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Zayn has to admit, in retrospect, this was probably not one of his better

ideas.

He really, really doesn't want to text Louis, because he knows Louis

will never in a million years let him live this down. If Niall weren't

away on a field trip, Zayn could maybe just text him instead and swear

him to secrecy, and if he were very, very careful for the next month or

so, Louis would never have to know and Zayn could escape a lifetime

of disgrace. But as it is, Louis is his only hope. There's no way in hell

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he can leave this room in the state he's in, and his free period is almost

over. He's running out of time.

Zayn takes a deep breath and pulls out his phone, resigning himself to

eternal shame.

come to the lounge by the bathrooms in e building i need help D:

He shrinks back into the corner as he waits for Louis' response. He is

hiding in the teacher's lounge with his cardigan tied around his head.

This is possibly a new low.

His phone buzzes in his hand, the death knell of his dignity.

in the middle of class, what do u need?

Louis' reply reads, and there is no way Zayn is explaining this via text

message.

please just come it‟s an emergency DDD:

It‟s another minute before Louis texts back, this had better be good, and

Zayn cringes at the screen. Louis has no idea.

The few minutes it takes for Louis to make it over are enough time to

work himself into a proper state over the whole situation. This is bad.

This is very, very bad. By the time Zayn hears footsteps approaching,

he‟s locked the door and seated himself on the floor in front of it, and it

rattles against his back when Louis tries to open it.

“The door‟s locked, Zayn,” Louis says, and Zayn can picture his face

pinched in annoyance on the other side. “Why‟d you lock the door? Are

you taking the piss?”

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“I‟m gonna let you in,” Zayn tells him, “but first you have to swear you

won‟t laugh.”

Pause.

“I can‟t promise that,” Louis says. “I don‟t even know what you‟ve

done.”

“Swear you won‟t laugh!” Zayn says, and God, yes, definitely a new

low.

“You know I will, though,” Louis says, sounding impatient. “You

wouldn‟t have asked me to swear I wouldn‟t if you didn‟t already know

I would.”

“That doesn‟t even—all right, fine,” Zayn says. Louis is such a bastard

sometimes, but he also came when Zayn needed him to, which counts

for a lot. “Just. Please, try not to laugh.”

“Okay, okay,” Louis relents. “Just open the door.”

Zayn gets to his feet, fighting the dread weighing down his stomach.

Maybe it won‟t be as bad as he thinks. He hasn‟t actually assessed the

damage himself, after all. He unlocks the door and lets Louis in,

shutting it behind him.

Louis just stares at him.

“Zayn,” he says. “Did you make me walk all the way over here to look

at you with your cardigan „round your head?”

“Just... let me explain,” Zayn says.

“Have you suffered blunt force trauma to the head recently?” Louis

says.

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“Shut up and listen,” Zayn tells him.

“Right, sorry,” Louis says, holding both hands up. “Please, do go on.”

“I thought I could do that thing like people do in films, you know,

where they light their cigarettes on the stove,” Zayn says. “So I came

over here, because it‟s the only lounge with a stove in it, and I was

bending down close to the flame and my, my hair sort of... caught fire.”

“It what?” Louis says, eyebrows shooting up his forehead. “How did

that even happen, like, physically? I mean, I know you use a lot of

product, but, Jesus.”

“Well,” Zayn admits, “I had sort of just sprayed it a bit more than

usual.”

“Why would you—” Louis cuts himself off mid-sentence, terrible

realisation dawning on his face. “Oh my God. Zayn. You were going to

go smoke under a smoke detector again, weren‟t you?”

Zayn doesn‟t answer.

“You have got a problem,” Louis moans. “How bad is it?”

“I don‟t know yet,” Zayn says. “I actually haven‟t, um, taken this off

since I used it to smother the fire.”

Louis faces twists for a moment like he‟s just swallowed something

sour, and then his restraint finally cracks and he erupts into laughter.

“I‟m sorry!” he says at Zayn‟s scowl, words uneven and gasping

between peals of laughter. “I‟m sorry, oh God, I tried, but you set your

hair on fire, and then you smothered it with your cardigan, please, I

deserve a medal for lasting as long as I did.”

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Zayn has to give him credit for that, at least, especially lately. The last

few weeks since he and Harry started doing whatever it is that they call

their relationship now, it‟s been impossible to wipe the smile off of

Louis‟ face. He doesn‟t think Louis even realises that he‟s walking

around looking like a big smitten idiot, singing in the corridors,

grinning down at his tea for no discernible reason, wearing his most

garishly colored trousers. Zayn would tease him about it more if he

weren‟t afraid it would send Louis running away from Harry as fast as

his mint green legs could carry him. Louis‟ continued happiness is

more important to Zayn than giving him shit. Because he is a good

friend.

Louis, on the other hand, is still laughing, and Zayn is still in crisis

mode.

“All right,” Louis says, wiping a tear from his eye. “Okay, I‟m sorry.

I‟ll shut up now. Let‟s get a look at you.”

Reluctantly, Zayn bows his head and lets Louis pull the cardigan off,

holding his breath for Louis‟ reaction.

“It‟s...” Louis says. “It could definitely be worse.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you could have lost your whole head, for example,” Louis says,

and Zayn moans in despair. “Joking! Only joking!”

“I‟m going to choke you to death,” Zayn says.

“You‟re adorable,” Louis says. “It‟s actually not horrible. I mean,

definitely noticeable, and not in a look-at-me-I‟m-so-avant-garde sort

of way, just a I-singed-off-part-of-my-quiff way, but it‟s only a bit on

one side. It‟ll probably grow back in a month or two.”

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“Oh God,” Zayn says, burying his face in his hands. “What am I going

to do?”

“Zayn, my friend,” Louis says. “I think it‟s time for you to embrace

that clandestine lover of yours: the beanie.”

Zayn perks up a bit. That doesn‟t seem so bad. “D‟you think they‟d let

me wear it while I‟m teaching?”

Louis waves one hand dismissively. “Tell them you‟ve got some sort of

scalp ailment. Projectile dandruff, I don‟t know. It‟s not like you‟ve

ever been called out for any of your other flagrant wardrobe

violations.”

It‟s a good point. Louis might not be entirely useless after all. “Have

you got one?” Zayn says.

“What, on me now? No, I‟m not you, I don‟t keep an entire spare

ensemble with me at all times in case of some sort of dress code

emergency. I think there might be one in my car if you want to go get

it,” Louis says, checking his watch, “but I really need to get back to

class.”

Zayn looks at him piteously.

“No. No. Absolutely not, I am not going to get it for you. You brought

this on yourself, you pay the price.”

Zayn breaks out the puppy eyes.

Louis returns a few minutes later with the beanie, and Zayn pulls it on,

frowning at his reflection in the door of the microwave. It‟s not bad, but

it‟s certainly not good either. He‟s just going to have to lie low for a

while until it grows back, then. No more smoking under smoke

detectors, no more anonymously turning in the neighbors for failing to

maintain their fire escape properly, not for at least a month. He drags

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his feet back to his classroom. His life is a sham. He is an

embarrassment to the Malik name. He wonders how things could

possibly get worse.

It‟s then that he reaches his classroom and sees the note stuck in the

little letterbox on his door.

Dear teachers,

As you were informed at last month‟s faculty meeting, renovations on

the East Wing of the school will begin next week. Be advised that

service workers, contractors, and inspectors will be on campus

regularly over the course of the next two months to ensure that these

renovations adhere to building codes, fire codes, et cetera. All visitors

to campus will be issued identification badges and permitted to work

during school hours. For the safety of our students and staff, attached is

a list of those approved for campus access. We appreciate your

cooperation during this exciting time of—

Zayn stops reading, frantically turning the page to the list of names.

Right there, listed alongside several others from the fire department, is

Liam Payne.

Of. Fucking. Course.

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As much as he hates listening to him whine, Louis has to admit it: Zayn

has terrible, terrible luck.

Under normal circumstances, Zayn‟s terrible luck would dictate that he

would somehow manage to never talk to Liam the entire time he was

helping with renovations, no matter how hard he tried. Now that he

actually doesn‟t want to see him, Zayn having terrible luck apparently

means that he‟s going to have to flee Liam every time he turns a corner.

So far he‟s avoided having to actually interact with him, thanks to his

clever utilization of storage cupboards and, on one particularly

inventive occasion, a bin. Louis is almost impressed.

He‟s walking down a hallway with Zayn afterhours about a week after

what Niall refers to exclusively as his “Human Torch incident,” when

Zayn spots Liam at the other end of the hall, talking with a construction

worker and some custodial staff.

“Abort, abort, abort,” he says urgently. He grabs Louis‟ arm in a vice-

like grip and drags him toward the closest storage cupboard, unlocking

it hurriedly before shoving Louis inside and closing the door behind

them.

“You realise that I‟m not actually hiding from him, right?” Louis says

into the darkness. “Or were you planning on burning off half my hair to

force me into solidarity with you?”

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“Shh, Jesus, can you not shut up for thirty seconds?” Zayn says,

pressing him as far back into the cupboard as he can. “Oh, shit, I‟ve

stepped in a buck—” He cuts himself off as voices approach.

“You don‟t happen to have any adjustable spanners, do you?” says a

good-natured voice that can only belong to one person. “I‟d use mine,

only I‟ve left my toolbox back at the stationhouse.”

“Yeah, we‟ve got one of those,” the second voice says. “I‟ve got to run

to a meeting, actually, but here, check in that cupboard on the left. Just

leave the key on my desk when you‟re done.”

“Thanks,” Liam says, and then there‟s the sound of footsteps

approaching.

“Oh no,” Zayn hisses into the darkness, “oh shit, oh fuck, he‟s got a