Chapter Text
Chapter 1
Zayn’s doing that broody thing he likes to do, a cigarette hanging lazily from his fingers as he props his cream colored high tops against the tree trunk next to where Harry’s sitting, his nose deep in a dog eared Vonnegut novel.
“I’m bored.” He takes a quick drag, vaguely aware of some freshman girls giving them stares that walk the line between disgusted and hungry. “Harry quit fucking reading and entertain me.”
Harry looks up, giving Zayn a glare from underneath his immaculate curly fringe. “Go get Grimmy to entertain you. Or Perrie. Someone, anyone, christ you’re such a child.”
Zayn just gives him a lazy half grin, the kind only Harry gets to see, where his gaze goes soft for a moment, tiny creases appearing at the sides of his eyes. Harry sighs, giving him a reluctant smile and reaching a hand out so it’s resting on Zayn’s stomach, tucking itself underneath the fold of his leather jacket.
Zayn wiggles under the touch, admiring the way the autumn sunlight brings out the carmel highlights in Harry’s hair. He’s quite pretty really, emerald pea coat done up all the way, tight jeans making his legs look exceptionally long, and Zayn knows just how good they look together, like something out of a magazine.
Harry, who’s returned to his book, glances upward to meet Zayn’s eyes. “You’re looking at me funny again.”
Zayn brings his cigarette to his lips before answering, aware of how Harry’s eyes always linger when he does, a tiny pink flush creeping across his cheeks. “Want to get fantastically drunk and screw each other?”
Harry shakes out his hair, turning the page and drumming his fingers across Zayn’s flat stomach, lean like the rest of his body. “I could be convinced.”
“Good.” Zayn lets his smile fade, closing his eyes and focusing on the feeling of Harry’s fingers. He thinks that maybe what they have isn’t exactly normal, maybe not healthy even, but he’s fairly sure he couldn’t give it up if he wanted to. Harry’s his anchor, the only thing that keeps him tethered to the Earth when he feels like he's going to spin away.
A sharp voice breaks through the peaceful bubble they’ve created. “You aren’t supposed to smoke this close to the building.”
Zayn looks up, his eyes falling on Louis Tomlinson, towering above him in all his tanned, immaculately styled glory. He can see Eleanor behind him with a bitchface to match her boyfriend’s, clutching her expensive handbag to her chest like she’s afraid Zayn and Harry are going to jump up and steal it.
Before Zayn can form some kind of witty retort, Harry’s speaking up, voice lazy and little bit protective. Harry has a policy where no one is allowed to be a dick to Zayn except Harry himself. “Louis, I appreciate your concern, but could you please spoil someone’s fun somewhere else on campus and leave darling Zayn alone?”
“Well I wouldn’t have to spoil your fun,” He puts the last three words in sarcastic finger quotes. “If you weren’t breaking the rules. The sign says twenty feet, you can’t be any further than ten.” He crosses his arms over his chest, tapping the toe of his red toms on the ground.
“Louis I’m sorry this is bothering you, I really am. I just also don’t care.” Harry says, a fake smile alighting on his face. “Fuck off.”
Louis takes out his phone, holding it up and throwing out his hip, the image of defiance. “If I send a picture to the dean, you’ll get suspended.”
Zayn lets out a long groan, quickly tiring of the whole conversation. “My parents donated half the library, they aren’t going to suspend me.”
Louis looks especially miffed at that, lip curling into a sneer as he shoves his phone angrily back into his pocket. “Well it looks like your parents are good for something, god knows they haven’t raised you.”
It really shouldn’t hurt, because Zayn knows its true just as much as anyone else, but it still causes his heart to hop up into his throat. He opens his mouth to brush it off like he always does, because he’s perfectly fine the way he is, parents or not. At which point he notices that Harry has leapt up from his spot by the tree, bringing his arm back and punching Louis straight in the nose.
He can hear the crack, Louis’ cry of anger and disbelief as he grabs at his nose, blood dripping through his fingers. “You fucking hit me!”
Zayn stubs his cigarette out on the ground, scrambling to his feet to stand behind Harry, who looks a bit wild, coat mussed, curls flying every which way. “Well next time, don’t talk to him like that.”
“There was no reason to punch me you twat, you and your fucking boyfriend were breaking the rules in the fucking first place.” It would almost be funny if his anger wasn’t pointed so directly at them, the way he’s trying to keep the blood streaming from his nose off of his cashmere scarf while simultaneously berating them.
“1. You’re a twat. 2. You’re literally the biggest twat I’ve ever met and 3. He isn’t my boyfriend.” Harry seems to be coming down from his adrenaline high and Zayn resists the urge to take his hand, to pull him back to the ground like Harry sometimes needs.
Louis looks almost beyond rage, giving up trying to stem the blood coming from his nose as he grabs Eleanor’s hand. She looks fairly alarmed, staring down at his bloodied fingers like she’s afraid they’re going to contaminate her. “Well everyone knows you two’ve done it, fucking slags the both of you.”
Harry just smiles at him, that humorless smile that Zayn recognizes as just a little bit dangerous. “Well we don’t really hide it, do we? Not like you.”
Louis pauses, squinting his Harry’s direction. “What the fuck are you on about?”
Harry winks, grin turning filthy. “Your little girlfriend isn’t fooling anyone, everybody knows your dirty little secret.”
“I hope you get expelled.” Louis snaps in reply, turning on his heel and dragging a very flustered Eleanor to what Zayn has to guess is the general direction of the dean’s office.
xx
It’s two hours later when they finally get out of the dean’s with a month’s worth of detention, Zayn for smoking on school grounds and Harry for the obvious punching offense.
They’re walking over to fourth period, about an hour late, but with tardy passes for once. Harry’s taken the lead, mouth set in a firm line as they make their way across the green.
“You really didn’t have to do that, you know.” Zayn says, circling his fingers around Harry’s wrist, jumping ahead a little bit so they’re walking in step. “I mean I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to.”
Harry gives him a wan little smile, sliding so they’re holding hands for real, fingers threaded between each other, his knuckles clean but a bit raw from the punch. “I know. But Louis Tomlinson is a prat, and I enjoy punching prats in the face.”
That earns him Zayn’s famous half smile. “I know. I’m trying to say thankyou.”
Harry knocks him a bit with his shoulder, a certain fondness coming to his eyes. “I know. You’re very welcome, though I really did enjoy punching him.”
“You just have a weakness for pretty boys.”
Harry barks out a laugh, shifting his messenger back up higher on his shoulder. “A little bit. I still can’t decide if I want to punch him, fuck him, or steal his clothes.”
“Well, you’ve already got one, go for two out of three.”
Harry looks ponderous for a moment. “Think I should?”
Zayn shrugs, wiggling his eyebrows a bit. “Could be fun.”
“You’ve got the best ideas, baby.” He leans over, planting a sloppy kiss on Zayn’s cheek.
“You’re disgusting, get your lips off of me.” Zayn deadpans, wiping his cheek in a highly exaggerated movement.
Harry snorts. “Well that’s the first time I’ve heard that come out of your mouth.”
“It certainly is.” His eyes find the ground for a moment, a sudden burst of shyness coming over him. “But really, thanks Haz.”
Harry gives Zayn’s hand a squeeze, shooting him a bright smile. “You know I’d do it again.”
Zayn nods, squeezing back. “I know.”
xx
It’s not that Louis is actively trying not to do his math, its just that his nose hurts like a bitch and he can’t get that stupid curly haired asshole out of his mind. Eleanor is sitting across from the table, sipping whatever stupid fruity latte smoothie thing she’s ordered this time, phone in hand, abandoned book in her lap.
“Who the fuck does he think he is?” Louis prompts for what he knows is about the third time since they’ve gotten here. “Honestly, like I tell him and his stupid boyfriend to follow the rules and he punches me. Me!”
Eleanor nods, typing out a message on her new iphone, the sparkling case sending shimmering reflections across the table. “You should sue.”
“I should!” He slaps the table with a hand. “One month of detention is NOTHING. He practically broke my nose!”
“Well I mean, he didn’t actually break it.” Eleanor points out rather unhelpfully. “The doctor said you got lucky.”
“Well,” Begins Louis in a scathing tone. “It’s heavily bruised and swollen and I look awful.”
“You look fine, baby. It’ll fade soon.” She assures him, looking up from her text to lay a hand over his, giving him a smile.
Louis nods, taking her hand in his, squeezing with perhaps unwarranted pressure. “I still fucking hate him. I fucking hate Harry fucking Styles.”
xx
They’re sitting in Niall’s basement waiting for Perrie and the girls to come with weed, passing around the two beers they’ve scrounged out of his nearly empty minifridge. Niall has the nicest basement out of all them, which is really saying something. It’s sprawling and lavish, with creamy leather couches and a home theatre in one corner.
“So you really punched him?” Prompts Niall, who’s laying spread eagle on his carpeting.
Harry nods, taking a lazy swig, a wicked grin spilling across his face. He’s positioned himself on one of Niall’s plush couches, his feet in Zayn’s lap, back pressed to Nick’s chest. “Straight in the nose. Didn’t break it apparently, though I swear to god I heard a crack.”
“It’d be a shame if you broke his face.” Grimmy comments, swiping the beer from Harry’s hand. “Wish he’d stop with the straight edge girlfriend bullshit so I could get myself a snog in.”
Zayn’s drawls his position in the corner. “Harry’s already got dibs on that, haven’t you Haz?”
“Lets just say I wouldn’t be opposed to ripping his clothes off.” Harry admits, a tiny pink flush crawling across his cheeks. He’s one of the most sexually deviant people Zayn knows, and yet he always seems to have a blush on his face. Zayn wonders sometimes if he does it on purpose, just because he knows it makes him look adorable.
“Well if you get dibs on him I want his girlfriend.” Niall adds. “She is fit as fuck. Seems pretty cool too, despite the fact that her boyfriend likes boys.”
Harry laughs, earning a displeased glare from Nick as he almost spills his beer. “Nialler have you got yourself a crush?”
Niall shoots him a disgruntled look. “It’s not a crush! I just want to show her a good time, god knows she can’t be getting any.”
A feminine voice emerges from the stairway, Perrie, Cher, and Rebecca emerging in a tight knit cluster.
“Don’t be unkind.” It’s Perrie, shooting Niall a look. “Maybe she’s waiting until marriage.” She pulls a face to reveal she’s joking, breaking into a laugh.
Niall laughs, adopting a truly filthy grin. “Not for long.”
Rebecca cuts in, a lone voice of reason. She’s always been the responsible one, and if Zayn’s honest, he really has no clue why she even hangs out with them other than maybe because she knows they’d drive themselves into the ground without her. “Don’t be mean. We all thought Harry was straight for a long time.”
Cher pats her condescendingly on the head, moving for the free couch and flopping down unceremoniously upon it. “Nobody thought that but you honey.”
Harry nods. “It’s true.”
Rebecca rolls her eyes, moving to sit on the floor next to Niall, tugging a hand through his hair. “Lets watch something.”
Zayn looks up at the ceiling, running his eyes over the tiny crack that winds across the plaster. He likes his friends, really he does, but there’s a big part of him that likes it better when he’s alone. There’s no one to impress that way, no one to ask why he’s so quiet, no one to have to convince he’s okay.
He feels the soft pressure of Perrie’s body press against his as she moves Harry’s feet out of the way, sliding between his legs and resting against his chest. She turns her head and gives him a small smile, blue eyes warm. “Hey.”
He takes her dainty hands, holding them in his larger ones. It’s not that he and Perrie are a thing per se, they aren’t close to exclusive and they certainly don’t go on dates, but it’s nice sometimes to have a person to hold when you’re feeling a little bit like you need someone. “Hey.”
She cocks her head, eyebrows knitting together. “You alright?”
He nods, trying his best to give her a smile. He likes Perrie, she’s sweet and soft and everything he could ever want in a girl. They’re perfect for each other in theory, both pretty, a little bit screwed up, with a shared talent for singing and dancing until everything’s alright. She’s the one who introduced him to Neon Indian all those years ago, and he showed her M83 back when no one knew who they were.
Except in real life, they’re never really going to be enough for each other. She’s a little shy and he needs someone to pull him out of his shell, and there isn’t really ever going to be enough of Zayn for her to take when she needs it. But it works, in it’s own way, at least for now.
But it’s these moments, when she looks at him, really looks at him and asks if he’s alright and he really doesn’t know what to say, that make him realize that he’s teetering just a little bit close to the edge.
But he’s not ready to fall yet, so he kisses her quickly on the mouth and tries his best at a smile. “I’m just fine.”
He’s not, but that’s becoming normal.
xx
It’s not that Zayn doesn’t want Harry to go the bonfire, it’s just that Zayn doesn’t want to go and he doesn’t want to sit on his bed alone while everyone else gets smashed. Harry hasn’t seemed to have noticed yet and is trying on shirts, checking the weather forecast, and generally being his normal cheeky self.
“What do you think?” He asks, holding up two of his blazers and jiggling them around in his hands.
Zayn shrugs, burrowing deeper in Harry’s bed, pulling the comforter up to his chin. “They’ll both look good.”
Harry shoots him a glare. “You’re absolutely no help. I should have invited Grimmy.”
“See you say things like that and it’s still me in your bed.” Zayn points out, jerking a lazy finger at the jacket in Harry’s left hand. “The navy one.”
Harry throws the inferior jacket at him, sliding the other one over his white tee shirt. “That’s much more helpful.”
“You’re welcome.”
Harry pauses, giving Zayn a long look. “You want to stay home, don’t you?”
Zayn shrugs. Of course he does, he wants to cuddle up to Harry and not let go for the rest of the night, but he isn’t going to make Harry stay home just because he’s being lame. “It’s fine.”
Harry pouts. “I can’t have fun if I know you’re miserable.”
Zayn gives him the best smile he has in him. “Yes you can.”
Harry returns it, shaking out his curls the smallest bit. “I know, but I won’t be happy about it.” He pauses, then climbs onto the bed, his body suddenly hovering over Zayn’s. “You do deserve to be happy too, you know.”
Zayn nods, slipping his hands out of the covers to rest his fingertips on Harry’s jawline. “I’m trying my best.”
Harry gives him a lopsided grin, fondness sparkling in his eyes. “I just wish you didn’t have to try.”
He leans down, pressing his body against Zayn’s and kissing him sweetly on the mouth, soft lips moulding against each other. Kissing Harry is one of Zayn’s favorite things. It’s warm and comforting in a way it never is with anyone else, a reminder stinging on his lips that they’re always going to be there for each other.
Zayn is the one who pulls back first, sliding his fingers out of Harry’s messy curls and pulling the other boy briefly down to his chest. “Thanks Haz.”
Harry grins against his neck, hugging him tight. “That’s what friends are for.”
xx
Louis is surrounded by a group of eager listeners when Harry spots him on the other side of the bonfire, leaping flames casting his laughing face in flickering orange. While he’s watching him it’s easy for Harry to forget just how awful of a person he is, because he looks so beautiful sometimes, like he’s fragile and special.
Harry sometimes wonders which side of Louis is who he really is, if the Louis Tomlinson he so often sees is what’s within or if it’s just the shell he hides behind. He knows he shouldn’t care so much, but he’s always seen that tiny flash of fear in the other boy’s bright blue eyes that makes him want to know just what Louis’s so scared of. He wants to pull the spark out and make him sweat underneath his neatly pressed collar, make him feel like he doesn’t have to be afraid anymore.
He just wants to touch him, to tug him apart a bit. He’s always so pristine, perfect hair, perfect clothes, perfect everything and it drives Harry a bit mental really. He’s a firm believer in the idea that beautiful things are made to be roughed up just a little bit.
He saunters around the circle, blazer already shed somewhere in the sand, the warmth of alcohol and the fire thrumming through his veins like courage. Louis is wearing those suspenders he likes over a blue striped shirt that pulls tight over his petite shoulders, and Harry isn’t sure he’s ever really noticed how small he was before, all dainty angles and soft tan skin.
He can tell the story has just finished up by the way everyone’s attention is slowly drifting away from Louis, a bottle of Jack being passed around the circle. Harry waits until the bottle is nearly to Louis’ lips before running his finger down the length of his spine, causing the older boy to dribble liquid down his chin with a muffled curse.
Harry leans in as Louis turns, their faces ending up incredibly close, noses nearly brushing. A lopsided grins falls on Harry’s face. “Sorry.”
Louis’ entire body seems to tense as he practically tosses the bottle to the next person, pulling back from Harry with a sneer. “What do you want?”
Harry sits down in the sand behind him, placing his chin on his hands. He can see the bruising from the punch, purple and yellow against Louis’ skin and it’s somehow gratifying to know that he’s the one who put it there. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you did get punched in the face.”
Louis sneers, raising his eyebrows high. “Yeah, by you. And I’m fine thankyou very much.”
Harry holds his hands up in innocence. “Good. I’m just glad I didn’t break it.”
Louis pulls a face, wincing slightly at the movement. “I’m really sure you are.”
Harry shrugs. “I am. You’re too beautiful for me to mess up.”
There’s a pause then, a beat where Louis seems to freeze for a moment, the sparkle of fear growing behind his eyes. “Don’t, don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
Harry likes the way Louis’ hands shift nervously in his lap like he doesn’t know what to do with them, how his gaze flickers away from Harry’s, like he’s afraid of what he’s going to see in the other boy’s eyes. “Say things like that to me.”
“Why not?”
He regains a little bit of his earlier fire, raising his chin high. “Because I’m not interested in you and whatever games you’re playing.”
“Does that make you feel better?” Harry asks, trailing a finger through the sand and leaning towards Louis.
His eyebrows knit together and Harry can see him grasping for straws as he tries to figure out what Harry is talking about. He especially likes the moment where he gives up and is forced to ask, likes how much it irritates him. “Does what make me feel better?”
“For you to think that I’m playing games with you.” He stands up, running a hand through his curls. “Because it’s easier than acknowledging that I might just want you.” He leans down, whispering low in Louis’ ear before he has the presence of mind to pull back. “Because I do want you.”
He drops a light kiss on the bridge of Louis’ nose, turning and heading out towards the water before Louis can splutter out a reply, an evil kind of satisfaction thrumming through his veins.
xx
Eleanor isn’t drunk. She isn’t even kindof drunk, and while she’s probably going to call a cab for a very drunk Louis much later, she’ll probably stay at least mostly sober.
She left him by the bonfire a long time ago, choosing to lay on the sand and let the surf tickle her feet. She’s feeling introspective tonight, which is pretty unusual for her, but she likes it, letting the waves and noise of the party fill the silence.
She knows he’s probably wondering where she is, but there’s a part of her that’s fine without him tonight. He’s been acting off since the punching incident and it’s starting to worry her in little tugs that she can’t quite explain. She knows he isn’t perfect, he’s cruel sometimes, distant, but this is something just a little bit different.
She’s mulling it over, trying to make sense of something she can’t really really put her finger on in the first place when a voice intrudes, breaking her out of her reverie.
“No boyfriend tonight?”
Her head snaps up, eye falling on a blonde head she knows she should recognize but can’t put a name to. He’s got blue eyes, sharp but friendly, cheeks flushed bright pink, hair peroxide blonde that melts into brown as it reaches his scalp.
She shakes her head, giving him a smile. “He’s over by the bonfire.”
The blonde boy nods, swirling the beer in his hand as he looks out across the horizon then back down at her, an amiable smile splitting across his face. “Can I sit?”
She shrugs, patting the sand next to her. “If you’d like.”
He nods, sitting down and laying back on his elbows, tilting his head back to look up at the sky. “Wish we could see more stars.”
She nods. “That’d be nice.” Then, after a quick pause. “Sorry, what’s your name?”
He looks over at her, eyebrows raised. “You don’t know who I am?”
She shakes her head, a light pink flowering across her cheeks. “You look familiar.”
“I’m Niall.” He shifts, holding out a hand for her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh you’re Niall? It’s nice to have a face to put to the name.” She smiles, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake, wondering if the extra second he held her fingers was simply her imagination. “I’m Eleanor. Nice to meet you too.”
He laughs, an easy sound that sounds at home in his mouth and she suddenly thinks of Louis. He doesn’t laugh much. He likes making other people laugh, likes being the reason for their smiles, but when he laughs it’s like a gift, something you get to hear only every once in a while on really special occasions. It’s fine, it’s not like she needs to make him laugh, but it’s hard sometimes, feeling like she gives and gives and all he does is take.
“I know who you are, El.” He pauses, grin lazy. “I can call you El can’t I?”
She shrugs, enjoying the distraction from her own inner monologue. “Sure you can, Ni.”
He laughs again, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Clever, that.”
“I try.” She replies, leaning back so she’s sitting like he is, elbows pressed into the sand, head tilted up to see the horizon.
They sit in silence for a good minute, heels sinking into wet sand. “I think they’ve got a keg going over by the fire.” Niall says finally, craning his neck to see. “Want to head back up?”
Eleanor considers it, surprised to find that she really doesn’t want to move. “Not really. It’s nice over here.”
Niall nods, and she notices the way his face falls almost imperceptibly as he starts to rise to his feet. “I understand. See you some other time then?”
She shakes her head, reaching for his wrist. “No, I mean, I’m not saying you should leave, we can just sit if you’d like?”
He pauses, then sinks back down into the sand. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
And so they sit, side by side in the sand until the tide comes up to catch their feet.
xx
Zayn is beginning to realize that he shouldn’t have come. There’s a restlessness in his bones, the kind that’s dangerous on him, that makes his fingers itch for pills and pain. He can see Harry’s face over and over in his mind, concern in his eyes as he makes Zayn promise that if he ever feels like this to find him, to please not hurt himself again.
The thing is he’s not really sure he wants help.
He can see Andy by the fire, his greasy hair pushed back from his forehead, whispering something into some pretty brunette’s ear, his hands creeping up her leg. Zayn’s fingers shake a little bit as he heads over, feet sinking into the cool sand until he’s right behind him.
He taps his shoulder, pulling his attention away from the girl. Andy smiles toothily when he sees him, and Zayn can tell Andy knows what he wants. “Hey, faggot. Disco biscuits?”
And Zayn has to try really hard not punch him as he slips some bills into his hand because he’s such an enormous twat and why can’t he just call it ecstasy like every-fucking-body else. But he just gives Andy a thin lipped smile as he takes the tiny ziplock bag from his hands, sticking the four bright pink pills in the back of his jeans. “Thanks.”
Andy just jerks his eyebrows in response, going back to kissing the neck of the girl on his lap, leaving Zayn to wander up the beach through half drunk dancers.
He’s nearly made it up to the parking lot when he feels a cool hand rest on the small of his back, another looping around his wrist and pulling him to a stop. He turns, barely having time to register that it’s Perrie before she’s kissing him, pulling herself up to his level with arms around his neck.
And he doesn’t really want her tonight but can’t remember how to say no, so he just whispers an invitation and pulls her up to his car, climbing over each other in the backseat. It’s too hot and the leather seats stick to his back as she sits over him, blonde hair long and lovely as it falls down her chest and really she’s just the sort of thing he wants to hurt.
But then hurting and loving have always been pretty intertwined for him, and he supposes he can pretend this feeling is love for a little while. He pulls her shirt off and she pulls off his, pale hands running down his chest as he holds her hips, slipping off her jeans.
She smells like the beach, flower perfume, and just a little like weed, warm and sweet when she kisses him, hot breath in his ear as he turns her over and presses her against the leather. She’s whispering things to him, soft moans that tremble from her lips but he can’t think of anything to say to her as he buries his face in her messy hair so he just stays silent.
He bites against her neck as he sinks into her, painting red marks across her soft skin because he likes owning things, marking them as his. It’s a thing with him, getting to put his hands on something and know that it’s his for a little while. Some part of him knows that’s a little bit fucked up.
She’s shifting her hips against his, long fingernails scratching trails down his back as he thrusts deep into her like it’ll make him feel better. It almost does, nervous energy making his mouth frantic against hers, hands rough and movements rougher.
She comes with murmuring gasps and he follows after her, fingers bruising into her hips as he collapses onto her chest. Their lips are nearly touching and he thinks about kissing her but pulls back and leans up against the seat instead.
She gives him a small smile from her spot on the other side of the car like she knows just what he’s thinking, toeing his pants over to him. “Fancy a smoke?”
He nods, reaching down and wiggling into the fabric the best he can in the confines of the car. By the time he gets them on she’s lighting a cigarette, the soft flame casting warm shadows across her face. He’s having one of those moments where he thinks he might be able to love her, and he hates them because it’s always worse afterwards.
She takes a drag and then hands it to him, blowing out a slow stream of smoke as he takes a drag of his own. She twiddles her fingers once he’s done, gesturing for him to return it to her, but he just reaches for her arm and tugs her so she’s sitting between his legs, her back to his chest.
“Here.” He guides the cigarette to her lips, mouth brushing against her ear as she breathes slowly in, a lazy smiles curling across her face as she blows out.
She leans her head back against his collarbone. “Hey Zayn?”
“Yeah?”
“You aren’t ever going to be able to love me, are you?” It’s matter of fact, to the point, and Zayn doesn’t know how to answer it. It seems like his life hasn’t been in black and white for a long time, descending into a swirling pool of gray.
“I think I could love you.” He says finally, running a hand slowly across her forearm.
She laughs, low and throaty. “That’s what I thought.”
He kisses her on the cheek because she’s beautiful and he can. “What do you mean?”
“You’re very strange you know.” She says, trapping his hands and holding them in hers. “I think you’ve fallen a little bit in love with everyone you know.” She taps her fingernails, long and painted a sparkling pink, against the top of his hands. “I wonder why that is.”
Zayn stills behind her. “What are you talking about?”
She just smiles, handing him the cigarette and retrieving her clothes from the floor, snapping on her bra and pulling her panties up her legs. “Someday you’re going to have to take a chance and put all your eggs in one basket.” She replies, kissing him soundly on the lips and moving for the door. “Nobody deserves to be loved with half of someone’s heart.”
He thinks that maybe he should fight for her, but all he can feel is a soft confusion settling over his bones. “Are you leaving me?”
She shrugs, opening the door and swinging her legs out. “I don’t know if we were ever really together.”
“I thought we were.”
She shrugs. “Then I guess we were.” He watches the contours of her back as she pulls her tee shirt on, focusing on how her shoulder blades move like wings underneath her skin. “I’ll still love you when you want me to.”
He wants to tell her he loves her, wants to more than anything, but the words are stuck in his throat. “Perrie?”
She turns back to look back in at him through the doorway, jean shorts in her hands, makeup smudged. “Yeah?”
He sighs, inhaling a bit of smoke into his mouth and back out again. “I hope you find someone to love you. You know, better than me.”
She smiles at him as she steps into her shorts. “You too, Love.”
And then she’s slamming the door, leaving him sitting alone in the backseat of his disgustingly expensive car, cigarette burning slowly in his fingers, four pink pills burning a hole in his pocket.
Take me. Take Me. Take me.