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It’s freezing outside and the only thing Louis is capable of doing is tucking himself into Harry’s side, hoping the other boy will keep him warm, because somehow getting up to turn the heater on is too difficult. The room’s a mess, laundry splayed all over the ground, and a week old pizza box under his bed, but Louis is a mess too so -
“You okay?”
Harry asks that a lot lately. He looks up at the younger boy, bringing a hand up to play with his curls. Harry hums, eyelids fluttering shut, and Louis doesn’t answer.
He doesn’t talk a lot, not really.
The movie’s playing in the background, explosions and gunshots filling up the empty spaces, and neither of them are paying attention. Louis focuses on the way he can feel Harry’s heartbeat, the warmth of the younger boy beside him, and for a moment he can breathe. If he lets his mind wander, it’ll tell him how Harry’s just waiting to wear him down, to finally move past the boundaries Louis has set, to prove that Louis is only good for one thing, because Zayn made sure of that. It’s not hard to imagine, honestly. Harry’s gorgeous, all long limbs and curly hair and green eyes that hold answers to questions Louis is afraid to ask, but for some reason he’s there every time Louis wakes up from a nightmare, brings him a bagel and chai in the morning, and presses soft kisses to his neck at night.
“Are you going to leave too?”
And his voice is nothing but a broken whisper that he’s not even sure Harry’s listening for until he’s held even tighter and then - Harry’s not leaving. He knows that.
“Not til you want me to.”
He sighs because he can’t say anything to that, not without his emotions bubbling up over the surface, unnecessary words spilling out and -
“Let’s just watch the movie.”
Harry’s attempting to tell Louis about the time he rescued a cat that was stuck in a tree, only once he reached the cat - which looked rather cozy in a makeshift nest - Harry looked down and got scared. Louis is laughing harder than he has in weeks, months even, and it feels like moving on.
He shuts Harry up with a gentle press of his lips against the taller boy’s cheek, noting the way he blushes when Louis pulls away. He hasn’t kissed anyone since he told Zayn he loved him. It all comes back, sudden, overwhelming, and Harry looks like he wants more, and -
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
Louis runs away because it’s all he can do. Harry blinks slowly, shoulders sagging and exhaling slower than Louis thought possible, but he nods, takes two steps away from Louis. He’s always fucking nodding at Louis, like he understands. Like he cares.
Louis calls Niall to pick him up, leaving Harry alone on his couch, Skins playing in the background.
It’s not fair probably, for Louis to cling to Harry like a lifesaver, to depend on someone else to steady him when he floats too far away. He does it anyway. He misses Zayn most days, but it’s a dull ache, a pain that only jabs at him when he’s on the brink of falling asleep, Harry half on top of him, snoring lightly, and Louis is wondering why it’s not enough.
The party’s buzzing, Niall running back and forth between Harry’s usual circle of friends smoking on the lawn and the other guests, and it’s the first time in far too long that Louis is outside, with other people, and he doesn’t feel like he’s being suffocated.
Harry’s warm by his side, passing the joint back and forth between Stan and Louis, giggling at something no one else understands, and Louis’ face hurts from smiling so hard, from feeling so much for this other boy; he leans in, presses a small kiss to the corner of Harry’s mouth, running his tongue over his own lips as he shuffles back to his spot pressed against Harry’s side, wanting to savor the feel of everything, of -
He hears him before he sees him, hears the way Zayn’s lips move to form his name, the way his tone suggests something more than what Louis thinks he can handle. Harry jerks up, the smile that Louis didn’t even get to fully appreciate falling completely as he wraps a damp but protective arm around Louis’ waist. Niall’s voice is faint as he yells for Zayn to come back inside, but Zayn’s not listening, eyes fixed on Louis.
Zayn’s in all black, and Louis would insult his cliche attempts at fulfilling his bad boy persona if he weren’t on fire, if his whole body was capable of doing anything but panicking, “run” echoing over and over inside his head.
“Louis!” Zayn slurs, head tilting sideways as he scrambles down next to him, inserting himself in between Harry like he’s always done. He smells like whiskey and cigarettes, and Louis is at once thrust back into unwelcome familiarity. “Come take a walk with me.”
It’s a demand, not a question. Harry scoffs beside Zayn, arms crossed across his chest, not looking at Louis. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Malik.” Venom spills onto his words, tone biting and sharp, so very unlike Harry, and Louis can’t stand the idea of Harry turning into something as bitter and broken as he is, not because Louis is incapable of standing up for himself -
“Yeah, okay. But make it quick.” He’s not sure that’s what he meant to say but. Oh well.
Harry lifts an arm as if to pull Louis back when he stands up, but Niall wanders over from where he’d been watching by the door, mumbles something Louis doesn’t bother trying to decipher into his ear and lets them go.
It should be colder. It’s mid October, well past midnight, but for some reason Louis’ skin is burning up, and he shrugs off his black coat, Arctic Monkeys shirt that says Why’d You Only Call Me When You’re High not doing much to protect him from the breeze.
There’s a park near Niall’s house, the one they always frequent when they meet up at parties, and -
Zayn pulls Louis into a tight hug. Louis can't breathe, can't think, can't anything at all because his whole world is wrapped up in Zayn, the feel of his body against his, warm, soft, familiar, and so uniquely him, and it's-
“I miss you, Lou."
It's a lie, an obvious one, because Zayn’s not quite meeting his eyes, and he’s biting at his lower lip like he always does when he’s nervous. Louis' stomach churns, and all the progress he's made over the last few months, all the times he's told Harry what he'd do if Zayn ever came crawling back to him, well.
"I miss you too. So fucking much."
Because Louis doesn't seem to want to learn from his mistakes - Louis isn’t a liar - pretending the way Zayn's eyeing him means something more than “I want you.” They walk with no aim, occasionally forcing small talk, Zayn smiling at everything Louis says like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.
They don’t go back to the party. Louis doesn’t think he can face Harry right now, isn’t eager for the talking to Niall’s undoubtedly got planned for him; he’s drunk off of Zayn’s hand grazing his, the way the moon’s illuminating his skin, the most beautiful tan Louis has ever seen, his favorite color the hazel of Zayn’s eyes.
“I meant it, you know?” Zayn starts to say after a lull in their small talk, his attempt at distilling the awkwardness that’s crept over them. “I missed you. You were everything, and it took me too long to see it.”
Louis shrugs, eyes fixed on the ground. Zayn writes pretty words when he wants something, and Louis shouldn’t fall for it, but he doesn’t think he’s imagining the sincerity that’s cradling Zayn’s soft tone. Zayn whispers, walking closer to Louis and draping his arm around him, “I want to try again, for real this time,” into Louis’ ear as they head to his place. Louis nods, silent, stunned, surprised because Zayn’s never been the one to want more. Zayn doesn’t say anything else until he opens the door, but his hand searches for Louis’ and that’s - enough.
They spend all night in bed, kissing lazily, slowly, and Zayn’s almost reverent when he marks Louis, apologetic with his touches like it’s the only way he knows how. Louis’ body forgives him before he does, responding embarrassingly eagerly to everything Zayn does, and when Zayn finally touches him, Louis can’t help the high pitched moan he lets out, because the feeling is indescribably overwhelming, enough to cause tears to well up in his eyes. Zayn rubs against his thigh as he takes Louis’ cock in his hand, moving in jerky, distracted circles, focusing most of his attention on flicking his wrist just the way he knows Louis likes, breathy whispers reminiscent of poetry floating out of his mouth, and Louis can’t help but love every moment, love how Zayn is so soft and pliant after he’s come, and when Zayn doesn’t push him away after gathering the courage to curl up against him -
Louis avoids Harry and Niall, even Liam - who he can’t help but feel resentment towards even now, even when Zayn’s his, finally - surrounding himself with Zayn, Danny, and Anthony. It’s a Zayn-centric bubble he lives in, reveling in the way Zayn’s thumb brushes over his when they hold hands and watch movies, the compliments he exclaims - “Look how smart my boyfriend is! He’s got a full score on his test!” - around his friends that leave Louis flushed and shy; Louis thinks he can get used to this, to being ZaynandLouis -
He’s not sure that he wants to give this up, maybe ever.
It’s different this time, Louis is sure of it. Zayn’s not acting like he did before, isn’t keeping him a secret that he only calls on when it’s late at night and he’s looking for a quick fuck. That’s what he tells Harry when the concerned boy shows up by Zayn’s car. Louis is pretty sure Harry hates everything about Zayn, and like - Louis knows he’s got a reason to, he’s not dumb enough to ignore the way his friends whisper about them, tossing phrases like “I hope knows Louis knows what he’s gotten himself into” around like Zayn’s a poison that needs a warning label.
“I really hope you’re right, Lou, for your sake.” Harry’s voice is sad, eyes lacking any sort of life, and Louis scoffs as he turns his back on his friend. He counts to fifteen, inhaling and exhaling to try and calm himself down, before he hears Harry start to walk away. His chest aches, and he feels like crying.
Louis isn’t sure why he agrees, not when the whole thing makes him feel a bit like he’s being used, but Zayn wouldn’t - Zayn’s changed, is the thing, and Louis can see that in the way he’s so affectionate, especially when they’ve been smoking. Zayn’s not cold anymore, really - he’s not, but even the gentle way with which Zayn handles him, the look he gives Louis that begs for permission doesn’t do much to erase the panic that races through Louis’ mind when Zayn kisses his neck, runs his hands all over his body, whispering into his ear that he’d like to take some pictures of Louis all splayed out for him.
“Something for me to remember you by when you’re not around, yeah, babe?” The endearment flows easily, and Louis starts to protest that there’s hardly a time when they’re not together, but Zayn cuts him off with a kiss.
Louis isn’t sure why he eventually agrees, why he does what Zayn tells him to do, but it might have something to do with the shots of clear liquid Zayn hands him, to get rid of his nerves. Louis is giggly and a little bit useless all night, but Zayn doesn’t complain, just kisses him after every snap of his phone’s camera, praises him for being so good, so willing, and -
Harry tries to warn him, pleads with him to break things off with Zayn for good, but - Louis is in a shit mood, annoyed by the way some people are whispering as he walks down the hall of his school, but he’s used to it because the world is full of assholes, and his boyfriend is not one of them. Louis is sick of being nervous, of thinking the worst of the boy who’s done nothing but be good to him lately. His tone is icy when he tells Harry to mind his own fucking business, that he’s got this under control, because part of him feels like he’s never had any bit of control when it comes to Zayn.
Zayn finds them arguing by the football field, slinks up to Louis and pulls him close as he presses a kiss to his cheek. He doesn’t miss the way Zayn smirks at Harry, raising his eyebrow like a challenge and -
“Is there a problem here, baby?” Zayn taunts, and Louis feels sick because - he’s not sure what’s going on between Harry and Zayn right now, but he thinks he might be in the middle of a pissing contest, and like, he’s not a prize to be fought over.
He shakes his head, glaring at Harry. “No. Let’s go.” Harry sighs and waves defeatedly, like Louis is angry at the wrong person.
He needs a smoke. Zayn’s always good for that.
The party’s at Liam’s house for a change, full of athletes and cheerleaders, and Liam’s got a pretty brunette hanging off his arm the whole night. Zayn’s not answering Louis’ texts or calls, hasn’t for a few days, not since that fight with Harry, but Louis is not worried, he’s not.
The kitchen’s crowded and Louis is fixing himself a drink, picking up a Coke for Harry - brilliant Harry who’s hugging him for no reason, reminding him that they can be friends even though Louis has made his choice, has picked someone who’s not him, and Louis can’t stand the sad smile on his face, because he knows that Harry’s got something to say, he just isn’t saying it.
Louis huffs loudly, chest immediately aching, as a rather tall, and extremely buff male bumps into him. He rolls his eyes, raising an eyebrow as if that would bring the drunk guy in front of him to apologize. The stranger with dark brown hair looks at him a bit apologetically for a second, before his lips turn into a smirk, and he starts to laugh.
“You’re Zayn’s friend, right?” he says between cackles of ugly laughter, and Louis doesn’t like the way he’s being looked at anymore, doesn’t like the implication in his voice.
Louis narrows his eyes, shaking his head to move his fringe around. “I’m his boyfriend. Why?”
Danny joins the conversation, appearing out of thin air, throwing an arm around the other guy and laughing too.
He hears them say something about how good he looks after he’s been fucked, and everything after that’s a blur, really, his body detached from his mind as other boys crowd around him to share their thoughts about his body, his technique, judging moments they were never meant to see.
Louis feels sick as he drops the cup that was in his hand, not caring about the liquid staining the bottom half of his jeans, and when his brain screams at him to get the hell out of there, he listens to it, but not before grabbing Danny by the front of his shirt, backing him into the nearest kitchen counter.
“Who the fuck showed you those, Danny? Who did this?” Louis’ voice cracks on the last word, all nerve immediately exiting his body, and he blinks back tears, tearing his eyes away from Danny’s joyful ones.
There’s no humor in the way Danny giggles and shakes his head. “Zayn, man, who did you think? He’s been showing everyone and telling them everything you let him do to you. Did you really think he liked you this time?”
Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, is confused as to how someone could do that to him - to anyone - and the laughing crowd follows him all over Liam’s house, follows him all the way home as it rings in his ears, his mind cruel enough to replay the night over and over again.
He ignores Harry’s calls, turns his phone off and crawls into bed as the tears finally spill out. This, Louis thinks, is all his fault, and maybe he deserves it, for wanting such a gorgeous boy, wanting someone who’s hurt him before, because Zayn left him a mess the first time, and Louis wanted him to be different, thought he could have been but -no one that pretty could be his, not now, not ever.
His mother doesn’t make him go to school in the morning, but doesn’t ask him what’s wrong either.
He texts Zayn just once, a simple “why?” There’s no reply, and Louis ignores everyone else, deletes the frantic messages from Harry offering friendship, a shoulder to lean on, because Louis should have known this time, should have never gone on that walk when he knew Zayn didn’t love him, because he never once said it back when Louis did, instead mumbling something about how it didn’t matter, because whatever it was, it was still a feeling.