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with work, and he‟s got finals, so. We‟ll deal with that later.” He

accidentally opens the stapler and hurriedly closes it again. “And, um,

no more. You know. Sex. Until after the term's over.”

Zayn raises his eyebrows, leaning back against Louis‟ desk. “And you

talked to him about this?”

“Yes,” Louis says defensively. “And we‟ll talk about the other stuff,

too. Eventually.”

“Okay, okay, it‟s none of my business,” Zayn says, holding up his

hands.

“I don‟t see that there‟s so much to talk about, anyway,” Louis

mumbles. “Like you said, we‟re friends who shag now. Doesn‟t seem

like rocket science.”

“That is not what I—Christ.” Zayn runs a hand over his face. “None of

my business. Right. Anyway. Is this all hush-hush or can I tell Niall?”

Louis laughs. “Niall can know, yeah, not that he‟ll care. No one else,

though, okay? Don‟t need any other nosy parkers asking questions.” He

prods Zayn in the stomach, and Zayn slaps him lightly on the back of

the head.

“Just looking out for you, prick. All right, I‟ve got to go unlock my

room. See you in a bit.” He walks out of the room and makes it halfway

down the hall before he turns back, ducking his head into Louis‟

classroom again.

“Hey, Lou?” Louis looks up at him expectantly. “I really am happy for

you, yeah?” Louis ducks his head, but Zayn can still see the helpless

smile on his face.

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“Thanks, Zayn,” Louis says in a little voice, and Zayn hums to himself

as he walks back down the hallway. If what he hums is “Summer

Nights,” he certainly doesn‟t plan on telling Louis.

He‟s glad later that he stopped in that morning, because after he helps

Louis with the copy machine he barely sees him until opening night of

the play. Zayn‟s got the term to finish up, too, and even when he has a

free moment, Louis doesn‟t. Every spare second Louis has is spent on

the play, and even when Zayn drops by rehearsals to pitch in Louis is

torn in about twenty directions at once, usually only having time to

direct Zayn towards something that needs to get done before haring off

to deal with five other problems.

The upside, though, is that he gets to watch Louis and Harry interact,

since Harry seems to take any opportunity to show up at the theatre,

usually with tea. They‟re always around students, so the two of them

probably think they‟re keeping a lid on things, but even if Louis hadn‟t

told Zayn what had happened Zayn would have been able to figure it

out when he saw them together. He knows what to look for.

When Zayn moved into his flat three years ago, his mum had come

over to help him decorate. When they were done—or when he‟d

thought they were done—she‟d gone out to her car and come back

inside with two small houseplants. She‟d told him he shouldn‟t be the

only living thing in his home, kissed him on the cheek, and put them on

the windowsill. By the time Christmas had rolled around, both the

plants had been distinctly crooked, growing unerringly towards the

sunlight that streamed through the window every afternoon. Harry and

Louis are like those plants, if plants could be sunlight to each other.

They‟d been bad before, but now it‟s so much clearer, the way they

unconsciously turn to and gravitate towards each other. Harry is

tentative with it, moving slow and steady around Louis like he‟s a

skittish animal Harry is afraid of spooking, and Zayn keeps catching

him reaching out to touch Louis and then pulling back at the last

second. Louis, for his part, still seems a little incredulous, watching

Harry from across the room and psyching himself up for several

minutes before he‟ll wander over, sliding his fingers over Harry‟s wrist,

and then scurry off to some other urgent task, a look on his face like he

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can‟t believe he got away with it. Other times Louis will catch Harry

staring, and his face will light up in an unreserved smile before he

remembers himself and flees backstage, Harry grinning after him.

It‟s sweet, and childish, and rare, and Zayn is half thrilled for his

friends and half seethingly jealous. In the long run, though, it‟s just

proof of his belief in the power of love to move even the most

immovable of mountains (read: Louis Tomlinson‟s pride), so he really

can‟t complain.

It‟s enough to light a fire under his own arse, so to speak. Nothing quite

like two of your close friends shagging to make you desperate to get

your own epic romance back in motion. He spends three days working

up the nerve, drafting and deleting two dozen different messages,

before he finally sends Liam a text inviting him to Louis‟ annual

birthday/Christmas party on Christmas Eve. Liam‟s response is full of

genuine thanks and a promise to try to make it if he can get off of work,

and Zayn maybe does a victory lap around his flat in just his pants.

Even with all the time he spends compulsively checking to see if

Liam‟s got any word on whether or not he‟ll be able to go, the end of

the week passes in a flurry. Zayn gives his exams, and collects final

papers, and when he collapses into his seat on the opening night of

Much Ado About Nothing he is finally, finally done with the term.

He‟s just pulling out his phone to stare at his empty inbox some more

when someone slides into the seat next to him, and he turns to see

Harry.

“Mind if I join you?” Harry asks.

“Course not,” Zayn says, pocketing his phone again. Since Niall is up

in the sound booth, he doesn‟t really have anyone else to sit with

anyway. And he‟s been meaning to talk to Harry for a few days now,

actually. “So, you done with finals yet?”

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Harry heaves a sigh. “Yeah, finally. Turned in my last project today.

Was up all night in the darkroom, but it feels good to be done. You?”

Zayn nods. “Finished today too. I mean, I‟ve got a shitload of marking

to do over the holidays, but it could be worse.” They lapse into silence

for a few minutes, watching other audience members take their seats

and catching glimpses of cast members peeking out from behind the

curtains, before Zayn clears his throat.

“So,” he says. “Harry.”

Harry turns in his seat, looking at him with a poorly-concealed smile.

“Zayn.”

Zayn feels like a twat, but he has responsibilities. “Louis and I have

been friends for a very long time now.” Harry nods. “And he may be an

utter bastard, but I‟m fond of him anyway.”

Another nod. “I know what you mean.”

Zayn can‟t help but smile a little at that, before schooling his face back

into seriousness. “Since I‟m fond of him, I would be very upset if he

were to, I don‟t know, be hurt in any way. By anyone.” He looks Harry

in the eyes. “And I am, as you know, very familiar with various arson

techniques.”

“Duly noted,” Harry says, continuing to fail at hiding his grin.

Zayn keeps his eye contact level and even. “Very. Familiar.”

He holds Harry‟s gaze for about five more seconds before cracking up.

“God, I almost had it,” he says, giggling, and he‟s set Harry off into

full-blown cackles.

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“Don‟t worry, man, if I didn‟t know you I‟d have shit myself,” he says,

wiping away tears. “Arson techniques, fuck me.” He claps Zayn on the

back. “You‟re a good friend, man. I‟m glad he has you.”

Zayn reaches out and ruffles his hair. “You both have me, you prat.” At

that moment, the lights begin to dim, and they both withdraw to their

respective sides of the armrest and settle back for the show. “I will

murder you, though,” Zayn whispers as the curtain parts, and Harry

gives him a thumbs-up before the first soliloquy starts.

The play is good—surprisingly good, if Zayn‟s going to be honest. The

two leads have great chemistry, sparking off each other, and good

enough comedic timing that the audience laughs where they‟re

supposed to. The final scene arrives before Zayn ever gets bored, and

when he joins the standing ovation he finds he really means it. Every

cast member gets their moment in the spotlight, and then Louis is

dragged onstage by the two leads for a round of applause of his own.

Next to Zayn, Harry puts two fingers in his mouth and lets out a

piercing whistle.

As the applause dies off, people start getting up and trickling out of the

theatre. Harry and Zayn move against the flow of traffic, heading to the

stage, where Louis is hugging various actors and crew members. When

he turns and sees them approaching, he hops down off the stage and

pulls them both into an embrace.

“Oh my God, it wasn‟t terrible, it actually wasn‟t terrible,” he says in a

rush, muffled by the side of Harry‟s head. Zayn laughs and pulls out of

the group hug, watching the way Harry‟s arm slips to circle Louis‟

waist. He glances backwards, feeling suddenly protective of them, and

shifts slightly to block the two of them from the audience‟s view.

“It wasn‟t even a little terrible,” he tells Louis, whose face is still half-

hidden in Harry‟s shoulder. “Well, except for when Claudio sneezed on

Hero, but I suppose that wasn‟t really his fault.”

“Yeah, and Beatrice and Bendy Dick were really good,” Harry adds.

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Louis groans and covers his eyes with his hand. “It‟s Benedick. You

know that it‟s Benedick.”

Harry just smiles and rubs his nose in Louis‟ hair. “Bendy Dick.”

“Speaking of,” Zayn says, and Louis looks up. “I think your cast is

waiting on you.”

Zayn jerks his chin toward the crowd behind them. The students are

milling about the stage, hugging and congratulating each other but

seeming unwilling to go anywhere without their director. Zayn‟s going

to pretend he doesn‟t see some of them starting to notice Harry‟s hold

on Louis.

“Shit, yeah, sorry,” Louis says, extricating himself from Harry at last.

“I‟ve got to, sorry—”

“No worries,” Harry says. “Go congratulate your kids. They were great.

I‟ll see you tomorrow, yeah? Same time, same place.”

“You‟re coming to tomorrow‟s show?” Louis says, his mouth falling

slightly open. Harry just nods, and Louis‟ face breaks out in a smile so

bright it‟s almost blinding. Harry smiles back, hands in his pockets, and

it‟s like the play‟s back on, except now it‟s just Harry and Louis inside

their own little isolated spotlight world.

“Well, I‟m not,” Zayn interjects, mostly to remind the two of them that

he exists. “Amazing job, Lou, really well done. See you next week.” He

looks over at Harry because he‟s starting to fear that he may have to

actually physically drag him out of whatever gravitational pull Louis

seems to have him trapped in. “Let‟s leave him to it, yeah?”

Harry says a reluctant goodbye, and Zayn feels a little stupid for even

trying to give him the You Break His Heart, I Break Your Legs speech

when he‟s watching him watch Louis fade into the crowd of costumed

bodies with that look on his face.

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“How d‟you feel about grabbing a pint?” Zayn says, elbowing Harry

out of whatever train of thought he‟s currently off on. “Been a long

week, I could use it. I‟m sure Niall will be up for it, too.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, finally pulling his eyes off of Louis‟ back. “Yeah,

that sounds brilliant.”

Harry lets himself be steered away, and Zayn keeps an arm around his

shoulders all the way out of the theatre, just in case.

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