if not the happiest, surely the luckiest (lt/zm)

[dangerbears]

title: if not the happiest, surely the luckiest
pairing: louis tomlinson/zayn malik
word count: ~10,000
disclaimer: hilariously untrue.
summary: AU. reform boarding school for the obscenely wealthy, essentially. zayn is new and louis is hot shit.
notes: i really try not to write things that i know nothing about, but here's some boarding school au that seems to be a vague mix of my first year of college and probably a bad teen movie. we're all adept at suspending disbelief, right? so many infinite thanks to my one and only influira.



oh god, it’s so wonderful
to get out of bed
and drink too much coffee
and smoke too many cigarettes
and love you so much.
- frank o'hara

On his first day at Herrington's School For Boys, after his dad fills out all the paperwork and helps him lug his trunk into his room and gruffly pats him on the back with a terse don't fuck this one up, Zayn is greeted by a tall, smiling, curly-haired, gorgeous boy.

"Hello," Zayn says.

"Hey!" says the boy. "I'm Harry! I'm your roommate and also your tourguide. And whatever else you want me to be." He winks at that.

Zayn just looks at him. Harry's smile stays firmly in place. Expectant, Zayn thinks.

"I'm Zayn," he says.

Harry nods excitedly. "Yes! What's your first class? I'll walk you there. I've got a bit of time before mine."

Glancing down at his schedule, Zayn shrugs. "US History," he says after a second. "But I think I can find it. Thanks anyway."

Now Harry's smile fades a little. He blinks. "Oh. Well. Are you sure? Who have you got? Truman? He's dull as fuck, sorry if you do."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Whatever. Hey, thanks, man. I'll see you later." He looks at Harry, expecting him to leave.

Harry shrugs a little and plops down on the bed parallel to Zayn's. It's got three patchwork quilts and a bunch of throw pillows and four stuffed animals. Zayn's not quite sure where he finds room to sleep. Harry's entire side of the room is an array of colour and pictures and postcards. His closet is spilling out onto the floor and his desk is covered in papers that look distinctly like notes - but not class notes, just. Papers covered in three or four different sets of handwriting.

"So where are you from?" Harry asks, eyes brightening again. As if he can make Zayn be friendly.

It's cute, sort of.

"California," Zayn says.

Harry bobs excitedly. "Cool! Where in California? My best friend's from San Francisco and he's crazy as fuck. You're gonna love him."

Zayn's not entirely sure why people say things like that: you're gonna love him. Zayn's mostly positive he dislikes everyone that sentence is ever used in reference to.

"LA," he answers. "Southern California." He speaks slowly; condescending. Hoping Harry will get the message.

"Right! Awesome. Do you know tons of celebrities?" Harry kind of shudders. "That'd be so weird, like, being able to say shit like, 'Yeah, I partied with Hannah Montana last night, it ain't no thang.'"

Zayn stares at him. "I've never partied with Hannah Montana."

Harry laughs. "No, no, I know, just. That'd be funny. I'm from Seattle, anyway. I used to live next door to Kurt Cobain! Before, you know."

"Right," Zayn says.

Harry nods. "So that's my claim to fame."

"Right," Zayn says again.

Harry looks at him a bit longer before shrugging a little again and pulling out his phone. "Well, if you ever wanna, like, hang out, just let me know! West Coasters should stick together."

"Sure," Zayn says and grabs his school bag off his bed, turning for the door.

"And if you wanna grab dinner tonight, my friends and I are heading down at six!" Harry calls after him. Zayn waves his hand behind his head, hoping that passes for an answer.

*

Harry was right. Truman is dull as fuck. But, to be fair, Zayn reasons, US History is already dull as fuck. It starts off with a bang and it's all downhill from there.

He sits at the back of the room and he keeps his head down and he hopes to god that this isn't one of those places that takes the new kid and makes them stand up and say their favourite fucking colour or something. Zayn doesn't have a fucking favourite colour. If he's asked, he'll say something ridiculous, like, black, to match the colour of his soul. Actually, that's pretty good. Maybe he kind of wants to be asked, just to see the look on everyone's face.

Anyway, he can feel everyone staring at him. He stares at his desk. It has L+H engraved in it, but the H has been crossed out in marker, with an A scrawled under it, but it looks like that's been scribbled over in ballpoint, as well. Zayn considers replacing it with a Z, just to see if that could cause gossip.

He doesn't, though. He just draws a picture in his notebook of a building going up in flames. He imagines mailing it to his father. That could be funny.

*

The first audible whisper comes after US History, when Zayn is wandering the halls for his next class.

"My father is on the board and he told me that the new boy is some delinquent who got kicked out of public school."

Zayn hunches his shoulders into the starched collar of his fucking uniform and keeps walking.

He has Chemistry next and the classroom has huge floor to ceiling windows and marble lab tables and massive microscopes. Zayn could probably cause damage in here.

The teacher - Johnson something - glances up from his desk as Zayn walks in.

"Malik?" Johnson-something asks, bored.

Zayn gives a little nod.

Johnson-something glances down at a paper on his desk. "You're partners with Tomlinson. Tomlinson, wave."

A boy in the second to last row, leaning back precariously in his chair with his feet slung up onto the table in front him, lifts a hand and waggles it around a bit. Zayn glances at him. He's got hair that looks like it's been through a tornado, but probably a tornado that involved a lot of time and product and mirrors. His tie is loose and the top buttons of his shirt are undone and his trousers are rolled up above his ankles and his tan is unseasonably bright. Zayn closes his eyes to hide how they roll up into his head.

Zayn makes his way back. The boy - Tomlinson, apparently - gives him a once-over and grins lazily. "Hey. Louis," he says, sticking his hand out.

Zayn looks at it, then up at Louis's face. "Zayn," he says shortly and arches his eyebrow, ignoring the hand.

Louis smirks and lets his hand drop. "You're Harry's new roommate."

Zayn shrugs and pulls out another notebook. "Sure," he says, sitting down.

Louis smirks again and turns back to face the front, pulling his phone out of his pocket and texting rapidly. "Where you from?" he says, once he's done and sliding the phone back out of sight.

"SoCal." Zayn doesn't look back over.

"Nice. I'm from NorCal."

Zayn shrugs. Johnson-something stands up and walks to the projector, clearing his throat to the class.

"Good chat," Louis says with a hint of amusement. "Real thrilling."

Zayn closes his eyes to hide how they roll.

*

The second audible whisper comes as Zayn is walking back to his dorm room.

"My mom is friends with the president of the board and she told me the new kid is some huge drug dealer but his dad got him out of prison because they're oil money."

Zayn hunches his shoulders again and comes to the conclusion that it's not worth it. Not worth it to set any stories straight, not worth it trying to change anyone's opinions, not worth it to make any friends.

He stands outside his door, fiddling with his keys for a moment. He hope Harry's not here. He just. Needs a minute.

No luck.

"Hey! Zayn!" Harry yells, as Zayn lets himself in. Louis is sprawled on Harry's bed next to him, shoes kicked off and tie on the floor. Harry jumps up and bounces around excitedly.

"Louis told me you two already met! That's great! Liam's gonna be stopping by in a few, I'm sure you'll like him. He's a bit less crazy," Harry says, beaming.

Zayn looks from Harry to Louis. Louis gives him a raised eyebrow and a smirk. "Hey again, Zayn," he drawls. "H here was just telling me you're from LA."

Zayn nods shortly. "Yep."

Louis stares at him for a few seconds before smiling to himself and glancing over at Harry. "Was he like this with you, or am I just special?"

Harry furrows his brow and gives Louis a sharp look. Zayn rolls his eyes.

"Anyway, Zayn, would you like to come to dinner with us?" Harry asks.

Zayn clenches his jaw. "Not particularly."

Louis laughs, just as someone knocks on the door. Harry bites his lip and gives Zayn the most pathetic kicked-puppy expression. "Please come," Harry says, walking over and opening the door. Two boys are standing there, the blond one is leaning against the doorframe, texting rapidly, and the tall, brunet in full uniform smiles easily at Harry.

"Hey!" Harry says. "Guys! This is my new roommate, Zayn! Zayn, this is Liam and Niall!"

The blond - Niall, apparently - looks up from his phone with a huge grin. "Hey!" he says. Liam smiles, too, a bit more shyly.

Zayn nods. Is it some kind of fucking code to be overly fucking friendly here?

"So, Zayn," Louis says. "What brings you to this lovely institution all mysteriously in the middle of November?"

Zayn glances at him, before turning around and facing his trunk and bags that have yet to be opened. "Bad luck, I suppose," he replies shortly.

Liam makes a sympathetic noise and, seriously, Zayn did not sign up for some Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants situation.

"Well, yeah, obviously," Louis says. "I don't think any of us are here because our parents are especially proud of us."

Zayn arches an eyebrow down at his luggage, but doesn't turn around, doesn't say anything.

"Hey!" Liam protests. "What do you mean?"

Louis snorts. "When was the last time you even heard from your dad, Li?"

Zayn subtly peeks over to see Liam's expression fold into itself. Louis sighs and holds out his hand, motioning for Liam to sit on the bed beside him. As he does, Louis curls up around him, stroking a hand through his hair.

"Anyway," Harry says nervously, "all Louis meant was that we're all generally neglected rich kids."

Niall laughs and throws himself on top of Louis and Liam. "I was shipped over here from Ireland!"

Zayn squats down to unlock his trunk, facing all the shit he threw in at the last minute, horribly disorganised and horribly daunting.

"Come to dinner with us before doing all that, Zayn," Harry pleads again.

Zayn finally turns around to face the pile of boys on Harry's bed. Niall's looking at him excitedly with red cheeks and bright eyes. Liam's looking at him curiously. Harry's looking at him with big, hopeful cow-eyes. Louis... isn't looking at him. Louis is staring out the window into the dark New England autumn.

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Fine, alright. Okay."

Harry brightens immediately, turning the grin up full force. "Excellent! I think it's taco night, isn't it?"

Louis snorts, turning back. "Oh boy. Get ready for a real treat," he says dryly.

*

The dining hall is packed already when they make their way down, but there's a smaller table in the corner that is noticeably empty. Zayn feels every eye in the room follow their group as Louis leads them to the table, plopping down dramatically.

"H," he says, turning on what Zayn assumes to be his most charming expression, "would you be a dear and get me a taco?"

Harry rolls his eyes and Liam coughs a laugh into his palm. Niall's the only one who openly giggles. Zayn just watches.

"Fine," Harry says. "We'll just be nice people and show Zayn how to do it while you sit around like a bum."

Louis beams. "Love you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Zayn blinks. "Wait. I know how to both make tacos and navigate a line, thank you," he says sharply.

They all look at him sort of pityingly. "Not here, mate. Not here you don't," Niall says.

To Zayn's immense frustration, it turns out they're right. He has to swipe his ID card to even get in line, enter his room number, swipe again to get a plate, and then there are three separate buffets.

"That one's vegetarian," Harry says. "That one's vegan. And this one's normal. Then at the end, for desserts, it switches order. Normal, vegan, vegetarian. Oh, and salads are on the other side, next to the drinks. Oh, and if you need silverware, you have to swipe again over by the door."

"What the fuck," Zayn mutters.

Niall laughs. "It's insane. I don't know if they've had a problem with, like, badgers stealing their food or summat, but they keep this shit locked up tighter than Liam's trousers."

"Hey!" Liam says. Zayn smirks involuntarily. Harry catches him and looks delighted.

After guiding Zayn through everything, they make their way back to the table. Louis is laying on the bench, arms folded under his head, eyes closed. Harry nudges him with his hip, setting down a plate with three tacos. Louis sits up and grabs one. "You've always been my favourite," Louis coos.

Niall laughs before tucking into his own plate of food as if he hasn't eaten for a week. Zayn slowly sinks down next to Liam, the only one who seems to have any sort of normal habits. Liam smiles at him softly. "First time can be a bit weird," he says.

Louis glances up at that. "Not like you'd know, Li," he says, laughing. Harry shakes his head, smiling.

Liam blushes. "Whatever."

Zayn looks around the room. "Why's everyone staring?" he asks.

Harry shrugs. "You're new. Oh, and Louis never lets anyone else eat with us."

Zayn arches an eyebrow as Niall says, "Except Aiden!"

Louis's face darkens. "Not Aiden."

"Trouble in paradise, then?" Liam asks.

Harry glances at Louis worriedly. "It's nothing," he says.

Louis snorts. "Nothing but an art teacher."

Liam's eyes widen. "Cardle? Really? I thought that was just-"

"It's just nothing," Louis spits. "And we're not talking about it."

"Sorry, Lou," Liam says softly. "I know you really-"

"Anyway," Harry says. "Zayn! Tell us about yourself. Seriously, how'd you end up here from LA?"

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Bad luck," he says again.

Louis eyes him suspiciously. "Alright, how about this, we'll go around in a circle and tell you all the bad shit we did to get here, and then we'll revisit this question, okay?"

Niall perks up excitedly. "I'll start! When I was thirteen, my parents were on tour, so I threw a house party in my parents' vacation house in Dublin and it caused a bit of a national scandal. The papers were all saying that I was being raised some sort of rock 'n' roll alcoholic-type so I was sent to America for damage control purposes."

"Niall's parents are musicians," Liam supplies in a tone that suggests he thinks he's being quite helpful.

Zayn says, "Cool."

Harry sets down his taco. "When I was fifteen, I slept with my dad's second wife. So. That didn't go over too well." He doesn't look very guilty.

Now, Zayn bites back a smile. "Nice."

"Liam?" Louis prompts.

Liam looks down at his plate. "Well. I don't know, really. My parents are, like, doctors? And they were just never around, so I guess coming here was easier than dealing with nannies or whatever you hire for teenagers."

Zayn glances over at him. "That's less exciting and more sad, dude," he says. Liam shrugs.

Everyone looks at Louis. Louis raises an eyebrow back before turning to Zayn. "And I'm gay," he says.

Zayn just stares at him, waiting. "And...?"

Louis grins. "And nothing. It's your turn."

Zayn looks at Louis thoughtfully. "Alright. I burned down my old school."

"What?" Liam gasps.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Well, okay, not really. My best friend and I were hanging out on the field one night, smoking or whatever, and he thought it'd be hilarious to toss his butt in one of the open windows, so he did, and it landed in a recycle bin and the whole west wing lit up before anyone but us noticed and by then we were long gone. There was security footage, though. I took the blame because my dad has money and his doesn't." He stops. Looks back to Louis. "And I'm gay, but I don't think that was a factor."

Louis looks at him, speculative. "So you're like Andy Dufresne."

Zayn blinks back. "That doesn't quite fit."

Louis shrugs. "Couldn't think of another reference. Innocent guy in jail, whatever."

Niall says around a mouthful of food, "That's really cool of you though, mate. I don't know many people who would have done that."

Harry nods seriously. "Watch out here, hero. Pretty much everyone will blame anything on whoever's closest."

"Except if you're Louis Tomlinson," Liam snorts. "He gets away with everything."

Louis raises his taco in a mock-toast. "Born fabulous, darling."

*

After dinner, they all split up, ostensibly to go to their rooms. Harry and Zayn wander back to their dorm in silence. Once they're inside, Harry looks over at him.

"Want some help unpacking?" he asks.

Zayn shrugs. "I'm fine."

"Okay." Harry turns to his desk and uselessly straightens the papers that have exploded all over it. "So, um, I hope you liked everyone."

Zayn glances over at him. "Yeah, I, um. Yeah. Thanks, you know. Sorry for... how I was. Am. How I am."

Harry shrugs with a little smile. "No, no. You actually - well. You remind me a lot of how Louis was when he first got here."

"Louis? The Louis I just met?" Zayn says, incredulous.

"Yeah," Harry laughs. "Yeah. He was so quiet and bitchy and I thought he hated me for a long time. But, like, I get it. It's shitty, getting sent away. Hit him harder than he'll let on."

"And you?" Zayn asks.

Harry shrugs again. "My mom died when I was little, you know? And my dad and I never really cared about each other. He's a film director and always gone or busy or whatever, so I was just. I don't know. I never really had any attachment to my family or home or anything. And now I have best friends here, so I don't mind."

Zayn nods. "That's... um." He has no idea what to say, not now, and not when all the boys were spilling their shit at dinner. He's not used to being around such complicated people.

Harry gives him a sympathetic smile. "It's fine. Anyway. You've gotta be pretty overwhelmed, right?"

"It's whatever." Zayn shrugs.

"Sure," Harry says. "Well, I'm really glad you liked everyone. They liked you, too. Well, Louis did, which is the main thing. Niall and Liam like everybody."

Zayn turns to look fully at Harry. "I'm really not too concerned about Louis's approval, actually."

"Yeah." Harry lets out a little laugh. "We all thought that at one point."

"Yeah?" Zayn finally ducks down to start throwing clothes onto his bed from one of his suitcases. "What's his story?"

Harry stops fiddling around with his desk and instead stretches his long body out on his bed, shoving over all the pillows and stuffed animals and absolute crap that's covering it. He exhales rather loudly. "I never really know how to explain him, if that makes sense? He's mental, absolutely crazy. But, like, really wonderful. And there's just, like, something about him. I dunno. He's special. Gets hurt too easily and often, s'probably why he's such a little bitch to everyone but the people he trusts."

"His parents really sent him here because he's gay?"

"Well-" Harry starts, then stops, shaking his head. "No, sorry, it's really not my place, you know?"

Zayn feels a rush of admiration for Harry at that. "Yeah, yeah, 'course. Have you two ever...?" he asks, trailing off, remembering the L+H carved into the desk in his history classroom.

Harry smiles sort of sadly. "For a minute. But. It was too much for me at the time. He was too much for me at the time. So, yeah, I dunno. We got over it and now he's my best friend. You know? Love him so much it's scary, I guess."

Zayn stares into his tiny, empty closet with a handful of jackets, not moving. "Yeah," he says. "That's a good feeling, sometimes." He turns his head and smiles at Harry. "Until they burn down the school."

Harry laughs, and Zayn thinks, yeah, alright. He could be okay here.

*

The second day is better.

He forgets to set an alarm, probably because he turned his phone off sometime yesterday so he wouldn't have to deal with his father, and probably also because his actual clock is buried somewhere in a bag he didn't unpack, because at some point Harry suggested they watch The Shawshank Redemption and that startled a laugh out of Zayn, so they did.

"Is Louis going to hook me up with a rock hammer?" Zayn asked lazily.

Harry had smirked. "How come he gets to be Red and not me?"

Zayn shrugged. "You can supply the posters," he said, flicking a glance to Kate Upton on Harry's wall.

So now, he's woken up by a fucking stuffed panda in the face and Harry grinning at him. "Breakfast?" Harry asks.

And breakfast is mostly the same as dinner - Louis is slumped at the table and Harry stacks his plate for two and Zayn struggles with swiping his fucking ID card about seventeen billion times and Niall eats more food in the line than Zayn even considers putting on his own plate and Liam blushes at nothing and everyone stares.

"What's your first class?" Niall asks him once they're all seated.

Zayn pulls his crumpled schedule from his pocket. "English. With Sharpe."

Louis glances up at him. "Me too."

Zayn nods a little and looks to Harry, who's just smiling down into the plate he and Louis are sharing. "Okay," he says.

Louis sticks by him after breakfast, shooting Harry a look. Harry nods, waves, and takes off to the library building with Liam in tow. Niall melts away back towards the dorms.

Zayn looks at Louis, who's looking back at him. "Class doesn't start for an hour," he says.

"Yeah," Louis says. "But you have that twitch."

"What?"

Louis rolls his eyes and grabs Zayn's elbow, pulling him across the grass of the courtyard, through a small path between the administration building and the auditorium, walking quickly beside him until they reach the cutoff of the grounds - manicured lawns sinking into tall fir trees, close together and hazy with morning fog.

Louis keeps walking until they're out of sight of the buildings and stops, leans against a tree, and shoves a hand in his pocket.

"What?" Zayn says again, vaguely nervous.

Louis laughs a little, pulling out a pack of Parliaments and a white lighter. "Yeah?" he says, motioning.

Zayn feels his face relax, his lips curve upward. "Yeah."

Louis taps the pack against the heel of his hand harshly before tipping two out, putting them both between his lips and lighting them together. He inhales sharply before sliding one between his fingers, handing it off to Zayn gracefully.

Zayn takes it, eyes never leaving Louis's face. He squints over. "How are you real?"

Louis smiles and tilts his head back against the tree to stare up. They can't see the sky from here - the trees are pressed too close together, claustrophobic. "Tell me about yourself, Zayn."

"I thought I already did," Zayn says, letting the smoke curl out with his words.

Louis lets his eyes fall down to meet Zayn's. "No, you told me your friend burnt down your school. Unless that's all there is to you. In which case I want my cigarette back."

Flicking his ash to the side, Zayn digs his toe into the blanket of needles on the ground. He shrugs. "I'm from LA."

Louis laughs at the sky. "Yes."

"I don't know," Zayn says.

"Should I ask questions, then?" Louis says, amused.

Zayn shrugs again.

"Okay," Louis says. "Tell me how your dad has money."

Zayn looks at him sharply. "Excuse me?"

Louis laughs again, bitterly this time. "Please. You're gonna need to get over the impropriety if you're going to make it here."

Zayn exhales a cloud of smoke. "Gross," he says. Then, "Oil."

Louis nods. "Figured."

"Racist." Zayn arches an eyebrow.

Louis arches one right back. "No, but that's another thing you're going to need to get over. People can smell oil from a mile."

Rolling his eyes, Zayn says, "What about you, then?"

"Ah," Louis says, smiling wryly. "I am old California money, my friend. Gold rush, wine country, you name it."

"Classy," Zayn snorts.

"Isn't it?" Louis takes a long drag. "So, what do you do?"

"Okay," Zayn says. "If you're going to force me to do this, you need to be more specific."

Louis eyes him sort of proudly. "Yeah," he says. "I mean, like, what's your thing? Like, everyone has a thing. Harry can sing and charm. Niall can drink and make friends. Liam can get good grades and please everyone."

Zayn furrows his eyebrows. "What's your thing?"

"Oh, I'm sure Harry's told you."

"No."

"Huh," Louis says, surprised. "Well, me, I'm just the bitch."

Zayn studies him for a moment. "Nah," he says. "Cop-out."

"Maybe," Louis says, smiling softly.

There's a rumbling in the distance and Louis glances up again. "Storm," he says.

"I can draw and keep secrets," Zayn says.

Louis drops his cigarette, grinding it out with his toe. "Perfect. Let's go to English."

Zayn follows suit, carefully making sure the embers are extinguished. "You're going to tell me your thing sooner or later," he promises.

Louis glances at him. "We'll see."

When they get to the classroom, Louis pulls Zayn down into the seat next to him. Everyone stares. Louis pulls out a sheet of paper, and Zayn grabs it.

are they staring cos i'm new or cos no one's allowed to sit by you, he scrawls.

Louis smirks. both, he writes back.

so you really only hang out with harry liam and niall? Zayn writes.

Louis writes, i'm a bitch.

Zayn shakes his head. cop out.

just wait and see, Louis writes and shoves the paper under his textbooks.

Class begins with a lecture that stretches fifty minutes long and ends with a partner project assigned. Louis raises an eyebrow at Zayn and Zayn shrugs. They get Postmodernist poets in the 20th century.

"Perfect," Louis says.

"Um," Zayn says.

Louis grins and pinches Zayn's cheek. Zayn squirms away. "I know about poetry," Louis says. "Don't worry."

"Is that your thing?" Zayn asks.

Louis snorts. "No."

Zayn just shakes his head. "I have studio art," he says.

"Yeah. See you in chem." Louis gives him a little nod and looks at him for a second before disappearing into the hallway. Zayn stands in the English classroom for a moment before noticing all of the hostile stares.

"I heard the new kid sucked Louis Tomlinson off in Harry's room last night and that's why he's allowed to sit with them," comes the next audible whisper.

Zayn hunches his shoulders and walks to the art building.

*

By the time Zayn gets to History, the A on his desk is fully scribbled over in permanent marker.

*

"You're making everyone hate me," Zayn says as he drops his bag next to their lab table.

Louis glances up from his phone. "Excuse me?"

Zayn repeats, "You are making everyone hate me."

"You mean despite your overwhelmingly friendly attitude and general love for humanity, little ol' me is causing everyone to hate you?"

"Yes," Zayn says.

Louis appears to considers this. He shrugs. "Probably. But it's just jealousy."

Zayn huffs a laugh. "Modest."

Louis smirks. "I prefer honest, actually."

Zayn eyes him. "So you're, like, the hot shit around here?"

"God." Louis rolls his eyes. "Take your gossip to Harry."

"But you are, aren't you?" Zayn smiles a little.

Louis looks at him and relaxes once he sees Zayn's teasing. "The hottest shit around. Stick with me, kid, and you'll go places."

"I might swoon. What do I have to do to get your varsity jacket?"

Johnson-something clears his throat at the front of the room.

Louis grins and pulls out another sheet of paper. i can think of a few things, he writes.

Zayn silently mock-gasps. you dare cast aspersions upon my virtue???

Louis raises an eyebrow in Zayn's direction, flicking a glance up and down his body.

Zayn blushes.

*

When Zayn gets back to his room after his last class, Louis and Harry are sprawled on Harry's bed, heads together, talking quietly.

Zayn hesitates in the doorway. "Should I...?" he says, trailing off, unsure whether or not this is private Louis-and-Harry time or if he's interrupting something else or what.

"No, no! Come here!" Harry says, sitting up and leaning against the wall, throwing his legs over Louis's hips. He pats the bed beside him and Zayn quirks an eyebrow but crawls over Louis to sit next to Harry.

"How was your day, darling?" Harry asks, wrapping an arm around Zayn's shoulder once he's settled.

Zayn shrugs. "Fine. Everyone hates me because of Louis, though."

Louis snorts. "Set him straight, H."

Harry laughs a little. "I wouldn't dare do that to you," he says. Louis rolls his eyes. Harry smirks and turns back to Zayn. "Everyone hates you?" he says.

Zayn nods. "Apparently being deemed worthy of the great Louis Tomlinson's attention is justifiable cause."

"Ah, yes." Harry nods back. "We've all suffered through that. Niall had it the worst, didn't he?" Harry says to Louis. Louis rolls his eyes and shrugs, bringing his arm up to drape across his face.

"I'm not in this conversation," Louis says.

Harry stage-whispers to Zayn, "There was a rumour for months that Louis only hung out with Niall because Niall let Lou bend him over in the bathrooms at any time during the day or night."

Zayn laughs. "Yeah, I've heard that I suck you off for your attention. I mean, it's rather flattering to know everyone assumes I give good enough head, but, like, also... not really."

Louis says, "I'm really, really not in this conversation."

Zayn says to Harry, "What's the deal with him, anyway? Why do people care who he hangs out with?"

Harry shrugs. "I don't know, because, honestly, if they got to know him they'd see that he's just crazy. But I think it's mostly that he refuses to let anyone get to know him and he's got that attitude that makes people want to know him, so it's a cycle of mystery."

"Seriously," Louis says. "Can I not be here for this?"

"Why don't you talk to anyone?" Zayn asks him.

"Because everyone is awful," Louis says shortly.

Zayn points out, "You talked to me, and you had no idea who I was."

Louis takes his arm off his face and regards Zayn thoughtfully. "Harry vouched for you. Plus you didn't have that awful stink of money."

"You vouched for me?" Zayn looks at Harry. "I was pretty decisively unfriendly yesterday."

Harry shrugs. "You reminded me of Lou."

Louis pulls a face. "Let's not get all sappy here."

"That really wasn't a compliment," Harry says, laughing.

"How did you become friends with three of the friendliest people in the world?" Zayn wonders.

Louis rolls his eyes again. "I don't know, but I regret it every day of my life."

Harry laughs and ruffles Louis's hair. "What a lie." He looks back at Zayn. "Louis actually came here last of all of us. He roomed with Niall last year and it's impossible not to be friends with Niall - believe me, Louis tried. And Liam's best friends with Niall so Lou had to get used to that, and I was good friends with both of them and Louis naturally got a huge fat crush on me, so it all just came together splendidly."

"Ugh," Louis says. "That's so inaccurate. Harry had a fat crush on me and would always be all like, ooh where are you going, ooh will Louis be there, ooh Louis is so hot, ooh I want Louis in my bed, ooh Louis."

Harry grins widely. "Okay, fine. That actually might be more accurate."

"And that worked for you?" Zayn asks Louis incredulously, unable to picture Louis succumbing to that sort of desperate brand of flattery.

"Well," Louis says, raising his eyebrows at Zayn before flicking a glance at Harry. "Look at him."

Zayn laughs. "Fair enough."

Harry preens, fluffing his hair and batting his eyelashes ridiculously. "I am irresistible."

"Don't fall for it," Louis warns Zayn. "He'll break your heart." He winks at Harry.

Harry's wide smile shrinks into something fond, tinged with regret. The hand in Louis's hair turns stroking, almost comforting, Zayn notices.

"Should we get dinner?" Zayn says into the sudden silence, uncomfortable.

"Yeah," Louis says, kicking the two sets of legs off his lower body. "H, tell Niall and Li to meet us down there."

Harry groans. "It's meatloaf night. Gird your loins, boys."

*

After dinner - Harry was right, the meatloaf was horrid - Louis jerks his head to Zayn, motioning towards the forest from that morning. Zayn nods quickly, waving to Harry.

Harry shakes his head. "I won't come to your funerals," he calls behind him.

Louis smirks and takes off into the darkness.

"Oi," Zayn says. "Slow down. If I get lost and have to scavenge for food and make fires out of pine needles and dried shit, I'm going to be a bit irked."

"Please," Louis says, but slows down. "It's impossible to get lost. There's an iron gate around the entire grounds."

"What the fuck is this place?" Zayn asks. "Is it actually, like, reform school? My dad just said it was boarding school."

Louis snorts. "It's on the cusp. Reform school for the obscenely wealthy who don't want to have their friends know they sent their kid to reform school. One of those open secret, unspoken things."

"Right," Zayn says, stomach clenching. "And you're here because...?"

"I already told you," Louis responds shortly.

"No," Zayn pushes. "No, not unless this is a very different sort of reform school."

Louis leans against a tree and looks at Zayn. "Look, just drop it."

"What, so you can ask me personal questions but I can't ask you the same?"

Louis lights two cigarettes and passes one to Zayn. "I don't even know you."

"Yeah?" Zayn says. "I don't know you either."

Louis doesn't say anything.

Zayn's fine with silence, usually. He generally appreciates it when people don't push for conversation. He sees no need to fill every gap.

This silence, though, is different.

So he says, "But, like, I want to know you."

And he remembers what Harry said, about needing Louis's approval. His throat feels dry, but he takes another drag of the cigarette. He's never needed anyone's approval before, he's never felt any sort of desire to impress anyone. But fuck it if Harry wasn't right. Louis is mysterious and Zayn's curious and god dammit he wants Louis to like him.

Louis finally sighs a little. "I've only ever told Harry."

Zayn shrugs. "Whatever, man. You don't, like, owe me. Sorry."

Louis exhales a cloud of smoke. "No, just like. Maybe later?"

Zayn will take that. "Sure. It's... yeah. No worries."

"Were..." Louis trails off, uncharacteristically hesitant. "Are your parents cool with you being gay?" He pauses, then finishes hurriedly. "Unless you're not, and that was just, like, a joke."

Zayn tilts his head to the side. "Why would that have been a joke?"

Shrugging, Louis says, "Sometimes it is."

Zayn bites his lip. "They don't know, I don't think. I went to a public school in Los Angeles, you know? It was, like, never an ideal time to be like, here and queer or whatever."

Louis nods. "Would they care, though? Do you think?"

"I don't know." Zayn pauses. "If they did, it would be pretty far down the list of disappointments, I guess."

"Right," Louis laughs lightly. "Right, of course." He lights two more cigarettes. Zayn nods his thanks. He's not ready to go back, either.

*

"So, we should go to the library today," Louis tells Zayn over breakfast on Saturday. He bats Harry's hand away from the last hashbrown and Harry sighs, exasperated. Zayn rolls his eyes and offers Harry his hashbrown. Harry grins.

Zayn says, "Should we, your highness?"

Niall snorts.

Louis raises an eyebrow. "Yes, we should. We have that paper due next week. Postmodernism."

Zayn sighs. "Right, right."

Liam swallows a bite of food and says, "Louis will do all the work anyway, don't sound so put out."

"I will not!" Louis says, affronted.

"You will," Harry says. "Especially on poetry." Harry looks at Zayn, "He's a bit of a perfectionist."

"I am not!" Louis says. "Don't you dare think I'm going to do all the work." Louis glares at Zayn.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "Relax. I've already done some research."

Louis looks at him blankly for a moment before a smile spreads across his face. "Ha! Suck my dick, Liam, I only did all the work that one time because you refused to do any."

Liam stares across the table at Louis. "Are you serious? I distinctly remember being told to sit on the other side of the library and do math because you deemed me useless."

Niall laughs loudly and pats Liam on the head. "I remember that. You were such a bitch last year, Lou."

Louis grumbles, "You were useless."

"You're not selling yourself as a great partner here, dude," Zayn says.

Harry shakes his head. "He's an awful partner. Good riddance."

"You could have warned me about this before I got saddled with him as my partner in two classes on my first fucking day." Zayn glares at Harry.

Louis pushes himself up from the bench. "Relax, princess. It'll be fine. Now come on. Let's get our Lit on."

"Did you really just-" Niall starts.

"Shut up," Louis says, scowling.

Zayn gets up and trails after Louis as he stalks out of the dining hall, acutely aware of the stares and whispers they're getting.

"Fucking slow down, Louis," Zayn hisses.

Louis turns back and waits, arching an eyebrow. "Demanding."

"Sorry for being a little sensitive to the fact everyone thinks I'm going to blow you in the bathroom," Zayn says, annoyed.

"You're going to need to get over that," Louis says. "And also, what's wrong with blowing me in the bathroom?"

Zayn shoots him a look. "Don't get any ideas."

Louis just laughs and leads them to the library. He weaves through the stacks to an empty table, way at the back, next to huge floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the courtyard.

"Your need for seclusion is overwhelming," Zayn says.

Louis shrugs. "You're the one who says everyone just stares anyway. Anyway, I'm thinking we should focus on O'Hara, Ashbery, Levertov, and Spicer."

Zayn shakes his head to himself and pulls out his notebook. "Is that what you think, or what you've decided?

"Do you have any other suggestions?" Louis asks.

Zayn rolls his eyes. "No, that's fine. I've already got stuff on O'Hara."

Louis looks at him and his lips curl up into a soft smile. "Yeah? Do you like him? He's my favourite."

Zayn says, "Yeah?" He doesn't know what else to say. He just doesn't really want Louis to stop - it seems like every time Louis is about to open up, he clamps down suddenly, as if everything is too private to share.

Louis looks down at his hands, clasped together tightly. "Yeah, I like. If I ever got a tattoo, it'd probably be O'Hara."

Tattoos are something Zayn can talk about. "Anything specific?" he says.

Louis shrugs a bit, looking down again, as if he's hesitating.

Zayn studies him. "I have tattoos," he says. And then he cringes, because what the fuck: I have tattoos, like, cool, good job, great conversation.

Louis glances up. "Really?"

Zayn nods, but says, "Tell me about yours first."

"I..." Louis starts. "Okay, like. Don't, like, laugh?" he says, and god, he sounds shy.

Zayn says, "Of course."

Louis digs in his bag for a moment, before pulling out his wallet and slipping a scrap of paper from the folds. He slides it across the table to Zayn.

Now I am quietly waiting for the catastrophe of my personality to seem beautiful again, and interesting, and modern.

Zayn stares at the paper for a long time before looking up at Louis. Louis is staring at his hands again, biting his lip, and fidgeting slightly.

"I love that," Zayn says. "That's... yeah. I can see why you want that. I love that."

Louis laughs shortly, glancing out the window. "Better than a Bukowski tattoo, I suppose."

Zayn chokes on a small, surprised laugh. "Probably, yeah. Unless you also want to get a feather weave in your hair and wear fringed boots like all the girls I went to school with in LA."

Louis flicks his fringe off his forehead. "I would look startlingly beautiful with feathers in my hair, don't you think?" he says.

"Oh yes," Zayn says. "Absolutely unmatched."

Louis looks back over at Zayn across the table. "So tell me about your tattoos," he says.

So Zayn does and Louis stares at him with something in his eyes and his hands twitch toward Zayn's arm as if to touch and Zayn just keeps talking quietly, explaining.

When he's done, Louis looks at him and says simply, "You're different than I thought."

Zayn laughs a little. "Yeah? What did you think?"

"I don't know," Louis says, shrugging. "Thought you were more, like, into an image, or something. Seeming, like, badass. Or whatever. Silent but deadly, you know."

Zayn stares. "Did you really just - was I just compared to a fart?"

Louis throws his head back and laughs. "I was really hoping you'd let that slip by."

"Excuse you, I'm offended." Zayn kicks Louis's ankle under the table, and Louis kicks back, smiling.

"How are your classes going, by the way?" Louis asks. "Besides the glorious time you spend with me, obviously."

"Obviously," Zayn says. "Um, they're fine, I don't know. Studio seems good. History's awful. Calc is fine. It's whatever. School."

"Yeah," Louis says. "Who do you have for history?"

"Truman."

Louis pulls a face. "Me, too. Second period. I just sit at the back and waste away."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "Same. I think I might sit at your desk, actually."

Louis blushes a bit, glances back out the window. "I probably don't have to ask how you know that."

Zayn smiles. "Are you actually a thirteen year old girl? Like, just wondering."

"Shut up," Louis says, kicking him again. "I get bored and like to keep track."

"Of who you're currently sleeping with?"

Louis shrugs. "It's just interesting to see how long it lasts."

"There are only two people on the list," Zayn points out.

"Yeah," Louis says, smiling bitterly. "Neither of them lasted very long."

Zayn plays with the bracelets on his wrists for a moment before saying hesitantly, "Um, what happened with Harry? I mean, you don't have to tell me or whatever. Just, like, you guys seem to be really close, so..."

Louis blows out a breath and runs a hand through his hair. "I mean. Whatever. It was my fault, I guess. He just. Well, okay, so, he liked me, right, and I was in kind of a bad place, like I had just gotten here and I was still, like, working through all that, and he was gorgeous and so I sort of, like," he stops and stares out the window at the groups of people playing frisbee.

"I just, like," Louis starts again, "I guess I came on too strong? Or something? I don't know. I probably turned into the stereotypical crazy boyfriend, I don't know, you'd have to talk to him. I just latched on and fell too hard, too quickly, and I think it freaked him out?" Louis turns from the window and looks at Zayn. "I'm totally annihilating all of my cool today, aren't I?"

Zayn smirks at that. "I never thought you were cool to begin with."

"Liar," Louis says, smiling.

"So you broke up?" Zayn prompts, wanting to hear the end of the story.

Louis shoots Zayn a look, and Zayn assumes he's annoyed at being forced to continue. "Yeah, well, we talked and he's just an amazing guy, he really is. He was all, like, concerned about me and stuff and blah blah saying he'd always be there for me, but neither of us were in the right place for a relationship, blah blah, standard stuff. But, like, you know, he kept his promise. He's a really wonderful person. You're lucky to be his roommate."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "I'm getting that."

"What about you?" Louis asks. "Any long lost loves at home?"

Zayn laughs quietly. "No. No."

Louis looks at him carefully. "Really?"

"I..." Zayn shrugs. "I mean, every gay teenager has their straight crush, right?"

"Ah," Louis says. "The best friend? The arsonist?"

"You see right through me," Zayn says, smiling.

"So? Straight best friend?"

It's Zayn's turn to stare out the window, apparently. He watches two people who are horrible at frisbee chase each other around. "Oh, it was dumb. He was my best friend and I was in love with him? I guess, I don't know. I liked him a lot, anyway. I never said or did anything though so it was just sort of like-"

"A slow burning ache," Louis supplies and Zayn looks over at him quickly.

"Yeah," Zayn says, carefully. "I guess."

They're silent for a moment, both staring out the window.

And then, "Poetry's so your thing," Zayn says.

Louis gives him a small smile. "A little bit."

Zayn smiles back. "I'm gonna beat everything out of you, Tomlinson," he says.

Louis rolls his eyes, still smiling. "Best be gentle, I'm delicate."

"I'm sure, princess," Zayn says. Then, "We've not done any work at all."

Louis surveys their table: his unopened laptop, Zayn's unopened notebook, uncapped pens, unopened books. "I want a cigarette," he says decisively.

"Thank god," Zayn breathes.

*

Harry and Liam are spread out on Harry's bed when Zayn gets home after he and Louis attempted some halfhearted work on their paper. Harry's got his math textbook open on his lap, and Liam's leant over it, looking exasperated.

Harry brightens up as soon as Zayn walks in. "My saviour!" he exclaims.

Liam groans. "Harry, come on, you've almost got it."

"No, no, Zayn's here now! You promised we'd stop when he got here," Harry says, widening his eyes at Liam.

"Um," Zayn says. Liam glares at him. "Sorry?" he says.

Liam cracks, breaking into a grin. "How was the library with Lou? Did he let you touch his precious poetry anthology? He treats that like it's the word of God."

Zayn shakes his head and throws his bag on his desk, collapsing back onto his bed. "Yeah, no, it was fine."

Harry's eyeing him carefully. "Do you like him?"

"Um, yeah? He seems nice, once you, like, get past his entire thing," Zayn says, well aware he's ignoring the actual question.

Harry sighs, shares a look with Liam. Liam says, "It's okay, you know. We're pretty sure he likes you."

"Can we not?" Zayn says.

Harry looks at Liam again, and Liam nods. "I'll see you tomorrow, Harry. Have a good night, guys," he says, sliding off Harry's bed.

"Night, Li," Harry says.

"Night," Zayn echoes, and once Liam leaves, he says to Harry, "I really don't want to have this talk."

"Yeah," Harry says. "I do, though."

"Is this where you tell me to treat him right or you'll break my legs? Is this some '40s gangster film?"

Harry laughs. "No, this is just, like, sort of, like. I mean. If you're actually not into him you should tell me."

Zayn turns over on his side, facing Harry. "Why? Like, regardless, why does it matter to you?"

Harry bites his lip. "Because I'd need to break it to Lou."

"Still not understanding," Zayn says.

Harry sighs. "He's like. Really fragile about this shit. And I'm sure I didn't help with that. But then, like, all this stuff with Aiden, too, it's just. He's kind of a mess."

"Yeah," Zayn says. "I'm getting that. Who's Aiden?"

"Just this guy, I don't know. Louis was really into him, and it was good for a minute, because like, he hasn't really shown interest in other humans since-" Harry pauses, blushing.

Zayn smirks. "You can say it without sounding like a dick, don't worry."

Harry rolls his eyes. "Yeah, whatever, okay, since me. But yeah, no, I don't know, Aiden was all aloof and artsy and mysterious and quiet and pretty and everything Louis likes, right, and so they kind of started seeing each other? And Louis did that thing that he does where he gets in too deep and then it turns out Aiden is fucking the art teacher. So."

Zayn makes a sympathetic noise into the air. "Sucks," he says.

"Yep," Harry says.

Zayn's quiet for a moment, and then he says, "So that's Louis's type, huh?"

Harry grins over at him knowingly. "Good news?"

"Shut up," Zayn says, smiling back. "What should I do?"

Harry shrugs. "That part really isn't my business."

"Don't you give me that now, asshole," Zayn says.

Harry laughs. "Alright, alright. Um, I don't know. Kiss his nasty cigarette-y mouth with your nasty cigarette-y mouth? Hold his nasty cigarette-y hand with your nasty cigarette-y hand?"

"You're legitimately the worst at this," Zayn groans.

Harry laughs again. "He's easy, when it comes down to it. He's just pretending not to be."

Zayn just shakes his head. "I'm telling him you called him easy."

*

When Zayn gets up on Sunday, Harry's gone. He makes his way down to the dining hall, preparing himself to face the hell of the line by himself.

Except, in the corner table, a small figure is huddled around a cup of coffee. Zayn veers away from the food and walks toward him.

Louis glances up as he gets closer. He smiles and his eyes are tired.

"Hi," Louis says.

Zayn nods, and sinks down across from him. "Alright?"

Louis shrugs. "Get your food, I'll be here."

So he does, filling his plate up for two, and when he gets back, Louis has another cup of coffee. Zayn hands him a fork and pushes his plate to the middle of the table, between them.

Louis smiles down at the table, stabbing at a chunk of scrambled egg. "Thanks," he says quietly.

"Sure," Zayn says. "Where is everyone?"

Louis blinks, and then says, "Oh, I forgot how very new you are. It's a town day. On Sundays, you can get up at buttfuck o'clock and pile in the van to go into town and spend the day there. It's a big deal. Sorry no one told you."

Zayn shrugs. "What's there to do in town?"

Louis chuckles. "Girls."

"Oh," Zayn says, nodding. "I was wondering about that whole thing."

"Yeah," Louis says. "Niall's got a girl in town, Liam's apparently trying to talk to her friend, and Harry's not picky."

Zayn laughs a little. "Of course. And you don't go?"

Louis shrugs. "I'd rather be alone here than alone there, I guess. Harry gets me cigarettes, and that's really the only reason I'd go."

"Excuse you, dick, but you're not alone," Zayn says.

Louis grins at him over the steam of his coffee. "Right. Right."

Zayn finishes eating and drops his plate on the conveyor belt to the kitchen. "Smoke?" he says.

"Yeah," Louis says, and they start walking out toward the forest. Their hands brush and Zayn smiles to himself, lets it happen again.

They smoke three cigarettes and Louis annoys Zayn into talking about art.

"Do you have a favourite artist?" Louis asks.

Zayn shrugs, flicking his ash. "Yeah," he says.

Louis just looks at him.

Zayn sighs. "I don't know. I like the Renaissance. I like the Impressionists."

Louis nods. "Have you ever been to the Frick?"

"That's in the city?" Zayn asks. Louis nods. "No, but I want to. Always wanted to see the Polish Rider."

Louis stares at him for a moment, before smiling at the ground. "That's my absolute favourite painting. We should go when we have a jailbreak weekend."

"Yes," Zayn says, and he reaches out his hand to touch Louis's.

Louis glances up sharply, fingers twitching away.

Zayn blushes. "Sorry. I - sorry."

Louis looks up at the tops of the trees, brushing the sky. He takes a deep breath. "No, I just..."

"Have to be careful," Zayn finishes.

Louis meets his eyes, nods.

Zayn just shrugs, takes another drag. "It's fine."

Louis purses his lips and grinds his cigarette out on the tree behind him. He plucks Zayn's from his fingers and puts that out too.

"Let's go to my room. We can hang out," Louis says.

Zayn shrugs again. "Sure."

It turns out that hanging out means killing a bottle of whiskey Louis has hidden under his bed. Zayn doesn't mind.

"Who's your roommate?" Zayn asks, after awhile, feeling lazy and warm, slumped on Louis's bed.

Louis glances over to the other side of the room, decorated gaudily with women in various phases of becoming nude. He snorts. "This guy Nathan. A douchebag, essentially."

Zayn nods slowly. "I see that. I like your side, though." Louis's half of the room has a string of postcards from all over the world hanging over his bed and a few band posters. The main attraction is a rather cliche print of Van Gogh's Starry Night.

Louis shrugs. "It's weird, I guess," he says. "Like, I don't think I really have a home."

Zayn sighs and rolls over onto his side, so his eyes are level with Louis's. "Tell me what happened."

Louis's gaze traces over Zayn's face. He feels it burn into his jawline, his cheekbones. Louis says, "I was dating my mother's best friend's daughter. It was one of those, like, expected things. Like, we were basically promised to each other since we were born, or whatever. Expected to be married by twenty five. An old money match, I guess you could say."

Zayn nods.

Louis continues, "So we were doing that, and like, I knew, right, like I knew it was never going to happen. I mean, it was fine, because she was all about saving herself and everything. A very, very good girl. But I think she knew, too. Something about how I held my wrists, or something." Louis rolls his eyes. "But, anyway, at her, like, debutante bullshit or whatever, my mother and her mother walked into her brother's bedroom. Where her brother and I were caught in a very compromising situation."

"Shit," Zayn breathes.

"Yeah," Louis says. "So everyone - everyone, because the entirety of northern California's socialite circle was present - found out in a very grand fashion. I mean, I came out with a bang, I suppose. But, yeah, very embarrassing for everyone involved. Don't think my parents have looked me in the eye since. They've definitely been ostracized from their elite little club, which just about killed my mother."

"Giant loss," Zayn snorts.

"Yeah," Louis says, smirking. "I don't know. I had a choice, right, to stay there and clean up my mess, whatever that means, or come here. But it wasn't really a choice, because my father said he wouldn't tolerate such disgusting lifestyle choices in his house. So. I came here."

"Well," Zayn says. "Can't say I'm too sad about that."

Louis just looks at him, kind of softly, kind of scared. He doesn't say anything.

"Yeah," Zayn says, in response to nothing. "Yeah, Lou, I'm gonna kiss you, alright?"

Louis exhales into the space between them. "You gotta be sure, Zayn. Just. Please be sure."

Zayn nods firmly and brings his hand up to cup Louis's cheek, tracing the sharp cut of his cheekbones. "It'll be okay," he whispers.

Louis closes his eyes and Zayn leans in, pressing his lips dryly to Louis's. He studies Louis's face, and Louis's eyelashes flutter as he opens his eyes. Zayn raises his eyebrows and Louis nods, so Zayn leans back in, capturing Louis's lower lip into his mouth, sucking lightly, letting his tongue brush against it minutely. Louis leans into it, then, letting his hand cup Zayn's hip tentatively.

"It's okay," Zayn whispers against Louis's mouth, feeling it part under his words. He presses in, turning the kiss from something chaste and hesitant into something decidedly dirtier, and Louis reacts more, pushing his hand up Zayn's shirt, walking his fingers up the ridges of Zayn's ribs. Zayn leans into the touch, rolling to fit his body tighter to Louis's, pressed together on their sides.

They stay like that for a few minutes, letting the kiss run its course until they're lazily making out, not moving towards anything further. Louis pulls back first, eyes downcast. "What's this going to be? Drunken making out or what? I have to know right now."

Zayn blinks. "Whatever you want it to be. I like to hold hands, though," he says.

Louis's lips quirk up. "Where did you even come from?"

Zayn just smiles up at him. "You're the one who insists upon lighting two cigarettes at once, like you think you're goddamn Marlon Brando."

Louis's eyes crinkle at the corners. "I coulda had class," he slurs, leaning back in to catch Zayn's lips again.

*

They spend the day in Louis's room, kissing and watching stupid movies - no, really, Sex Drive is the pinnacle film of our generation - until Harry texts Louis, demanding them down for dinner.

Zayn grabs Louis's hand once he's done locking his door behind him and Louis just smiles up at him through his eyelashes.

Zayn keeps ahold of Louis's hand all the way to the table where Liam, Niall, and Harry are staring at them, much like the entirety of the dining hall.

"Please, no photos," Louis quips as they sit down.

Harry just smiles at Zayn and wraps an arm around Louis, tilting their heads together briefly before pressing a kiss to Louis's hair. Louis rolls his eyes and shoves Harry off, but meets his eyes and Zayn watches them have a silent conversation.

Niall says, "Today was a great day. You two stopped being idiots, Harry got laid, I got laid, and - get this - our Liam got laid!"

"What?!" Louis gasps.

Liam focuses very, very intently on the orange he's peeling, while his ears turn bright red.

"The real question," Louis continues, "is how long did it last? More than four minutes, Li? Please tell me more than four minutes."

"Oh, shut up," Zayn says, kicking at Louis's ankle.

Louis just smiles back at him, eyes sparkling. He hooks his ankle around Zayn's leg and holds it there, while Niall changes the subject to talk at length about how the fantastic sandwich he had in town.

As they're cleaning up their plates, Liam sits up and looks Louis in the eye. "It actually lasted for ten minutes, Louis Tomlinson."

The entire dining hall stares at their table as the five of them dissolve into helpless laughter.

*

When Zayn gets to his US History class on Monday morning, his desk smells of permanent marker.

L+H A Z, it reads.