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Louis sets his alarm a full hour earlier than he usually does; he laid all his clothes out the night before, but he needs at least forty minutes to get his hair just right. It’s the first day of school – they’re Seniors now, kings, and everything has to be perfect.
He rolls the cuffs of his jeans up, tucking a cigarette behind his ear – he doesn’t smoke, but it looks good, and Zayn always ends up stealing it by the end of the day, relying on Louis when he runs out of his own. His T-Bird jacket is hanging up on the back of his door, just a little scuffed, and he shrugs it on over his clothes. Everything’s perfect.
**
“Louis! Lou!” Harry yells, waving frantically from the stairs in a way that’s really, really unbecoming of a T-Bird. His grin is practically splitting his face and he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, one arm slung around Niall’s neck. Louis loves Harry, he does, but he’ll never understand how the girls fall all over themselves for him when Zayn is standing right there. He’s practically smouldering, his quiff more perfect than Louis’ could ever be regardless of how early he set his alarm, and he’s smoking, his cheeks hollowing out as he inhales.
It’s possible Louis’ slightly biased.
“How are we, boys?” Louis asks, slapping Niall’s shoulder before wrapping Harry up in a hug. Harry clings like a limpet, squeezing hard enough to make Louis wheeze. He’s always buzzing on the first day, never able to hide his excitement at the boys being all back together again. Louis pretends not to find it stupidly endearing.
“Liam’s not brought his jacket,” Niall says, pointing an accusing finger at Liam, who’s hovering on the bottom step. Harry howls his disapproval, and Zayn flicks his cigarette in a way that’s probably meant to communicate disdain.
“Mum says they promote hooliganism,” Liam says, his eyebrows drooping sadly.
“Who’s more important,” Louis asks, his arms spreading wide, “Your mum, or the T-Birds?”
Liam looks mournful, his eyes darting between the boys, his shoulders shrugged up defensively.
“The T-Birds?” he asks, like it’s a question at all. Niall leaps at him, just barely managing to keep his balance as Liam stumbles back, and Harry throws his arms around both of them at once, burying his face in Liam’s hair. Liam laughs, his face going red as Harry gushes about how much he missed his boys – he’s never been great at handling their aggressive brand of affection, but he always does his best to at least take it without running away, tail between his legs.
“What, no cuddle for me?” Zayn asks, quiet, nudging Louis with his hips. There’s a little smirk on his lips and he has just the right amount of stubble on his jaw.
“Saving the best till last, obviously,” Louis grins back, pulling Zayn into a hug, and he smells like smoke and hair product and the cologne he steals off his dad.
“Missed you, hey?” Zayn mutters against Louis’ ear.
“Yeah,” Louis says, because, well. He can’t really say much besides that.
**
He sits next to Harry in Trigonometry, their shoulders pressed together, and Zayn sits at the desk in front with Liam, same as last year. Sometimes Louis wonders if Zayn can feel his eyes on him, a little shiver at the back of his neck, but he never turns around. Ten minutes into the class, Louis has already zoned out on Mr Preston’s voice; focussing instead on the way Zayn’s hair curls a little around his ears, springing free of the gel and hairspray. Harry pokes him, fingers pressing into his ribs, and nods knowingly at the back of Zayn’s head. Louis shushes him, but Harry leans across his arm to scribble in his notebook.
are you gonna ask him soon?????
Louis sweeps Harry’s hand out of the way.
no haz, he writes, just leave it ok?
this is your year i can feel it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Harry’s beaming, his enthusiasm so bright and hot it’s hard not to smile back; Louis lets himself think, maybe, just for a second. Harry leans into his side companionably, doodling what he assumes must be Zayn and himself – complete with jackets – holding hands on the top of a rainbow. Louis snorts, crumpling up the paper and throwing it at Harry’s forehead just to see him flail.
“Do you have something interesting you’d like to share with the class?” Mr Preston asks loudly, his eyes narrowed, and the whole class twists around to stare at the both of them.
“Not particularly,” Louis replies, shrugging, “Do you?”
And he doesn’t even mind the detention slip, or the trip to the Principal’s office, because Zayn is grinning at him like he’s never seen anything so funny.
**
When he first told Harry about Zayn, Louis had been scared out of his mind. He’d been shaking like a leaf, biting his lips till they bled, and it had taken him a full hour of Harry coaxing for him to actually get it out, whispering his secret into Harry’s shoulder like maybe he wouldn’t be able to hear it that way. It had turned out alright; it always does with Harry. Louis doesn’t like to think about what might have happened if it had been anyone but Harry. He’d rubbed Louis’ back soothingly, murmuring about how everything was going to be okay, and even though Louis knew that wasn’t true, he still liked to hear it.
Harry has been his best friend forever, since they were six years old with missing teeth and skinned knees. They started the T-Birds together – made the jackets themselves and everything – but Zayn has all his firsts. His first smoke, his first beer, the first time he snuck out of the house, crawling through the window and nearly breaking his neck jumping down onto the lawn. First kiss, too.
They were thirteen, and Zayn had asked Susan out on a date. His first date, and he did a pretty decent job of pretending it was no big deal, that his mum was fussing over nothing. But Louis had noticed the way Zayn chewed on his lips, how he couldn’t stop rolling and un-rolling his sleeves, so he’d tugged Zayn up to his bedroom, away from the prying eyes of Mrs Malik.
“Don’t be nervous, she’ll be blown away by your gorgeous face,” Louis said, fixing Zayn’s collar, “Just try not to say anything. You’ll embarrass yourself.”
Zayn’s face twisted mirthlessly, and Louis rested his palms flat on Zayn’s shoulders.
“Hey, no. I didn’t mean it. You’ll be totally charming, she’ll love you,” he said, squeezing. Zayn shook his head, not meeting Louis’ eyes.
“It’s not that. It’s just. I’ve never kissed a girl before, have I?” he said, defensive, still glaring at the carpet.
“That’s what you’re worried about? I mean, neither have I. Can’t be that hard, can it?” he asked, though he really wasn’t sure himself, “You just kind of. Purse your lips a bit? Make sure they’re wet?”
Zayn had given him this look, and Louis had just grinned back, because yeah, he probably wasn’t helping all that much.
“Just don’t want to make an idiot of myself,” Zayn mumbled, shrugging, and they were both quiet for a long moment. “Could we try it?”
Zayn had looked so unsure, scowling like he was getting ready for Louis to laugh, and Louis hadn’t thought twice.
“Alright.”
“Yeah?” Zayn asked, and Louis had nodded, so Zayn licked his lips and leaned forward. It was soft and a little strange; Louis’ hands were still on Zayn’s shoulders, and Zayn brought his own hands up to settle on Louis’ hips as their lips slid together. Zayn licked cautiously at Louis’ bottom lip, not brave enough to push past, and Louis hadn’t really known what to do with his tongue so he’d kept his mouth closed.
“I guess that wasn’t so bad,” Zayn whispered when he pulled away, smiling with relief, and Louis’ lips had tingled too much to smile back properly.
If Louis were to pinpoint where it started – the exact moment – that would probably be it.
**
They go to the diner after school, because that’s where everyone will be, and the only way to get there is in Louis’ car.
“I thought you were getting it painted over summer?” Niall moans, touching his fingertips sadly to the hood of the car.
“No, you wanted me to get it painted over the summer. I told you I’m proud of my baby, and I’ll never change her,” Louis says, sliding on a pair of sunglasses and angling himself into the driver’s seat of the hot pink Studebaker Champion. The other boys hesitate, except for Harry, who jumps into the front seat eagerly, his long legs bent up against the dashboard.
“It’s kind of burning my eyeballs,” Zayn says, squinting for effect like the dramatic tosser he is.
“Last I checked, none of you losers have a car. So it’s either Marilyn, or the street,” Louis replies haughtily, checking his hair in the side mirror. The boys pile into the backseat; Niall grumbling darkly, Zayn sinking down as low as possible, and Liam politely thanking Louis for the ride.
Louis drives like a maniac – even he can admit it – but there are no accidents, and a minimum of cat-calls from passersby, so really no one has anything to complain about, even if Liam looks vaguely sick as he steps out onto the curb. The diner is packed, but their booth is empty – it always is – and they spread themselves out, ordering their usual.
“I might be getting my dad’s old Chevrolet soon,” Zayn says, for probably the hundredth time, but they all nod along anyway. Louis knows, could never forget, because he’s pictured Zayn fingering him in the backseat of one so many times he thought his hand might actually fall off due to cramping.
“We can finally ride in style,” Niall crows, drenching his fries in a truly repulsive amount of ketchup.
“Like I’d let you lot into my car,” Zayn scoffs, but he’s not looking at Niall. He’s looking at the Pink Ladies.
“Boys,” Demi drawls, cocking her hips against the side of the booth. Her lips are bright red and her nails match; they look sharp enough to cut if she’d just reach out and drag them across skin. Niall audibly swallows.
“Ladies,” Louis replies, lengthening the word ridiculously as the girls squeeze their way into the booth. Perrie and Leigh-Anne dive for the plate of chips at the same time, tugging it away from Niall, who – luckily for them – is too busy giving Demi moon-eyes to notice.
“You cats found dates for the sock hop next Friday?” Demi asks, plucking the cherry out of Niall’s milkshake and sucking it into her mouth.
“Who are you going with?” Niall blurts, and the other girls titter. Demi shrugs, pulling a perfectly knotted cherry stem out of her mouth, and Niall practically goes cross-eyed.
“I don’t need a date,” she replies airily, dropping the stem back into Niall’s milkshake, “I have my ladies.”
“Well I need a date,” Jade says pointedly, her eyes boring into Liam, who’s studiously staring at his half-eaten burger as a flush makes its way from his ears right down to his neck. Perrie lets out an undignified squawk, which makes Zayn smile dopily.
“And I need a smoke. Zayn?” Perrie says, fluttering her eyelashes and drawing a cigarette out of her pack with long, delicate fingers. The boys all whistle suggestively – with the exception of Louis, who just barely manages to hold back a scowl – and Demi cackles, flicking her nails as if to urge them on. The conversation keeps going after Zayn and Perrie duck outside, but Louis has absolutely no clue what anyone’s talking about. He can feel Harry’s sympathetic eyes on him, but he can’t seem to manage to tear his eyes away from the glass door they left through.
“We’re gonna split,” Demi says, kissing her fingers and smearing the residue lipstick on Niall’s cheek, “See you boys at school.”
Niall nods, pale and dazed, not even managing to say goodbye as the Pink Ladies sashay out.
“Smooth. Very smooth,” Harry says, biting down on his lips to stop himself from laughing, “I think she was charmed.”
“Fuck off,” Niall mutters, fishing the knotted cherry stem out of his drink dejectedly.
**
Louis has never told anyone – not even Harry – but Zayn has been some other firsts, too.
At fifteen, they’d stumbled home drunk after a party, sneaking into Louis’ room and frantically shushing each others’ giggles so they wouldn’t get caught. Zayn had been getting off with a girl, grinding up against her in the upstairs bathroom, but she had a curfew to meet and Zayn couldn’t exactly stay at the party with his cock pressing at the zipper of his jeans. They’d tumbled into bed together, wriggling out of their jeans – Zayn helping to tug Louis’ off where they were tangled at his feet. They’d both been quiet at first, but Louis still hadn’t been able to sleep. His head was swimming, his fingers and toes tingling, and his stomach was tumbling over itself; he couldn’t quite tell how much was to do with the alcohol and how much was to do with Zayn’s skin pressed up against his.
“Hate when they leave you hanging,” Zayn whispered, his fingers tapping idly against Louis’ hipbone, and Louis nodded like he’d have any clue. He didn’t quite trust his voice to reply, because even in the dark he could see where Zayn was tenting his underwear, fingers still sticky and warm on Louis’ hip. “Don’t know if I can get to sleep.”
Zayn shifted uncomfortably, tugging at the waistband of his underwear, and rolled his head to the side, “D’you mind if I?”
He didn’t finish, but he didn’t really have to.
“Mmhm,” Louis had rasped, voice cracking a little. Zayn slid his hand down his stomach and Louis had to close his eyes, because he didn’t trust himself to not look. He could feel Zayn’s shoulder moving against him, could fucking hear him, and couldn’t help himself; he rolled onto his side to watch Zayn’s hand move through lidded eyes.
“Lou?” Zayn asked, voice quiet; his hand didn’t break rhythm. Louis didn’t answer, but Zayn still dragged his hand upwards, drawing his cock out of his underwear, and Louis could see everything.
“Yeah,” he whispered back, and didn’t think twice before lifting his own hand to circle around Zayn’s cock. Zayn’s breath hitched in his throat, his hips stuttering up, but he let his own hand drop to the mattress as Louis got a better grip, sliding his fingers down. Zayn was hot and hard and slick in his hand, cock jerking as Louis squeezed on the upstroke, just how he liked it himself. It wasn’t till Zayn reached out to touch him, pressing against him through his underwear, that he realised he was aching for it. There was almost no sound except for their hands working, their gasping breath.
Louis doesn’t remember all the details quite as clearly as he’d like – doesn’t remember the exact noise Zayn makes when he comes, or how long they spent lying there, hands on each other and catching their breath, before falling asleep.
On Monday, it was like nothing ever happened. Zayn nodded his hello, plucked the cigarette out from behind Louis’ ear, and the day was the same as every other Monday had ever been. And Louis had no right to be heartbroken over that, none at all, because at least this way he was safe.
**
They skip the diner on Friday, so he makes his way back home with Harry. Harry spends most afternoons at Louis’ house, hiding out in Louis’ bedroom till they’re forced to set the table for dinner. He’s lying on his back in the centre of his bed, Harry pressed up against his side in companionable silence. He can hear his mother singing to one of the girls from somewhere downstairs, and the radio’s on full blast in the living room.
“Ask him,” Harry hisses, butting his head against Louis’ shoulder. Louis hums in response, his stomach fluttering with nerves. Harry’s been trying to psych him up all day, passing increasingly insistent notes in class with increasing amounts of exclamation points.
“Maybe next week,” Louis says, rubbing his hands over his belly. Harry huffs in frustration, biting into the skin on Louis’ arm.
“Tonight!” he says, and he’s most likely shooting Louis his best puppy dog eyes. Louis shakes his head, though, so Harry rolls away, picking up the telephone from Louis’ bedside table and pressing the receiver into Louis’ palm.
“I’m dialling! I’m doing it, better get ready,” Harry hoots, and Louis scrambles up to tug him away from the phone, but he’s already dialled by the time Louis gets his hands on him. Harry wrestles him back down onto the bed, flat on his back, pinned down by Harry’s enormous gangly legs.
“Hang up,” Louis hisses frantically, but Harry grabs his flailing wrist and presses the receiver to his ear.
“Malik residence, this is Zayn speaking.”
Louis feels a spike of nerves run through his body, hot and painful.
“Um, yeah. It’s Louis. Um,” he starts, staring helplessly up at Harry. Harry smiles, dimples creasing his cheeks, and mouths be brave, Tomlinson.
“Want to go to the drive-in tonight?” Louis asks, and the second it’s out of his mouth he knows he can’t do it, so he rushes to add, “With the boys. Blood of Dracula is playing.”
Louis ignores Harry’s horrified expression, his frantic hand gestures, and he definitely ignores the sinking disappointment settling somewhere in his chest.
“Yeah, of course. Sounds cool,” Zayn says, sounding a little confused, “Thought you hated horror movies? Last time we saw one you practically chewed your fingernails off.”
“You know me,” Louis replies, a wry smile twisting his lips, “Fearless.”
“Always,” Zayn laughs, and Harry’s face falls.
“Maybe next time?” Louis offers Harry after he hangs up, but even he doesn’t believe himself.
They manage to rope Niall into coming too – Liam has to stay home to spend time with his sisters – and somehow, Louis ends up in the back seat with Zayn. He’s pretty certain he has Harry to thank for that, if his shifty glances in the rear vision mirror are anything to go by.
It takes Louis about fifteen minutes to well and truly regret his decision. Zayn is inches away, his hair soft and unstyled, and he smells so good, and Louis really fucking hates horror movies. He’s got a white-knuckled grip on his jeans, and his eyes are glued to the screen.
“Scared?” Zayn whispers into his ear, and Louis shivers at the tickle.
“Of course not,” he scoffs, refusing to jump when one of the actresses screams out in terror. Dracula looks really, really realistic. Zayn chuckles, his breath warm against Louis’ cheek.
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, stretching his arm up and across the back of the seat, draping over Louis’ shoulders, and Louis is absolutely frozen. Harry’s eyes are like saucers when Louis meets them in the rear vision mirror, and Zayn is warm and solid where he’s pressed up against Louis’ side.
Louis barely pays attention to the rest of the movie, because there’s never been anything more terrifying than Zayn’s thumb tracing lazy patterns on his shoulder, giving him reassuring squeezes whenever something jumps out on screen.
“That wasn’t so bad, yeah?” Zayn asks as the credits roll, and Louis makes the mistake of tilting his head back to meet Zayn’s eyes. He’s close enough to see the stray stubble on Zayn’s jaw, to smell the mint on his breath, and if he leaned up just so, they’d be kissing. Zayn’s smiling, pressing his tongue up behind his teeth in that way that drives Louis mad, and his arm tightens around Louis’ shoulders just a little, and –
“Fuck me,” Niall says, thumping his feet against the dash, “Thought I was gonna piss myself at the end there.”
The look Harry shoots him is no less than blood-curdling.
“What?” Niall asks, but Zayn is already moving away, his arm dropping from Louis’ shoulders.
**
Louis hasn’t told his mum. He’s thought about it – of course he has, he’s always told her everything. There have been more than a few nights curled up with her on the couch, listening to love songs on the radio, and he’s wanted so badly to tell her but he always bites his tongue. She never asks him about girls, and he’s not sure what that means.
“Are you taking anyone to the dance?” she asks, sliding the meatloaf into the oven. Louis always helps out with dinner on Sundays; there’s extra to make because his grandparents come to visit, and the girls are too young to be trusted with knives and hot pans.
Louis shrugs, not looking up from his bowl of potato, “Don’t know yet.”
His mum bustles around the kitchen, wiping down the counters and singing to herself a little. Louis thinks she might be waiting for him to say something, but he’s got no clue what it would be. Usually, he just asks the first girl that seems interested – he ends up spending most of his time with the boys, anyway.
“Is Niall still chasing after Demi? Can’t imagine he’d get up the nerve to ask her, poor little duck.”
“He’s been practicing all week,” Louis grins, passing the roll of paper towel when she beckons for it, “Can’t see it working out for him. Liam’ll get bullied into taking one of the girls, but Harry doesn’t want to take a date, so Niall can pretend they’re both going stag by choice.”
His mum chuckles, shaking out her apron, and shoots him a sidelong glance.
“And Zayn?” she asks, a little gentle. Louis’ shoulders tense up, the muscle twisting painfully, and he mashes at the potato forcefully. Zayn always takes a girl – loves having someone on his arm to show off – and it usually doesn’t sting too sharply, but this time it’s Perrie. She’s beautiful and funny and sweet, and she knows everything about music; Zayn keeps coming over to play Louis new records she’s found, nattering on about harmonies and melodies he’s clearly learnt from her.
“He’ll take Perrie,” he replies, keeping his voice as casual as he can manage. His mum closes her hand over his, squeezing gently.
“That’s enough, it’ll get too thin,” she says, and he relaxes his grip on the fork, keeping his eyes down. When he looks up, his mother’s eyes are so soft, fond, and he comes so close.
The thing is, he thinks it would be okay to tell her. They love each other more than anything, and they’ve stuck by each other through everything. She’s a romantic at heart; she still keeps his dad’s picture over the mantelpiece with his medals and the telegram from when he was Killed In Action. She misses him desperately, and on the nights when it’s at its worst – dancing with Louis to their old Billie Holiday record, eyes bright with tears – she tells Louis that all she wants for him is to find love, be happy.
He bites his tongue, though. It’s not something he can risk; not yet.
**
“I should learn to dance properly,” Niall declares, thumping his fist on the cafeteria table hard enough to tip over Liam’s coke.
“Shh,” Zayn hisses, waving at Niall and glancing around at the other tables, “Be cool, yeah?”
Niall’s grinning maniacally, nodding like a bobblehead, “No, this is perfect, I’m fucking brilliant. She’ll be sitting on the benches at the sock hop, I’ll strut over to ask her for a dance and blow her mind, and then we’ll win the competition – It’s National Bandstand, on television and everything. She’ll dig me for sure.”
Zayn and Liam look sceptical, but Harry shoots Niall his most enthusiastic thumbs up, “That’s so romantic, man. She’s gonna swoon.”
“D’you think Jade will expect me to dance well? I can’t dance. Does she know that I can’t dance?” Liam asks nervously, dutifully mopping up his spilled coke with napkins. Harry comforts him with an encouraging pat on the arm.
“Little problem, Einstein,” Zayn says with a smirk, “How are you gonna learn new moves in the next two weeks? Only time I’ve ever seen you dance is when you’re blitzed. Don’t think the chicks’ll go for your drunken jive.”
Niall deflates, looking absolutely forlorn. Louis’ heart twinges, so he flicks a piece of macaroni at Niall’s face and says, “I’ll teach you.”
The boys all turn to Louis, blinking almost in unison.
“You dance?” Zayn asks, incredulous. His fork is frozen halfway to his mouth, and his expression is caught between stunned and intrigued.
“You been hiding secret moves from us all these years, then?” Niall asks, but he looks hopeful, “I’ve only ever seen you dance rock’n’roll.”
“I have a reputation to uphold,” Louis sniffs, nudging at Niall with his shoulder, “But I could teach you to waltz.”
Niall’s face splits into a massive grin, and he throws his arms around Louis’ shoulders, squeezing painfully. “You’re a life saver, man. An angel.”
Niall decides he’s coming back to Louis’ after school to learn, which of course means all the boys come along. They crowd into his room – Zayn, Liam and Harry curled up on the bed, fighting for space, with Niall standing awkwardly in the centre of the floor as Louis sets up the record player.
“Right hand on my waist, left hand up,” Louis says, placing his own hand on Niall’s shoulder. “It’s a triple beat. Left foot first, I’ll mirror you.”
Niall is clumsy and a slow study, but he’s eager. He stops stepping on Louis’ feet so much after they get through the first song, and starts moving a little less stiffly. Harry heckles them until he gets bored, and Liam offers earnest encouragement, telling Niall how well he’s doing. Zayn is quiet, though; when Niall spins him slowly Louis glances over at the bed to find Zayn scowling, looking down at his hands and picking his nails. He doesn’t look up, even when he must feel Louis’ eyes on him.
“I’m hungry,” Harry mopes after a few songs, flopping his head over the side of Louis’ mattress. “Burger break?”
Niall seems torn for a moment, but the promise of food ultimately wins out. “We can practice again later, yeah?”
Louis shrugs and takes a step back; Zayn still isn’t looking at him.
“Not hungry. I’ve gotta help Dad out with something tonight, anyway,” Zayn says, pushing himself off the bed and flipping the collar of his jacket up. “See you boys at school.”
“What’s with you?” Liam asks, but Zayn’s already out the door, footsteps thumping down the stairs. Harry’s frowning, bottom lip sucked into his mouth and his eyes almost crossed with concentration as he stares after Zayn.
**
Zayn is still off the next day; he sits in stony silence all through Latin, not even acknowledging Niall’s goofy efforts at cheering him up. In gym, he misses the basket every single time he takes a shot, and ends up trading almost-punches with Tom over a foul. Louis tries to catch his eye as he’s sent off to the Principal’s office, but his gaze is fixed firmly to the ground.
Louis loiters around the main entrance after school, waving Harry off and promising to call him later. Zayn wanders out late, looking up at Louis like he was expecting to find him there; he’s a little sheepish, scratching at the back of his head and messing up his quiff.
“Walk you home?” Louis offers, raising one shoulder. Zayn nods and falls in step with him, their arms brushing together as they walk.
“Sorry. Just been in a mood, you know,” Zayn says, his fingers catching on the cuff of Louis’ jacket before slipping away. Louis shrugs; Zayn’s always been like this, his moods come quick as anything and there’s not much anyone can do to shake him out of it before he’s ready.
“Don’t mind. Missed my partner in crime today, though,” he says, grinning. Zayn huffs, but he’s smiling, and he plucks the cigarette from behind Louis’ ear.
“I was just thinking,” Zayn starts, but he pauses to light his cigarette, cheeks hollowing out. Louis swallows, flicking his eyes down to the pavement instead, “It’s stupid. But I thought you might teach me to dance, too.”
Zayn is very carefully not looking at him, so Louis figures he’s probably not getting made fun of.
“Really? The waltz?” Louis says, trying to keep as much disbelief out of his voice as possible. Zayn inhales deeply, shoving one hand in his pocket.
“Yeah, well,” he says, pushing his lips together like he does when he gets embarrassed, smoke trickling past his lips in curls, “Perrie’ll probably want a few slow dances, I guess.”
It feels like swallowing ice, his stomach going cold, but Louis smiles anyway. “Didn’t pick you for a romantic.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, and he still seems a little uncomfortable, but they walk home in companionable silence, Louis breathing in the smoke the Zayn breathes out.
Mrs Malik fusses over them as soon as they walk in the door, fixing them drinks and insisting they stay and talk before hiding away in Zayn’s room. Zayn pouts and complains, but Louis’ always been good with parents, so he chats with her about Zayn’s grades and the upcoming dance and how the cafeteria’s vegetable soup is nowhere near as good as hers. She shoos them up to Zayn’s room happily enough, pinching Louis’ cheek for good measure.
“Such a suck-up,” Zayn scoffs, shoving at Louis’ shoulder as he shuts the door behind them.
“She loves me more than you,” Louis says airily, and flicks through Zayn’s record collection to find something slow.
When the music starts they both hesitate, like kids at their first dance, so Louis laughs to clear the air and drags Zayn towards him, guiding his right hand to Louis’ waist and fitting his own inside Zayn’s left hand.
“Remember what I said to Niall. You’re leading me; your left foot forward, then your right,” he says, pulling Zayn into the first step.
They repeat the same steps as Louis did with Niall yesterday, except it’s not the same, it’s not even close. Zayn is fluid and graceful, he picks up the steps so quickly and he’s leading Louis around the room by the end of the first song, closer than they need to be. All Louis’ touching is his hand, his shoulder, but he can feel how warm he is even through his shirt. The air in the room feels still and thick, like Louis has to concentrate on breathing, and they dance until the record ends.
**
For the next week, Niall holds his breath every time a boy approaches Demi to ask her to the dance and blows out a sigh of relief every time she laughs them off. Liam frets about dancing with Jade – Louis tries to teach him, but it goes so terribly he just ends up sitting at the foot of Louis’ bed with his head in his hands while the other boys comfort him.
Things are different between him and Zayn, in a small, quiet way. They still talk about the same things, they still pull the same stupid pranks together, but there’s something crackling between them, like they’re both suddenly aware of something they can’t quite place. Louis feels like he could reach out and pluck the tension like a cord.
Louis ends up taking Leigh-Anne to the dance – technically, she’s the one that asks him, but that’s beside the point. On the night of the dance, they meet the Pink Ladies outside the gym, dolled up and ready to be on camera. Louis hooks his arm with Leigh-Anne’s and kisses her on the cheek; Liam mirrors him incredibly stiffly, awkwardly kissing Jade’s ear instead of her cheek and going red at the boys’ snickers.
“You’re a real knockout, Demi,” Niall says with his broadest, goofiest grin. He’d put uncharacteristic effort into getting ready, forcing Zayn to fix up his quiff three times till it was so thick with pomade Niall’s mum told them off and confiscated the tin.
Demi rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling and a little pink as she says, “You scrub up alright, baby.”
The girls drag them into the gym, laughing and twirling and pouting their lips to try and get the attention of the camera men. Zayn breaks away from Perrie, catching Louis’ eye and patting over the inside pocket of his jacket meaningfully. They’ve been planning to spike the punch for weeks now and Zayn was in charge of bringing the flask, so Louis flashes him an impish grin and darts away to cause a distraction.
It’s hectic and loud and fun; Louis gets buzzed off the punch and spins Leigh-Anne around the floor, catching the cameras more than once. A few people get sent to the sidelines for dancing dirty, and Harry keeps himself entertained by cutting in on as many couples as possible and stealing girls away. It’s getting towards the end of the competition by the time Louis finds Niall skulking under the bleachers, biting his nails as he peeks out between the seats. He still hasn’t danced with Demi.
“What happened to sweeping her off her feet?” Louis asks, draping an arm around Niall’s shoulders.
“It’s not gonna work,” Niall moans, staring out at the dance floor. Demi’s not far away, talking animatedly with Jade. “She’s gone around the floor with so many guys. Guys who can dance. It’s hopeless.”
“Nah, it’s simple. Just go out there and make her smile, yeah?” Louis says, squeezing Niall’s shoulder. The band starts up a slow song, something with a triple beat, so Louis shoves Niall out from behind the bleachers, hissing, “This is your chance, man!”
Niall straightens his tie and cuffs, glancing once back at Louis, who shoots him a thumbs up. He struts up to Demi, a little stilted, and Jade gives him a look of deep, knowing amusement when he interrupts their conversation. Louis can’t hear what Niall says over the noise of the gym, but whatever it is, it makes Demi throw her head back in laughter and take his hand.
He leads her out onto the dance floor, flushed and happy as she winds her arms around his neck, and Louis can’t help but smile at that. Niall remembers his steps, and he doesn’t tread on her feet even once. She’s smiling prettily at him, indulging him when he falters a little, and that’s when Louis sees Zayn and Perrie. They’re dancing too, the same steps Louis taught Zayn that night in his bedroom. Perrie’s hair is up and she looks radiant, her dress catching the light, and the band eases into a Billie Holiday song.
Louis’ throat feels tight and sore and his heart feels swollen in his chest. The room is too hot now, the lights too bright, so Louis slips out from behind the bleachers and through the main doors. He doesn’t think of Leigh-Anne until he’s slipping inside his house, careful to be quiet, but he doesn’t think she’ll miss him. He might feel guilty in the morning, but tonight, he just wants to curl up in bed and let himself feel alone.
**
Louis doesn’t think he’ll sleep, but he must, because he wakes up to the sound of the trellis outside his window rattling against the wall. He’s disoriented and dizzy, the alcohol still buzzing in his system a little, but he blinks his eyes open just in time to see Zayn wriggle in through his half-open window and tumble onto the carpet.
“Zayn? The fuck are you doing?” he mumbles, propping himself up on his elbows. Zayn gets to his feet, still a little unbalanced, and stretches out his arm to offer Louis something he can’t quite make out.
“I brought you flowers,” Zayn says, and Louis’ eyes have adjusted to the dark enough to see a handful of stems with one or two crushed, broken flowers hanging on by a shred. “Got ‘em from three houses down. They’re prize winning.”
Zayn is drunk, but he’s not that drunk, so he drops the flowers on Louis’ dresser regretfully, “They were prize winning.”
“Why didn’t you go home? Are you sleeping here?” Louis asks, hopelessly confused. Zayn is restless, fidgeting with his clothes – he’s lost his jacket and tie somewhere along the way.
“Wanted to see you. You left the dance and I didn’t realise, I wish you’d stayed.”
“Did I miss something good?” Louis asks, turning on his side. Zayn must have walked here, and Louis can’t understand why when his own house is so much closer to the school and he doesn’t even seem that drunk. Not drunk enough to wander all the way to his house and ruin Mrs Whitehall’s rose bush.
Zayn shakes his head, padding over to Louis and dropping to his knees beside the bed. “Nothing good. I wanted to dance with you.”
Louis laughs, though it comes out a little hollow, “Think we could have won the competition, then? Been on National Bandstand?”
“No, not tonight. I mean, I wanted to dance with you tonight too,” Zayn says, getting frustrated, “But the lessons. I didn’t ask for Perrie.”
“I didn’t think she’d care all that much about dancing. Figured you were just being romantic, you know. Or that you wanted to look good for the cameras,” Louis teases, and it comes out a little meaner than he really intends, but all he wants to do is bury himself under the covers and never have to look at Zayn again.
“It’s not like that with us,” Zayn says, shaking his head, eyes boring into Louis like he’s trying to force him to understand without having to say anything, “We’re just friends. She doesn’t dig me, not like that. And I don’t either.”
“Why did you ask me to teach you, then?”
“I just wanted to touch you and feel like I was allowed,” Zayn says, nervous and so quiet Louis almost misses it, and it doesn’t make any sense. “Don’t be mad.”
Zayn slides his hand to Louis’ so their pinkies are touching, then linking. Louis keeps his face carefully blank and doesn’t breathe, doesn’t even blink, because Zayn can’t mean it like that.
“Loved you for so long, Louis,” Zayn says, and his hand is covering Louis’ now, stroking over his knuckles with a thumb. Louis shakes his head, and he turns his face away because he can’t look at Zayn when he’s like that, hopeful and anxious and so open. He turns his hand palm up, fingers lacing with Zayn’s, but he feels like his throat is swollen shut, so he doesn’t speak.
“Say it back,” Zayn whispers, so Louis lets out the breath he was holding and leans over to kiss him. It’s nothing like their first kiss; Louis opens his mouth to it, his tongue pressing light to Zayn’s top lip. Zayn tightens his fingers, squeezing, and brings his other hand up to cup the nape of Louis’ neck.
“Come up here,” Louis says, breaking away, because he wants to touch Zayn properly. It’s a cliché, but he’s not even sure if he’s properly awake; maybe once he gets his hands on Zayn, he’ll disappear like cigarette smoke.
Zayn shakes his head, bringing Louis’ hand up to kiss his fingers, “Say it back first.”
“I love you,” Louis says, actually says, and the sky doesn’t fall in. Zayn grins broader than Louis thinks he’s ever seen, unselfconscious, and crawls up onto the bed and over Louis. He dips down to kiss his cheeks and chin and forehead, still holding himself up above Louis’ body like he’s not quite sure he’s allowed.
“You and I, yeah?” Zayn says. Louis pushes his fingers into Zayn’s hair, hooking his legs around Zayn’s and tugging him down till their chests are flush and they’re kissing again. Zayn’s resting most of his weight on his elbows, but he’s still heavy and solid and warm above him. Louis’ chest aches, not in the same way it usually does around Zayn, but like his heart might be about to burst right through his ribs. He feels light-headed and strange as they kiss, rolling over till they’re comfortable. Zayn tugs on his hips till he climbs over him, knees either side of his thighs and his weight pressing Zayn into the mattress.
Louis’ kissed girls before – he’s a T-Bird, of course he has – but it’s never felt like much of anything. Nothing like this, like Louis has a fever and every patch of skin Zayn touches is burning up. Zayn’s hands are firm, running up his sides and down the centre of his back, fingertips light down his spine. He bites down on Louis’ bottom lip, just gently, but it makes Louis gasp and tilt his hips just right. Zayn is hard against him, his fingers digging into Louis’ hips to pull him down.
“Off,” Louis mutters against Zayn’s lips, worming his hand between them to work open Zayn’s jeans, the denim too rough. He gets them over the tops of Zayn’s thighs and tugs his underwear down, letting the elastic rest just under his balls. Before he can get a proper look, Zayn’s crushing their hips together again, hands sliding down to cup Louis’ arse and grinding them close.
“Wanted this for so long,” Zayn says, breathless, his hips jerking up till they settle into a rocking rhythm, their cocks lined up so Louis’ toes curl with every thrust. Louis hushes him with a finger pressed to his lips– it’s dead silent in the house, they can’t risk someone hearing – and kisses down his jaw. Zayn’s stubble is sharp and Louis rolls his hips, tongue flicking out. Zayn slips both hands under the waistband of his underwear and down, till Louis’ cock is free and sliding against Zayn’s, and Louis has to bite his lip hard so he doesn’t shout.
He comes back up for a kiss, lips stinging from the stubble, so Zayn soothes them with his tongue. Zayn’s hands are moving now, squeezing and stroking with his thumbs, and Louis comes dangerously close to biting his tongue off when he lets a finger slip between his cheeks, brushing lightly over his hole.
He tenses up, but he tilts his hips into it so Zayn says, “Yeah?”
Louis drops down on his elbows, burying his face in Zayn’s neck, but mumbles, “There’s Vaseline in my drawer.”
Zayn shifts underneath him, reaching back to fumble with the drawer without dislodging Louis, and he brings his other hand up to play with Louis’ hair, gentle.
“You done this before?” he asks, his voice raspy in Louis’ ear as he uncaps the tube.
“Only by myself,” Louis says against Zayn’s neck, mouthing the skin there. Zayn groans, reaching back down to spread Louis open with one hand. Louis jumps when Zayn touches him with the tip of one finger; it’s cold, but it warms up as Zayn traces over his rim, pressing down but not pushing in.
“Is it gonna hurt you?” Zayn asks, and he sounds nervous, so Louis shakes his head as best he can.
“Just be careful,” he says, and that’s all Zayn needs to slide his finger inside. He only gets to the second knuckle before it’s too tight, he has to twist his finger to try and get it inside deeper. Louis moans, his back arching so his arse is pushed against Zayn’s hand and his finger slides in deep. It doesn’t hurt, not really. It’s uncomfortable in that way it always is to start, but Zayn is getting him used to it with slow pumps till Louis’ hips are moving in time. Zayn draws his hand up to rest on Louis’ lower back, pressing down till their cocks line up again and Louis lets out a helpless noise.
“Can I put two in?”
Louis feels like he can’t breathe against the skin of Zayn’s neck, so he comes up for air and gasps, “Yes.”
It feels nothing like it does when he’s by himself; Zayn’s fingers are long and clever, working their way inside deeper than Louis’ ever gotten. Louis’ got a hold of his shoulders now, rolling his hips between Zayn’s fingers and his dick, his toes curling into Zayn’s calves. He wants it to last, he really really does, because nothing’s ever felt better than the friction of his cock against Zayn’s and quick fingers inside him. But Zayn crooks them, hooking in deep, and Louis has no fucking clue if Zayn knows about that spot, but when he brushes it Louis’ whole body tremors and he has to sink his teeth into Zayn’s shoulder to keep from crying out. He’s shaking in Zayn’s hands, and he keeps rubbing up against that spot, his hips snapping up to meet Louis’, and he can’t hold on any longer. He bites down so hard he might be breaking through skin, coming over Zayn’s dick and both their stomachs till his legs can’t support him. Zayn’s swearing into the patch of skin just behind Louis’ ear, and Louis can feel his dick jerk against his belly as he comes, his fingers still buried deep.
Louis licks over his own teeth marks – there’s no blood, but it’s going to bruise, so he presses gentle kisses into the skin. Zayn slips his fingers out, rubbing shaking circles over Louis’ back, and they both listen for any noise in the rest of the house.
“Okay?” Zayn whispers, bringing both arms around Louis’ back.
“Mm,” Louis mumbles. He’s not ready to move yet, but he props himself up on unsteady hands so he can look down at Zayn, “Where’d you learn to do that?”
“It’s just like a girl, yeah?” Zayn says, and Louis screws up his face, going pink. Zayn laughs, trying to keep quiet, “Sorry.”
Zayn cradles him a little tighter, rolling them both onto their sides, and it’s a little like the first time; Zayn’s breath hot on his chin, their hands sticky where they touch skin.
**
Zayn stays the night – he told his parents he wasn’t going to be home anyway, and it’s not the first time he’s crawled in through Louis’ window after everyone else has gone to sleep. When they come downstairs for breakfast his mother doesn’t say anything; just smiles and sets another place at the table.
They meet the boys on the stairs in front of the school, like they always do. This time, the Pink Ladies are there too. Niall’s got his arm around Demi’s shoulders, possessive, and Louis doesn’t think he could tear his eyes away from her face if he tried. He’s got this goofy grin plastered on, laughing eagerly and everything she says, and Demi’s trying not to let too much fondness show on her face when she looks at him.
As they amble up to the group Niall drops a kiss on Demi’s cheek, showing off, and she shoves at him with a laugh.
“Everyone had a good night, then?” Louis asks, waggling his eyebrows at them.
“Very good,” Jade says, linking arms with Liam, who’s blushing furiously and ducking his head to hide his smile.
Harry’s grinning like the sun’s just come out, dimples and all, and he’s clearly holding himself back from throwing his arms around Louis.
“Young love, yeah?” he says, glancing between Louis and Zayn.
“Yeah,” Zayn says, his fingers just brushing Louis’ hand.