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Liam returns the embrace, rocking them back and forth slightly. “Good,

because I‟ve been trying to figure out how to ask you that for months.”

Zayn can‟t help but laugh again, shoulders shaking under Liam‟s

hands. “I‟m serious!” he says, but he‟s smiling.

“I know you are,” Zayn says. “I‟m laughing at myself because I‟m

infatuated with an idiot.”

Liam just tugs him closer and kisses him quickly. “A complete idiot.

But I‟m infatuated with an arsonist, so I guess we‟re even.”

“Are you—” Zayn swallows, afraid to ruin the moment. “I‟m really am

sorry about all that stuff. It was ridiculous and dangerous and hopefully

just romantic enough that you won‟t send me to prison.”

“I mean, it‟s not my favorite thing about you,” Liam says thoughtfully,

running his hands up and down Zayn‟s arms. “It makes me sad that you

thought you had to do that stuff. And if I weren‟t, you know,

completely biased I‟d probably be more concerned. But assuming you

didn‟t actually hurt anybody and you‟re not going to do it again, I think

I can be convinced not to turn you in.” He leans in for one more kiss,

and then he pulls Zayn into another hug. ”Okay, firestarter, let‟s go get

dinner.” He presses his lips to Zayn‟s temple. “Let‟s go to dinner now.”

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Zayn tries to clear the haze in his mind. The feeling of Liam‟s hands

stroking up and down his back isn‟t helping. He thinks back to the time

his phone had shown. “It‟s... it‟s three o‟clock in the afternoon.”

“Who cares?” Liam pulls away. His eyes are soft as they run over

Zayn‟s face. “I think it‟s been put off long enough, don‟t you?”

Nodding somewhat hysterically, Zayn slides back into Liam‟s space for

a joyful kiss. This is happening, and it‟s real, and it‟s theirs. He leans

his forehead against Liam‟s, grinning in relief, and lets go of the year-

and-a-half-long breath he‟s been holding. “I‟ll get my coat.”

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After the initial text message and a two hour phone call the next day

during which Zayn explains every moment in elaborate detail, Louis

sees nothing of Zayn except at work. The rest of his free time is entirely

spent holed up somewhere with Liam, probably doing things to each

others‟ bodies hitherto unknown to the natural world. Or maybe not,

since Liam seems pretty vanilla, but it‟s not like Louis would know

otherwise, because Zayn has hardly come up for air for two weeks now.

Louis honestly expected to have to endure hours upon hours of updates

on every perfect moment of their perfect new relationship, but so far,

Zayn has been surprisingly quiet on that front. He‟s probably too

wrapped up in Liam to bother.

Whenever Louis does see Zayn, it seems that being with Liam is doing

him extremely well. He looks better than he has in months, practically

floating down the halls with the air of a man who has reached the

highest point of happiness and leveled out at nirvana, whistling and

swaying his hips as he goes. It‟s not just his aura but his actual looks,

the brighter eyes, the springier hair, the way his shirts hang on his

shoulders. It‟s like everywhere he goes, the whispery sound of pants

hitting the floor follows.

Meanwhile, Louis wakes up in the morning and stares at his own

zombie face in the mirror and tries to force himself to be pleased about

the fact that Harry has stopped calling or coming around altogether.

He‟s happy for Zayn. He really, truly, honestly is happy for him. He

loves Zayn, and he wants him to be happy, and he has been rooting for

Zayn and Liam in his own way for a while. Plus he likes Liam, and he‟s

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sure he‟ll enjoy having Liam around when he starts coming „round for

more than just whisking Zayn off to lunch at some sexy and exotic

location practically every day.

So maybe Louis is jealous. A little bit. He‟s not going to delude himself

into thinking he could ever make a relationship like that work, but he‟s

jealous that they can. It‟d be nice, he thinks, to be capable of having

something like that, instead of what he does have, which is sleepless

nights and cold sweats and stale bread because he can‟t even muster up

the energy to go to fucking Tesco's.

Naturally, Liam and Zayn want to go out for a group dinner to celebrate

their two-week anniversary, because apparently that‟s a thing. Liam

makes a reservation for five and Zayn invites the rest of them

personally, and Louis would like nothing better to make an excuse and

stay home, but he knows how much this means to Zayn. Plus, after the

week he spent faking sick and moping around his flat like a tosser, he

knows Zayn would see right through it and probably force him to come

anyway.

He arrives at the restaurant fifteen minutes late and the other four lads

are already seated at a table in the back, Liam and Zayn grinning at him

from adjacent chairs, Niall already demolishing the basket of bread,

and Harry. It‟s the first time he‟s seen Harry in over a week, and he

feels his heart climb into his throat when Harry looks up and dimples at

him nervously. The only open seat is the one between Harry and Zayn.

Louis tries to swallow his panic.

“Evening, lads,” he says, too bright. He sits down, right on the edge of

the chair, and folds his hands on the table. “What a momentous

occasion, eh?”

The dinner goes pretty much exactly how Louis expected at first. Liam

and Zayn are appropriately nauseating but admittedly adorable, all

smiles and bashful handholding and blushing whenever one of them

refers to them as “we” or “us.” It‟s the first Louis has really, properly

seen them together like this, and he has to admit that they‟re stupidly

cute together. The first time Liam actually says the word “boyfriend”

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out loud at the table Zayn looks like he‟s torn between swooning out of

his chair and jumping up onto the table and ripping his clothes off.

Niall keeps teasing them, but that only seems to please Zayn more. As

it turns out, being teased about being too obnoxiously smitten with the

new boyfriend he spent a year and a half trying to land is not something

Zayn seems to mind.

Niall has just shifted his attention from taking the piss out of Zayn to

flirting with the pretty young waitress when Louis feels Harry‟s hand

slide onto his thigh under the table.

It takes every bit of restraint in Louis‟ body to not jump out of his skin

and upend the table at the touch. He hasn‟t had Harry‟s hands on him in

what feels like ages, and it‟s a bit of a shock now, in the middle of this

restaurant with Liam and Zayn beaming at each other across the way.

Louis sits, resolutely still, eyes forward, and carries on eating his salad

as if nothing at all is amiss. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see

Harry doing the same.

The whole night he‟s been carefully avoiding Harry‟s eye, pretending

like he hasn‟t been itching to talk to him for weeks. Louis hasn‟t even

really talked to him aside from regular friendly conversation, shallow

little talk about the drink menu or whatever. This was how the plan was

supposed to go. Harry isn‟t special, so Louis won‟t treat him like he is.

He‟d been doing all right, but it‟s harder now, almost impossible with

Harry touching him.

Harry‟s hand stays there on his thigh, the warmth and weight of it

painfully familiar. It‟s all Louis can think about, all he can focus on

even as Liam carries on awkwardly trying to eat with his left hand so

he can hold onto Zayn‟s with his right. He wants to reach down and

cover it Harry‟s hand with his own, squeeze until Harry‟s fingernails

cut into his skin, leave some marks. He wants everything he shouldn‟t,

and he‟s been doing better at pretending he doesn‟t now that Harry

hasn‟t been around as much, but here it is again.

Eventually he excuses himself and heads off to the toilets, desperate to

get away for a minute. He‟s standing over the sink, considering how

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much filling it up and dunking his head in would ruin his shirt, when

the door swings open and Harry steps inside.

Louis meets his eyes in the mirror, and Harry‟s face is unfathomable.

“Haz,” he says automatically, forgetting for a moment that he‟s not

supposed to use that nickname anymore. Something in Harry‟s face

goes completely broken, and then Harry crosses the tiny room and

grabs Louis by the shoulders.

Louis lets himself be pushed backwards until his back hits the wall, and

Harry crowds him up against it, breath coming short and fast. He holds

Louis still like that and looks at him, just looks at him, and Louis can

barely stand to look back. He‟s never felt so exposed in his life, and

he‟s terrified that Harry‟s going to see everything on his face, every last

bit of how much this means to him, everything he can‟t afford to let

out. It‟s the same reason he‟s never let Harry get a picture of his face,

because he‟s terrified, as good as he is at hiding, that something in his

eyes is going to give him away.

Harry‟s eyes dart from Louis‟ eyes to his lips, and it‟s all Louis can do

not to tell him to just do it, just kiss him already.

Louis lets his eyes fall shut and waits, hoping it‟ll hurt, hoping Harry

won‟t be kind about it. A long, heavy moment passes, and then another,

and then Harry sighs and Louis feels the fingers on his shoulders dig in

before going slack. He feels Harry‟s breath on his skin as he presses a

kiss to Louis‟ forehead, and then he‟s gone. It‟s over as fast as it

happened, and Louis is left alone with an empty room and his own

exhausted reflection in the mirror over the sink.

For an infuriating moment, it feels like Louis hasn‟t made any real

progress with this at all. It‟s still there. No matter how much distance

they gain, it‟s still there, that maddening chemistry between them, that

thing Louis can‟t name. He can‟t make it go away. He can‟t make it

stop.

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He hunches over the sink, head in his hands. Why can‟t he just make it

fucking stop?

He spends five minutes scrubbing his hands raw at the sink for no

reason, just to feel like he‟s got some of this off of his skin, before

toweling them off and heading back to the table.

Thankfully Liam is now regaling them all with a story of somebody he

rescued from a collapsing building or something, so Louis doesn‟t have

to worry about enduring silence. He sits back down next to Harry, who

is still and quiet, swilling the little bit of water around in his glass. He

tries not to notice the palpable tension between them.

A few minutes later a free dessert arrives, some massive chocolate

fudge confection covered in blazing sparklers courtesy of Niall, who

lied to the waitress and told her it was Liam‟s birthday. Liam turns