Go listen to it, then,” Liam snaps. “The message is still there. I’m not imagining things, Louis.”

“I didn’t say you were,” Louis defends. “I just think you read the situation wrong. I’ll be right back.”

Liam shrugs and lies down flat on the bed. He knows he didn’t read it wrong. He knows. He can tell not just from the message, but from the wrong, twisting, sharp pain in his stomach. Zayn is never serious about anyone, and Liam is not the exception to this.

When Louis comes back, he doesn’t say much. He falls onto the bed beside Liam, tucks his head into the crook of Liam’s neck, and whispers, “I’m sorry.”

Liam attempts to shrug again. “Not your fault,” he says weakly.

“D’you want to break his Mariah Carey CDs?”

Liam just shakes his head. He doesn’t want to hurt Zayn for hurting him. He just doesn’t want to hurt at all. Louis’ arm around his waist helps, as does the always hilarious jokes he makes and the way he pokes Liam’s side to make him laugh.

By the time Zayn gets home, Liam is finally out of bed. He was just feeling like himself again, and that all comes crashing down when Zayn grins brightly at all of them. Niall is done with his conversation with Josh, so he’s sitting in his chair with his laptop. Harry and Louis are in an intense game of Call of Duty that Zayn waits for them to finish before he steps in front of the television.

Louis throws his controller at him. It hits Zayn in the thigh, and he winces before yelling, “What the fuck was that for?”

“You know damn well what that’s for, you bastard,” Louis hisses.

Zayn gapes at him and shakes his head. “I was just coming to invite everyone to Indecision tonight because my friend Ellie is DJ-ing, but now you’re not invited, you prick.”

“We don’t want to go out with you anyway,” Louis sneers. “And your hair is stupid.”

Zayn frowns and gently touches his hair, looking wounded. He’d seemed really happy to invite them all out, too, and that makes Liam’s chest hurt almost as much as the thought of Zayn with someone else.

“We’ll come,” he says after a moment.

Louis looks shocked. “No, we will not, Liam.”

“No, we will,” Liam says with conviction. He takes a steadying breath and looks into Zayn’s eyes. “It’ll be fun.”

 

--

 

It’s not fun. Zayn disappears as soon as they get there, Niall invited Josh so he’s gone too, and Liam is stuck with just Harry and Louis, both on either side of him, trying to console him as best they can. They’d probably do a much better job if Louis would let him drink, but he doesn’t. Every time Liam tries to order anything with alcohol, Louis tells the bartender not to give it to him. And since she’s someone they know, she actually listens.

“You are not going to get drunk,” Louis snaps finally. “You are not going to make an ass of yourself and cry over him while downing a bottle of tequila. You’re going to stay sober. You’re going to find the hottest guy here. And you’re going to blow him right there on the dance floor.”

Liam makes a face at him. “I’m not going to do that.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Obviously not. That’d be illegal and indecent or something. But I don’t care. You’re going to rub it in his fucking face, do you hear me? No one has the right to make you feel like this. No one has a right to make you feel pathetic and worthless, Liam.”

Harry winces and reaches for Louis’ arm. “Lou—”

“This isn’t about me,” Louis spits at him. “This is about Liam, and Zayn being a fucking little bitch.” He grabs Liam’s shoulders. “There’s a guy to our left. Totally your type. Been eyeing you since we got here. Let him buy you a drink. Nothing alcoholic. When I give the signal, pull him onto the dance floor.”

Liam leans over, trying to see who Louis’ talking about. He finds a blonde guy, hair nearly covered by the black beanie on his head. He’s got eyeliner on, lips tilted up in a grin around a straw, and dark eyes. Eyes that meet Liam’s instantly, grin turning into a smirk.

“What signal?” Liam asks, not breaking contact with eyeliner dude.

“Just go,” Louis says, shoving him away. Liam goes.

Eyeliner dude’s actual name is Roman. He’s got an American accent and straight white teeth and thin legs clad in tight jeans that actually give Harry’s a run for their money and that’s saying something. Five minutes in and he offers to get Liam a drink, and Liam accepts, ordering something with alcohol because Louis isn’t around to stop him.

He tries to stay in the conversation while still watching Louis. Louis, who is pointedly ignoring everything Harry says, as he’s been prone to do lately. The two of them do not fight, but the cold shoulder Louis is giving Harry is chilly enough that you can feel it if you enter a room that the two of them are occupying. Liam’s tried to help them work this out, but Louis refuses to let him get involved in any way, and Harry just shakes his head sadly and tells Liam that he needs time to fix this, but he is going to fix it.

Zayn comes over to them after a bit. Liam watches as Zayn asks a question and then frowns when Louis turns to face Liam and gestures to the dance floor. Liam grabs—what’s his name again? Roman. Right—Roman’s arm and pulls him towards the floor. Roman allows himself to be dragged around without question, a nice, pleasant smile on his face. Liam feels so guilty for this. It was one thing to use Harry to make Zayn jealous, since Harry knew. Harry was the one who suggested it, for crying out loud. But poor Roman with his soft brown eyes and easy smile has no idea.

“Is this okay?” Liam yells over the music, wrapping his arms around Roman’s neck.

“Definitely okay,” Roman assures him. “More than, actually. I’ve sort of seen you here a few times, and I’ve never worked up the courage to ask you out because you’ve always got this guy with you. Dark hair, possessive eyes. Glares at me every time I look your way.”

Liam tries to move to the beat, tries to pay attention to the beat, but he’s distracted. Roman guides him easily, hands on his waist, and the next thing Liam knows, the dance is not so innocent. Their hips are grinding, Roman’s panting against his neck, and Liam’s scratching his back while trying to get him closer because he wants to be able to lose himself in this. Wants to not think about Zayn and whatever girl he went out with tonight, and his stupidly beautiful eyes and lips and jaw and tattoos and the way he says Liam’s name and drags out the syllables and the way he—

Liam’s tugged backwards without warning, Roman’s hands nearly ripping his shirt when he tries to hold on.

“Just walk away,” Zayn shouts to Roman, who looks painfully shocked. “Just walk away.”

Liam pulls out of Zayn’s grip and glares at him. “What are you doing?”

“What am I doing?” Zayn demands. “What am I doing?! Go fuck yourself, Liam, that’s what I’m doing.”

Roman is steadily backing away from them, disappearing into the throng of bodies. Liam lets him go with a sigh. There’s no point in trying to remedy that, and he’s really not interested enough to bother. “Don’t you have a date?” he asks Zayn.

Zayn ignores him and turns him around easily. Liam’s not used to being manhandled, and he only moves because he’s too surprised not to. Zayn pushes against his back, a possessive hand on his stomach. He circles his hips against Liam’s, keeping them pressed tight together, lips hovering just over his neck.

“Do you know what tonight was?” he asks, talking at what is probably a normal level but feels like a whisper in comparison to the loud, thumping music. “Tonight was the night I was going to ask you out. My friend Ellie was going to let me use the DJ booth for a few minutes. It was going to be dramatic and romantic and ridiculous and shit, something right out of a damn romantic movie. Because you deserve that. Because you deserve the best I could ever offer you, and I couldn’t just do it in a normal, simple way, because there’s nothing normal or simple about the way I feel for you.”

Liam makes a surprised sound, not moving back against Zayn, who is still trying to dance with him, breath hot and damp on his skin. There’s no way he’s serious. He had a date. Liam heard the message and—and no. No, that’s—that’s not what was going to happen tonight. That can’t be, because if it is, then Liam screwed it all up. Let his insecurities ruin everything again because he should have just brought it up, should have just asked Zayn, but instead he jumped to the worst conclusion and ran with it because why wouldn’t Zayn want someone else? Why would he want Liam?

“And then we were going to go home, and I was going to let you fuck me,” Zayn adds, making Liam shudder. “Until the entire neighbourhood knew what we were doing. And now—” He cuts off and growls, biting sharply at Liam’ neck. “If we go home together tonight, that’s not happening. If we go home together tonight, I’m going to be the one fucking you until I’ve ruined you for anyone else and you’ll never go looking for it elsewhere again.”

Liam wonders, distantly, if the force of Zayn’s jealousy should worry or irritate him. He’s too busy trying to hide the fact that he’s straining against his jeans right now to be either of those things, though. He turns to face Zayn with what is probably an embarrassingly turned on and shocked look, and he takes a step back at the intensity of the gaze he’s met with.

“It’s up to you, Liam,” Zayn finishes. “Stay here with that douchebag with the eyeliner, or come home with me.”

Liam grabs Zayn’s arm and tugs him towards the door, shouting, “I’ll pay for the cab,” over his shoulder.

The cab ride home is not a pleasant one. Zayn barely looks at him, staring out the window instead. Liam can’t stop looking at him, though. At the annoyed set to his jaw and his clenched hands. At the chewed state of his lips and the flush in his cheeks. At the red sweater he’s wearing over his dark jeans and the way the streetlights passing by seem to almost reflect off the amount of product in his hair.

When they get home, Zayn tosses a few bills to the cab driver and gets out, door closing behind him. Liam follows a beat later, jogging to keep up with him on the way into the house. He rocks awkwardly on his heels as Zayn unlocks the door, Zayn’s annoyance palpable in the air around him. It makes the hairs on Liam’s forearms stand upright.

It’s as they’re stepping inside, door closing softly behind them, that Liam breaks the silence with a soft, “Zayn.”

Zayn whirls, eyes narrowed dangerously. He grabs a fistful of Liam’s shirt and shakes his head while leaning in, bypassing Liam’s lips to go for his neck instead. “I don’t want to be one of those guys,” he says while pressing his lips fleetingly against Liam’s birthmark, and then the spot where his shoulder and neck meet, and then that sensitive area just under his ear. “People don’t belong to other people, and I hate guys who think like that, but—but, fuck, I wish you belonged to me.”

He breaks off to suck at Liam’s skin. It almost hurts, almost, but the pain is easy to ignore if he cards his hands through Zayn’s hair, easily messing it up in a way that would irritate Zayn under normal circumstances, he’s sure. Now it only elicits needy groans from his mouth, breathed against Liam’s skin.

“Would be,” Liam gets out after a moment. “If you would have just asked, I would be.”

Zayn pulls back, and he’s still glaring. He turns them easily and starts walking forward, backing Liam up towards the living room. Their lips finally brush, but it’s not a sweet, gentle kiss like last time. Zayn bites at Liam’s bottom lip until he gasps out, and then their tongues are moving together, Zayn’s insistently pushing into Liam’s mouth, making his head spin and it harder for him to breath.

“Not—not the couch,” he says quickly, catching on to where Zayn’s guiding him. “Louis’d kill us.”

Zayn makes a frustrated sound but changes paths, heading for the stairs. Liam nearly falls back against them, but Zayn’s got a hand around his back, keeping him safely upright. It’s then that Liam realizes he actually is still being extremely gentle. He might be possessive and angry but he’s still touching Liam like something that he wants to keep safe, never pressing his fingers too hard against Liam’s waist, never biting hard enough that the pain overwhelms the rest of it.

Zayn turns him around and keeps a hand on the small of his back while guiding him up the stairs. He’s not sure which direction to go in, so he waits for Zayn to lead him towards one of their bedrooms. In the end, they go for Zayn’s, Liam’s back hitting the door hard enough that it opens with a loud thumping sound.

“It’s just,” Zayn starts while pushing at Liam’s shirt, tugging it up, “I can’t stand seeing you with other people. I don’t want you to belong to me,” he adds as Liam lifts his arms to get the shirt off, “I’m not that much of a possessive asshole. I just don’t want other people touching you.”

“Then you should have been the one touching me,” Liam argues while repaying the favour, pulling Zayn’s sweater up. “You could have.”

“I was working on it,” Zayn snaps, tugging harshly at Liam’s belt. “And then I saw you out there with that guy, and the way he was looking at you—” He cuts off and shakes his head while finishing with the buttons on Liam’s jeans, and then pushes Liam backwards towards the bed. “I’m not used to any of this.”

Liam frowns at him, nearly tripping on his jeans, which are pooled around his ankles now. He carefully steps out of them while still moving backwards until his legs hit the edge of the bed, Zayn’s silky comforter cool against his skin. “Not used to any of what?”

Zayn pushes him onto the bed easily with one hand, and Liam goes down without protesting. “I’m used to wanting this,” Zayn says, trailing a hand down Liam’s stomach, eyes following the same path, taking in every inch of skin on display at the moment like he can’t look away. “But this—” He moves his hand to Liam’s chest, just over his heart, and looks into his eyes. “I’m not used to wanting this, too, and I don’t know what to do about it because it’s driving me crazy.”

Liam can still see the urgency in Zayn’s eyes, like he’s desperate to get on with this, but at the same time there’s something in his expression that says he needs Liam to understand this. So Liam tilts his head back, laying it flat against the bed, and then lifts his chin and turns, eyes falling closed, neck exposed, letting him know that there’s nothing to get worked up over. Zayn groans and covers his neck in soft marks, nothing that’ll last overnight but enough to placate him, apparently.

There’s a bit more fumbling with buttons and clothes getting kicked off. The light stays on, which Liam wants to protest at, just a bit, but in the end he’s rather glad that he can see every part of this. Zayn pulls a condom out of a box (a box that’s nowhere near filled) and a bottle of lube from a box under his bed, reminding them that Zayn’s not the only one who gets jealous. Liam doesn’t get to really think much about the fact that the box of condoms was nearly empty, though, because Zayn’s moving down his body, descending slowly, leaving marks everywhere he goes. There’s the one on his neck from when they were downstairs, and then another on his chest, just below his collarbone, and a last one on his left hip. When Zayn pushes Liam’s legs apart, he goes to make another one on the inside of his thigh, but the skin there is too sensitive for Liam to sit still, and he ends up squirming too much for Zayn to be successful.

Liam runs his hands through Zayn’s hair as Zayn opens the bottle of lube and slicks up his fingers. Honestly, Liam sort of thought the positions would be reversed. He’s not used to trusting someone else enough to give over full control like this, but it’s Zayn and Liam trusts him wholeheartedly. When he sucks a matching mark onto Liam’s other hip while circling a slick finger around him, Liam still trusts him. And when he pushes that finger in, slower than necessary, drawing it out, lips quirking up in a smirk, Liam decides that this is just as good as it would be the other way around.

When Zayn hits that spot inside of him, his hands curl against the blanket beneath him and he can’t tell if he’s seeing sparks or if the colours speckled and splashed on Zayn’s walls are blurring together when his eyes go out of focus. Zayn scratches a hand down his thigh and the sharp sting offsets the pleasure in the best way. Eventually his fingers disappear altogether, though, and Liam makes an embarrassing sound. Zayn makes it up to him by kissing up his chest and then his lips again, more like he had on Halloween, soft and sweet and gentle.

“No more dating douchebags,” Zayn tells him, pulling back just enough for Liam to see that, while he sounds like he’s joking, he’s very serious. “Or anyone else, for that matter.”

“Okay,” Liam agrees instantly.

“No more kissing anyone else,” Zayn continues. “Especially Harry.”

“Okay.”

Zayn nods slowly and rips open the condom. Liam takes a steady, deep breath and waits, trying to clear his mind enough because he wants to have a clear memory of this in the future. He doesn’t want to get too caught up in it all to forget all the important details, like the way Zayn’s eyes are half-lidded but intense anyway, and his skin is shiny with sweat and flushed pink in parts, like his cheeks and his neck and his chest. Or the smell of paint that seems to be a permanent thing in his room, or the music playing softly from the stereo, too quiet to make out the words, beat only coming into focus when Liam strains to pay attention to it.

“Me either,” Zayn adds when he’s done, lining himself up with Liam’s body as he kisses him again, brief and chaste. “Not that I’d ever be able to want anyone else after this, but still. Thought I’d say it anyway.” He bites Liam’s bottom lip before grinning and saying, “You and me. Saw it coming from the moment I moved in, to be honest.”

Liam wraps his legs around Zayn’s waist, trying to urge him on. “Really?” he still has to ask.

Zayn nods and drops his head so it’s tucked into Liam’s neck as he pushes in. Just like with his fingers, he’s painfully slow but completely in control, not letting Liam pull him in any faster or hurry him up even when he tightens his legs around him and scratches at his back in retaliation.

“This part, at least,” Zayn whispers against his neck when he bottoms out. Liam barely hears him over the buzzing in his ears and the burn of being stretched open in a way that he hasn’t in a fairly long time. “Always saw this coming. The rest—the rest I didn’t realize until later, but I probably should have seen that coming, too.”

Liam kisses his cheek. “I love you,” he says without thinking, too dazed to really stop himself, “but can we do the heart-to-heart after? I sort of need you to—” Zayn pulls almost all the way out of him, holding himself up on his elbows. A moment later he pushes back in, faster than before but still slow, testing the waters, Liam thinks. Making sure he’s okay. “Th—that. Sort of need you to—that.”

Zayn snorts and tucks a pillow under Liam’s head before leaning up, one hand braced on his headboard, the other one curled around Liam’s left leg. He pushes it up until it’s hooked over his shoulder and then Liam’s world sort of goes black for a moment when Zayn thrusts his hips forward again, the new angle giving him momentum that the last one didn’t.

As soon as he’s assured himself that Liam can take it, Zayn drives into him relentlessly, the hand securing that Liam’s leg stays in position almost bruisingly tight. Liam knows Zayn’s bed makes a lot of noise, always has, but he barely registers it under the sound of his own breathless, almost surprised gasps and Zayn’s mutterings of, “Fuck, babe,” and, “God, look at you,” or, “Don’t touch yourself, you’re gonna come just like this,” and one instance of, “Beautiful, just fucking beautiful.”

When Liam tilts his head back, he can see Zayn’s knuckles going white where they grip his headboard, but he doesn’t let go, not to wrap a hand around Liam the way Liam desperately needs him to, or to wipe the sweat from his temple that drips down his cheek to his jaw and falls to his collarbone.

Eventually Liam gives up any pretence of being in control of himself, or the situation, or above begging (which he is, apparently, not). The phrase ‘achingly hard’ has never had this much meaning to him before, and every time Zayn snaps his hips forward hard enough, Liam’s cock bobs against his stomach but, other than that, it stays untouched. “Please,” he pants, voice rough. “Touch me or let me touch myself, please, Zayn, I—”

Zayn nods and turns his head to kiss Liam’s knee before removing the hand from around the headboard. His thrusts get less pointed and brutal, more sloppy and languid, but it’s still perfect. Liam nearly cries out just from the knowledge that Zayn is going to touch him, but his hand is bypassing Liam’s erection completely. Liam shakes his head, ready to beg again, but then a finger gently rubs against his hole where Zayn is still thrusting into him, rhythm getting slightly jumbled. That isn’t what Liam wanted; it isn’t something he expected, either, but when that finger threatens to push in alongside Zayn’s cock, threatens to stretch him even farther, his eyelids squeeze closed as colours burst on the other side of them and he coats his stomach in come.

He can’t remember the last time he had an orgasm like that, where he felt like it was ripped from him instead of washing over him in waves of heat and pleasure. This leaves him shaky and breathless with a ringing in his ears, and when he blinks open his eyes they’re still out of focus. He doesn’t miss the way the bedroom door opens, though, or Harry’s, “Hey, have you seen Liam? He left without—oh. Well. Guess you have seen him, then.”

Liam throws an arm over his face in embarrassment, but Zayn keeps fucking him until Harry backs out of the room and closes the door. When he’s gone, Zayn lets Liam’s leg drop and swoops low to kiss Liam’s temple and murmur soothing things that he can’t really hear.

Liam’s not sure if he could go for a round two, but his dick seems to be thinking otherwise, attempting to get hard again when Zayn bites on his collarbone and lets out a moan that Liam will likely never forget, not if he has any say in it. He slumps on top of Liam for a while, neither of them having enough energy to complain about the fact that they’re both grossly sweaty and also Liam’s come is drying between them.

After a while Zayn does finally move, though, falling onto his side. Liam breathes a little easier without his weight, but he’s still taking gasping breaths, like he’d done a lot more work than he actually had.

“Good?” Zayn asks, looking up at the ceiling. Liam grunts. “Next time—”

“Next time?” Liam gasps out. “I can barely think after this time.”

Zayn grins and grabs his hand, twining their fingers, brushing his foot against Liam’s ankle. “So I guess this would be a bad time to tell you that I have this fantasy where I ride you in the backseat of my car, and—” He cuts himself off and kisses Liam’s jaw gently before getting up. “I’ll be right back. Don’t move. I’ll get us something to clean up.”

Liam nods and lies there in Zayn’s bed, which smells like smoke and paint and Zayn and also sex, and waits for him to come back, still trying to process how any of this happened. He left the house tonight fairly sure that Zayn would be returning with someone else, and now—and now he’s lying naked in Zayn’s bed, still feeling the after effects of what was possibly the best sex of his life (which he can’t help but think has something to do with the amount of experience Zayn has, which just makes him exceptionally jealous so he tries not to think about it at all).

When Zayn comes back, they both clean up and get semi-dressed, and then Liam goes to head for the door, not quite sure if Zayn would let him stay in the bed but needing sleep more than anything at the moment. Zayn pats the bed beside himself while lighting up a cigarette, though, stopping Liam in his tracks.

“Let me finish this and we’ll go to bed, yeah?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, falling back onto Zayn’s mattress in just his boxers and t-shirt, jeans still lying abandoned on the floor.

Zayn smokes with the hand that’s farthest from Liam, and he blows the air towards the window that he’d cracked moments ago, cold air drifting in through it. It makes Liam shiver so he pulls the blankets up higher, and Zayn spends the rest of the time it takes him to smoke his cigarette tracing Liam’s features with light brushes of his fingers.

Zayn’s also the one who gets up to shut off the light. Liam wonders, distantly, how many other people have been in this exact spot, but he can’t remember many of Zayn’s conquests staying the night. And he doesn’t really care anyway, he decides, because Zayn’s bed is much more comfortable than his own, and Zayn’s arm around his middle is just the right kind of warm and heavy.

 

--

 

He’s on cloud nine all the next day. From the moment he wakes up to find Zayn still asleep beside him, curled against his side, all through breakfast with Niall and Louis. (Harry walked into the kitchen, looked at him and then walked out, which he’s going to have to fix eventually, he just couldn’t be bothered to today) Even his shift at the diner seems better than usual. Anna has coffee waiting for him and he gets all easy tables and tips, and it might be cold but it’s not that windy on the walk home, either. Sure, he sort of thought Zayn would come pick him up, but he doesn’t mind.

And then he gets home and the whole thing sort of comes crashing down. He may or may not have been waiting for this moment; waiting for it all to go bad because, you know, no one gets to be this happy in life. Surely something has to ruin this.

“Liam!” Zayn shouts as soon as he shuts the door. “Is that you?”

Liam removes his shoes as he calls, “Yeah?!”

“Can you come up here for a minute?” Zayn asks. “It’s really, really important! But don’t come up here if Louis is with you!”

Liam takes a hesitant step into the house, not even reacting when he spots Niall on the couch because, you know, that’s about as surprising as Zayn’s car out front or Louis’ many containers of chocolate icing in the cupboards . “Is—is something wrong?” he asks cautiously, eying the stairs.

Niall shakes his head. “Don’t ask me,” he says. “I’m so not getting involved. When Louis kicks him out for this, I’ll be able to honestly say that I had no part in it whatsoever.”

Liam goes cold, eyes wide. “What did he do?” he asks softly.

Niall just shakes his head again. Liam knows he’s not going to answer, so either he has to go upstairs and figure it out for himself, or he has to ignore the problem until it goes away, as Louis is always prone to suggest. Sadly he doubts it’ll go away on its own, so he makes his way up the stairs.

When he gets into Zayn’s room, he stops dead in his tracks and gapes in what is probably an unflattering way. “Oh, you didn’t,” he says, looking at Zayn, horrified. “Tell me you didn’t.”

Zayn winces sheepishly and says, voice thick, “Sort of did, actually.”

Chapter Text

 

His shift at the store isn't horrible today. He's working with Mel, and she's always sweet and cheerful and she lets him have an extra fifteen-minute break as long as he brings her back a coffee and a donut. It's a slow day, though, and time seems to pass at half the normal speed. He checks the time on his phone (Mel never berates him for being on it at work, bless her) and he's fairly sure that it is actually going backwards.

Fate is not in his favour tonight, though, because about ten minutes before the end of his shift, it starts raining. Not just drizzling, light rain, either. One minute, the sky is a pleasant light blue fading into navy, and the next, thick, gray clouds move overhead and the heavens open up. A flash of lightning precedes the booming clap of thunder. He can barely see the road literally feet from the front window because the rain is a thick wall, obscuring everything.

"Wouldn't want to be walking in that," Mel says, eyeing the window warily.

Louis glares at nothing in particular while sending a text to Zayn. He begs, offers his last tub of icing, even offers to pay him for it and everything. Zayn says no, obviously, because Zayn is a fucking prick, so Louis texts Liam, asking him to convince Zayn for him. Liam, too, says no, which is actually surprising. Liam is his knight in shining armour. What is happening here?

He can't call a cab, either, because he doesn't have any money. Everything is on his card, and sadly the cabs in town do not accept IOUs. He scrolls past Harry's contact six times before pocketing his phone. He's not that desperate.

At least, not until his shift ends and he steps outside. He is that desperate, actually, but it's too late now. He's already drenched, and he can't pull his phone out in this or it'll get broken and waterlogged. He could head back inside and call Harry, pray that he says yes, and wait for him. But he already feels pathetic enough, thanks.

He only gets two feet before someone honks at him. He turns, seeing Harry's shitty car, and then keeps walking, head ducked. He looks like a drowned rat and he knows it, hair plastered down, clothes hanging off him. He does not want Harry to see him like this.

"Come on, Lou," Harry calls through his open window. "It's a fifteen-minute walk home. Just get in the car."

"I'm fine," Louis answers as Harry drives slowly beside him.

"Louis," Harry snaps. "Get in the fucking car."

"No."

"I'm getting out in three second," Harry threatens.

"Suit yourself," Louis tells him, lifting his chin defiantly. "Weather's nice for a stroll."

Harry really does get out of the car. Louis watches as he pushes his already limp from the rain curls off his forehead, and then arms are around his waist, dragging him to the car. "Let me go!" he protests. "You fucking Sasquatch, let me go!"

Harry deposits him in the passenger seat and slams the door behind him. Louis sits, arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed. "I'm soaking your seat," he informs Harry when he gets back into his seat. "I hope I ruin your shitty upholstery."

All he gets in response is a sigh as Harry pulls away from the curb. "You're so difficult," Harry adds, shaking his head. He grins a bit, almost reluctantly. "Honestly."

"I'm not difficult," Louis denies. "I was happy to walk."

"And I'm happy to drive you," Harry retorts. "But we can't go home."

Louis frowns at him. "What?"

Harry shrugs. "Liam told me to keep you out of the house for at least half an hour."

"Why would he do that?" Louis demands. "Wait—are he and Zayn fucking again?"

Harry makes a face that is probably reminiscent of one that soldiers get while remembering the trenches. He does a full body shudder, too, grimacing. "Don't talk about that," he says. "I'm still scarred."

Louis can't help but smirk at that. "That's why we have a knocking rule," he tells Harry. "For precisely that reason."

"He just kept going," Harry says softly, horrified. "He just—he just kept going. And the sounds, Louis!" A hand grabs his thigh tightly. "Oh, god, the sounds. Also, Zayn was topping. I was mildly surprised."

Louis really could have gone without those details. "He's a possessive little shit," he can't help but add. "Did you see the hickey on Liam's neck? Might as well have just written 'Property of Zayn Malik' on his forehead."

"I feel like mistakes were made," Harry finishes. "We never should have gotten them together."

"We?" Louis asks. "It was totally me, getting Liam to dance with that blonde guy."

"I'm the one who fake dated him," Harry argues. "And I kissed him! And Zayn!"

"You being a hussy has nothing to do with them getting together."

"I'm not a hussy," Harry disagrees. "I object to that statement. And I'm offended."

"I'm so sorry," Louis says sarcastically. "Really."

Harry shrugs. "Rather you call me names than just ignore me like you've been doing since that night when I tried to carry you upstairs."

Louis turns to face the window. He hasn't been ignoring Harry. He's just been—not talking to him. And avoiding him every time he's in the room. And—yeah, okay, he's been ignoring him. He can't help it. Harry always looks so apologetic lately, now that Louis' brought everything to light. And that just makes Louis feel even more pathetic about the whole thing, because it's obvious that Harry pities him, and he hates being pitied.

"I just wish you'd let me know what I can do to make it up to you," Harry says in a low voice. His hands are curled tightly around the steering wheel. "If there's anything I can do to make it up to you."

"Don't worry about it," Louis says offhandedly. "I don't even care anymore. The past is the past."

"And yet you won't even look me in the eyes," Harry replies, sounding exasperated. "Whatever. I'll fix this. Just you watch. If there's one thing I'm good at, it's fixing things."

"Really," Louis says. "Because the sink in the bathroom has been dripping for, like, two weeks now."

"You got a wrench?"

"Probably somewhere, yeah."

"Then I'll see what I can do," Harry promises. "But we can't go home for another fifteen minutes at least."

Louis pulls a face. Whatever they're doing, he really doesn't want to know, actually. In their house, sometimes it is better to just not ask questions. To turn a blind eye. The answers could very well be more horrific than anything he could come up with in his mind, and that's saying something because Louis is fairly creative.

Harry takes him to McDonalds. Louis complains about the gross food, but he savours the double cheeseburger anyway because, you know, it's really good. He doesn't tell Harry that, though. By the time they get home, Louis' hair has dried into an unmanageable mess, yet Harry's looks exactly the way it had before he'd stepped out into the rain. The world is an unfair place.

When they get inside, Liam and Niall are in the living room, Liam nervously chewing on his lip. "Hi!" he says brightly when they stop in the living room. "How was work? Was it good? Everything's good here. Super good. Totally. Yep."

Louis frowns at him while Harry and Niall both snort. "Is this what getting laid does to you?" Louis asks. "I'm not comfortable with this."

Liam laughs, loud and forced, face going red with exertion. "You're so funny," he says. "Isn't he funny? Wow, that was funny."

Louis slowly takes a step forward, eyeing the television, and then all three of his roommates. "Okay," he says, drawing out the 'o'. "What did you break?"

Liam's eyes look like saucers. "We didn't break anything!" he says quickly. "Right, Niall? Nothing broken."

"Is it drugs, then?" Louis asks. "Are we all doing drugs? Did the four of you do drugs and not share with me? You know the rules, Liam. No drugs in the house unless there's enough to go around."

Liam shakes his head in denial just as Zayn comes up from the basement. He freezes when he sees Louis, and then adopts a look of innocence that Louis would in no way believe even under normal circumstances. Zayn's a mischievous little shit always.

"What were you doing in the basement?" he asks, putting a hand on his hip.

"Painting," Zayn grunts. "What's it to you?"

Louis deflates. Zayn usually uses the basement to paint so that it doesn't stink up the whole house. It doesn't explain why Liam looks so nervous and Zayn is sinking onto the couch beside him and putting a comforting hand on his thigh. Nor does it explain the way Harry looks like he's suppressing giggles and Niall is ducking his head like he wants no part in this.

"You guys are up to something," he decides, narrowing his eyes. "I don't know what it is, but you're definitely up to something."

Before he can demand to know what it is, Harry grabs his arm and pulls him from the room, asking him to find a wrench, which he does in the shed out back. And then he heads upstairs to watch Harry attempt to fix the sink, which ends with him watching a shirtless Harry push his hair off his forehead in agitation as water continues to spurt from the pipes beneath the sink.

"Can you get me a towel?" Harry snaps after a spray of water hits him in the face.

Louis shakes his head. "No. This is far too much fun."

Harry mutters something that is probably really offensive, and then he ducks back under the sink. The floor is covered by a thin layer of water by now, and his jeans are soaked, too. Louis is staying as far away from the spray as he can without getting hit by it.

"I think you're actually making it worse," he comments. The pipes groan, more water sprays everywhere. "Definitely making it worse."

Harry says something, but he straightens quickly and hits his head off the bottom of the sink, which has him yelping in pain and falling backwards, and then he's spread out on the bathroom floor, eyes squeezed shut, in the puddle of water. Louis cackles so loudly it makes his throat feel raw and tears brim in his eyes.

Harry blinks up at him, eyes narrowed. "Will you at least help me up?" he demands.

Louis offers him a hand. He's not that much of an asshole. He shouldn't have, though, because Harry tugs him down as soon as his fingers curl around Louis'. His knees are soaked through instantly, as are his arms. He's lying half on Harry, half between his legs.

A part of him thinks he should either be really, really upset with Harry right now, or he should be taking advantage of their position. Instead he says, "How many tattoos do you have, anyway? You realize they're permanent, right?" His face is pretty level with Harry's chest, and his clothes are getting soaked by the water covering the floor, but all he can think about is the ink that spirals and swirls on Harry's skin.

Harry makes a face at him and pokes his arm. "Oops!"

"There's a reason for that," Louis argues. "It looks like one of your friends got bored and doodled all over your arms."

Harry shrugs, quite a feat, given how Louis is still on top of him. "Sort of did, for the most part," he admits. "Most of them are done by my friends. A few were designed specifically for me, the more elaborate ones but—yeah. I guess you could say that."

Louis raises his eyebrows. "Really?"

Harry nods and traces something on Louis' back, just above the waistband of his jeans. "We could do another one together," he suggests.

Louis snorts loudly. "No way," he says. "Again, tattoos are permanent."

"Something small," Harry adds softly, more to himself, still tracing that pattern on Louis's back. "Somewhere out of sight. Just for us."

Louis moves off him, ignoring the fact that he ends up soaking the front of his shirt, too. He straightens his clothes, flicks a piece of hair off his forehead, and says, "You might want to call a plumber," before exiting the bathroom, not looking back once.

He bumps into Liam in the hallway, which earns him a surprised yelp and then a, "Oh, Louis! Hi!"

Louis shoulders past him. "Everyone in this house is losing their damn minds," he mutters as he ducks into his bedroom, where he stays for the rest of the night, not at all trying to figure out what the hell Harry was drawing on his skin with just his fingertips.

With the first week of December comes the dreadful weight of exams approaching. That's probably a good thing, too, because the workload keeps him from thinking too much about what's going on at home. Because something is going on at home.

Every time Louis enters the house, without fail, someone will shout loudly, "Louis' home!" On top of that, Liam has been really, really weird. At first he thought maybe this had something to do with him and Zayn, but if anything, Zayn seems to be trying to calm him down, so he doubts that it's anything to do with that. Harry is almost as bad. Every time Louis asks what the hell is going on, Harry gets all wide-eyed and stutters on his words before grinning and changing the subject. Harry and Liam are, apparently, atrocious liars. Niall and Zayn, on the other hand, are better. Zayn snaps at him every time he asks, and Niall just shakes his head and says, "Not getting involved. Not my problem."

So while he's aware that there is definitely something going on, he can't do a thing about it. He leaves every morning with barely any time to shower (definitely no time to do his hair, so he's thanking god for hats, he really is) and practically runs to his first class, unless Harry is running late and drives him. And when he trudges home through the now snow-covered ground, it's with a heavy bag, packed with all of his textbooks.

The only time anyone does work in their house is during the weeks leading up to exams. Other than that, books are unofficially banned. Well, not really. It's not that they're not allowed to do homework at home; it's just that no one ever bothers. If someone has a really important test coming up, or a big essay to write, they do it at the library because it's a more peaceful, work-friendly environment.

Louis' exams are, thankfully, a bit later in the month. Niall has one on the tenth, though, and Zayn has one on the fourteenth. Zayn's is an art exam, at least, so all he has to do is hand in a painting. Which he isn't doing in public, apparently. He's hiding it in the basement, and if anyone but Liam goes near the door, Zayn is right there, ready to chew their heads off. Louis is fairly certain that it's a nude drawing of Liam. He's not sure how Zayn convinced him to do this, but he wouldn't put it above Zayn.

On the day of Niall's first exam, everyone else in the house is really supportive. Harry makes him breakfast, Louis and Liam offer words of encouragement, and Zayn drives him and waits for it to be over so he can have a drive back.

Louis gets home that day to find Niall on the couch without his laptop, staring up at the ceiling, three boxes of cookies beside him, both of Louis' tubs of chocolate icing, two candy bar wrappers, and what he is fairly certain is the empty container to the brand new lemon meringue pie he bought yesterday.

"Dear god," Louis says, poking Niall's stomach, which is protruding under his white tank top. "What did you do?"

"Tried to put myself in a sugar coma," Niall admits, turning to give Louis a lost look. "Didn't work. I'm still alive. Exams still suck."

"It didn't go well, I take it?" he asks while checking to make sure that, yeah, Niall ate his entire fucking pie, the asshole.

"No," Niall moans. "And it's only going to get worse. That was my easiest exam. Just kill me. I give you full consent. Just do it."

Louis brushes Niall's hair off his forehead and says, "I'm sure you did fine. It'll be fine. Promise."

"If I fail everything, then will you kill me?"

Louis contemplates this for a moment before saying, "Sure. I'll run you over with Zayn's car and then blame the whole thing on him."

"Thanks."

And that is just the beginning. Zayn starts freaking out two days before his first exam, and he locks himself and Liam in the basement almost all day. Louis thinks this is extremely selfish. Does he not realize that Louis needs Liam to function? Also, whatever it is they're doing down there is starting to get concerning, because he's fairly sure he heard barking at one point. If that's what they're into, cool, Louis' not going to judge. He just wishes they would save the animal role playing for when everyone else is out of the house.

Niall, unlike Zayn, does not turn into a hermit with the rest of his exams coming up. In fact, he does the exact opposite. Niall is never home, and when he is, he's adopted that same 'no fucks given' attitude that he usually does around this time. If he sees a textbook, he literally shouts and covers his eyes until it's out of sight. Louis is pretty sure he hasn't studied once, and yet he will undoubtedly pass with flying colours anyway because he's a genius, not that Louis would ever admit that to him.

Finally there's Harry. It's interesting to see someone new break down under the stress. Harry studies obsessively. It's almost scary. He sets himself down in the living room with books spread out around him, and he makes up a small pack of food, water bottles, cans of Pepsi, and two stress balls (both of which now have holes in them) and spends all his free time studying. During these times, it's like the world doesn't exist for him. He chews on the end of his pen and scribbles things down and flips through his books, eyes scanning the pages. If someone talks to him, he either grunts in response or doesn't respond at all. Louis has literally stepped on him and had him not even bat an eyelash.

Oh, and Liam banned video games until Christmas break. Wherever the cords to the Xbox are, it's not in the house. Or the shed. Or the back of Zayn's car. Louis' checked.

On the day of Louis' first exam, Liam and Harry come in from their run and gape at him. Harry started running with Liam right around the time exams starting bearing down on them. Apparently running is good for stress or something, says both of them. Louis thinks they're fucking insane, and he's happy to sleep in and gorge himself on sweets instead, but to each his own.

"What are you doing?" Liam asks hesitantly.

Louis blinks up at him from where he's kneeling on the ground in front of the coffee table. "Praying, obviously," he says, placing his hand once again on the box in front of him. He shuts his eyes and mumbles, "Please, God—"

"Is that the first season boxset of the O.C.?" Harry asks, grabbing it from under Louis' hand.

Louis tugs it from his fingers and glares at the two of them. "I didn't have a bible," he explains. "It was the next best thing."

Liam snorts. "Are we really at this point?" he asks. "You didn't start praying until your second exam last year."

"Yes, we're at this point," Louis snaps as Harry puts a hand on his shoulder. He starts kneading it almost painfully, and then this, like, tightening and loosening thing happens, and Louis sighs in relief. "Right there," he moans. "Don't stop."

"Here?" Harry confirms, kneading the same spot. He uses his other hand to get Louis' other shoulder. "Like this?"

"Harder," Louis encourages, tilting his head back. He hadn't noticed how his stress was affecting his body, but whatever Harry is doing is making it a hundred times better. It's like a weight's been lifted, pressure removed. It's like he can breathe easily again. God, his fingers.

"I'm out before he starts moaning again," Liam says. "I'm gonna go check on Ace—on, um, the, uh—basement."

"Is Zayn sleeping down there?" Louis asks without opening his eyes. "He's so weird, Liam, honestly. What do you see in that boy?"

"Big dick," Liam says offhandedly.

Louis grins happily and Harry sits on the couch behind him, still massaging his shoulders. Louis is convinced that his fingers are magic. There is no other explanation. As they move lower, digging in almost painfully to get out the knots, Louis sinks farther against him, mouth slack, worries forgotten momentarily. The room is quiet except for their breathing, and he's so calm he doesn't even care about the fact that he's letting Harry touch him much more than he would under normal circumstances.

"You're going to be late if you don't get ready soon," Harry tells him, but he keeps kneading Louis' back with one hand, trailing a finger over his spine in a way that makes him shiver with the other.

"I'll take the fail," Louis murmurs. "Just don't stop."

He doesn't, but lips press against Louis' neck, soft at first, more insistent when Louis doesn't push him away. Harry stops then, hands sliding around to Louis' stomach. His nails scratch against the thin trail of hair there, and Louis bites his lip to stay quiet, to not ask for more, or lower, like he wants to. Goosebumps break out along his skin and he shivers, inhaling that sweetly spicy cologne that Harry seems to almost bathe in.

And then he blinks open his eyes, jumping away. "Going to be late," he blurts as an excuse. He starts piling up his books as Harry stares at him, eyes wide like he didn't expect Louis to pull away. He doesn't know Louis very well, obviously. "You can drive me," Louis adds. "Stop for coffee—"

"Sure," Harry says, standing up. He puts a steadying hand on Louis' arm and gives him a serious look. "You're going to do fine. I have faith in you."

"I—" Louis sucks in a breath and nods instead of saying something sarcastic. He finishes gathering up his books, pulls a hat on over his horrible bed head, and then slips on his shoes, not bothering to put them on right. He steps down on the heels until they're flat, aware of the fact that doing so is going to ruin them. He doesn't care.

He can't stop moving during the drive. They get coffee from McDonald's, which tastes like tar and is lukewarm, but it's still coffee, so he drinks it while jiggling his leg. Harry eyes him with worry the whole drive, and at one point he puts his hand on Louis' knee until he stops. Louis pushes it away, though, and keeps jiggling until they get to the university.

Harry wishes him good luck, leans in like he wants to kiss Louis' cheek, but Louis is out of the car before they're even fully stopped, slinging his bag over his shoulder. He chucks the empty cup in a garbage can and hurries to class, trying to remember everything he's studied for the last two nights, but all he can think about is Harry's lips on his skin.

Afterwards, he's fairly certain he needs therapy. He walks to Harry's car, which is waiting for him in the lot, with his head ducked and his mind spinning. He can't remember a thing, not just the answers on the test, but writing the test itself. He is possibly one of those people that take extremely traumatic experiences and push them from their minds so they can no longer remember them until, thirty years from now when he sits down with a therapist because he's murdered thirty-seven people, they will talk about this day and realize that it was all because of this.

"How was it?" Harry asks when he slides into the passenger seat.

Louis busies himself with putting on the seatbelt and doesn't answer for a moment. "I can't remember," he says finally. "I can't remember if I even wrote my fucking name at the top."

Harry winces in sympathy. "I'm sure you did great."

"I'm sure I'm going to set myself on fire," Louis retorts. He sinks back against the seat, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I need tea. And sleep."

"You need a break," Harry counters. "You've been sleeping fine. Your body's not tired because you haven't slept. It's tired because you're stressed. You need a bath or something."

"I don't take baths," Louis says dismissively while they pull out of the lot. "I'm not sitting in my own filth for half an hour. That's just disgusting."

"Then let me make you dinner, at least," Harry bargains. "And you can watch a movie on the couch. I'll tell everyone else to get out for the day."

"You always make dinner," Louis reminds him.

"Just for us tonight," Harry says. "You and me. And you'll relax. It'll be nice, trust me."

Louis debates this for a moment. Harry is obviously right, he knows that. He does need a break. Needs to relax. And dinner and a movie in, sitting on the couch all night, does sound nice. Even if it'll be with Harry. Maybe especially if it's with Harry, but he doesn't want to think about that. What kind of a name even is Harry, anyway? It's the least sexy name Louis can think of, and yet all he wants to do is find out how it sounds when he's moaning it in bed.

"Can it be a movie where a lot of people die?" he asks. "Like, a lot. I want an over one-hundred head count."

"Whatever you want," Harry says instantly.

"Yeah, okay, then," Louis agrees.

Harry texts when they get to a stoplight (which is illegal, Louis reminds him, but he ignores that) and, by the time they get home, everyone else is gone. Zayn's piece of shit car isn't out front, Liam and Niall aren't in the house. It's quiet and warm inside, just what he needs.

Louis curls up on the couch while Harry puts in a movie. Harry lifts his legs up and sits at the other end, Louis' feet in his lap. They stay like that for almost the whole movie, Harry wincing at the more gruesome parts, squeezing his leg every time something pops up unexpectedly. He misses the end to get up and start dinner, and Louis does, too, because he's too busy listening to the sounds in the kitchen to pay attention. Harry's humming to himself and cursing when he drops something, and it's endearing.

Harry makes them some kind of soup. He can't remember the last time he's had soup that didn't require a can opener to make. It's warm and delicious and he may or may not eat two bowls. Afterwards, Harry clears their dishes and then pops a new DVD into the player. Except it's not a DVD, because nothing plays but music. Something upbeat yet soft.

He's dragged to his feet without warning, and Harry puts one hand on his hip, the other on the small of his back. "Dancing," Harry tells him, head almost resting on top of Louis', which is just ridiculous. Seriously, what even is he? "It's a well-known stress reliever."

"No, it's not," Louis says as Harry turns them in a slow circle, rubbing his hand against Louis' back as he goes.

The song changes abruptly, something completely different. It's loud, quick, and he's pretty sure he recognizes it. When the lyrics start, Louis laughs and shakes his head, disbelieving.

"I like this song," Harry says in his ear.

Louis shivers and pushes him off, giving him a questioning look. "You like this song."

Harry nods. "Everyone likes Beyoncé," he points out, and then starts singing along with the song. "I think about you all the time, I see you in my dreams."

And then they're moving again. Slow-dancing to Beyoncé in the living room with Harry singing the lyrics in his ear like it's the most normal thing ever. Maybe it sort of is, he decides. And when the song changes, something else that's not at all like the first two, more bass and a rock sort of feel, they keep dancing, swaying in circles around the room. They go through the whole CD like that, through rap songs and pop songs and even one case of screamo that Louis cringes at and Harry sings along to anyway. It's such an eclectic collection of songs that he never has any idea what comes next, and when it ends he's sort of sad.

"The others should be getting back soon," Harry says after a moment of them just swaying to silence, the CD no longer playing. He brushes Louis' hair off his forehead and grins, lopsided. "Feeling better?"

"Yes," Louis admits. He goes to sink onto the couch, but instead he veers for the basement. "Want to figure out what the fuck Zayn and Liam have been doing down there for the past, like, three weeks?"

"No!" Harry says loudly, grabbing his arm. "I mean, uh, I have more CDs. Let's keep dancing."

"What are they hiding down there?" Louis demands. He gives Harry a stern look that the other boy seems to wilt under. Harry is more weak-willed than even Liam, and he's a worse liar to boot. "Tell me. Don't beat around the bush this time. What the fuck are they hiding? Did Zayn kill someone? Is it Hipster Steve from Starbucks? I hope not. He makes really good caramel lattes."

"They didn't kill anyone," Harry assures him. He pauses, eyebrows scrunching together. "That I know of, at least."

"So what is it, then?"

Harry chews on his lip and then throws up his hands. "Don't ask me," he begs. "I told them I wouldn't tell you. But I hate lying and you've got these eyes and—please don't make me tell you."

Louis steps closer to him and grabs a fistful of his shirt. "Tell me," he says, voice low and dangerous. "Tell me, Harry."

"Zayn got a dog!" Harry blurts. "Okay? Are you happy? He's been living in the basement because apparently they were going to take him to the pound or something and Zayn couldn't let them do that and he's really cute and his name is Ace, and he's just a puppy Louis, we can't get rid of him. He'd be homeless and unloved and—we can't get rid of him."

Louis blinks in surprise, uncurling his fingers from around Harry's shirt. He takes a step back, and then another. And then he says, very slowly, "And where is this dog right now?"

"Out with them," Harry admits. "That's sort of why we've been keeping you out of the house a lot."

"That explains the barking, then," Louis says. "I just thought Zayn and Liam were into some really kinky shit. I'm sort of relieved."

Harry lets out a breath. "Thank God. I thought you were going to kill him, to be honest."

"Oh, I am," Louis says. "He is so, so dead. And the dog is not staying. I hate dogs. I hate animals, actually. Zayn knows this, that's why he's been hiding it."

"Louis," Harry says, looking crestfallen. "We can't—"

"This house is already crazy enough," Louis tells him. "We do not need to add more chaos. You were enough. We're at full capacity. No dog."

Harry sighs and nods. He pulls out his phone and presses a few buttons before putting it to his ear. A moment later, he says, "Cat's out of the bag. Or dog, actually. Yeah. He didn't give me a choice, Liam! Have you looked at him?! I can't lie to him!" He stops as Liam says something else. "No, he says no. Something about us all being crazy and hating animals. I know, I don't get it either. Yeah. Just—yeah, I think that's a good idea. Okay. See you soon."

"You're not going to change my mind," Louis says firmly. "We are not keeping him."

They keep him. Ace is a six-month-old German Shepherd that does puppy eyes even better than Liam. The first thing he does when Zayn, Liam, and Niall come into the house is run over to Harry, and then he stops and sniffs Louis' leg before licking his hands and falling back onto his feet so he's sitting down, panting, drooling a bit, just waiting for Louis to do something.

And damn it all to hell, he's fucking adorable. "What did you say his name was?" Louis asks, scratching him behind the ear. Ace nuzzles his hand and then collapses right on top of Louis' feet like a warm, living, breathing blanket.

"Ace," Liam says quickly. "I named him, technically, after Ace the Bat-Hound from—"

"Don't care," Louis says, turning to Zayn. "I can't believe you actually got a dog and thought you could keep it from me."

Zayn collapses onto the couch next to him and pets Ace's head. "Did hide it from you," he points out. "For nearly a month. And it's not like I could help it," he adds, adopting the same kind of voice one would use with a really small child. "Couldn't let them take you, could I, boy?"

Louis sits up a bit straight. "Okay," he says, holding up a hand to let them all know not to talk. "If we keep him" Niall and Liam make happy sounds that Louis quickly silences. "I said if, not that we can. If we keep him, I refuse to walk him. If he does his business in the backyard, someone cleans it right afterwards. And if he has an accident in the house, he is gone immediately. If he eats any of the furniture, he is gone immediately. If he keeps me awake at night with his barking, he is gone immediately."

"Deal," Zayn says right away. "Not a problem. He's pretty well trained, and he doesn't really bark much unless there's another dog barking to set him off."

Louis rubs a hand over his face and eyes the dog warily. "I'm so going to regret this," he says. "But we can keep him. For now. I don't care how cute he is, I am not dealing with any dog shit. Literally. I refuse."

Zayn hugs him tightly, which is slightly awkward because they don't, like, do that. Ever. And then Liam hugs him, which is less awkward because they do. And finally Niall plops himself down at Louis' feet and puts Ace's head in his lap.

"Thank God," he says. "Zayn and Liam have been hogging him since he got here."

"Zayn and Liam have been doing a lot of things," Louis says, glaring at the two of them.

Liam hides behind Zayn, who glares right back at Louis. Louis rolls his eyes and gets up, leaving them behind. He's actually tired this time, and he just wants to get into bed and sleep for at least a year, uninterrupted. And if someone does interrupt, he will beat them to death with his alarm clock. Because that is what alarm clocks are for. Killing people. They are satanic creations of murder.

Footsteps follow him up the stairs; he doesn't turn to face Harry until he's in his room (he knows it's Harry, though he's not sure how), and when he does, Harry stops dead and smiles weakly at him.

"Can I help you with something?" he demands as Harry leans in his doorway. He tries to shut the door anyway, but Harry doesn't move, so he tugs off his shirt and falls into bed. "Or just stand there and be all creepy. Your call."

"I'm just trying to figure you out," Harry admits, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Good luck with that."

"I think I'm doing pretty good with it, actually." Harry licks his lips and cocks his head to the side. "You're sort of prickly, you know? You're a smartass and everyone knows it. And you're kind of cold to everyone that you're not close with. But you're actually really sweet, deep down. Like with Liam, you're always like that. And with Niall, you always look at him really fondly even when you're making fun of him. And you never once teased Zayn about Liam, or told Liam how he felt, because you love him even if you guys fight like siblings."

Louis decides that he can't meet Harry's eyes anymore, so instead he looks at the wall to his left, eyeing the football trophy he'd gotten during his last year of college when their team won. It's not big, but it's shiny because he may or may not polish it obsessively.

"So what?" he says, trying to make out his name, carved into the gold-plated base of the trophy.

"So," Harry says, drawing the word out, "I think you're pretty soft, once you melt the ice on the outside."

"And I think that you're freakishly tall, and you should also get out of my room."

Harry sighs and does the opposite of that. He comes farther in, shutting the door behind himself. Louis sits up when he sinks onto the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. He doesn't say anything for a long time, either. He seems happy to just sit there and look down at his hands that he's carefully folded in his laps. His finger are long and thin, and there are multiple bracelets circling each wrist, one made out of beads, others out of thread.

"I wish I could say that I totally remember exactly what happened," he starts, eyes still on his hands, "but I can't." He blinks up at Louis. "I was a dick. I'm not gonna deny it, and we both know it's true. It probably won't make you feel any better, but you're only one person in a stream of people that I sort of fucked over back when—back when I was living like nothing had consequences. But it does obviously, and this is a clear example of that."

Louis plucks at a random loose thread in his blanket. "It really doesn't," he admits.

"Right." Harry nods. "And I'm sorry for that, I am. But, like, fuck." He runs a hand through his hair. "It just—it sucks that I can't change any of that. And I would if I could, believe me, I would. But I can't, and I can't justify any of it, either, because there isn't an excuse for it. I was a dick who took what I wanted and did what I wanted, and didn't care about the fact that the people I was fucking around with might have actually cared a lot more than I did."

"Obviously," Louis snorts.

Harry frowns at him. "Are we ever going to get past this, though? Or are you always going to hate me for it? I need to know, Lou, if there's any point in trying anymore. Because if you want, I'll go. But I'd really rather not. I'd rather us find a way to deal with this and talk about it and get over it instead."

Louis sighs and leans back against his pillows. "Can we be honest for a minute?"

"I thought we already were," Harry says, chuckling softly. "But sure, go ahead."

"It's not really about you," Louis admits. "I mean, I still think that what you did was a dick move, but it's not really about you. It's about me. And honestly, you were just the beginning in a stream of asshole guys who fucked me over. Just, you know, you were the first. So you sort of got all the blame for it, but really, I've been fucked over a lot worse. And not one of them apologized afterwards. Or gave me massages and watched shitty movies with me and danced to fucking Beyoncé in the living room because I had a stressful test."

The grin that spreads over Harry's face is hesitant but brilliant anyway. "So does that mean I'm forgiven?"

"You were forgiven that day after work when you brought me coffee," Louis admits with a huff. "Now go away. I want to sleep."

"See you in the morning, Lou," Harry says, flicking the light off on his way out.

"With coffee!" Louis calls after him.

Harry chuckles. "With coffee."

 

Chapter Text

 

Christmas break always puts everyone in a good mood, even Louis. Niall iss leaving in two days to fly back home and see his family; Louis is leaving in three days to fly to America to see his family; Harry will be flying that day, too, only his travel will a much shorter one; and Zayn will be getting in his car and driving the four hours back to his hometown to see his family, too. Liam will only have to walk two minutes to see his own, but he'll only be staying there for a Christmas Eve because he has no choice but to stay there for Christmas Eve. His mother's heart would be broken if he didn't.

But it's not his mother that he looks to avoid; it's his dad. See, Liam's dad is the reason he moved out of that house and never looked back. His dad didn't respect his choice to not go to university. He didn't respect Liam's choice to turn down the full scholarship to a good school a few hours away, and when Liam had, he'd said, "You go to school or you get out of this house."

That was only the breaking point. There were other things before that that added to it all. He would never claim that his parents hadn't done a good job raising him, and it's not like they ever laid a hand on him. But verbal abuse leaves its marks the same way that physical abuse does, and his relationship with his father has always been rocky. So Liam had done just that. He'd packed up his stuff and moved to Louis', and he's only stepped foot in that house two times since then, and both times were for the holidays.

He'd avoid that altogether, if he could. Except the first year after he'd moved out, he'd tried just that and Ruth had literally dragged him down the street by his hair until he willingly went with her. It's apparently mutually decided that, one day out of the year, their whole family push aside their disagreements and get along for the holidays, and then they go their separate ways again.

"Liam!" Louis shouts from his room next door, and Liam has no choice but to get off the bed and head over there to see what he wants. If he doesn't, Louis'll just keep yelling because that's what he does.

Louis standing in the middle of his room dressed in a seriously ugly Christmas jumper. And Liam knows what that jumper means, which is why he stumbles backwards and makes a beeline for his bedroom. Louis grabs his arm and jerks him backwards, surprisingly strong for someone so tiny, and he tugs Liam into his room and attempts to strangle him with a bunch of fabric.

"Put—it—on!" he shouts at him. "Resistance—only makes it—worse, you fuck! Honestly, it's one—damn—sweater!"

Liam struggles to get out of his grip, struggles to push the red and green bundle of wool away from him, but Louis' got one of the armholes over his head and he can't. "I'm not wearing that thing!" Liam protests loudly through the itchy material. "Get it off me, Louis!"

"You're wearing the damn sweater," Louis says forcefully. "Just put it on."

"No."

"Niall!" Louis releases Liam, who instantly pulls the jumper off and throws it somewhere in Louis' room. That'll buy him time, at least, because Louis' room is like a war zone, clothes strewn about in abandonment. How he finds anything in here, Liam has no idea. "Liam won't put on his Christmas sweater!"

"It's not Christmas for another week," Liam reminds him while slowly backing out of the room, afraid to move too quickly in case he draws attention to himself.

Niall blocks the door, dressed in a white jumper with a red reindeer on it. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are narrowed, and there's a scratch mark on his cheek that says he resisted putting on the sweater as much as Liam did. "You have to wear it," he tells Liam. "I'm stuck in this itchy shit and so are you."

Louis locates the jumper and lifts it threateningly, a manic grin on his face. "Niall, you hold him down, I'll put it on him."

Liam looks between the two of them, realizes that they're serious and he's not getting out of here without putting it on, and then lifts his arms, resigned. "Fine," he says quietly. "Put it on me."

Louis kisses his cheek before tugging the uncomfortable, itchy, scratchy sweater over his head. Liam drops his arms and makes a face because it's a bit too small on the shoulders, and he can feel the strain in the material every time he moves his arms. "I hate you both," he mutters.

"You can't fight tradition, Liam," Louis says happily. "Be ready to go in fifteen minutes."

"Where are we going?" Harry asks, appearing in the hallway. He's dressed in what is possibly the ugliest Christmas jumper Liam has ever seen, and that's saying something; he has three elves assembling a doll on his chest right now, and they're woven with glittery thread. Glittery thread.

Harry's reindeer actually sticks out of his shirt a fair bit, and it's got this bulbous, lit up red nose. The rest of the jumper is a deep green that looks garish with the brown deer head and the red nose. In essence, it looks like someone chopped off Rudolph's head and it rolled onto a patch of green grass and was just left to lie there while the eyes stare at nothing in particular, glassy and blank.

"Who told you about the ugly sweater tradition?" Louis demands, putting a hand on his hip. "Was it Zayn?"

Harry frowns and looks down at his jumper before looking back up at Louis. "No one told me," he says slowly. "And what's wrong with the Rudolph sweater? I love this sweater."

Niall and Liam gape at him. "Wait, you're wearing that thing willingly?" Niall asks.

Harry grins happily. "Yep. It's part one of a five-part set of Christmas jumpers that I wear during the days leading up to Christmas. And then on Christmas I wear the last one, which is the showstopper, which's got a sound machine built into it and a little snow globe that snows and there's a mini Santa building toys inside, and—"

"What are you?" Louis asks him, looking horrified. He shakes his head and lifts a hand when Harry actually goes to answer that. "Never mind. Someone make sure Zayn's dressed. We're leaving in ten minutes."

Liam heads out of the room as Harry asks where they're going, moving quickly down the hall to Zayn's. The door is partially open so he doesn't knock as he shoulders his way inside. He finds Zayn on the phone, moving around the room, dressed in his own ugly Christmas jumper. His is possibly the least horrible. It's black with little white reindeer woven over the chest in a neat row, and there's silver thread in the stitching so it sort of reflects the light if he moves a certain way.

"—a bit more warning, don't you think?" Zayn says into the phone, sounding annoyed. "I was set to leave in literally two—yeah, I know. I know that, but—yeah. Alright. See you then." He hangs up and turns, making a surprised sound when he finds Liam there. "How long've you been standing there?"

"Thirty seconds," Liam says, leaning against the doorway. "Lou told me to let you know that we're leaving in ten."

"Cool," Zayn says, eyes moving slowly down Liam's body. He grins and shakes his head. "You look ridiculous."

Liam glares at him. "Not like I put it on willingly."

"I'd still do you, if it's any consolation," Zayn offers, stepping closer to him. He puts a hand on Liam's waist, warm even through the thick material of the sweater. "I'd definitely still do you."

"With the sweater on?" Liam asks, raising his eyebrows.

Zayn's own eyebrows draw together as he debates this. "With the lights off," he says. "It'd be awfully scratchy, though."

"You are not allowed to fuck in the Christmas jumpers!" Louis says shrilly from the hallway. "That's blasphemous. I won't stand for it."

Zayn rolls his eyes and pinches Liam's side before shutting off his light and heading into the hallway, Liam right behind him. They all pile into Harry's car, since Zayn's backseats are always filed with various things (right now there's a male mannequin that's been spray painted yellow) and there's no room for anyone back there ever.

The drive to the restaurant is an uncomfortable one. While Liam normally wouldn't complain about being sat this close to Zayn, he's getting a bit claustrophobic, stuck in the small backseat with Niall on one side, Zayn on the other, wrapped in a too warm wool sweater.

When they arrive, Niall literally jumps from the car, not waiting for it to even make a full stop. Liam moves over a bit, breathing easier. He still takes a large gulp of air when he gets outside, though, because the sweater is really warm, and it's making him feel sick to his stomach, as it does every year.

"You good?" Zayn asks, putting a hand on the small of his back.

"I hate this stupid sweater," Liam admits, tugging at the collar.

Zayn is nice and comforting, always gentle. Louis, on the other hand, slaps him on the back and says, "Suck it up, Liam. Be a man. No more complaining about the sweater."

Liam makes a face at his back but he allows Zayn to guide him through the doors of the restaurant anyway.

Cassie's is the only high-end sort of restaurant they have in town. They're all eating across the street at Matt's Burgers, though, because they're not allowed in Cassie's since the stripping incident that involved two orders of chocolate mousse and Louis' nipples. Liam doesn't really think about that all that much, but if he ever wants to, all he has to do is look at the local newspaper for the day after said incident, turn to page two, and there's an entire article on it. Niall had it framed and placed on their entertainment stand.

"Oh, no," the waitress says when they walk in, shaking her head. "No way. I'm not dealing with them tonight. Miranda! You've got a table!"

"Come on, Jess," Louis says, lips spreading into a grin that isn't really pleasant at all. The word predatory comes to mind, actually. "You know we tip well."

"You caught my hair on fire last time," Jess states, eyes narrowed. "And you were all drunk off your asses by the time you left. Oh, and you left wrapping paper everywhere."

Louis rolls his eyes at her, but before they can start to bicker, Miranda comes over to them, menus tucked under her arm, a fake, bright smile on her face. "Table for four?" she asks, looking at them all. She pauses on Harry and says, "Or five, apparently."

"Four," Louis corrects. "We don't know the man who killed Rudolph and glued him to his sweater."

Harry crosses his arms self-consciously over his stomach and pouts as Miranda leads them to a table (not the booth that they usually get) and places a menu in front of each of them. Just like in the car, Liam is sat between Zayn and Niall, with Harry directly across from him. Louis places the large bag he's had in his hands since they left the house on the last chair at their table, which no one but Louis is allowed to touch, and no matter how often you ask, he'll only do so when he wants to.

They each order a drink for themselves (Louis and Niall both go for something with alcohol, while the rest of them do not) and then Miranda leaves them to look over the menu. Zayn's foot is brushing against Liam's ankle and Niall is muttering to himself, wondering if mashed potatoes are a better option than chips, and if he has to order a burger since they're at a burger shop or if he can have the chicken instead.

"So this is a thing, then?" Harry asks over his menu. "All of us going out for dinner before we leave for Christmas, I mean."

"Has been for two years now," Liam tells him. "We don't do it all that often because I'd rather not get kicked out of every restaurant in town, and you can't take Louis anywhere."

"That's not true," Louis says defensively. "Anna loves me, and I'm allowed at the diner."

"You've been kicked out twice."

"Yes, but she always allows me back in after I've apologized."

"What's good here?" Harry asks, interrupting them.

Niall and Zayn exchange a look before they both say, "Everything."

Miranda returns, bringing their drinks with her. Everyone orders something except Harry, who's still looking down at his menu, eyebrows scrunched together. Finally he gives up and hands his menu to Louis, who orders something for him, and then Miranda disappears and Louis digs into the bag.

"Oh, look," he says happily. "The first one's for me, from Harry."

Everyone but Harry groans. This isn't surprising. Somehow, despite the fact that the presents are dumped into the bag at random, Louis always manages to pick out all of his first, even the time Liam made him do it with his eyes closed.

Louis unwraps the small gift and then holds it in his hand, head cocked to the side. "You got me a container of chocolate icing for Christmas," he states.

Harry sips his drink happily before saying, "You told me it had to be under five pounds. It was the only thing I could think of."

Louis carefully places the gift beside him, eying it with a considering look for a long moment before he says, "It's perfect, I love it."

The next gift he pulls out is from Louis to Zayn, which is just a simple bumper sticker that reads 'If you're going to ride my ass at least pull my hair', to which he says, "Do I put it on the back of my car, or just tape it to my forehead?"

By the time Miranda returns with their food, Louis' downed his whole drink and handed out quite a few gifts. In front of Liam is the cheap pair of headphones that Niall got him (to replace the ones he broke a few days ago, so Liam's not even sure if that counts as a present) and a reusable water bottle from Harry ("The amount of water bottles you go through a month is seriously detrimental to our environment," Harry told him while he opened it).

Miranda brings them a refill for their drinks while they eat, and by the time they've cleared their plates, Louis' had three refills, Niall's had four, and the two of them are giggling over their wrapping paper as Louis hands out the rest of the presents and everyone orders dessert.

Liam goes red when he unwraps his gift from Louis. It's just a box of condoms. "Don't be silly," Louis says, pointing at him for emphasis. "Wrap your willy."

Zayn sweeps the box off the table and pockets it for him, while Liam balls up a napkin and throws it at Louis' head. He's tipsy enough that he doesn't even move out of the way, so it actually hits its mark.

Liam's present to Zayn is a new sketchbook (which is of good quality, and it may have cost more than their set limit, but no one else has to know that), which makes Zayn grin and kiss his cheek. Zayn's present to him comes in a small, thin box that instantly makes him think jewellery, until he opens it.

"Are you serious?" he demands, pulling the tickets from the box. "You got us Bruno Mars tickets?"

Zayn shrugs like it's no big deal, laying his arm on the back of Liam's seat. "You've got to take me with you, though."

"Obviously," Liam breathes, too shocked to do anything else.

"I object!" Louis says loudly, causing more than one person to look over at their table. "That—that's way past the limit. Not fair."

"What do you want me to do?" Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow. "Return them?"

"Yes."

"Well I can't, so you're just going to have to get over it."

"That's not fair," Louis snaps. "There are rules, and—and that's not fair. Harry! Tell him that's not fair!"

"Sir," Miranda says, hurrying over to them. "I'm going to need you to keep your voice down, or else I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"You guys serve coffee here, right?" Niall asks, leaning forward, bracing his elbows on the table. He very obviously checks Miranda out as she nods, but Liam slaps a hand over his mouth before he can say anything.

"No," Liam says firmly. "Bad Niall."

Zayn and Louis are still bickering; Harry's trying to stop them, but he's failing badly; Niall's attempting to get Miranda's number, muttering something about Josh refusing to date him after he found out about everyone else, and him needing a rebound. Eventually Miranda slaps a hand on the table and silences them all.

"You need to leave," she says loudly, everyone else in the restaurant looking over at them. "Now."

Liam sighs and gathers up his gifts before dropping a twenty on the table to cover his part of the bill. Everyone else does the same, Harry looking slightly shocked. Liam is the last out the door, trying to apologize to Miranda for what happened, but she just shakes her head and shoos him out, too.

Outside, Niall sighs loudly and Louis laughs happily as Harry just stands there, still looking dumbstruck. "We actually got kicked out," he says. "I didn't know that people actually got kicked out of restaurants."

"They'll let us back in a week," Louis assures him as they get into the car. "Not my first rodeo, Styles. You'll get used to it."

Liam honestly isn't surprised at all. He's just glad that they got to finish eating before they were asked to leave.

The day Niall leaves, they all have breakfast together and then Liam accompanies Niall and Harry on the ride to the next town over, where Niall's catching his flight. It's sort of nice to be with just Niall and Harry for once, not that he doesn't love spending time with Louis and Zayn, since they're both his favourite people. It's just that Niall is always so carefree and Harry is always so cheerful, and there's no bickering or teasing or anything. It's just the three of them listening to music and stopping to get coffee and cracking jokes and enjoying each other's company.

It's a little melancholic when they drop Niall off. Liam hugs him tightly, Harry slaps his shoulder and swallows thickly, and Liam promises to call him on Christmas Eve, as he has the last two years.

The next day is much of the same. After they've eaten breakfast together, Louis complains loudly about the snow while he and Harry pack and then, with a quick hug exchanged between everyone (except Louis and Zayn, who just glare at each other and mutter a, "See you later, you dick," and, "Can't wait to have your annoying ass out of the house," and then cling to one another like they'll never see each other again, because Louis and Zayn are weird and they love each other much more than either would admit), the two of them head out as well, leaving Zayn and Liam alone in the house.

"It's so quiet," Zayn says twenty minutes after they've left. He looks around and then sinks onto the couch with a soft, "It's weird."

Liam grabs the remote and turns the TV over from cable to the DVD player. "But there are positives to it being just us," he reminds Zayn, putting a hand on his thigh while he talks. "Just the two of us until you leave tomorrow, all alone, no one to interrupt—"

"I'm not leaving tomorrow," Zayn says abruptly. He narrows his eyes at nothing in particular and says, "My parents have decided to take a vacation. Apparently they think that, since we're all technically old enough to be left to our own devices, they're going to boycott Christmas this year and go to Hawaii."

Liam blinks at him in surprise. "Really?'

Zayn nods, hands tightened into fists. "It just sucks," he says after a moment. "It's the only time I ever get to see them all, except during the summer, and—I've never had a Christmas without them."

Ace comes out of the kitchen and sighs deeply before jumping onto Niall's recliner. He's claimed that seat as his own, and whenever Niall's not in it, Ace is. Eventually they're going to start fighting over it, Liam thinks, and Ace will likely win.

"I'm sorry," Liam says honestly, grabbing Zayn's hand instead of his thigh.

Zayn shrugs. "Don't be," he says, squeezing Liam's hand. "I've got you until Christmas Eve, at least. Won't be completely alone the whole time."

Liam chews on his lip for a moment while watching the loading screen on the TV. They don't have a disc in, so the little DVD emblem just bounces slowly around the black screen while waiting for them to do something.

He sucks in a breath and says in a quiet voice, "You could come with me."

Zayn tenses instantly. "What?"

"You could, um—" Liam swallows, "come with me. To my parents'. It's just one day, and I get my own room, and—"

"You really want me to spend Christmas with you and your family?" Zayn demands, looking shocked.

"No," Liam says quickly. "Stupid idea, sorry, I just—"

"I'd love to," Zayn tells him. He grins, wide and breathtaking. "If you really want me to, that is. I don't want you to feel like you have to invite me."

"I'd like you there," Liam says honestly. "I don't really get along with my dad, as you know, and it'd be nice to have someone to help me deal with the insanity that is my sisters."

"Then I'll come," Zayn decides. He presses a kiss to Liam's temple before standing up. "Now, can we watch Supernatural? Whatever episodes I want?"

Liam shrugs. "Sure."

"Then we're starting with the season one finale," Zayn says while reaching for the case. He hums Carry On My Wayward Son while he does it, and Liam can't do anything but watch him with a warm, fond feeling.

God, he really loves Zayn. Truly, impossibly loves Zayn, and his damn Supernatural obsession, and his smooth voice and the way he grips Liam's hand a bit too tightly during his favourite parts of the show. That makes him sort of regret the decision to invite Zayn to spend Christmas with him, though. He knows what his family is like, and he hopes that they don't scare him off. His dad can be a bit of a dick, his mum is sort of overbearing, and his sisters are typical older sisters: horribly embarrassing.

He's already invited Zayn, though, so he can't take it back now. He can only pray that it won't be all that bad.

Christmas Eve comes way too quickly. Liam's enjoying the time alone with Zayn in the house without everyone else. He loves the rest of his roommates, he does, and while he actually misses Louis' chaotic noise and Niall's permanent spot in the recliner and Harry's humming and cooking, he likes having Zayn to himself. He likes being able to kiss his lips raw while they lie on the couch, no one walking in and yelling at them. He likes being able to get in the shower and have Zayn join him. He likes falling asleep on the couch with Zayn on top of him, and eating takeaway with plastic forks while watching every episode of Supernatural that Zayn wants (which Louis never allows, because he refuses to watch shows out of order, but Zayn likes to watch all his favourites out of order because he's weird like that).

They both pack up a small overnight bag, and Zayn grabs the bottle of wine he'd bought as a gift for Liam's parents, and then they drive the short distance to Liam's old house. They could have walked, yes, but the snow is fairly deep, and they have to drive home later to walk and feed Ace, and he'd rather not walk in a few feet of snow in the middle of the night, for some reason.

"So, um," Liam starts while they drive, nervously playing with the volume on the radio. "If my dad says anything, just—just, like, ignore him. Okay?"

Zayn frowns at him, pulling his eyes away from the road for only a moment. "Is he prone to saying stuff that I'm going to want to ignore?"

"If he's drinking, yeah," Liam admits.

Zayn nods at this. "So that's why you don't ever visit them, then. I've always sort of wondered, but it seemed like one of those things that you really didn't want to talk about, so I never asked."

Liam can't help the sigh that escapes him as they turn onto his old street. He points out the right house, and Zayn parks on the street since the lot is filled already. "That's most of it," Liam tells him. "My dad and I never really got along. It's not a big deal. Not really something you should worry about. He's always on his best behaviour during the holidays."

"Okay," Zayn says easily, pulling the keys from the ignition.

"Just—okay?" Liam demands. He expected something more than that. He expected Zayn to turn around and tell him that he didn't want to come after all. Instead all he got was—'okay'?

"Yep," Zayn says while getting out of the car. He walks along to Liam's side and says, "You getting out, or are we spending Christmas in the car?"

Liam licks his dry lips before getting out. The front door opens as he's getting out, and his mum smiles at him from the door. Liam moves towards her, Zayn trailing behind him. He leaves his bags in the car for now so he can give his mum a hug.

She's shorter than him, but she wraps her arms tightly around his chest and squeezes. She doesn't smell like home anymore. Home smells like Zayn's paint and Niall's pizza pockets and Louis' vanilla air freshener. She smells like cookies, though, so it's still nice.

"Liam," she says, pulling back. "And this is Zayn, then?"

Zayn's cheeks are flushed as he nods. "Nice to meet you, ma'am," he says while extending his hand.

"It's Karen, dear," she tells him, and then she's wrapping him in the same hug she'd given Liam. "The girls are dying to meet you," she says when she pulls back. "They're going to have a field day with this. Liam's never brought a boy home before."

"Mum," Liam warns, wincing in embarrassment.

Zayn grins and grabs his free hand as they're ushered into the house. It looks the same as it always does, nothing out of place. The only difference between the house now and the house when he'd lived here is the lack of Liam. His trophies aren't in the cases, his pictures aren't hanging on the walls. It's like his entire existence was erased, and he knows that that was done by his father, not his mother, which is why he doesn't make an annoyed comment about it. She's trying, at least, and he can't fault her for falling in love with that horrible man, though he doesn't understand how anyone managed to do that.

Liam's mum brings them straight into the living room. The couch is full; Ruth is sitting at the far left, Nicola is sitting in the middle, and her husband Jared is sitting at the other end. His father is in his chair, the one that no one else—ever, under any circumstances—is allowed to sit in, beer already in his hand even though it's only about three in the afternoon.

"Look who I found out front," his mum says brightly, gesturing to the three of them.

The girls both look up at him, almost perfectly in sync. They've been asked, many times over the years, if they're twins. They're not, but they're both extremely close in a way that Liam thinks is surprising. Instead of the normal sibling animosity and rivalry, his sisters are like two halves to one whole. One whole that thrives on making his life hell at every opportunity.

"Your hair," Ruth says first, sounding horrified.

"Did Tomlinson take a lawnmower to it?" Nic asks.

"I'm sorry to tell you this, Liam, but your hairdresser fucked you over, love."

"Did you ask for a refund? Consider suing? Jared is a lawyer, you know, in case you want to take legal action."

"This is Zayn," his mum says loudly, cutting them off. "Zayn, this is the rest of the family. If you want to run back outside, no one is going to hold it against you."

"No, we will," Ruth says instantly. "We like to weed out the weak willed."

Nicola is giving Zayn a very considering look. "He's quite pretty, isn't he? How'd you get a boyfriend like that with your hair looking like that?" she asks Liam.

Liam's not sure which one of them goes redder, him or Zayn. "I like his hair," Zayn says anyway, leaning into Liam's side a bit, just enough that the smell of his cologne overpowers that of everything else in the house. It clears Liam's mind, weirdly enough.

"Ew," Ruth groans, grimacing.

"Ew indeed," Nic agrees. She turns to Jared. "I like him. Why aren't you disgusting like that with me?" Jared doesn't look at all fazed by any of this, probably because he spends a lot of time with the two of them. If they're not fighting with each other, they're teaming up against you. His sisters are as devious as they are annoying.

Liam grabs Zayn's arm and tugs him from the room, calling, "We're getting our bags," over his shoulder as he goes. He doesn't stop until they're outside, and when they are, he releases Zayn and closes his eyes, trying to cool himself down because he feels far too hot to be normal

When he opens his eyes, Zayn is regarding him with an amused look

"I'm so sorry," Liam starts. "God, they're so—and you're—I'm sorry. Like, if you want to just… head back home, I'll make something up. Don't worry about it. I wouldn't blame you, honestly. I can't believe they—"

"Liam," Zayn says, putting both of his hands on Liam's shoulders. Liam can't feel the warmth through his coat, but he wishes he could. "It's fine. Calm down. They're not that bad. They're—they're nice. Funny. I live with Louis. I think I can handle your sisters."

Liam searches Zayn's face for a moment, looking for that glint in his eyes that says he's lying, looking for some sign that he's desperate to get out of here. He can't find it, though. All that's there is sincerity and warmth.

"Right," Liam says, nodding slowly. "No, you're right." He sucks in another deep breath, wondering why this is freaking him out so much.

"So you told them I was your boyfriend, huh?" Zayn asks as they move towards the car.

Liam freezes. Oh yeah, that's why. "I didn't," he says quickly. "I just said that I was bringing a friend, and—"

"Li," Zayn says as he pulls open the backdoor to his car, tugging out their bags, "I don't mind."

"Are we, though?" Liam asks as he takes his bag from Zayn's hands. "Boyfriends—dating. Whatever."

Zayn snorts and shakes his head, which makes Liam feel stupid for even asking. "You're so ridiculous sometimes," Zayn tells him, kissing his cheek. "Like you even had to ask."

The rest of the afternoon is uneventful. They bring their stuff up to Liam's old room (which looks nothing like it had when he actually lived here, since it's nearly empty except for the bed and dresser) and then return downstairs, where he and Zayn sit on the loveseat and Zayn fields about a hundred questions from his family, ranging from "When did you two meet?" to "How many tattoos, exactly?" and "What are you studying?"

Zayn fields all these questions easily, which is more than Liam can say for himself, because the second his father says, "Still working at that diner, throwing your life away?" he tenses and his mouth goes dry.

"Guests should be arriving soon," his mother says abruptly, standing up. She claps her hands together and says, "Zayn, Liam, would you two like to help me move some of the food and drinks into the living room?"

Liam nods and stands up, putting a hand on the small of Zayn's back as they follow his mum to the kitchen. "Guests?" Zayn whispers, quiet enough that his mum won't hear.

Liam nods and turns them into the kitchen. "Every Christmas Eve, my mum has the neighbours over for drinks and such. Nothing big, but everyone gets fairly wasted, we gorge ourselves on pastries, and it keeps up what my mother likes to call The Family Image."

"You mean you put on a show for the neighbours so they think you're a close, loving family," Zayn guesses.

"Pretty much."

Two hours later, Liam finds Zayn deep in conversation with Melissa, the Winstons' daughter who is only a year or two younger than he is. He can't help the flare of jealousy that bubbles up inside of him, and he can't stop himself as he walks up to them and puts an arm around Zayn's waist. He ducks his head into the crook of Zayn's neck, inhaling the fruity spices of his body wash.

"Let's get drunk and make cookies," he suggests, voice low and rough.

Melissa gives his arm, still wrapped securely around Zayn's waist, a quick look before excusing herself.

"What was that about?" Zayn demands, turning to face him.

Liam shrugs and plasters a grin on his face. "Drunk. Cookies."

Zayn searches his eyes for something, and apparently he finds it because a moment later he shrugs and nods.

"If you burn down my house, you're not allowed back next year," Karen calls as they head to the kitchen, Liam swiping a bottle of wine as he goes.

He's not sure why he's decided to do this, but a lot of wine and cookies sound like a fucking brilliant idea, so he's running with it. Plus, it gets Zayn away from Melissa, so that makes it an even better idea. Zayn is, apparently, not the only one with a jealous streak. Whatever. He can't help it.

The kitchen is mostly empty, save for his father and Carlos Morin, who are sitting at the dining room table and chatting about some golf game they're planning in the spring. Liam ignores them and heads for the counter and pulls out a large bowl from under the sink.

"You pour the wine, I'll get the ingredients," Liam orders.

Zayn snorts out a laugh but does as he's told, while Liam heads to the fridge to take out the butter and eggs, and then to the cupboards to get the bag of chocolate chips and the baking soda.

"Do you even know what you're doing?" Zayn asks, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Liam lies. "I've made cookies loads of times."

Zayn looks disbelieving, but he sips his wine while Liam locates a recipe that his mum has written in one of her old cookbooks that has an assortment of different things spilled all over its pages.

Fifteen minutes Liam's fingers are coated in cookie dough and Zayn's black shirt has nearly turned white from flour. Liam laughs at him and then lifts one of his fingers to his mouth to suck off the dough.

"Tastes good," he says, grinning in an abandoned kind of way that one is only capable of after consuming copious amounts of alcohol. "And you doubted my baking skills. Shame on you."

"You're drunk," Zayn points out. Liam doesn't deny it because it's sort of true, really. "I don't trust your judgement."

Liam raises an eyebrow and then says, "Fine, you try then."

He lifts his other hand to Zayn, and Zayn stares at it for a long, long moment. And then he circles Liam's wrist with one of his own hands and pulls Liam closer before sucking one of his fingers into his mouth. Liam holds his breath as Zayn's eyelids flutter closed and his tongue swirls around the finger. The cookie dough must be fucking delicious, because Zayn thoroughly sucks as much off as he can, and then he pulls Liam's finger out of his mouth a bit and his tongue snakes out to lick off any excess dough. Liam watches him do this, watches the way his tongue suggestively swirls around the digit and his eyes lazily blink open.

"Well that's inappropriate," Ruth says, and Liam jumps as Zayn releases his hand. She snickers at them and then scoops up a finger full of the dough, popping it into her mouth before she says, "For some reason he made it look like it tastes it a lot better than it actually does."

Zayn flushes red, but Liam's too far gone to do anything but laugh. He slaps her hands away when she reaches for more dough, though, and eventually Ruth leaves them to put the cookies in the over.

While they're baking, Liam pulls out his phone and dials a familiar number. Louis picks up after two rings with a breathless, "Oh, thank God. I'm having separation anxieties already. My sisters are driving me nuts, my bed is lumpy, and there's not a single microwavable food in this entire house. It's weird. I miss you guys."

"I miss you too," Liam tells him while bumping his shoulder again Zayn, who's doing his best to clean the large bowl they'd made the cookies in with nothing but his fingers and tongue. "And Zayn does as well, I'm sure."

"I really don't," Zayn says loud enough that Louis can hear him.

"Asshole," Louis says.

Liam chuckles at the two of them. "Oh, happy birthday, by the way," he remembers to say before they hang up. "And an early merry Christmas. Tell your parents and sisters that I wish them a happy holiday, too."

"Will do," Louis promises. "And same to you two- oh my God, I think they've just killed the hamster. I've got to go. No, hair gel is not an acceptable replacement for- is it breathing? Oh, fuck- no, we'll-," he hangs up, leaving Liam to stare blankly at the phone.

"Niall next," Zayn says, easily extracting Liam's phone from his hands. He presses speaker and holds it between them as it rings, and then he says a loud, "Merry Christmas, you little shit," when Niall answers.

All they get in return is a slurred rendition of Frosty the Snowman. "Are you drunk?" Liam asks, sharing an amused look with Zayn.

"You're a punk," Niall says defensively.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "No, he said-,"

"Merry Christmas!" Niall shouts, and then he hangs up.

Zayn shrugs and calls Harry next, but he doesn't answer. They leave him a short voicemail and, by the time Liam's pocketed his phone again, they've burnt the cookies. Liam's not sure how they managed that, but there it is. They're little blackened discs that are completely inedible (which Liam and Zayn both know, because they both tried to eat one). Liam's mum shakes her head at them, but it's in a fond way, and promises to make them some tomorrow that aren't blackened.

Eventually the party winds down, everyone goes home, and Liam and Zayn stumble up the stairs to bed. They may have finished off that entire bottle of wine themselves, and Liam feels as warm and bubbly as the alcohol had been. He leans heavily on Zayn, who is probably just as drunk as him, but unlike Liam, Zayn can actually hold his alcohol fairly well.

"Lightweight," Zayn comments when Liam shuts the door carefully behind them. "You drank less than me and you're practically on your ass."

Liam makes a face at him and falls onto the bed, right on top of the covers. "Don't make fun of me," he whines. "Just come to bed."

Zayn laughs but does just that, hitting the lights and pulling up the covers so that Liam can roll under them, climbing in beside him a moment later. They both have more comfortable clothing to sleep in at the end of the bed, still in their bags, but Liam can't be bothered to get up and change. That's why he just undoes his jeans and kicks them off, tossing his shirt to the ground a moment later. He moves towards Zayn afterwards because Zayn is warm and he's warm and it's just so nice and warm. There's only one problem.

"Your jeans are scratching me," Liam says softly.

He feels Zayn jump a bit before responding with, "What do you suggest I do, Liam? Take them off?"

The way he says it makes it sound like he thinks the idea is completely ridiculous, but Liam thinks it's brilliant. Which is why he ends up reaching for the button on Zayn's jeans, easily undoing them despite the fact that he probably couldn't write his own name out on paper right now, and it should have definitely been harder to do.

"Liam," Zayn says quietly.

"Off," Liam says back.

Zayn obeys, kicking them off. Liam grins to himself afterwards and curls up against Zayn's sides, their legs pressing together. He throws one of his legs over Zayn's, and then ducks his head into Zayn's neck, breathing in deeply. He smells so good. So, so good. And he feels so good that Liam can't help it;

he kisses Zayn. It's off a bit, lips landing on the side of his mouth. He lets out a frustrated sound, but then Zayn is cupping his cheek so gently, thumb brushing against his skin, and bringing their lips together.

He's sort of addicted to Zayn in the best and worst possible way. Now that he knows what it's like to kiss him, and touch him, and see him come apart, he can't stop doing it. Ruth is literally next door, and his parents are just down the hall, but he's still just drunk enough from the wine that this seems like a great idea, and it's not like he's ever been good at denying himself anything when Zayn's part of the equation.

"Liam," Zayn tries again, voice barely over a whisper. "Your family is right next door."

He throws a leg over Zayn's body, straddling him easily. Zayn's hands go to his waist to hold him steady, which is probably a good thing, thumb pressing in just a bit too hard in warning. "Then we'll just have to be quiet," Liam tells him, grinning.

Zayn tilts his head back against the pillows as Liam grinds down against him. "You're going to kill me," he groans. "We can't, Liam."

"Can," Liam murmurs against his neck. He licks at the skin there and then blows on it, liking the way goosebumps spread over Zayn's arms and his neck, and the way his hips feebly jerk up to meet Liam's like he can't help it.

Plump bottom lip between his teeth, Zayn seems to debate this for a moment. His hands move up Liam's back, fingertips ghosting over his spine lightly enough that he can't help but shiver at the barely there contact. "Okay," he relents. He scrambles for the waistband of Liam's boxers, tugging them down below his ass while muttering, "Fuck, we're going to hell. You're supposed to be the good one, the voice of reason, Liam."

"I'll be the voice of reason later," Liam says while rolling off him only long enough to get Zayn's boxers removed, too, and then he's straddling him again. "Need to see you come first."

Zayn gapes at him for a moment, like he can't believe that those words just came out of his mouth. "Fuck," he breathes. "Liam, I-,"

Liam covers his mouth. "Shh," he scolds, keeping his hand firmly planted over Zayn's mouth. Zayn's eyes get impossibly wide and his fingernails curl into the skin of Liam's hips, almost painful, definitely hard enough to leave little crescent shaped marks.

He grinds against Zayn for a bit, revelling in the way Zayn's chest heaves and his breath hitches whenever they slide together just right. Liam figures they could both come like this, but he's tired from the exhausting day, and his eyelids have been heavy since his third glass of wine, and he wants to wrap a hand around both of them, but he can't. He's too busy using one to muffle the sounds that threaten to tumble from Zayn's lips every time his eyes squeeze shut and his back arches off the bed and the other to hold himself up.

"Babe," is all he has to gasp out, and Zayn is nodding quickly and gripping them both tightly, thumbing over the head of Liam's cock as if they've done this many more times than they actually have, and he knows exactly how Liam likes it.

He hears someone moving around in the room next door, and Zayn's eyes get all panicky but Liam just thrusts up into his hand, urging him on, and a moment later Zayn is back to pumping them both quickly, desperately holding onto Liam's bicep with his freehand.

His skin is slick with sweat everywhere it touches Zayn's, and smouldering waves of pleasure are making him feel almost too hot as his stomach muscles tighten and he feels himself getting closer to the edge. He ducks his head and bites down on Zayn's collarbone when he comes, trying to smother the moan of relief that he couldn't choke back. Zayn is following him a moment later, still jerking them both slowly, wringing the last of Liam's orgasm out of him with a come slicked hand.

Too tired to hold himself up, Liam falls onto the bed beside Zayn and lays there for a moment, trying to get his breathing back under control. Zayn turns only his head to the side, meeting Liam's eyes, and then they're both giggling like teenagers that nearly got caught making out on the couch or something. He can't believe they just did that. He can't believe he just did that. He never did anything like that, even when he was a teenager living in this house.

"Merry Christmas, Liam," Zayn says when their laughter finally dies down.

Liam kisses him chastely. "Merry Christmas."

 

Chapter Text

 

 

He doesn't cry that often, but the whole drive to the airport is a teary one. Either he's crying, or his mum's crying, or one of his sisters are crying. And when they actually get to the airport, everyone starts crying except his dad, but his dad has only cried a total of two times in his whole life, once after the birth of his youngest sisters, and then that time when he was trying to put together the entertainment stand and the nail went right through his index finger.

He's going to miss them all so much. There's a small part of him, too, that can't help but wonder what it would be like if he had just went with them instead of deciding to stay home. But no, he misses his boys too much, and there's school and the house and his job. He can't live at home with his parents forever, and he's got it pretty good back with his boys.

That doesn't stop the ocean of tears he cries during the flight home, but the girl sitting next to him is passed out so no one else has to know about that but him.

He's planning on taking a bus home. He's got the ticket in his bag and everything. Instead he arrives at the airport, goes to baggage claim, and ends up spotting a familiar face. A familiar face that has him running across the airport and jumping into a pair of arms that catch him easily before someone else coughs pointedly.

"Shut up," Louis says while burying his head in the crook of Liam's neck. "You can have your boyfriend back later. You've had him all week. I need my Liam."

"Missed you, too," Liam says, pushing him back. He's grinning widely, wrapped in a thick coat and an itchy scarf.

He turns to Niall next, who's got his hands stuffed in his pockets and has a grin that mirrors Liam's. He hugs him next and says, "Been reading your blog. Nice pictures of you passed out underneath the Christmas tree."

Niall chuckles and shoves him away, and then he's left with Harry, who he awkwardly pats on the arm until Harry hugs him so hard it steals the breath from his lungs. He smells like cinnamon today, warm and spicy. He makes no move to shove Harry away.

And finally he's left with Zayn, who's got his arms crossed over his chest, eyes narrowed, hair covered by a black beanie. They both just stare at each other for a moment, glaring, until they crack, at the same time, both of them jumping into each other's arms.

"I illegally downloaded four Mariah Carey songs the other night in tribute to you," Louis tells him.

"House is too quiet without you," Zayn says gruffly. He mutters something else, too quit to be heard by anyone.

"What was that?"

"I missed you, you shit," Zayn snaps, punching his shoulder.

"Can we group hug?" Louis asks.

"No," Zayn says quickly, taking a step back, eyes wide. "No. No group hugs, no—,"

They group hug, Zayn stuck in the middle, pretending to suffocate. When they break up, Liam kisses him to make it up to him, and then they file out of the airport, Harry carrying his bags because he refused to let Louis do it.

The entire drive home is spent with Liam and Zayn and Niall complaining about being stuck in the back, and Louis smugly grinning at the amount of space he has in the passenger seat. They stop and get coffee halfway, which causes them to stop twenty minutes later when Liam ends up with Niall's entire cup on his lap, and then Zayn spends the next half an hour glaring at Niall until he's apologized at least twenty times.

When they get home, Ace greets them all at the door. The house itself isn't especially clean or especially messy. There's a lack of clothing laying around, but aside from that, it looks pretty much the way he'd left it.

"It's good to be home," Louis says loudly, throwing open the curtains for emphasis.

"You going to carry your bags upstairs, or am I going to have to?" Harry asks from behind him.

Louis sighs deeply and grabs his bags. "You make me do everything in this relationship, Harold."

That earns him a grin before he heads up the stairs, Niall following close behind him. He doesn't really unpack. Instead he unzips his bags, dumps everything onto his bed, and then heads back downstairs. He finds Harry sprawled out on the floor, a tug rope toy in his hands, feebly trying to pull it out of Ace's hold. Ace, who is just standing there, barely even batting an eyelash.

"Heard it was your birthday on Christmas eve," Harry says without turning. Louis sinks onto the couch as he adds, "No one told me. Happy belated birthday."

Louis frowns at his the back of his head. Being away from the house for a few days gave him time to think, to sort out of his thoughts, clear his head. He's decided (maybe with the help of his mum, not that he'd mention it because the others would mock him for going to his mother with boy trouble like some sixteen year old girl) that yes, he does indeed like Harry. Like that. And he has no idea what he's going to do about it. He's not opposed to the idea of doing something about it, though, but he is afraid of something actually happening there and getting himself hurt in the long run. But he's been doing stupid, potentially harmful things his whole life. He's Louis Tomlinson, that's what he does, throwing himself into things that he definitely shouldn't. So the best thing to do is to make sure that, if something does happen, it's just casual. Never again will he be the one who puts too much into a relationship, winding up getting himself hurt. He's smarter than that.

"Thanks," he says offhandedly. "I don't celebrate until New Years anyways, though."

Harry finally turns to him, eyebrow raise over those bright green eyes that are far too pretty for his own good. Louis wants to compare them to emeralds, wants to write poetry about the way the light reflects off them like sunlight filtering through the thick foliage of a forest. Except, you know, he's not Zayn, so he's not gonna do that.

"Really?" Harry asks. "Why not?"

Louis shrugs. It's something that he's done since he's been old enough to realize that he's been getting tricked out of an extra present every year. Having a birthday the day before Christmas means that, for one, everyone is too busy with the holiday to celebrate with him and, for another, everyone always gives him a combined birthday/Christmas gift. So he's changed the day of celebration to New Years Eve. He gets another gift, and there's always a party to go to. All he has to do is mention the fact that it's his birthday and suddenly drinks are free the whole night.

"Who wouldn't want to celebrate their birthday on New Years?" Louis points out. "And now that I know that you know, I'll be expecting a present. There's no five pound limit on it, either."

Harry shakes his head, lips twitching up. "I'll keep that in mind."

Ace is padding over to him, abandoning Harry and the chew toy in favour of sleeping on Louis' feet as Niall runs down the stairs, feet pounding on each step, the sound of it thundering through the house.

"Snowstorm," Niall shouts loudly, gesturing out the window. "We're having a fucking snowstorm!"

It is, in fact, snowing quite heavily. How he didn't notice earlier, he has no idea. Or maybe it has something to do with the fact that he was too busy paying attention to the dark swirls of ink that peeked up over Harry's loosely collared shirt. Now that he's looking, though, there's a blanket of white covering the window. He can barely see the outline of the house across the street.

Still, he rolls his eyes at Niall's dramatics. "We don't have snowstorms here."

Niall grabs the remote and clicks on the television before giving Louis a pointed look. He literally taps the screen right above the little red line at the bottom that has white letters which read, "Snowstorm coming in from the West. Anyone in the immediate area is urged to take usual emergency precautions. Stocking up on emergency supplies is encourage. An estimated three and a half feet of snow is presumed to fall by Monday morning. Warnings for potential power outages and road blocks. Stay tuned for more information."

"Shit," Harry breathes, eyes wide.

"We're going to die," Niall moans, flinging himself to the floor. "We don't have enough food to last. We're going to freeze to death. We're going to die."

"We're not going to die," Louis says firmly. "But, uh, maybe we should run to the store before the roads get too bad. Stock up on imperishable and candles. And batteries."

Harry jumps up from the ground and dangles a set of keys from one of his fingers. He grins at Louis, an expectant look on his face, while Niall continues to makes helpless sounds from the ground, muttering something about suffocating from being buried alive in snow.

"Yeah, alright," Louis agrees, getting up. He slips on his winter boots and grabs a scarf and hat from the closet for good measure before pulling on his coat. Harry bundles up much the same, except he gets a pair of mittens (they don't have individual fingers; they are literally mittens like the kind that children wear), too, before they're out the door.

The snow looks like it's falling in nice, soft, fat flakes from the window. In reality, it's falling steadily and sharply from the sky, and it stings his cheeks immediately, making his skin feel raw almost immediately. He shoves Harry out of the way, running for the car, but when he pulls on the door handle nothing happens. He tugs again, frowning. And again.

"It's stuck," Louis states.

"It's not stuck," Harry says, coming over to his side. He grabs the handle, tugs, and nothing happens. "Huh. It's stuck."

With a roll of his eyes, Louis moves to the other side of the car. Harry's door, at least, is not stuck. He opens it, crawls over to the passenger, and then waits for Harry to get in, rubbing his hands together. He can see his breath, even in the car, and he's shivering.

"Please tell me the heat works in thing," Louis says while Harry shoves the key in the ignition.

Harry gives him a sideways look. "Um. The heat works in this thing?"

Louis groans loudly as the car rumbles to life, feebly turning the dial for the heat. There's an alarming growling sound, and a whistling coming from the heating vents, and then cold air is blasting into his face. Harry immediately turns the dial back to off, and the cold air stops turning him into an icicle.

"So, um, the heating doesn't work in this thing," Harry admits.

Louis glares at him.

They're not the only ones with plans to stock up because of the impending storm. The parking lot at the grocery store is packed, and they're stuck parking wah at the back. This means that they're also stuck trekking across the entire lot, and by the time they make it inside, there is a thin layering of snow covering his front side. Harry's not doing much better, and his nose is an angry red and his lips are a worrying shade of white.

"Harry!" someone calls as he's grabbing a cart.

They both turn, Louis with a confused, wondering look, Harry with a bright smile splitting his face. He meets a pair of blue eyes, crinkled at the side with a smile. "Who's that?" he demands as the guy keeps coming towards them, weaving his way past other shoppers.

"Friend," Harry says vaguely.

"You have friends?" He doesn't mean to sound so sceptical, it's just that Harry never really hangs out with anyone. Like, ever.

"Many, actually," Harry says in a low voice as the guy stops in front of them. He's got orangey red hair trapped under a hat, and the kind of grin that is sort of impossible not to return. Harry smiles at his friend and says, "Ed. Hey."

"Harry," Ed says back. "Are you grocery shopping? Didn't know you were capable, mate."

Louis covers his mouth and turns as he lets out a snort. Harry, on the other hand, just says, "What about you? Anything in that basket going to actually go through the register, or are you just gonna walk out with it?"

"Figure I'll pay for half, walk out with the rest." They both chuckle at this. "Who's your friend?"

"Oh!" Harry slaps Louis on the shoulder as he turns, moving the cart with him. "This is Louis. My housemate. You know, the one—"

"With the fantastic ass," Ed finishes for him. He extends his hand to Louis, who takes it with the intentions of, you know, a handshake. Instead he's tugged into one of those brohugs where they awkwardly pat each other's backs. "Heard a lot about you, Louis."

"Good things, I hope," Louis says when they break apart.

Ed's grin turns into a smirk that makes Harry blush. "Depends on whether or not you think sexual objectification is a good thing."

Louis' eyes narrow. He turns to Harry, a hand on his hip. "What exactly have you been telling him?"

"Well," Ed starts with a considering look, "he said that—,"

"You've got to go now," Harry says loudly, covering Ed's mouth with a mitten covered hand. "I'll call you later, you dick."

"Nice meeting you, Louis," Ed tells him.

"Same," Louis says, too dumbstruck to really do much more.

When he's gone, Harry awkwardly shifts on his feet and keeps his eyes on the tiles of the floor. "I didn't sexually objectify you."

"Why not?" Louis asks, pushing the car forward. "Am I not good enough for you to sexually objectify?"

Harry easily catches up with him, long legs covering the distance that separated them in a matter of seconds. "No," he says quickly. "You are. It's just— I respect you more than that."

"You respect me more that that," Louis deadpans, pulling a box of cereal into the cart. Cereal doesn't go bad if they lose power, and it's sugary and delicious.

"Yeah." Harry grins at him, lopsided and wide. "I mean, you've got a great ass, you do, but you're more than your great ass, you know?"

"I'm so pleased that you think so," Louis says flatly, throwing random boxed items into the cart. "I feel so much better about myself now. Thank you."

"Don't do that," Harry pleads, a hand finding its way to the small of Louis' back. He can barely feel it through the thick padding of his coat.

"Do what?"

"Ice me out," Harry elaborates.

"I don't ice you out," Louis denies, turning into a new aisle, breaking the contact of Harry's hand on his back easily. He manoeuvres the cart past a few other shoppers, moving briskly through the aisle, stopping only when he needs to grab something.

"You do, actually," Harry argues. "Fantastically. You're like a damn snowstorm yourself when you want to be."

"Guess it's unfortunate that your heaters don't work, then," he says apathetically.

Harry makes a frustrated sound and moves so he's in front of the cart. He puts both hands on the end, effectively stopping Louis from being able to move it. "Come on, Lou," he whines. "Are you really going to be pissed at me about this?"

Louis sighs and says, "No, I'm not. I just like working you up. It's entertaining."

"You're a little shit, you know that?" He's laughing, though, so it's obvious that he means it in the best possible way.

After the grocery store, they stop and get a new flashlight as well as one of those huge 48 packs of batteries. The snow continues to fall, even as the sky starts darkening, casting everything in gray shadows. It's beautiful, objectively speaking. The way the snow cascades down past the windows, the way the streetlamps give everything a whimsical glow. But, in reality, it's just a really cold pain in the ass.

It's as they're turning onto the street only a few down from their own that the car comes to an abrupt stop. Louis thinks nothing of it at first, but a few seconds later when they're still not moving, no stop sign in the immediate area, he starts to worry. Snow is crunching under the tires, which sound like they're working on overtime, groaning and squealing, but they're not moving.

"Come on," Harry says, slapping the steering wheel. "Not now. We're almost there. Come on!"

Louis looks over his shoulder to see snow flying from behind the car, but they have no traction. "We're stuck."

"We're stuck," Harry agrees. "Temporarily. It'll be fine. It's just not used to driving in this weather. Can't remember the last time we had a storm this bad."

Louis chews his lip for a moment, tuning out Harry begging the car to work, and him verbally abusing it when it refuses to do so. "I could get out and push," he suggests. He really doesn't want to. It's cold and the snow is even worse now, and he'll be a solid block of ice before they even get the car moving, but there's really no other option.

"No." Harry shoots that idea down immediately. "Just give it a minute. It'll be fine."

Louis makes a sarcastic sound and pushes open his door. Harry calls after him but he ignores it, moving for the back of the car. He braces himself, digs his feet in, and pushes. "You've got to work with me," he shouts loud enough for Harry to hear. A moment later he's pressing on the gas and Louis' pushing on the car, snow flying out around him when the tires still refuse to find purchase.

"It's not working," Harry calls.

"Just try again!"

They try again. And again. And again. The car isn't going anywhere. They could walk home, get the shovel from the shed and dig it out, but they're a five minute walk from home, and he already can't feel his ears or his hands or his toes. Shivering, Louis jumps back in the car, slamming the door behind him, huddling in on himself for warmth.

"We're temporarily screwed," he says as an afterthought.

Harry gives him a concerned look. "You're freezing."

"No, I'm nice a toasty." It's a weak retort, and his words shake as his teeth chatter. "Just get the heater working, please. Before I, like, die or lose a limb. I'm fairly attached to all of them."

Harry turns on the heater. Cold air filters through it again, but, after a few minutes, the cold air starts to get hotter, and then the car is heating up, getting blissfully warm. "Oh, thank God," he moans, ripping off his gloves. He holds his hands right over the heating vent, eyes falling closed.

Harry reaches into the back, pulling out that box of cereal. He rips it open and grabs a handful, shovelling it in his mouth. He holds the box out to Louis next, who does the same, and the there's nothing but crunching sounds filling the air. The snow seems to create a barrier between them and the real world, soundproofing and obscuring their view of everything else.

Every couple of minutes, Harry tries the car again. Except for more snow flying up and the car making feeble attempts to move, nothing happens. A few people drive by them, but everyone is so desperate to get out of the storm that not one person stops to offer them help.

"Now what?" Louis asks when they've finished the cereal. "Think we should try walking?"

"Think we'd even make it back in one piece?" Harry counters, leaning forward. He flips on the windshield wipers, but despite the valiant effort that they make, the snow on the window has turned into ice, and it won't be moved. "Guess we don't have a choice."

They gather up their groceries, leaving the car right there on the road. Everyone's already done a good job of avoiding hitting it thus far, so it should be fine. It's not like they can call a tow truck in this weather anyways.

By the time they stumble into the house, Louis' legs feel like cement blocks, his cheeks are so cold they're stinging, and he stopped feeling his lips about two minutes ago. Harry doesn't look much better, either. They trek snow into the house, Niall running from the living room to greet them.

"That bad out there?" he asks, taking a few bags from Louis' arms.

Liam comes out of the living room, too, and he takes one look at them before jogging up the stairs. He doesn't return until Louis and Harry have removed their outerwear (with difficulty, since his fingers can't remember how to work right— they're like little blunt stubs that refuse to do anything), and it's with two thick blankets in his arms.

He removes his jeans, too, right there in the hallway. They're soaked through with snow anyways, so it's not like there's any point to leave them on. Harry does the same, and his legs are a light pink colour from the cold. Together, they both make their way to the couch, collapse on it, and Liam covers them with a blanket while Niall puts away the groceries and even Zayn offers to make them hot chocolate.

He's not sure who initiates it. One minute they're both at opposite ends of the couch, huddling with their blankets, trying to get warm. The next they're a tangle of limbs, both of their blankets thrown over them, Harry's arm around his waist, Louis' head on his shoulder. Zayn returns with steaming cups, but neither of them move to grab one. Louis' head feels too heavy to do anything, really, but blink to try and keep his eyes open. Even that doesn't work for long, and before he knows it he's drifting out of consciousness, Harry's breathing becoming more even as he does the same.

It's pitch black in the living room when he wakes up to someone gently nudging his shoulder. "Lou," Harry says quietly. "My arm's asleep. Louis—,"

"Mrph," Louis lets out, rubbing at his eyes. He blinks, realizes he's cuddling with Harry, and nearly rolls off the couch. Harry keeps that arm around his waist, though, and that's the only reason why he doesn't fall flat on his face. "Watime's it?"

"Dunno," Harry answers. His voice is rough and low with sleep, gravely and almost sexy, if he's being honest. Okay, really sexy, if he's actually being honest.

"We should go to bed," Louis suggests, stretching his arms over his head. His whole body aches. It feels like he ran a marathon, everything in him protesting when he tries to move.

"Yeah," Harry agrees.

They get up, blankets falling off them. Louis grabs his own and wraps it around his shoulders as he starts for the stairs. Harry, on the other hand, starts for the hallway. "Where are you going?" Louis asks him.

Harry pauses. "What?"

"Are you coming or not?" he demands, jerking his head towards the stairs.

Harry takes one look down the hall at the door to his bedroom, and then he's following Louis up the stairs. They fall into Louis' bed without turning the lights on to guide the way, and when he falls asleep it's once again with Harry's body curled around his for extra warmth.

—

He wakes up to cold seeping into the room. It seems to press in on him from every direction. The only places on his body that feel warm are the ones that are covered by Harry's sprawled out limbs. Everything else is freezing. In fact, when he blinks open his eyes, he can see his breath in the air, like little puffs of smoke.

He tries not to wake Harry as he gets out of bed, heading for the thermostat. It's up high, which doesn't make any sense because it's really fucking cold in here. Frowning, he hits the light switch, just to see. Nothing happens.

"Mother fucker," Louis breathes, flicking the switch again though he knows it's helpless.

He hears a groan and a yawn and turns to find Harry leaning up on his elbows. His hair is mused from sleep, there's a crease line on his cheek from his pillow, and his eyes are heavily lidded. He yawns again, lifting a hand to his mouth. When he drops it, his lips are pulled up in a lazy smile. "You getting up?"

Louis shakes his head, shivering. He wraps his arms around his stomach and heads back for bed, pulling the comforters up to his neck. "There's no power," he explains. "And I'm freezing."

Harry falls back against the pillows, easily throwing an arm over Louis' waist. There is a part of him that wonders what the fuck he's even doing here right now. Wonders why he invited Harry to sleep in his bed, and why he's not kicking him out now. Wonders how he's supposed to keep this whole thing casual when waking up with Harry lying beside is something that he wouldn't mind being a daily occurrence.

A hand brushes his hip, under his shirt, and the goosebumps on his arm can no longer be blamed on the temperature of the room. "Do you want me to leave?" Harry asks, voice soft. His head is tilted towards Louis, but his eyes are on the blanket instead of his face.

"No," Louis whispers, because whispering feels fitting. "I don't."

Harry chuckles quietly, fingers now tracing a pattern on that patch of skin that suddenly feels too warm, an almost painful contrast to the rest of his cold body. "Do you want me to kiss you?"

Louis blinks rapidly, a surprised sound escaping him. "Excuse me?"

Harry's cheeks flush red and his eyelashes swoop low, threatening to brush against those cheeks. "I was just wondering if that's something you wanted. Maybe not even right now. Just, like, in general. Do you want me to kiss you? Ever?"

He feels stiff and frozen, but he still manages to breathe out a slightly strangled, "Yeah. I mean, yes."

"Okay," Harry says happily. He curls up closer to Louis' side, eyes falling closed.

"Okay," Louis repeats, frowning. "Just— okay? You're not going to kiss me?"

"Not right now," Harry says, words slurred with sleep. "Later. Back to sleep now. Night, Lou."

Louis gapes at him for a few moments, but Harry's fingers stop tracing things against his skin, and his breathing evens out, and his chest rises and falls evenly. Louis sighs and shifts a bit to get more comfortable, and then he closes his eyes and tries to drift off to sleep again.

Except he can't. He's too awake, and he's too cold, and he's hungry. Also, he really, really has to go to the bathroom. Harry makes a soft sound when Louis gently pushes him away, but he stays asleep, even as he riffles through his drawers for sweatpants and then in his closet for a sweater.

When he gets downstairs (feet securely and warmly wrapped in a thick pair of socks and slippers), he finds Zayn and Liam in the kitchen. Zayn's asleep at the table, cheek smushed against it, snoring. Liam's eating a bowl of cereal and reading an old newspaper without a care in the world.

"No power," Liam says without looking up. "Niall's panicking. His laptop's got barely any battery. He's having a crisis."

"Lovely," Louis says flatly. He heads for the cupboards to get cereal for himself, but there's no milk in the fridge. "Did the milk go bad already?"

"No, it's out back in the snow," Liam explains. "Along with the meat and anything else that needs to be refrigerated."

"Of course it is," Louis says. "It's 2013. Have we not yet figured out a way to prevent power outages? Honestly? Ugh."

Making his way to the backdoor, Louis steps outside in his slippers because he can't be bothered to put on his actual shoes. The milk is cold, at least, and it's not going bad, so thank goodness for Liam because the rest of them probably would have just left the milk in the fridge and prayed that the power came back on before it went bad and sighed in loss if it did not.

Niall makes a dramatic entrance while he's leaning against the sink, spooning up a bite off cereal. Zayn is still sleeping, Liam's still reading the newspaper, and Niall literally jumps onto the table between them, lays down with his ankles crossed, folds his hands on his chest, and says, "My laptop is dead. Someone bury me. I don't want to live anymore."

Liam snorts at this, but Louis asks, "How long has it been dead for?"

"'bout four minutes," Niall answers.

Now Louis snorts, too, before finishing the last of his breakfast. He tosses the bowl and spoon in the sink just as a hand grabs his hip and carefully turns him around. And then he's being kissed, lips soft and insistent against his own, a hand sliding into his hair. It takes him a moment to realize it's Harry (he hadn't even heard Harry come into the kitchen) and another to react, but once he's realized, he scrambles to push away from the counter and up against Harry's warm body, curling his fingers into the material of his shirt where it stretches over his shoulder blades.

When they pull apart, Harry's hand lingers on his cheek, thumb brushing against his eyebrows, and then his cheekbones, and finally his lips before falling back to his side. Louis just stands there, dazed and out of breath.

"No," Niall says loudly, clearing the fog from Louis' mind. He pulls his eyes away from Harry (who looks far too pleased with himself, his lips red and spit slick) to watch Niall jump off the table. "No way. No. I am not dealing with this."

"What's going on?" Zayn demands, lifting his head from the table.

Niall is shaking his head and pulling open a cupboard. He grabs out a large jar that Louis is fairly certain used to contain a lot of pickles, and then he's heading for one of the drawers, pulling out a piece of paper and a pen.

"I refuse," he says while scribbling quickly on the paper, "to live with two fucking couples. I'm not putting up with this shit." He finishes writing and shoves the paper into the jar so that the writing is clearly readable from the outside, a very simple 'Couple-y shit/PDA'. "It's like a swear jar. Every time any of you kiss in front of me or in a common area like the kitchen or the couch, you put money in the jar. Every time Zayn looks at Liam like the sun literally shines out of his ass, you put money in the jar. Every time Harry looks at Louis like he wants to rip off his clothes, you put money in the God damn mother fucking jar. Do you understand me?"

Zayn stands up, pulls a wallet out of his pocket, drops a bill into the jar and then climbs onto Liam's lap and kisses him with a lot of obscene noises. Liam looks surprised at first, but a moment later his eyes fall closed and his hands grab Zayn's waist, and Zayn starts grinding down against him.

"I see the point of the jar now," Louis says, cocking his head to the side as he watches them. "Also, Zayn, you are not a boa constrictor. Your jaw cannot unhinge and you cannot swallow Liam whole, no matter how hard you try."

Niall throws up his hands and leaves the room with a loud, "I can't even write about this shit on my blog!"

Louis barely notices when Liam physically lifts Zayn up and carries him from the room. He's too busy leaning against the counter again and eying Harry, who's busy fixing himself a milk-less bowl of cereal while happily humming to under his breath.

As soon as the door closes, though, he says, "What the hell was that?"

Harry's back, turned to him, goes rigid before he turns, eyes wide. "Um," he says, placing his bowl on the counter. He rubs his hands on his jeans and fidgets, looking like a child that's about to get scolded. "I thought— I mean, you said— and I wanted to surprise you, and I— I'm sorry."

Louis shakes his head and crosses the short distance between them before kissing Harry with everything he's got. The surprised sound that Harry makes is swallowed by the kiss, and he lets Louis crowd him against the counters, lets him slide his hands up under his shirt, feeling the taught strain of his muscles when his own hands drop to Louis' ass and grip it firmly.

"Don't apologize," Louis says when he pulls back. "Oh, and there's milk outside."

He leaves without looking back, but he has a feeling that, if he had, he'd see Harry staring at him, mouth hanging open.

—

At any given time, Louis is about 87% done with Zayn. Tonight, though… tonight is his last straw. It's his birthday, for Christ sake. Well, okay, not technically, but for all intensive purposes. And instead of getting drunk and possibly making a scene on the dance floor with Harry, he's attempting to keep Zayn out of jail— or a body bag, because that guy chatting with Liam at the bar has got about a hundred pounds on him, and he'd probably be able to break Zayn in half.

"Is that really fucking necessary?" Zayn finally snaps. Louis rolls his eyes. He's not drunk enough for this. "That prick's been chatting with him for ten fucking minutes!"

"It's New Years," Harry says, being the voice of reason. "The bar's busy. He'll be back as soon as the drinks are ready."

"Yeah, I know that," Zayn growls, eyes narrowed. "I'm not mad at Liam. I'm never mad at Liam," he adds, which is probably true because Zayn's undoubtedly got a shrine to Liam hiding in his closet (Louis' going to check when they get home, actually) and, in Zayn's eyes, Liam can do no wrong. "That fuckbag checking him out, on the other hand…."

Finally Liam turns, a bright grin on his face for his new friend, and carries their drinks to them. Niall returns from the dance floor, sweaty and out of breath, to snag one from his fingers as Liam slides into the booth next to Zayn, sunny look on his face until he takes in the one on Zayn's.

"What's wrong?" he asks, eyebrows drawn together in concern.

"Your boyfriend is obsessively jealous," Louis answers for Zayn. "It's quite worrying, actually. I'd consider a restraining order, Liam. This can't be healthy."

Liam doesn't look worried at all. Instead his expression softens into something that's far too intimate for Louis to look at for long, and he bends his head close to Zayn and says, "You never have anything to worry about. I promise you, okay?"

Zayn snorts and reaches for his drink, but he kisses Liam's cheek so he knows that they're okay. Louis rolls his eyes again.

Ignoring them, Harry leans in close enough that his hair brushes against Louis' neck. "Dance with me," he says. It's not a question, but Louis still takes it as one.

"And why should I?" he asks, bringing his drink to his lips to hide his smirk. It's far too fruity for his liking, and the alcohol doesn't burn nearly enough on the way down.

"Because you want to," Harry says instantly. He lifts his own drink, downs it, the blue liquid staining his lips, making them look purple. He slams the glass down and slips out of the booth, eyebrows raised as he slowly walks backwards, nearing the throng of dancing bodies.

Several girls eye him considering. Louis can't blame them, not really. Not when he's got the sleeves of his t-shirt rolled up like that; not when his collar hangs loosely, falling low on his chest. Doesn't mean that it doesn't piss him off, but he's not Zayn. He's not going to be spurred into action by jealousy, thanks. He has more self control than that.

Until Harry shrugs and turns to one of the girls, a friendly smile on his face. Louis glares at his back, downs his drink much the way Harry had, and then slides out of the booth, ignoring Niall's asking of where he's going.

"You're not cute," Louis tells Harry, pressing up against his back, saying the words against his neck. "Nor are you funny."

Harry chuckles and turns, lips spread into a wide grin, just for Louis. The lights of the club flicker over his face, turning it green and blue and red and purple. "And yet I've somehow managed to score a dance with the hottest guy in here," he says, putting his hands on Louis' waist. "I must be charming, at least."

"You're not," Louis says flatly, but he wraps his arms around Harry's neck anyways. "Niall offered me ten quid to put you out of your misery, actually."

"I'll have to thank him for that, then." Harry swoops down (he has to because he's a God damn giraffe or something) and brushes his lips against Louis' neck as their bodies move together.

Harry is not a good dancer, let this be known. He is somehow walking sex and the most awkward thing on two legs, simultaneously. How he manages this, Louis has no idea, but there it is. He steps on Louis' feet twice, he has no rhythm, and if he moves his hands from Louis' waist, he apparently has absolutely no idea what to do with them and ends up waving them around in the most ridiculous way possible. The whole thing is, in essence, the most endearing, adorable thing Louis has ever witnessed.

The only redeeming factor of Harry's dancing is the way he holds Louis. His hands are always gentle as he grips his waist to move them together; he smoothes them up Louis' sides, over his ribs in barely there touches that leave him struggling to get more; and when he reaches one up to cup Louis' cheek, he takes his time first, brushing over each of Louis' features like he wants to memorize the way they feel under his fingertips.

Harry Styles touches Louis like he's in love with him, and Louis has absolutely no idea how to deal with that.

And then, of course, Zayn ruins the whole thing. "Dance with me," he hisses at Louis, pushing Harry out of the way. He wraps his arms far too tightly around Louis' neck while glaring somewhere in the distance.

Louis shoves at him, but Zayn refuses to let go. Harry is just standing there, frowning at them. "Get off me, you psycho koala bear," Louis grinds out, trying to extract Zayn's arms from around him.

"Trust me," Zayn says, tightening his grip, "this is better than what I'd like to be doing right now."

Louis cranes his neck to see over his shoulder, where Zayn is glaring daggers. He finds Liam at the bar again, that same guy beside him. This time Liam's face is a bit pinched, though, and he's drumming his fingers impatiently on the bar as if he really, really wants to get out of there. The guy just leans closer to him, gesturing widely with his hands.

"You need to get a hold of yourself," Louis says, shaking his head as he does so. "Liam loves you. You have nothing to worry about."

Zayn lets go of him, hands balling into fists at his sides. "I know that," he says. "It's not Liam I'm worried about. It's douchebag guys that— that—,"

"Oh no," Louis breathes, wincing as he watches Bar Guy put a hand on Liam's arm. Liam shrugs it off and says something, expression still polite until Bar Guy gets handsy again. He gropes Liam's ass and Liam snaps something, shoving him away, and Louis goes to grab Zayn, goes to stop him, and so does Harry. They're a beat too late, though, and Zayn's working his way swiftly through the crowd.

"Is that going to be a problem?" Harry asks, sounding worried.

"Shit," Louis groans, ignoring him.

He runs after Zayn, pushing people out of the way. He gets there just in time to watch Zayn shove the guy (who is, in all honesty, massive and terrifying) and shout loudly to be heard over the music, "He's not fucking interested. I don't know if you're blind or just stupid, but back the fuck off, mate."

The guy snorts and says, "I think he can take care of himself, mate."

"Doesn't mean he has to," Zayn says, slinging a possessive arm around Liam's shoulder. "You can go now."

Except the guy doesn't go. Instead he shoves Zayn, which is apparently the last straw for Liam, because Liam gently pushes Zayn behind him and then, with blinding speed that really shows off the boxing lessons Liam had taken between the ages of thirteen and seventeen, he pulls back his arm and punches the guy in the face.

Everything after that is sort of a blur. Bar Guy stumbles but stays upright, and then he moves towards Liam with a dangerous look in his eyes. Liam is too busy stopping Zayn from jumping into things, and while Liam is definitely able to take care of himself, like that guy said, Louis can't just stand there and watch someone hit him, which is why he grabs Bar Guy's arm and tugs.

Bad idea, he realizes a moment later. This guy towers over him, and his arms are, like, twice the size of Louis'. Louis isn't backing down, though. Not that he'd get a change to, because before Bar Guy can hit him, he's literally being lifted off the ground and turned. Suddenly there's a body between him and Bar Guy. A familiar body with a head of curly hair on top.

And then Niall finally comes over from wherever the fuck he was, and he says, "You sure you want to take on all five of us? Cause, between you and me, I think that's a fight you're gonna lose."

Bar Guy takes a look at all of them and then takes a step back. He flings a short, "Fuck you," at both Zayn and Liam first, though.

"Actually, we're going to fuck each other," Zayn tells him before taking Liam's hand and dragging him through the crowd.

Louis follows them, a hand on the small of his back the whole way. Niall takes up the rear with Harry, the last one out the door, phone pressed to his ear to call a cab when they exit the club.

They all just stand there for a moment, breathing heavily, until Zayn releases Liam's hand so he can slap Louis' back, and then the two of them are cackling. "Fuck the Avengers," Louis says. "You and I should form our own team. The Payne Protectors."

"Stopping one douchebag from hitting on him at a time," Zayn adds, squeezing his shoulder. "We should get t-shirts."

"I can protect myself just fine," Liam tells them, but he's smiling fondly anyways.

"You're all fucking crazy," Niall puts in.

There's a bit more laughing, Zayn and him touching a lot more than normal, bonding over both of their fierce love of Liam, possibly the only thing they both agree on. It isn't until they get in the cab (a van, where Niall sits at the front with the driver, Liam and Zayn sit in the middle two seats, and Louis and Harry sit in the very back) that he realizes Harry hasn't said anything at all.

He turns to him, eyebrows drawn together, to find Harry glaring out the window. He goes to put a hand on Harry's shoulder, but it's instantly shrugged off.

"What's wrong?" Louis asks hesitantly. "Harry—,"

"Am I the only one that doesn't find this funny?" Harry demands, turning to him. His admission is loud enough that everyone else (but the driver) is turning in their seats to look at him. "It's just— fuck, you find this funny, but it's not. That guy was twice your size, Louis!"

Louis blinks rapidly at him before he bristles. "Yeah, I'm aware. But I'm fine."

"Wouldn't have been if I didn't stand between you two," Harry says harshly. "You could have gotten seriously hurt, but you're laughing about it. I just— it's fucking reckless, and that pisses me off."

Zayn turns all the way around in his seat, and he fixes Harry with an angry look. "Calm down, bro," he says (to which Niall makes a protesting sound, since Zayn's not allowed to use that word, though technically they're not in the house). "Don't yell at him."

This is possibly more surprising than Harry yelling at him. He can't recall a single time where Zayn has ever stuck up for him. It's not that he and Zayn don't really love each other, because they do. It's just that he and Zayn would rather make fun of each other to express this. They're not the kind words, gentle touches, sticking up for each other type.

And it makes Harry wilt in his seat. His shoulders slump and the light goes out of his eyes. "I'm sorry," he says to Louis. He runs a hand through his hair before continuing with, "I just couldn't deal with the fact that you almost got hurt. You realize that, right?"

The thing is, he really does. He's been noticing it all night. All week, even, maybe. Or, fuck, possibly for the past month. The way Harry looks at him is far too warm. The way he touches Louis is far too intimate. The way he was so quick to jump in front of Louis to protect him is just too much. He doesn't know how to deal with that. He doesn't know how to handle someone who wants to take care of him and treat him well and touch him — not like he's something breakable, exactly, because he's fairly sure that Harry knows he can take care of himself— like he's something special.

This should be a good thing. He should be over the moon about this. But all he is, really, is scared. It'd be far too easy to fall for Harry, really, truly, head-over-heels fall for him, and he's terrified of what would happen when that fall ended and he finally hit the ground, because he knows he'd hit it hard enough that it would break him irreparably.

"Yeah," he says finally, voice soft. "I realize."

Harry nods and puts a hand on his thigh. "Good."

Louis doesn't think that it is, though.

 

 

Chapter Text

 

 

On the first day of school after the holidays, Liam has an early shift at the diner. This means that he ends up getting there at five and leaves with just enough time to get home and take Ace for a walk before everyone else gets there. Just as planned, Zayn's car is in the driveway as he and Ace make their way up it, Ace pausing to rub against the backdoor. He loves the car more than possibly anything in the entire world. He slips in the backseat all the time, though, whenever Zayn takes a corner without slowing enough, or even just because he's running to the other side to see something out the opposite window. That seems to be his favourite part, weirdly enough.

When he walks inside, he smells food immediately, which is weird. Harry's car wasn't out front, but apparently someone else (he prays it wasn't Niall) had been cooking. He gets even more of a surprise when he finds Louis sitting on the couch, legs tucked under him, a plate in his lap, with none other than Niall's ex Perrie beside him, also eating what looks like a grilled cheese sandwich.

"— platypuses can consume their own bodyweight in food within a twenty-four hour period," Louis is saying, waving his sandwich for emphasis.

Perrie, who had just taken a bite of her own, makes a face and drops it onto the plate, which she then places gingerly on the table. "I really do not give a single fuck about platypuses."

Louis ignores her. "Did you know that male platypuses have enough venom that one could actually kill Ace with it?" he says, eyes wide. "And they have a lifespan of about twelve —,"

"Zayn!" Perrie shouts. "He won't stop comparing me to a fucking platypus!" She turns to Louis. "That god damn cartoon spells his name with a 'y'. Mine is an 'I' and an 'e'. Fuck off."

"You're being pretty defensive of this," Louis tells her as Liam removes Ace's leash.

"I'm not a crime fighting platypus," Perrie hisses.

"That's exactly what a secrete agent, crime fighting platypus would say," Louis argues.

Liam rolls his eyes as Ace bounds over to them and sits directly in front of Perrie's half eaten sandwich with wide, pleading eyes. "Hey," Liam says, moving towards them. "What're you two doing?"

Zayn takes that moment to come out of the kitchen, two plates balanced in his hands. He grins at Liam and makes his way through the room towards him, where he is now sitting on Niall's recliner, and he hands over one of the plates. "Figured you'd just be getting home. How was your walk?"

Liam shrugs and says, "It was fine. You know he's great to walk."

Zayn's grin widens as he falls onto the couch between Perrie and Louis, neither of them moving over to give him more room, so he's literally squeezed between them, Louis pressing up against his left, Perrie against his right. That makes Liam weirdly agitated.

"Oh," Zayn says, clapping his hands together. He rolls his eyes at himself, like he's an idiot, and says, "I forgot to mention it when I called you at lunch. Perrie and I have an art class together, and—,"

"We're stuck doing a project together," Perrie finishes, giving Zayn a sideways look, blinking up at him through thick, impossibly long lashes. "Can't believe I got stuck with this prick, but at least he's a great artist."

Zayn snorts a laugh and shoves her shoulder. "Can't believe we've had three classes together and I've never talked to you before."

"I'm a bit intimidating," Perrie teases. "Your hesitance is totally understandable."

Louis makes a face at them and mutters under his breath, "Agent P," in a fairly impressive impression of that from Phineas and Ferb before he gets off the couch and heads upstairs. Liam watches him go and wishes he had made Louis stay, because he suddenly feels like a third wheel. Perrie and Zayn are still chatting, now moving on to talking about their project, which is apparently supposed to be a replica of a famous piece of art, remade in a different medium.

"For example," Zayn says, talking to Liam but looking at Perrie, "we could do the Mona Lisa, but we'd have to make it a sculpture or something instead."

"We're not doing the Mona Lisa," Perrie says instantly.

"I know that," Zayn retorts. "I was using it as an example."

"Good, because everyone's going to pick something that obvious. I want to do something better, something more obscure," she adds.

Zayn smirks at her. "Anything you have in mind, oh wise one?"

Perrie rattles off the names of various famous artworks that Liam doesn't recognize at all. In fact, she might as well be speaking gibberish. Zayn, on the other hand, looks more and more impressed as she goes along, until Liam finally gets up and says, "I think Louis' calling me." He's not, but neither of them are paying enough attention to notice this.

He's halfway up the stairs when Zayn calls his name. He turns, eyebrows raised, and Zayn frowns at him for a long moment before saying, "You don't want to sit with us?"

Liam shakes his head. "I can't really contribute much to the conversation," he explains. That makes him feel left out in a weird way.

It's not that he's insanely jealous. In fact, Liam sort of really likes Perrie, actually. She seems sweet and funny and just feisty enough to be likable and not come off as completely rude. But, at the same time, Perrie is everything Zayn should want in a romantic partner. Smart, attractive, knowledgeable in the things that he likes. Zayn starts talking about art and Liam gets completely lost. In fact, if someone asked him who his favourite artists was, he'd probably actually say Zayn, as cheesy as that is. There are all these wonderful, impressive things that Zayn likes, and Liam just… doesn't understand them.

"Come back down in a bit anyways," Zayn says, turning back around. "I work better with you beside me."

Liam smiles at the back of his head. "Will do," he promises.

He climbs the rest of the stairs and heads for Louis' room instead of his own. Louis is laying on his bed, throwing a small ball up at the ceiling. It nearly falls on his face when he turns to look at Liam, standing in the doorway, but it hits his shoulder instead and rolls off to the side of the bed, where it tumbles to the ground and disappears in the chaotic mess that is Louis' bedroom.

"Hey," Louis says, sitting up. "You okay?"

Liam nods and shuts the door behind him. He perches on the end of Louis' bed, tilting his head back to look up at the ceiling, because if he doesn't he has to look at the mess, and it's making him itch to clean it. Not that he actually would, because Liam hasn't seen Louis' floor since 2011, and he's really not sure what he'd find.

"I'm good," Liam says honestly. "Just a little left out."

Louis grins knowingly. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about."

"I know," Liam admits. "It's not about being jealous of him liking her. It's just the fact that she's, like, into all the stuff he is, and I try to but I'm just— I'm not. I want to be everything he deserves, you know?"

"Aw," Louis coos. "I think that admission requires you to put money in Niall's couple jar."

Liam makes a face at him. "That's only if we do it in front of him."

"That's not fair," Louis argues. "It makes me uncomfortable, too."

Shoving his shoulder, Liam can't help but let out a chuckle. Louis is so ridiculous. "That's pretty hypocritical, given you and Harry."

He expects a laugh at this, and maybe for Louis to shove him back. Instead Louis groans and flops against the bed, squeezing his eyes closed. "DoyouthinkHarrylovesme?"

"What?"

Louis sighs and rubs a hand over his face before repeating, slow enough for Liam to understand this time, "D you think Harry's in love with me?"

"Oh," Liam says softly, taken aback. He thinks about it for a moment. "Are you in love with him?"

"I— what— irrelevant," Louis snaps. "I asked you a question. You can't answer a question with another question."

Liam makes a face as he kicks his foot to nudge away a piece of clothing near it, only to end up with a pair of Louis' boxers hanging off him. He makes a face and flicks his foot to get it away, but he only manages to get it stuck on the dresser, where it hangs in clear sight.

"Shouldn't you be asking Harry that, not me?" Liam wonders, trying not to stare at the underwear, but they're just, like, right there. And they're silky and red and, really? Really, Louis? He would have silky red underwear.

"Oh my god," Louis moans, rolling onto his stomach. He keeps rolling until he falls off the bed, and then he lets out another moan and a loud, "I can't just ask him! God, Liam, you're so stupid."

"Don't quote Mean Girls at me," Liam scolds.

Louis makes a frustrated sound. "Fine. We all know Niall would be Karen anyways. You'd be Aaron Samuels for sure."

Liam moves so he can hang over the bed to meet Louis' eyes. Louis stays laying on the floor, hands neatly folded over his chest. "Stop trying to change the subject. Why do you think Harry's in love with you?"

All he gets in reply is a shrug.

"Is there any reason you think he's in love with you?"

Another shrug.

"You're being difficult."

This time a shrug and Louis sticks out his tongue.

Before Liam can push him to answer, Niall bursts into the floor and shuts the door quickly. He jumps on the bed beside Liam, eyes saucer-wide, looking about ready to pop out of his skull.

"Why is my ex girlfriend in the living room, giggling with your boyfriend?"

"Liam's trying to initiate a threesome," Louis replies from the floor. "He already asked Harry and I, but I can't look at Liam's penis without crying, and Harry suffers from a sever case of erectile dysfunction."

"Oh," Niall says, as if this is a completely plausible answer. "Good luck with that, but get her the fuck out of the house, yeah? Josh is coming over in, like, ten minutes, and if he finds Perrie here, he's going to jump to conclusions and I'm not going to get another chance."

Louis finally sits up. "I thought Josh refused to go out with you again."

Niall gives him a smug smile. "No one can resist the Irish charm."

"That was really douchey," Liam informs him.

"I'm embracing that side of me," Niall responds. "Anyways, get her out."

"Can't," Liam says apologetically. "Her and Zayn have an art project to do together."

Niall makes a dramatic sound and rolls, much like Louis had, off the bed. Louis lets out a squeal and a shouted, "Get off me, you heavy fucker!" while Niall says a muffled, "Liam, fix this."

Liam doesn't even make it off the bed before the door opens again. This time it's Harry who comes into the room. He frowns at Liam for a moment. "Where's Louis?" he asks.

"Right here," Louis calls, still trapped under Niall. "Just, you know, suffocating to death. The usual."

"I'm not that heavy," Niall disputes.

Harry laughs and jumps onto the bed beside Liam, hanging over the edge to look down at Niall and Louis. "Guess what I have," he says.

"A chicken," Niall says instantly.

"Herpes," Louis says next.

"Hopefully neither of those things," Liam contributes. "Not that there'd be anything wrong with that. It's very common, and easy to contract even if you're careful, and there are medications that—,"

"I don't have herpes," Harry tells him. He holds up a flyer with a blinding grin on his face. "There's this open mic night happening at the coffee shop on—,"

Louis snatches the flyer from him, Niall falling onto his side at the sudden movement. He doesn't get annoyed, though, because he's too busy trying to steal the flyer from Louis. Liam is, too, because he recognizes it. It has the same design as it had the last three years, and it makes excitement bubble up in him.

"Two weeks," Louis breathes. "We have two weeks."

"Wait, you guys know about this?" Harry asks, easily stealing the flyer from Louis.

"Obviously!" Niall says, shoving Louis when the other boy uses his head to push himself off the ground. "We've entered every year."

"Entered?" Harry looks at each of them, confusion evident.

"It's not an open mic night," Liam explains, pointing to the smaller print on the flyer. "Technically, it sort of is, because anyone can enter. But at the end of the night, everyone gets a slip of paper and writes down which act was their favourite, and the winner gets free breakfast for a month."

"And bragging rights," Louis adds. "It's a big thing. You were seriously missing out with campus life."

Harry's eyebrows knit together. "So everyone just performs anything they like?"

"Basically," Louis says with a shrug. "Only there can't be any excessive swearing, explicit mentions of sexual activities or drug use because, you know, the children."

Liam grabs the flyer from Harry's hand. "We should tell Zayn."

"We should tell Zayn," Louis mocks, pitching his voice high even though it sounds nothing like Liam. "I remember a time when your every thought didn't revolve around Zayn Malik." He sighs wistfully. "Oh, the good old days."

Liam gives him the finger and leaves the three of them in the room. His footsteps echo loudly through the house as he bounds down the stairs, but Perrie and Zayn aren't in the living room. He frowns, noticing all their stuff still there, and tries the is inside, pouring a can of Coke into a glass. She looks up when Liam walks in, and a bright, beautiful smile slides onto her face. "Hey, Liam," she says. "Zayn's in the basement, if you were looking for him."

Liam nods and goes to walk back out, but he finds himself leaning in the doorway. "I'm really sorry about what happened between you and Niall," he says quietly. It's just that he's sort of been feeling really guilty about it. He knew the whole time, had actually lied to her face and said that everything between them was fine when in reality he knew that Niall was seeing several other people. And while it wasn't his relationship, wasn't his place to say anything, he still feels bad about it.

Perrie laughs. "It's fine. Don't beat yourself up over it. The past is the past and all that."

"Okay," Liam says. "So you're alright, then?"

Now Perrie's smile turns into a smirk. "Why? Worried I'm going to try and steal your man?" Everything in him goes cold and his lips part in surprise. He can't even formulate a response to that, which is probably a good thing because Perrie quickly continues with, "Shit, Liam, that was a joke. I was kidding."

"Oh." Liam licks his lips and takes a step backwards, farther into the living room. "Right."

"Plus, I wouldn't stand a chance," Perrie adds, but she's not looking at Liam anymore. She's staring out the window, a considering look on her face. "That boy loves you desperately."

"I love him, too" Liam says, wondering why this conversation is still happening. He wants to walk away but he doesn't want to seem rude. "So I guess that's a good thing."

Perrie casually makes her way towards him, and then she walks around him on her way to the couch. As she sits down she says, "I don't think it is. Boys like that — they like to run away when they feel to much. And you terrify him."

Liam frowns. "I terrify him?"

Perrie nods, an almost sad look on her face. "Trust me. I've dated my fair share of guys, and guys like Zayn? They like to leave before you get a chance to break them. And I'm fairly sure that he thinks you could shatter him into tiny little pieces."

Before Liam can even properly process that, the basement door opens and Zayn walks out, weighed down by a heavy box that Liam knows contains a lot of art supplies. He leans backwards a bit as he kicks the door closed, and then he attempts to carry the box to the couch. Liam meets him halfway and takes it from him, and Zayn lets out a relieved sigh before giving him a grateful look. "Thanks, babe," he says.

The box isn't really all that heavy, actually, so it takes little effort to carry it to the coffee table and place it on top. "No problem," he says honestly.

Zayn grins and pats the spot next to him on the couch. "Come sit with us."

Biting his lip, Liam looks between Zayn and Perrie before shaking his head. "I can't. I promised Harry I'd bring him this back." He holds up the flyer for emphasis, even though that's a complete lie.

Eyes widening, Zayn tugs the paper from his hands. "Awesome," he breathes before looking up at Liam with wide eyes. "Are you entering this year?"

Liam shakes his head. Every year, Louis enters, and the last two years Niall and Zayn have, as well. Liam doesn't. He doesn't like to sing in front of people; doesn't like a room full of people staring at him with nothing else to deter their attention. It makes him feel sick just thinking about it. "Nah," he dismisses. "It's not for me."

Zayn's lips push out in a pout. "I'll go on stage with you," he offers. His eyes widen. "Or we could do a duet."

Just imagining that has Liam chuckling. He takes the paper back from Zayn and pockets it. "I'll give this back to Harry later," he says, sinking down onto the end seat of the couch.

The next half hour is spent with Liam fairly confused as Zayn and Perrie go on and on about what iconic piece of art they could replicate, but Liam doesn't really mind. Not when he's got Zayn's arm around his shoulder and a hand squeezing his own every time Zayn gets too excited over something and he wants to share it with Liam.

At one point Perrie smiles fondly at them as Zayn buries his head in Liam's neck to laugh, and he knows that what she said earlier wasn't meant to be harmful. He just also knows that she was wrong.

—

The next two weeks in their house are practically unbearable. For Liam, at least. Zayn and Perrie have stuck to the living room almost every day, working diligently on their project (which is apparently four large paintings, each one representing a different part in this famous poem that Liam didn't understand at all), and the smell of paint makes him sick. Normally he likes it, the way it sticks to Zayn's skin and mingles with his cologne, but it's a little much, every day all day. They should be working in the basement, but Louis and Niall have claimed it as their 'rehearsal space' though Liam has no idea what they're rehearsing because he never really hears any music. Mostly just a few cords being strung, and then a loud "God, Niall, it's one song, it's not that hard!" and then Niall's retort of, "You learn to play the guitar then, asshole!"

And he barely gets any alone time with Zayn. Between his job, Zayn's classes, and then his project with Perrie and Zayn's own preparing for the open mic night, the only time they're alone is when they get to bed, and usually one of them is too tired to do much else than sleep.

Blissfully, two days before the open mic night, Louis runs upstairs, slaps the papers Perrie is clutching out of her hands, and says, "Zayn, Niall and I need to steal your project partner."

"I've never been stolen before," Perrie muses. "But I don't really like you, and I happen to hate Niall, so I'll pass."

"What do you need her for?" Zayn demands. He's sitting on the floor, legs under the coffee table, paint covering his cheeks, back pressed against Liam's own legs. Every once in a while he rubs Liam's knee and looks up at him with a soft, relaxed expression, and maybe they don't get to be alone like this, because Perrie's always here, but he sort of likes these moments. The ones that he gets briefly in between both of their hectic schedules. The ones that don't last more than a few seconds, but that are only reassurances that they're still together. A barely there touch here, a wistful, promising smile there, sometimes a chaste kiss.

He falls more in love with Zayn every passing minute, really, as pathetic as that is. And that shouldn't even be possible because he's already pretty head over heels for the guy.

"Our performance," Louis says breathlessly. He gives Perrie a pleading look. "Here's the thing: You won't need to do much more than stand on stage with us, you don't even need to sing. Just look pretty. And if it will help persuade you, you don't ever have to talk to Niall, and I won't ever make a Phineas and Ferb reference in your presence ever again."

Perrie's eyebrows draw together as she considers this. "You'll never say the word platypus in front of me ever again," she says. "And Niall has to write out an apology to me on that blog of his."

"Deal."

"Then deal," Perrie says. She turns to Zayn. "We're ahead of schedule anyways."

"How long do you need her for?" Zayn asks Louis.

"Like, an hour right now. And then tomorrow for the actual show."

Zayn pushes off from the ground and immediately falls into Liam's lap. "Sounds good to me," he says as Liam's arms go around his waist. "I'm sure I'll find something to do to pass the time."

Chuckling, Liam leans in to press his lips against Zayn's neck. Louis pointedly crosses the room and drops Niall's Couple Jar on the table. "And no sex on the couch," he adds. "If I'm not fucking in my living room, neither are you."

Perrie giggles while Liam frowns at him, but all Zayn says is, "You're not having sex at all. Where doesn't matter."

Louis' mouth opens and closes twice before he grabs Perrie's arm (rather roughly, given the grimace on her face) and starts dragging her towards the basement. "Fuck you, Malik!" he throws over his shoulder.

"That's what I've got Liam for!" Zayn shouts back.

When he's gone, Liam pokes Zayn's side and Zayn slides off his lap. "Sometimes I think you get off on that," Liam teases. "Fighting with him, I mean."

Zayn's fingers walk up his thigh. "Do you want to know what really gets me off?" he asks. Liam swallows. "Or do you want me to show you?"

"Tell me and show me," Liam suggests, mostly because he likes Zayn's voice, likes the way it drops low and gets all slow when he's turned on, breathless and completely, impossibly seductive.

Zayn's shirt is off and Liam's pants are unbuttoned by the time they get interrupted. He's moaning into Zayn's mouth, grinding down against him as Zayn palms at his ass and tries to pull them closer together. All he can feel is Zayn's nails digging into his flesh and the way his jeans trap his hard cock and the length of Zayn's against his hip when the sound of a door opening puts a stop to what hasn't even had a real chance to start.

The front door closes and Liam pulls his lips away from Zayn's to gape at Harry, who's got headphones in and is too distracted by kicking off his shoes and singing. "Can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky are like… shooting… Are you kidding me?!"

Zayn groans and pulls his hands out of Liam's pants. "Just go upstairs, Harry."

Harry rips out his headphones and attempts to glare at them, but it's Harry so all he really accomplishes is looking like a six year old. "Why is it always me?" he asks. "Why? Your exhibitional tendencies are going to scar me for life." He closes his eyes. "Don't you have bedrooms for a reason?"

"I recall you walking in on us even when we were in our bedrooms," Zayn reminds him, which makes Liam's cheeks heat up because, yeah, that shouldn't make his dick twitch, remembering the way Zayn just — and he— and it turns him on as much as it embarrasses him.

"Trust me, I will regret that for the rest of my life," Harry says while Liam quickly does up his jeans. "Now that none of our dicks are threatening to escape our pants, what did you guys think about the song I was singing? D'you think it's good enough for tomorrow?"

Liam sighs. The sooner this is over, the better.

—

The coffee shop is packed. Normally, there are several free tables. Tonight, everyone's crammed together, some tables seating twice their normal amount, people leaning against the walls, standing in the middle of the room, seated on the floor. There's a small stage in the far corner, close to the bathrooms. Really it's just a small platform, raised a few inches off the ground. During normal hours, there's two tables set up on top of t. Now, it's cleared of everything except a microphone.

Louis is the first one to push open the door, and he strides into the room with his chin tilted high. Liam is right behind him, with Zayn's hand on the small of his back and Niall's shoulder brushing against his own. Harry takes up the rear.

On the other side of the room, Perrie's at a table with a group of girls that Louis immediately walks up to. "Perrie," he says as he pulls back one of two of the only empty chairs at their table.

"Louis," Perrie says pleasantly.

"Niall," says one of the other girls, eyes narrowed and lips pursed.

"Jesy," Niall says back.

"Harry," Harry says. "That's me, in case you're wondering."

It's not that Liam is a quiet person, the reason he stays silent. It's just that Liam is the sort of person who tends to get overshadowed in a large group, and that's what happens now. The girls all seem to glare at Niall and snap unflattering things at him, while Perrie laughs and chats with Louis, and Harry puts in his two cents because that's what Harry does, and Zayn—

"You okay, babe?" Zayn asks, thumb rubbing gentle shapes on the inside of Liam's wrist. "You're being awfully quiet."

Liam shrugs and looks around. It's so crowded, reminding him of why he never comes to this particular coffee shop unless he's desperate, and why he never, ever volunteers to get on stage.

"I'm fine," Liam says honestly, tugging Zayn down onto his lap. There isn't enough chairs for all of them, okay? And alright, yes, he takes advantage of every chance he has to touch Zayn anywhere and everywhere. "Nervous?"

"Me?" Zayn scoffs. "Nah. I'm looking forward to that free breakfast for a month, though."

"You still haven't told me what you're performing," Liam says. He's tried to get it out of Zayn all week, but Zayn just grins and shakes his head every time.

"And I'm not going to," Zayn says pleasantly. He slides a hand into Liam's hair. "You're just gonna have to wait and see."

"I need a portable couple jar," Niall complains. "You two are fucking ridiculous. At least Harry and Louis can keep the PDA at home."

"Oh, you two are dating as well?" one of the girls asks, gesturing between Louis and Harry.

"Yes," Harry says quickly.

"No," Louis says at the same time.

The sounds coming from the rest of the shop get louder as their table goes completely silent. "We're soul mates," Harry says eventually. "Louis' just reluctant."

And Liam tunes the rest of that out. He's long since stopped trying to figure out what's going on there. They kiss all the time, and sometimes they cuddle on the couch, and the other day Liam caught them sneaking out of the bathroom together, both wrapped in nothing but towels. Harry had made an embarrassed sound and hurried down the stairs, and Louis had glared at him and said, "Not a word, Liam. Friendship code. This never happened."

By the time someone gets up on stage, Liam is impatiently tapping his fingers on the table. It's too hot, especially with Zayn sitting on him (not that he's complaining about that, and he refuses to let Zayn go when he offers to find somewhere else to sit), and all the chaotic noise is giving him a headache. Why he lets his friends drag him to these things, he has no idea.

"Ahem." The guy on stage clears his throat directly into the microphone. "Welcome to Ben's Brews's seventh annual Open Mic Night Competition. For those of you new to Ben's Brews, I suggest trying the double chocolate hot chocolate. That shit— I mean, stuff, sorry, is freaking awesome." People laugh. "Alright, so let's get this going. Our first act of the night is a duo of performers, one of which came in second place last year. Welcome Louis 'The Tommo' Tomlinson and Niall 'Just Niall' Horan to the stage."

Louis stands up and smiles winningly at the crowd. "Please, hold all applause until after the performance. I'll also be signing autograph all night."

The two of them make their way up to the stage, and Perrie digs into her purse quickly, pulling out what almost looks like a tube of paint. And that's exactly what it is. Black paint that she uses to draw stripes on her face, like war paint. She coats her lips in it, too, shrugs on a black sweater, and then follows them up.

"Can we get a chair?" Niall asks, and someone provides one for him.

Louis is standing behind the microphone, Niall's sitting on the chair with his guitar, head ducked, a solemn look on his face. "Lower the lights," Louis orders. As soon as that's done, they begin.

Niall's always been good with the guitar, and this isn't an exception, though Liam's surprised, given the way Louis had yelled at him all week, telling him he was doing it wrong. As soon as he starts playing, Perrie starts dancing. It's this awkward, slow, almost miming thing.

"It's getting… hot in here," Louis sings, voice pitched incredibly low, words dragged out, long and slow. "So hot," he gasps.

"So hot," Niall echoes while still playing.

"So take off… all of your clothes," Louis sings, and Zayn literally has to cover his eyes.

No one knows what to think of the performance. There's scattered applause, but mostly just a bunch of blank, confused faces. Harry claps the loudest, standing up and everything. Zayn laughs, and Liam buries his head in Zayn's neck to stop himself from joining.

"Um." The first guy is back on stage now, politely shooing the three of them away. "That was a very… unique performance of Nelly's Hot In Herre. Um. Yeah. Did that really happen?" Now Zayn's not the only one laughing. "Okay, moving on. Up next is…"

Zayn doesn't perform for four more people. When it's finally his turn, he gets on stage without any dramatics or anything. He hands the host a CD and whispers the song number to him, and then he gets up to the microphone and coughs. "Hi. I'm Zayn Malik. I'll be singing a cover of I'll Be, which I'd like to dedicate to Liam, the one — the one blushing over there, in the corner. Oh, and now he's covering his face. Yeah, him. And in case you're wondering, he's taken, yeah?"

The whole fucking shop is staring at him. Liam shifts, glares at Zayn through a mask of his fingers, and prays that everyone stops looking at him soon. Harry pats his back in a way that's probably supposed to be consoling, and Zayn's got this shit eating grin on his face.

"I hate you," Liam mouths at him, to which Zayn just chuckles at before adjusting the mic.

The music starts up, acoustic and pleasant and familiar. "He's not singing Mariah?" Louis asks as he discreetly settles back into his seat.

"Shut up," Liam hisses.

Zayn's eyes are on his as he sings, "The strands in your eyes that colour them wonderful…," and Liam can't breath. Zayn's got a voice like melted chocolate, thick and warm and wonderful. Liam knows he isn't the only one awed into silence, as the rest of the room gets completely quiet, but he doubts that anyone else feels like their heart is trying to pound out of their chest. Or he hopes not, because it's not a very pleasant feelings. It's almost too much, the amount that he loves Zayn. Truly painful, almost. And judging from the look on Zayn's face, he feels it, too. That chest tightening, stomach fluttering, searing warmth that he gets every time he thinks about it.

When he's done, there's a loud round of applause. Just like Harry had for Louis, Liam is out of his seat and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes. Zayn thanks everyone for listening before weaving through the tables, ignoring the many, many interested looks thrown his way as he makes a beeline for Liam.

"How was it?" he asks when he's settled in Liam's lap again.

"It— you— great," Liam chokes out. "You were perfect."

One of Zayn's fingers tilt his chin up, and there's this look in his eyes that Liam can't place. "I love you so much it scares me, you know?" he whispers, and Liam realizes what it is. For the first time, he thinks maybe Perrie was right that day in the kitchen.

Zayn looks terrified. Hopelessly in love, maybe, but terrified.

Liam tightens his arms around Zayn and says, "Yeah, I do," and hopes he's holding on tight enough.

—

They don't get home until late that night, mostly because Louis and Niall refuse to go home without celebrating their win (which still makes no sense to Liam, not that he's not happy for them) and somehow Liam always lets himself be dragged along with them all.

So he didn't get to bed until really late, which is why he's not in the greatest mood when he's woken up at eight in the morning to someone pounding on the door. He rolls over, remembers that Zayn didn't sleep in bed with him last night, and groans at the lack of warmth as he pulls a pillow over his head. Downstairs, the knocking continues, and Liam wonders why the fuck none of his housemates are capable of answering the door.

"Someone get the fucking door!" Louis shouts from across the hall, and Liam would shout back if he had the energy.

There's silence again for a beat, but then the doorbell rings. It's this horrible piercing ding that sounds through the entire main floor of the house, and it's audible even from his room. Which is just great, because he's already got a headache from last night and that's exactly what he needs right now.

Another bout of knocking and Liam realizes that, yeah, he's gonna have to get up. Whoever is at the door apparently isn't going to give up, and none of his roommates are going to get the door for him. Sighing, he reluctantly gets out of bed and tugs on one of the shirts Zayn had left when they slept in here the other day.

As he's walking down the stairs, his mind strays back to last night, and stumbling into the house while trying to hold up a seriously intoxicated Niall. Zayn had helped him get Niall to his room, and then he'd hovered in the doorway of his own as Liam waited to be invited in. They haven't slept without each other in weeks. Not since that first time they hooked up, really, and Liam's become used to sleeping with Zayn's legs thrown over his and Zayn's head on his chest.

Only Zayn had coughed awkwardly and said, "Uh, night, Li." And then he'd disappeared into his room, door shutting between them without even a goodnight kiss. Liam still doesn't know what happened.

Someone comes down the stairs just as Liam makes it to the door, and he wonders why whoever it is couldn't have gotten up five minutes sooner, sparing him the trouble. But instead of getting annoyed, like one of the others would do, Liam just sighs again and opens the door.

There's a woman standing on the other side. She's dressed in one of those coats that don't really protect you from the cold weather. They're a fashion statement, not a piece of clothing meant to keep you warm. Something you wear to and from the car and whatever building you're going into, because you'd freeze if you stayed outside to long in it.

"Can I help you?" Liam asks politely.

The women pushes her glasses off her face and up into her dark hair, and she smiles at him in a pinched way before saying, "I believe you can. I'm looking for Harry Styles. I'm his mother."

Now that she's said that, Liam gives her eyes another look, and then notices a familiar shape in her features. "Oh," he says softly. "I'll go get him. Just — come in. It's probably cold."

The woman — Harry's mum— tilts her nose up but follows Liam into the house. He watches as the door to the kitchen swings shut, and he figures whoever else is up has decided to stay out of this.

"Um. The couch is there, if you'd like to sit," Liam offers awkwardly. There's something very off about her, not at all like the warmth that he's used to from Harry, and for some reason she makes Liam feel little.

She takes one look at their couch which, in comparison to her expensive looking clothes and glass (and hair, really), seems ratty and old, covered in stains with its cushions sinking in a bit because it's used so often. "I'll stand, thank you."

Liam nods and quickly makes his way to Harry's room. He doesn't even knock on the door, which is something he would normally never do, because he's pretty serious about enforcing the 'knock before you enter' rule. It's a good thing he didn't, because Harry's still asleep in his bed, covers pulled up to his chin, and Louis is draped over him and snoring loudly.

Liam walks to the other side of the bed and shakes Harry's shoulder. "Harry," he whispers. "Harry. Wake up."

Slowly, Harry blinks open his eyes. They don't focus right away, and he doesn't wait for them to before he asks, "What is it?"

Liam looks at the door, then back down at Harry. Beside him, Louis stirs but doesn't wake up. "It's your mum," Liam explains. "She's in the living room."

Just like with opening his eyes, Harry sits up very slowly. He rubs a hand over his face, takes a deep breath, and mutters, "Shit."