Chapter Text
Louis
🎭📚🌠⏳
If the goddesses are real, Louis Tomlinson will not return from Camp Fear, a third year in a row, as a beta.
“Last names A-F to the left, G-M in the middle and N-Z to the right!” Counselors are shouting over the conglomerate of people who are actively trying to shove their way towards the sign-in tables and get situated in their cabins.
The atmosphere is, as it always was on the first day. There’s the slight buzz of some who are actually excited to be here, the promise and simple premise of forever with the right person, something they’ve been itching to begin. There are the citizens who seem more irritated by their duty to fulfill this requirement, frustrated by the loss of their summer for something so trivial. Then, there are the sliver of people who fall into the same category that Louis does—the cynical, pessimistic souls who’ve been here just one too many times to believe there might actually be substance to these religious fallacies they’ve been sold.
Camp Fear Anam is just one of the very camps young betas get shipped off to the summer after they turn twenty one. It’s their “duty” to come and present from beta to whatever the goddesses had intended for them, for them to meet their soulmate and fall in love and have oodles of pups to continue on the next generation.
Very few people end up coming back for a second summer. Nevermind getting assigned to the same location twice, or in Louis’ case, three times.
Louis attempts to step towards the right, getting pushed and pressed against other bodies that are already the type of sweaty and odorous from a lack of bodily hygiene. Immediately, Louis’ anger and irritation grows. “People better use the bloody fucking soap in the showers this year.” He quips to the only other person he’s gotten close to here, who’d also yet to graduate.
“That’s a tall order.” Zayn Malik exhales, standing just next to Louis, a single rucksack hanging from one of his shoulders, and an impressive amount of hair gel sticking to his jet-black hair as the sun beats down on them in the middle of the Lake District. He’s here for his second summer in a row, the same sort of vexation existing in his bones about their repeat attendance.
The pair had gotten close after the canoe races last year. Neither of them really caring to do much to support their teams beyond heckling their wrong-doings from the back of the boat. They’d nearly survived last summer by slipping out of their cabins late into the evening, smoking joints out of leaves for wrapping papers on the docs, and talking about life.
Louis had honestly been a little bit surprised that he hadn’t experienced his body changing after he’d met Zayn. It had been so easy, so much that it would have just—made sense. But no. There were no random spouts of hot-flashes or buzzing in his stomach. He stayed the same as he had always been. Thus, returning to his boring old life at the coffee shop back home, without a secondary designation or partner to start planning a life with.
Which—is fine.
Really, it is. Change is difficult anyway—especially the change. He’d seen almost all of his friends return from this very camp with their soulmates, a newfound biology pumping through their blood, and complexity with their new relationship that added multiple new tabs to their life. Often resulting in having to move hours across the country to continue to be with them—the other “half of their soul”.
Honestly, Louis thought it was a bunch of bullshit.
How had he watched two full years of people, mating and mating and mating? He’d met upwards of probably 5,000 people. And none of them were his “soulmate”? There had been no transformations in his body, no swoop the second he’d met someone else’s gaze. None of it. It just all seemed statistically improbable.
“Gotta say—” Louis fell back on his heels, the sun beating down on his nape, already warming it with the strength of its rays. “At least we’re destined to be alpha’s at this point, eh?”
Zayn looks at him with hesitation in his gaze, the sun shining to make the brown hue of his eyes a little more golden.
“What?” Louis laughs, not understanding the man’s perspective. “S’true.” He stays strong in that belief. The longer someone goes without finding their soulmate, increases the chances of one leaving camp with a knot. An alpha was often meant to be older than their omega. It made sense, they were meant to protect, to make decisions and provide.
The extra age was necessary. Especially if he was going to receive an omega who was of the more timid kind.
“Nothing.” Zayn suffocates his words with a smirk.
Somewhere in the distance the scratch of a bullhorn blares as more people try to direct the thousands of newly aged eighteen year olds and unfortunate other souls depart onto the property. Beneath the subtle but repulsive smell of body onions, there's a fresh earthy mix of pine needles, sweet mountain air and sunscreen.
God, he doesn’t want to come back again next year.
For the love of all that is holy, he hopes that his omega is somewhere here. Even if, secretly, he doesn’t want to know what the end of that looks like. If he’ll have to give up his studies and his plans for the future. If he’ll move far away from his family. If he’ll really, truly, love them?
That was neither here nor there. Not really.
He and Zayn were separated for the better part of the next fifteen minutes as they were threaded through their respective lines, waiting for their cabin assignments. As long as Louis didn’t have to live in Medusa’s cabin that smelt of rancid mold again, he’d be happy.
“Eros?” He reads the cabin assignment on his folder out loud, partly offended. Not because of anything but what he felt it was implying.
Just at that moment, Zayn steps up, laughter in his tone. “The cursed romance god.” The end of his words are airy with self-deprecation. “At least this place has a sense of humor.”
“To whose benefit?” Louis nearly coughs up his retort, still dumbfounded as to why
“Not ours!”
And just like that, Louis’ third summer at Camp Fear had begun with a friend’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, headed towards the cabin named after a god whose romantic life was full of heartbreak and emotional turmoil.
Joke’s on them. There is no romance in a fifty mile radius to Louis Tomlinson. For as long as he’s lived he’s felt like the physical representation of an extinguisher to the fire of passion.
He isn’t sure if that’s a gift or a curse at this moment in time. So he opts not to think about it. Just like always. Eventually, if they’re meant to, his omega will fall into his lap. He’s not placing any bets on it though.
🌕
There is a blonde woman in their cabin.
She’s got long legs and tight, small features. She stands unpacking a little rolling suitcase, itsy bikinis and teeny shorts among the few other toiletry things she’d brought along with her. The wardrobe is full of things he’d imagine his little sister begging for, and either himself or his fathers declaring, with absolute certainty, that pigs would fly before she’d wear it.
This woman was the walking physical representation of why that rule existed. Respectfully, she was hot. Not hot in the way that Louis had any physical attraction to her beyond having eyes and an overall understanding of what made a human being enchanting.
Zayn, though, immediately blew out a breath of air against Louis’ nape, obviously feeling a different type of pull towards her.
He swore to all the goddesses, if Zayn meets his soulmate the instant they step foot on this camp, he was going to burn it.
“Well, hello!” Zayn’s tone turns from the sarcastic tone he was just using in relation to the state of the food this year, to one that seems uncharacteristically chipper.
The blonde smiles, too polite, too kind, too open. “Hi!” She doesn’t look at Louis. Women almost never do. He doesn’t mind much. He’s not really into them either. However, this bedroom eyes thing that’s passing between the two of them, with him in the middle, makes his skin crawl just a tad. “I’m Amelia.” Surprisingly, her hand reaches out to Louis first.
“Louis!” He pretends that little interaction didn’t just occur as he shakes her soft hand, her manicure pressing into the back of his. “This is Zayn! Think we’re going to be your cabin mates for the summer!”
“Lucky me.” Amelia smiles brightly when her hand shakes with Zayn’s, and the second she turns around Louis spares no time shoving his own duffel on the bunk beneath her, whipping around to point at the set of bunks across the room for his friend.
Like hell will he have to listen to another set of his roommates “secretly” hook up for the entirety of his summer.
Zero chance will he be forced to fall asleep to the sound of muffled moans and wet kissing.
Gross! Absolutely not! Not if he can help it! Leave room for the goddesses! This room is for sleep!
Zayn rolls his eyes like he’s a professional at it, but silently resigns to Louis’ demands, dropping his rucksack onto the bed with a loud thud.
Noooooooooo.
Louis forgot how stiff these mattresses were, how tight his hips would be when he’d wake up from a long restless sleep. The air conditioning is either too high or not on at all, resulting in either being far too hot or irritatingly cold.
For the last nine months, Louis had blissfully existed in a world where he did not think about Camp Fear. Did not have to think about its horrible qualities or that it just might be his very own personal hell on earth.
“So–” Amelia continues to fold her clothes, looking up at the pair every once in a while. “You guys’ first time at Camp Fear Anam too?” Amelia still respects the camp enough to pronounce it correctly. /fair an-em/.
Luckily for Louis, he’s nearly on a first name basis. Which means, he can also be on a nickname basis. “Oh, camp fear?” Louis corrects her. “Nah, me and this place go way back.” He drags out his words as he lays down onto his side, letting his head fall back, nearly grazing his nose on the ceiling, cause god forbid they give the camper’s room to sit up in this place.
Zayn chuckles, already able to finish Louis’ sentences again like the nine month gap between the last time they saw each other and now. “This is his third summer, my second. We’re both competing for the longest run.”
“Damn.” Amelia’s hand rests on her hip, officially intrigued by both men at the same time. “So you guys are like—veterans.”
“Well, that makes us sound old.” Zayn quips.
Louis’ always willing to find the silver lining. “Hey— I mean, we’re just well-seasoned to be able to take care of our omega’s.”
Amelia’s gaze snaps to Louis like he’d just declared the sky a hue of purple.
“What?” Louis laughs nervously, looking between his roommates, more than aware that they shared an equally disturbed face after he’d referred to someone else as his omega. “Come on, I’m gonna be Alpha!” His finger trails against the wood of the bed frame, a strange inability to remain as confident as he was trying to portray. “I mean—three years to present as an O? That’s nearly unheard of!”
“You got something against O’s?” Amelia asks, not offended, but more intrigued.
The simple answer to that question was no.
In fact, quite the opposite. He loved his maternal father. Felt more protective over him than anything else in the world. It's partially why all this “reconciliation” talk, back at home, feels so insulting.
His alpha father had allowed work and other lustful endeavors to shadow the importance of his soulmate, of their family.
It was split holidays and birthdays. Constantly packing his bag to move to the other’s new apartment downtown, and managing his siblings' emotions about not seeing one parent for days of the week. All the while he would pass his dad’s room just to hear the sound of muffled cries, knowing that he was in desire of his own alpha, his soulmate. Who had done him wrong, undone the ties they’d promised right here on this very soil.
Louis did not have anything against omegas. No, it was quite the contrary. It was just that he was convinced he knew exactly how to be a good alpha, how to be loyal and devoted, how to not let his future family down.
He could guarantee a happy ending, if he was the one with the control. If he was the one with the power.
“Course not.” Louis responded quickly, opting not to get into the deep-seeded trauma shit that no one really cared about anyway. “Just think I’d look real good with a knot, don’t cha think?”
Both Amelia and Zayn laugh in that ridiculous way that proves they are not of the same opinion.
“No offense, Lou-“ Zayn stretches out on his cot, hands behind his head, totally resigned.. “No one wants to think about your penis.”
Amelia laughs. “That’s not true. Your soulmate will.”
Louis makes a noise of non-committance, uninterested in getting deep into the subject of soulmates and his belief about them.
Just when he starts to worry that he’ll be required to respond in order to not to make things awkward, the sound of barreling, loud footsteps begin to vibrate the floors outside their door. In seconds the door bursts open again, and two more men stumble inside, laughter contagious between the two of them.
“Yo! It’s our roomies!” The one with straightened bleach blonde fringe exclaims in an obvious Australian accent, his skinny jeans and jean jacket appearing like something that could have walked right out of Louis’ own closet.
“Sup, guys.” The taller one, more naturally looking blonde hair, nearly towers over the other, the same aussie accent dripping off his tongue. “Sorry we’re late. Got stuck behind the paps.”
“Paps?” Zayn asks, sitting up too fast in his bewilderment, hitting his forehead on the top of his bunk.
Louis responds immediately by falling into laughter, tears immediately brimming his eyes.
“Hey man, there’s a bunk there!” The tall one quips easily in spite of Zayn’s embarrassment, it adds to Louis’ entertainment, now silent laughter struggling to contain itself.
“Yeah, no shit!” Zayn twists, holding his hand against his forehead. “Louis! I can hear you from here. I swear to god I’ll knock you out!”
“Whoa whoa whoa.” The one in the jean jacket holds out both his hands in a dramatic plea. “We don’t need to get physical here, boys.”
“Unless—“ There’s a seriousness in taller ones eyes that look directly at Louis first, then scan the room. “Any of you are my soulmate!”
Despite the fact this man is quite handsome, long legs and dreamy pop-star flowing golden blonde hair, Louis does not feel it; the swoop.
The Swoop, is the endearing term his fathers had coined for the moment they’d met. They described it like the feeling of falling, physically, emotionally, everything. Like someone had just knocked the air out of their lungs and made everything else fuzzy the moment they’d come in contact.
It’s a funny thing when he thinks about it. Something so wrapped in fate, tearing itself apart in crashed dinner plates to the floor and shouting matches at two in the morning.
The strong passion that had lit their match from their summer here at Camp Fare, blown out by the winds of life, chilling their family home into something Louis had grown up being afraid of because of spewed insults and broken promises. Through the years Louis had learned how to fake a shield to protect his siblings, always flying in and ushering them into his room when their fights got bad enough. But those first few welts were always deep enough to hurt even years later.
It was better this way. That there was no swoop. That he did not feel his stomach dropping or have his vision go hazy. It meant he was safe from the potential of having to balance the scales of life to not be a repeat of his parents trajectory.
Reconciliation? Hell, it was still an ironic thing even now. This way, he didn’t even have to worry about the story being set in motion.
Quickly, Louis learned that the newest pair of his roommates were childhood friends. Michael, the one in a Jean jacket and skinny jeans, forced into the farthest top bunk above Louis and amelia’s, because Luke, the one with dazzling blue eyes, wasn’t going to fit his long legs up there.
Which, to be fair, the lad did have impressively long legs. Nice arse too. Too tall though, Louis figured, to present as an omega. Not unheard of. But unlikely. Definitely, not his omega.
Although, Louis wouldn’t hate the chance to have Luke be his summer fling.
Cute, accessible, charming.
All the things that Louis enjoyed in his occasional blow job. And if the opportunity presented itself…how could he say no?
“Hold on, hold on.” Zayn sits back up, this time careful of the wood just above his nose. “Are we just going to gloss over the paparazzi statement you guys made when you rolled in?”
“Oh yeah.” Michael shrugs. “Group of celebrities or something. Couldn't see who it was.”
“Everyone was yelling about some hair style or something.” Luke laughs, a nervous stint of eye contact simmering between him and Louis. “The whole thing was odd. We got barricaded by the paps trying to take pictures and couldn’t get to the sign in tables.”
“Meanwhile, I’m just over here trying not to wreak of the airplane and look halfway decent before this mixer in the event I meet my fucking soulmate!” Michael exclaims, stress imminent on the tension in his shoulder. “I could give two less fucks about whomever the fuck! I mean look at me! I look like a hedgehog!”
Amelia, as if she’s conjured by magical wish, whips around with a whole bag full of what Louis can only assume is cosmetic products, and smirks. “Whaddya need?”
In no time, their once spotless cabin full of bunk beds and empty dressers, becomes overtaken by an emptied out travel case of makeup and hair supplies. They find out quickly, that Amelia has special interests in the fashion and beauty industries. That she’s worked as an apprentice for some of London’s most popular fashion designers at shoots and runways.
Somehow, Louis finds himself assisting Amelia’s newest endeavor of dying Michael’s bleach blonde hair, a new shade of hot pink, as requested by Michael himself.
Louis’ hand is gloved in disposable plastic, holding the near leaking bottle of bright gooey dye as he watches Amelia work at Michael’s roots, gently brushing the ungodly pink into his one near-white hair.
“I just want to maximize my chances of finding them as soon as possible, you know?” Michael’s sitting on the floor, criss-cross apple-sauce, as he yaps on about his excitement to be here, his endurance not yet tested by the long sunny days, social exhaustion and occasional inedible food. “Like what’s the point of having a whole free summer off, looking for your person. When, you can just have them the moment you step onto the field?”
“Don’t think it’s that easy mate.” There’s no judgement in Luke’s tone when he responds, it’s almost robotically neutral actually. He’s sprawled out on the floor, the dresser pulled out from the wall as he attempts to plug in his record player in the rusty old outlet.
“Yeah-“ Zayn sighs, flicking through some of the other hair products that are splayed out over the floor. “I’m fairly certain I met every person here last year and I still went home lonely.”
“Lonely?” Louis steps back, mocking his friend with a chuckle. “Softie.” He nearly dodges the random bunch of socks that get thrown at his back in retaliation.
It is a little surprising actually. How both he and Zayn continue to get sent here, the data from their blood samples at their yearly physical still transcribing with the highest likelihood they’d both find their mates here—at Camp Fear.
Honestly, Louis was starting to wonder if maybe he was the exception. If somewhere, there were two Louis Tomlinson’s and they were both getting sent to the wrong camps. Or, if maybe, by the curse of the draw, Louis didn’t have a soulmate to match to at all.
“Oh yeah?” Zayn says, failing to strike Louis with two more sets of socks.”Says you, Mr.Ready-to-find-my-omega.”
“Your omega?” Luke twists, his current task of messing with his record player forgotten in an attempt to look at Louis again.
The back of his neck begins to heat under the pressure of this stranger’s gaze. “Why is that such a shock to all of you? This is my third summer here! I’m bound to be an A!”
“Yeah.” Luke nods, almost like he believes it. Or possibly, that he’s too polite to argue it at all. “Maybe.”
Louis swims through everyone’s reactions, trying to figure out what in the world could be the purpose behind it.
His train of thought halts the second he hears the sound of a record scratch, quickly accompanied by the first few notes of “Died In Your Arms.” In seconds, the cabin erupts into air-guitar playing and a make-shift karaoke session as each resident of Cabin Eros, Bunk Room 1, begins to get ready for the first night of festivities at Camp Fear Anem. It’s almost impressive how, at least for a few moments, thoughts of secondary gender and soulmates fly out the window. The tension and anxiety simmer just enough that if someone was ignoring it just enough, they’d be able to pretend it wasn’t real.
For a little while, it’s just the five of them, happily singing along to old eighties tunes, surrounded by the smell of hair dye and buzzing with the anticipation of new beginnings.
It will be better, he thinks, than his first summer when he had to listen to those roommates' snog all night, and last year, surrounded by the gross odor of mold. This is already much better. Much, much better.
🌕
“Are we sharing?” Louis asks when Zayn sets down a fresh colossal slice of their favorite chocolate cake, pretty much the only decent thing in this dining hall beyond the hot water they supply for tea. To show for it, there’s various half-finished plates of pasta salad, baked potatoes and bangers all sitting idle.
He’d eaten his own fair share of just enough to salvage him until morning, very much uninterested in tasting any more of the watery tomato sauce and mushy pasta he’d shoved down.
“Course, baby.” Zayn winks at him, producing a second fork over the long dining table the entirety of their cabin roommates have crowded around.
The acoustics in the dining hall echo shouts and conversations across the entire building. It’s hard to hear much of anything beyond the clattering of plates and laughter that billow tables down yonder.
Of course, when Zayn playfully cuts off a piece of the ginormous sweet and brings it to Louis’ lips, Michael leans over then, nearly in awe by their comfortability. “You sure you two aren’t some weird, unidentified soulmate shit.”
“God, I wish.” Zayn jokes, laughing at the way Louis theatrically licks his lips in a lustful attempt at flirting he doesn’t mean. Not really. He and Zayn are too close to even think about being intimate like that.
Luke—on the other hand…? “D’unno, from far away you could convince me.”
“You want some, Sugar?” Zayn takes off another bite, this time aiming his fork towards Luke’s
mouth.
“Am I being invited into a throuple?” He asks, the hint of the tiniest rose hue hitting his cheeks as he nervously snakes his attention between Louis and Zayn.
“Just eat the cake.” Louis whisper-shouts, trying to get the man to put his lips on the fork, to give in to the temptation of the sweet. “Eat the cake! Eat the cake! Eat the cake!” It turns into a chant at their portion of the table, a near hazing experience of the rest of Cabin Eros vs Luke.
The poor guy submits to taking the bite, shame ridden on his face the second he begins to chew, but then his expression transforms, eyes widening. “Holy shit, that’s good.”
“Right?” Louis leans back just a little, making sure to grip the edge of the table enough that he doesn’t fall off the bench altogether.
Around them, people litter the dining hall. Gaggles of groups of budding friendships, some romances, and yeah—the occasional obvious lucky soulmate couple are pairing and splitting off from the rest of the campers.
He tries not to lose his hope about this whole thing. Especially not as he watches people kiss in the corner of the room, noses pressed against each other, their loyalty and promises obvious even from where he was sitting.
Something hardens at that thought though. The simple thought of his parents all those years ago, eating and sleeping here, falling for each other on the first night, falling pregnant with him before they’d even left the property.
Sometimes promises have some type of expiration date. The grit of it only lasting as long as the person who had uttered it was willing to stand in one place. But what happened if Louis was the product of someone selfish, and someone so committed? What if he didn’t know which evil would belong to him as soon as he looked into the eyes of his mate?
Would he be cursed with this desire to always be somewhere else? Or would he be cursed with this devotion to someone who always had one foot out the door?
“Hey, pretty boy!” Zayn shouts around a mouthful of cake, catching Louis’ attention.“You might want to get some before these vultures eat it all.”
Louis zero’s back into the table to see the once ginormous cake being devoured by his roommates. He swats at Luke’s hand, picking up his abandoned fork and cutting into the soft confectionery, shoving down the negative thoughts with the taste of sugar and chocolate.
That coping mechanism has never failed him before, and it isn't’ gonna start now. Soulmate be damned. He had cake to eat.
“You’re eating it all!” Michael shouts.
Louis swats him away, pulling the plate closer to himself. “Get your own.”
As if he’s got a one track mind, Michael looks in the direction of the kitchen, apparently spotting his desired target and slipping away as Luke calls after him to grab one for him as well.
The noise crashes into Louis, his senses off kilter, overwhelmed and overstimulated in a way that he’s never quite experienced. He chalks it up to his fatigue. This anxiety he feels about being back here, about probably being the oldest in all of the campers. He’ll be twenty five this december. Partying and dancing all summer, looking for a soulmate he’s not sure exists, is only going to be able to fly for so long. Next summer, his little sister will be old enough to accompany him!
Would he age out eventually? What would happen come the full moon in August? Would he end up mated? Or would he be sitting on the dock, watching the celebratory fireworks explode over the lake while he silently cried to himself, for the third year in a row.
Another clink of two plates gets placed on the wood table in front of him.
He doesn’t have to look over to know it's Michael. He can tell by the wad of hot pink he can see in his peripheral vision.
However, there’s a female voice that infiltrates their little Cabin Eros bubble, speaking something so inconsequential. But of course, when you’re at a soulmate camp, it never truly is.
“Hey! I love your hair—” The woman’s sentence nearly dies at the end of it, and Louis can’t help but turn in curiosity as to what the strange halt in dialogue was.
At Camp Fear, Louis had seen his fair share of things. From broken arms, to stumbling on a couple knotting in the middle of the forest for the first time, and witnessing a full out brawl between alpha’s regarding a single omega they all thought belonged to them.
However, given a whole handful of guesses, turning to see a woman, with pastel pink hair, staring at hot pink Michael, with eyes blown wide like she’s just seen Aphrodite herself, was absolutely not something he could have ever predicted.
Oh, fuck.
“Uh—h–hi.” Michael stumbles over his words, nearly frozen as he stares.
Louis stopped counting, but if he remembered correctly this would probably make the one-hundred and thirty fourth soulmate meeting he’s been front row, and center too.
Congratulations Michael and Light Pink haired girl! Not even Dr. Seuss could have written this one!
“Unfucking-believable.” Zayn shakes his head, a happy smug smirk appearing on his face.
Louis brows raise in acknowledgement to Zayn’s complicated mix of emotions.
It wasn’t that they were unhappy for Michael. Neither Zayn nor Louis wanted his soulmate. But there were only so many times where they could watch someone else get something they were promised, without feeling jaded by the timeline of their own life.
“You think we’re gonna be lonely forever?” Zayn quietly asks over the chaos of the newest soulmate meeting.
“Fuck no.” Louis cackles, swallowing another lick of icing. “I’m gonna find my omega!”
Zayn’s head shakes again, some of that optimism that had been stolen from watching another friend find their forever, returning to his shoulders. “You talk a big fucking game for someone who’s gonna be slicking by the end of the summer.”
Feigning offense, Louis presses his fingers to his chest. “My knots gonna be bigger than yours!”
“Yeah, okay.” Zayn nearly chokes on his most recent bite.
Their laughter accompanies the sound of the dining hall starting to empty out, the background noise of Michael and his soulmate getting to know one another, arms wrapped around each other, the bass of the DJ set beginning to pulse outside, the windows rattling with its strength.
“Is that—-” Luke leans over, looking over his shoulder as he stares at his childhood friend now enraptured by his soulmate. “How it always happens.”
“Pretty much.” Louis nods, suddenly unable to think about stomaching another bite. “Eyecontact, touch, their scent hits your nostrils like a freight rain right before you feel the electricity pumping in your blood, and then you basically flip a coin and either your back or your front starts to do things it never did before.”
Luke attempts to stifle his chuckle, looking back at Michael again, the dull light in his eyes something Louis knows all too well. It’s that first pang of jealousy when you realize it's not your soulmate this time, then that odd sense of longing for a stranger you’ve never met, topped with this happiness for the couple that can’t be replicated anywhere else.
Time and time again Louis had been a slave to that very emotional cycle. He knew exactly what Luke was going through.
“Alright, fuck this melancholy!” Louis declares to the rest of the table as the sky outside turns that dark shade of purple, the sun finally putting herself to sleep, the blare of the music loud enough to begin to vibrate the floorboards of the dining hall. “The night is young! Let’s get pissed!”
🌕
Cabin Eros, does in fact, get pissed.
Louis’ pretty sure he’d managed to sink four vodka redbulls, by the time Amelia shoves her half-finished wine cooler into his hands and declares she’s headed off to bed.
She’s smart. She knows that they have to be up early tomorrow morning to start the Mate-Search Activities. She’s not still gyrating her hips to the Spice Girls and slugging down various alcoholic drinks to just feel something beyond crippling anxiety and raging jealousy.
Tomorrow, Louis thinks, tomorrow Louis will start to listen to smart, level-headed Amelia.
Tonight? He’s gonna chug this wine and add it to the mix of bad decisions pumping through his bloodstream and pretend he’s not on the fast track of becoming one of the World’s most tragic tales of soulmate camp.
Somewhere in the ether, more people taper off, words slurring and inhibitions lowering. The smell of sweat mixes with the lake water sloshing against the sand. There’s a couple making out against a rock, full on straddle and thrust. A makeshift beer-pong table’s been set up at one of the picnic tables bordering the lake and there’s a large group of people huddling around the fire pit.
The idea of the warmth wounds nice. But he notices in the glare of the roaring light that everyone is all too focused on someone who’s gesticulating wildly, all while wearing a dark pair of sunglasses as if he’s had a traumatic brain injury and is incapable of seeing the very full moon in the sky.
Idiots.
Every single one of them.
How in the world was he expected to find his soulmate in this chaotic hullabaloo?
Louis tries to forget about all of the history he stands on, the love made and created right beneath his very feet. Fuck all that.
Hell, all he knows is there’s various amounts of slick and spunk mixed into the sand pressing between his toes as he spins and grinds with the rhythm of the music. Even still, he feels free, barricaded by the immovable trees that are Luke and Zayn.
The former moves a little clunky, in that metallic way that needs a little WD-40. Zayn’s more of the casual attempt at nonchalance, refusing to do much more than move his arms in any one direction and bounce his knees occasionally, too afraid of being perceived in any way that colors his dark and gloomy facade.
“Dance!” Louis shrieks, reprimanding his friend for his aloofness.
“I am!” Zayn retorts, adding a little more intention to the flail of his hips, but not committing to it. Not really.
“That’s a sorry excuse for dancing! You need to twirl! To spin!” Louis nearly falls over, his legs forgetting how to function when he attempts to demonstrate his desired technique.
“Whoa, there sea legs!” Luke catches him by the waist, steadying his swaying posture.
“Dance with me!” Louis ignores Luke’s touch, the heat of his fingertips slipping away when he lunges towards Zayn. “Dance!” He doesn’t care that he’s nearly pouting, that the sand is making it hard to be sure if he’s off balance or if the ground is.
“Aww.” Zayn coos, mocking Louis’ inability to find stable vertical alignment. “Baby, wants to be spun!”
“I’m older than you!” Louis spits his comeback at the same time he feels Zayn’s hands on his hips, turning him around like how parents used to do at parties right before they sent you off with a bat and a blindfold towards a piñata.
In that moment, he learns he likes this childlike nostalgia. Not caring about where his feet land on this sand, about looking up at the stars and watching them swirl into a blurry dazzle of glitter. Just like this, he can convince himself, on this very lake, that everything would be okay. That the coding of the universe can’t be wrong enough to keep dropping him back here, year after year, without a purpose.
“Spin the Louis!” Zayn announces, jostling him enough that he’s able to nearly throw Louis over towards Luke, who catches him in a soft sway.
They’re practically passing him between the two of them, taking advantage of Louis’ laughter and the way his body gives into the flow so easily. He rocks back on his heels, falls back into the arms of one of them, just for them to take advantage of the momentum and swing him back into motion again.
He feels weightless but wanted. Like he has some type of purpose beyond submitting essays for his college classes, working for nearly nothing and contemplating to his ceiling at night if he’ll ever amount to more than the life he lives now, always sacrificing for the betterment of everyone else. Right here, right now, he doesn’t need to be the brave older brother or the likeable substitute teacher or the competent student. He just needs to feel.
So, he does.
He focuses on the soft grains of sand on his damp feet, on the way the wind brushes over his cheeks in a cool whisper of summer, on this anticipatory excitement that seems like a hopeful wonder of this year being different. Why? He doesn’t have any real reason, no full proof. Just—a feeling.
“Stop, stop, stop!” Louis exclaims, laughing too hard at this teetering his body is doing, at the way his body’s reactions are far too slow considering the strength of the alcohol pumping in his bloodstream.
“What?” Zayn halts him, inspecting him as Louis tries to swipe at the tears that had built up from laughing so hard. “Can’t handle it?”
The joke is too easy, and he’s too drunk to stop himself. “That’s what I said to your mom last night.” He’s in stitches the second he says it, his laughter caving him in on himself, the wine cooler sloshing against the sides of the red solo cup.
“Fuck off, wanker.” Zayn chuckles but pushes Louis harder than before, making Louis fully lose his footing, the slanted beach an additional obstacle to his already questionable stability.
He’s stumbling sideways, but desperate to find some solid ground. Unluckily for him, his hands try to brace a potential fall, the wine in his glass tossing itself backwards before he’s even registered he lost the weight of it.
But he’s hitting something hard and immovable, no longer falling, but whatever it is, is too warm and too dry to be the ground. Or at least, it was dry. The plastic cup in his hands crumbles against the other person’s skin, tilting towards him, the rest of the container toppling over and soaking into Louis’ jeans.
“Shit! My watch!” He turns to find that TBI-idiot with sunglasses staring down at his own stomach and arm covered in that pink-red wine he’d never really gotten a full taste of. The white linen looks clear against his skin, showcasing a stupid pack of abs. “Fuck!“
Louis sobers almost instantly, the reality of having stumbled and spilled his drink onto a stranger crashing into him all at once, tunnel visioned as he stares at the inked skin of this man’s abdomen. Are those—ferns?
The man looks up over Louis’ shoulder, those stupid fucking sunglasses impairing Louis’ ability to read any part of him beyond his infuriatingly sharp jawline, but he’s not yelling at him, he’s yelling at Zayn. “Fucking watch it! This shit’s expensive!”
Something about the scratch of his voice has the contents of Louis’ stomach churning, heat blazing across his cheeks in embarrassment as people turn towards them to look, watching the spectacle play out.
But Louis’ crotch is wet, uncomfortably so, the liquid soaking into his underwear, and there’s a chill running up his spine accompanied with the wind.
He can’t hear what the other man says under his breath when he turns to walk away, but he knows that his feet feel like anchors, and despite the fact that he can tell there’s nearly a hundred people looking at him. He can't bear the thought of moving. The wind picks up the suggestion of lilac from someone’s perfume just then, and the ghost of it tickle’ Louis’ nose, just for a second, just for a moment—before it dies.
“Hey!” He hears Zayn’s voice in what sounds like some vacuum as he watches the sunglasses-jerk part through the crowd he had gathered. “You alright?” Zayn’s touch against his shoulder seems to light something aflame, the touch nearly burning him like some branding iron that grazes his skin.
He jerks back, too on-edge from all of the sensations crowding his awareness. It’s probably just the alcohol, probably just the nerves.
“Don’t take it personal.” Zayn quickly gets out, attempting to console him, skimming over Louis’ neutrality. “That guys a dick.”
Unbeknownst to Zayn, Louis wasn’t feeling neutral at all.
In fact, Louis was worried he was going to be sick.
“Lou?” Zayn steps in front of him again, this time both hands on his shoulders, trying to find his gaze.
But Louis nearly stumbles backwards, still burdened by the poison in his system, and maybe, just maybe, the poison he’d just interacted with.
A dick. Yeah. that guy probably was just a dick. So why is it shaking him so much?
“I'm just gonna–” Louis' voice doesn’t even sound like him, he’s nearly choking on his own throat, the air struggling to escape as he looks down at the cold, sopping mess of wine on his jeans. “Just gonna—shower.”