fic: some nights i'm scared you'll forget me again (1/3)
some nights i'm scared you'll forget me again
pg-13, 15,000 words
harry/louis, zayn/niall
high school AU
a/n: I SAID I WOULD DO IT AND I DID IT!!! a hs au full of misunderstandings and dumb boys talking about their feelings. I REGRET NOTHING.
“So,” Harry says, flopping carelessly onto Zayn’s bed and knocking several of Zayn’s textbooks off in the process. “Guess who I’ve got loads of classes with?”
“Dunno,” Zayn replies, bending over to retrieve the books Harry’d kicked off and re-sorting them into stacks. It’s the first day of term, and he’s trying to at least feign being organized for at least a full week of classes, just as a personal challenge.
“Guess,” Harry demands, grinning his stupid charming grin and pulling a bag of crisps out from who knows where. Probably he’d stashed them between Zayn’s bed and the wall at some point, which doesn’t surprise Zayn at all. Harry spends more time in Zayn’s bedroom than his own, and has a nasty habit of ferreting snack foods in strange places. Once Zayn had found a whole tray of party rings hidden beneath his bathroom sink.
“Wayne Rooney. The Queen. The ghost of Oliver Cromwell. I dunno, Haz.” Zayn shoves Harry’s leg aside so that he has some room to sit, and pulls out his mobile to text his mum, asking if Harry can stay for dinner. He’s not sure why he still bothers because his mum makes enough for Harry to eat with them as a matter of course now, but Zayn’s in the habit and it’s hard to break.
“Better than that,” Harry says, wiggling his toes excitedly. “Are you ready? Properly excited? I don’t want to reveal it unless you’re properly excited, Zayn.”
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Alright, please, Haz, I can’t stand it any longer. Please tell me which boring twat that we go to school with has you so worked up. The suspense is killing me.”
“Alright, if you insist. It’s Louis Tomlinson.” Harry sits back, looking inordinately pleased with himself.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn repeats, feeling something sour twist in his stomach.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry sighs in confirmation. “The fittest boy at school and my future husband, probably. It was brilliant, Zayn, he sat next to me in every class we had together and called me ‘Curly’ and I loaned him a pencil in maths and he didn’t give it back.”
Zayn stifles a groan. He’s not terribly surprised -- Harry’d been mooning over Louis since the day they met three years ago when Zayn had moved into the house next to him -- but he’d been hoping that Harry would eventually get over it and redirect his attention to someone else. This development does not bode well for that turn of events, though.
“He’s dead funny, Zayn, and his smile is dreamy.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Zayn says, frowning. “From you. Repeatedly.”
Harry frowns right back. “I dunno why you hate him so much,” he pouts.
“He’s just a twat,” Zayn says, shrugging. “He thinks he’s such a laugh but really he’s just obnoxious and loud, and he gets off with anything that’s got two legs, and--” He sighs, and doesn’t finish.
“He is a laugh,” Harry says, nudging Zayn’s ankle with his own. “And so what if he’s a bit slutty? Just improves my odds, doesn’t it?” Zayn pulls a face at that. “C’mon, Zayn, I’ve very likely just found true love, can’t you at least fake enthusiasm for me? Or else I’ll have to find someone else to be my best man when we elope, and I’d rather not.”
“Hooray,” says Zayn flatly.
“Seriously,” says Harry, his voice going softer. “You’ve never even said a single word to him. I really think you’d like if him you did.”
Zayn considers explaining to Harry exactly why he’s so disparaging of Louis, but it would probably take far too much time, and he already feels like enough of a twat for raining on Harry’s parade when he’s so excited, so instead he just says “Doubt it.” Harry shrugs, but lets it go.
“Alright, fine, be like that. Hey, d’you reckon I can stay for dinner? Mum’s got another late shift.”
Zayn feels himself relax and leans against Harry’s shoulder, pulling one of his notebooks into his lap. “Yeah, you’re good. Mum told me to tell you we’ll eat around half six.”
“You’re the best best mate in all of England, Malik,” Harry grins, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smiles and snuggles in closer to Harry to, ignoring it when he gets a mouth full of curls in the process.
-
The thing about school is that it’s fine, Zayn just wishes he didn’t have to waste so much time there. Some of his classes are decent enough, he likes art and this term he’s got a free study in it to work on his drawing portfolio, and his literature courses are interesting enough. Maths is a whole different issue, but if anything it’s good for a nap, so there’s that.
Mostly he’s unimpressed by the people. Harry’s the only real mate he’s got there even though his parents had moved the family to the area more than three years ago. They’d been after Zayn to try out for the football team when he’d first started, but after their second practice he’d seen two of the starting players roughing up a younger boy outside the change rooms, and after he’d pulled them away and told them to fuck off, he’d thrown his kit in a bin and hadn’t been back since. After that he’d never really been the football players’ favorite person, which was fine as far as he was concerned, but it did limit his social options a bit.
There were a few others that seemed alright -- Aiden with the hair, for instance, who usually laughs when Zayn makes snide comments during their shared history lecture, and Will from his drawing classes is always up to bunk off and smoke cigarettes behind the gym. But still, Zayn would hardly count them as friends -- just people who were more tolerable to be around than others.
But he had Harry, which was plenty in Zayn’s opinion. He hadn’t quite known what to do with Harry the first time they’d met -- his family had only been in their new house for a few days and Zayn had been outside reading when Harry had hopped over the garden wall separating their houses, plopped down easily next to Zayn, and asked what his book was like they’d left off in the middle of a conversation and were picking it up again. He’d been startled, but showed Harry the cover of his book, and then Harry had been off like a shot, talking about books and then football and then a million other things, and before Zayn had a chance to think about it, Harry had decided they were mates, and that had been that. He’d been hanging around ever since, which was more than alright with Zayn -- he liked Harry as totally as he was indifferent to everyone else, which was a considerable amount.
So Zayn doesn’t love school, and he doesn’t hate it either, but he really does hate the part where he has to see Louis Tomlinson every day, and relatedly, having to hear Harry wax poetic about Louis’ hair and how it defies the laws of gravity. Louis doesn’t make sense to Zayn -- he’s not athletic or particularly popular but somehow he gets on with everyone anyway. He throws parties at his step-dad’s enormous house, which inevitably end with someone walking in on him with his hand down someone’s trousers -- last year it had been Jeremy Smith, and the general non-reaction to that had left Zayn confused for days. If it had been anyone else it would’ve been a massive scandal, he’s sure, but somehow it had mostly been forgotten by the following Monday.
But Louis has always been the exception to the rules, apparently. He’s inappropriately loud and can’t seem to shut up when he ought to, and he does things like hijack the broadcasting class’ weather announcements to perform one-man-band routines and change around the notices on the bulletin boards so they spell rude things, but somehow he’s never in trouble, which only irritates Zayn further. By all accounts Louis should be the annoying kid that people grudgingly tolerate at best, but for some reason, everyone seems to genuinely like him.
With the exception of Zayn.
So a week into the term, Zayn is less than thrilled to look up halfway through his biology class to see Louis swaggering into the room.
“Schedule change,” Louis drawls loudly, handing a slip of paper to the teacher. “My talents were being wasted in physics, apparently.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, hunching over a bit more and scribbling indistinctly in the margin of his notebook.
“So it would seem,” the teach confirms, handing the paper back to Louis. “There’s a seat in the back for you, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Zayn tries to surreptitiously shove his books over to take up the empty spot next to him, hoping there’s another one further back that Louis can go to but not wanting to draw attention to himself by turning to look. Louis’ hip catches the corner of Zayn’s table as he passes and Zayn’s pulse races a little at the jolt, but fortunately Louis keeps walking, and slouches into a seat in the furthest row.
Zayn keeps his head lowered over his notebook for the rest of classes, and by the time the bell rings he’s stiff in the neck with the effort of ignoring Louis.
-
“He’s in your biology class?” Harry asks at the end of the day. They’re sprawled on their backs across one of the far tennis courts, Harry resting his head on his bag and Zayn smoking and squinting up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. “Lucky bastard. That’s one of the only ones I haven’t got with him.”
“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to swap me if you like,” Zayn says.
“His mate Liam’s in mine, though,” Harry continues. Zayn doesn’t much like the sappy tone his voice is taking. “We’re partnered up for the next few weeks and he said maybe we could get together and revise. D’you think Louis would come too, even if he’s in a different class?”
“Only if you’re very unlucky, I suppose,” Zayn drawls, flicking the butt of his cigarette away and lighting another.
“Liam’s quite nice, though. You’d like him as well, I think.”
Zayn shrugs. Harry seems to be under the impression that Zayn would make great friends with anyone. He’s not sure where he’s got that idea from, as historically it’s proven to be untrue.
“D’you know Nick’s having a party in a few weeks?” Harry asks. “Cher told me about it after lunch, supposed to be massive. Reckon we’ll go?”
“Probably, yeah,” says Zayn, stifling a yawn. It’s bloody hot out in the sun, and it makes him want to lay down and sleep. “Unless a more attractive option presents itself.”
"More attractive than going to a party with me? Unlikely,” Harry jokes.
“Point taken,” Zayn says, laughing. “Your beauty remains unchallenged, rest assured.”
Harry just reaches out to flick Zayn on the ear, which leads to Zayn yanking the beanie off Harry’s head, and it’s several minutes after that before they compose themselves.
“Anyway,” Harry continues once he catches his breath. “You will go with me, yeah? To Nick’s party?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn says. He suspects there’s an unspoken motive as to why Harry wants to go so badly and that it starts with an L, but if Harry’s not going to bring it up then neither is Zayn. He’s had about his fill of talking about Louis for the year.
“Oi, we’re meant to have this court,” a voice says from behind them, and Zayn glances backwards. One of the tennis players -- Dan, or Dean, or something stupid -- is frowning at them, his hands on his hips petulantly. “And you can’t smoke here, Malik.”
“Piss off,” Zayn calls, shoving one of the sleeves of his plaid shirt up where it had started to come unrolled.
“We’ve got practice,” Dan or Dean complains.
Zayn doesn’t respond, and eventually Dan or Dean stomps off. It’s really quite unbecoming, Zayn thinks, storming around like a git in tiny white shorts.
“C’mon, let’s go back to mine anyway,” Harry says, standing up and dusting off his hands before offering one to Zayn. “M’starving and Gemma left half a pizza in the fridge.”
Harry links his arm through Zayn’s as they walk to the parking lot, and after they eat all of Gemma’s pizza and dispose of the evidence they collapse into Harry’s bed, where Zayn immediately falls asleep. He wakes up hours later, and it’s dark out. Harry’s next to him in bed, wearing his glasses and grinning like a maniac as he types away on his mobile.
“Texted your mum and said you were sleeping here,” Harry explains. “She says to pick up milk on your way home from school tomorrow.”
Zayn just grunts and kicks off his trainers. Harry pulls a clean pair of jogging bottoms from the pile of clothes on his floor without even looking up from his phone and tosses them towards Zayn.
“Y’still texting her now?” Zayn asks, wriggling out of his jeans and pulling on the joggers. “You two are too chummy, honestly.”
Harry laughs. “Nah, she went off to bed ages ago.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Louis had a question about the play we’re reading in drama, and we’ve just been sort of... chatting.”
“Hm,” Zayn says. “Budge over.” He shoves at Harry’s shoulder to make room for his own, curling up under the blankets.
“Zayn,” Harry starts. “I know you don’t, like. I mean. I know you have this thing about Louis, but I like him quite a lot, and, like. I dunno, I think he might like me too.”
“Er. Are you sure?” Zayn asks. “I mean, no, not that you aren’t a catch, but he flirts with everyone, y’know? Are you sure he’s not just being... Louis?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry says, and his face is all soft around the edges. Zayn doesn’t remember the last time he saw Harry look like that. “I think it’s different.”
“Well,” Zayn starts. He wants to say he’s happy for Harry, but can’t bring himself to do it. “Well I hope it works out for the best.”
Harry bites his lip and finally turns to Zayn. “I won’t -- I mean. If you really hate him that much and tell me not to do anything with him, I won’t, but. I dunno. I think I’d like to try, at least.”
“Haz,” Zayn says, not sure how he means to finish it. “Just -- whatever you do, be careful, yeah?”
Harry tosses his mobile on the table next to his bed and folds his glasses on top of it. “Yeah, ‘course.”
Zayn curls in closer as Harry flicks off the light. He thinks he ought to feel better knowing that he could end this whole thing before it begins if he wanted to, but somehow the knowledge just makes him feel worse, sitting like lead in his stomach.
-
For the rest of the week, Harry can’t stop rambling on about Louis -- what particularly hilarious thing Louis had said in maths and what color his shirt was that day and how fit he looked the day he wore a blue jumper. Zayn begins to keep a tally of how many times Harry says Louis’ name, but gives up when he gets to twenty three during a single rerun of Friends. So when Zayn gets to lunch on Wednesday the following week, he’s simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all to see Louis sitting next to Harry. He recognizes Louis’ mates Liam and Niall with them as well -- Liam had been in his advanced literature class last term, and Niall’s on the football team, although he hadn’t been when Zayn was for those two days. They both seem alright enough, which is why Zayn’s never been able to sort out why they hang around with Louis, but the three of them have been as thick as thieves since Zayn started school.
“Zayn!” Harry greets him, grinning like a maniac and waving like Zayn might have somehow forgotten which table they’ve sat at together for the last three years. Zayn cautiously sits down on Harry’s other side, trying to avoid making eye contact with Louis. Luckily, Louis seems determined to do the same. “You know Niall and Liam, yeah?” Harry continues.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, nodding at the other two. “Alright?” Liam nods back politely, and Niall grins at him around a mouthful of sandwich.
“And, er. You know Louis too?” Harry’s voice goes unsure and questioning at this, and Zayn forces himself to glance over at Louis.
“We’ve met,” he says, trying to sound impassive. Louis just nods, raising his eyebrows slightly. It doesn’t look like it’s meant to be challenging, just a bit unsure and appraising, like he’s not sure how Zayn’s going to react to his presence.
“Well. That’s. Good, yeah,” Harry says, glancing back and forth between the two boys, smiling like he’s a bit nervous but mostly just pleased with himself. “Louis and I have loads of classes together this year,” he announces to no one in particular.
“Brilliant,” Zayn says, forcing himself to swallow a bite of the first thing he can grab, which turns out to be a granola bar that’s gone a little stale. He grimaces.
“You’re both in Ms. Hall’s literature class, yeah?” Liam asks Harry and Louis. Harry nods enthusiastically, and Louis smiles brilliantly at him before answering.
“Yeah. Doing Frankenstein next. Bit cliche, but I suppose it’s always fun hearing about people getting ripped limb from limb and what have you.”
“You’re not supposed to enjoy it, you twat,” Harry says, laughing and swatting at Louis’ arm. “It’s supposed to be morbid and grim.”
“Each literary interpretation is as valid as the next,” Louis replies loftily, shoving Harry’s shoulder in return. They dissolve into a mess of play-fighting and giggles that makes Zayn roll his eyes despite his efforts not to.
“We did that last term,” Liam finally says when they stop. “Zayn was in my class. Remember?” He directs the last part to Zayn.
“Er. Yeah. Was alright, I guess.”
“Well, if you lads needed any help revising it--”
“What, not our Louis,” Niall adds. “Perfect grades and all that.”
“Oi, piss off,” Louis laughs. “I’m street smart, is all.”
“Right, well, if you decide you actually want to pass your classes this term so you don’t end up on the streets, we could help you, is all I’m saying,” Liam continues. “Zayn and I. And I suppose Niall can come as well.”
“Thanks,” Niall says sarcastically, and he pulls a face at Zayn that looks like it’s supposed to mean what can you do?
“That’d be brilliant,” Harry says before Zayn can refuse. “I’m hopeless, but Zayn’s ace at, like, books and stuff.”
“I mean, not -- not really,” he protests weakly. Louis turns to look at him, and there’s still something appraising in his eyes -- not unfriendly, but still gauging him about something.
“No, c’mon, let’s. We’ll have a proper little study group,” Harry says, and Zayn doesn’t at all like the devious expression he’s got on.
“What do you say, you lot free tomorrow after school?” Louis asks. The rest of them murmur in agreement, and Zayn stares hard at his sandwich. He has a long list of things he’d rather do than spend his spare time with Louis. Miles long. It has, like, multiple volumes.
“Brilliant. Come ‘round mine, then?” Harry volunteers. He looks meaningfully at Zayn, and Zayn is positive that there’s no way for him to get out of this now that Harry’s got the idea in his head.
“Fine, yeah,” he agrees, and absently hopes that if he’s driven to manslaughter from being forced to watch Harry flirt with Louis all night, that at least a judge will grant him clemency for the cruel and unusual circumstances.
-
“Just please try to be nice,” Harry begs him, leaning up against Zayn’s locker the next day after classes are dismissed.
“I am nice,” Zayn protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Or, like. I can be. If I want to.”
“Well I want you to, so please, yeah? C’mon, it’s like, best mate duties, or something.”
“Fine, alright, I’ll try,” Zayn moans, trying to sound put upon as he follows Harry out to his car. He feels put upon, and Harry deserves to know it.
“Anyway you’ll have to learn to get along with him when he falls in love with me and we get married and go live on a farm to raise, like, goats and stuff.”
“Yeah? And how exactly am I involved in your little married on a farm goat-raising scenario, then?”
Harry looks at him like that’s a very stupid question. “You’ll come live with us, obviously. To tend to the chickens.”
“I see,” Zayn answers. “And I don’t suppose I get a say in this?”
“Not at all,” Harry laughs, slinging an arm around Zayn’s neck. Zayn elbows him in the ribs, but by the time he finally shakes Harry’s octopus-like grip free, Zayn’s laughing too.
-
Zayn is decidedly not laughing several hours later when he’s shoved in the farthest corner of the couch in Harry’s basement while Harry and Louis make a mess trying to toss popcorn into each other’s open mouths. Someone’s probably going to choke, he thinks. Zayn knows the Heimlich maneuver, but he’s not sure he’s particularly in the mood to use it right now, so if they do, they’re on their own.
“Thought we were meant to be studying,” he mumbles to no one. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, necessarily, but Niall’s crammed up against his right side, and he snorts with laughter.
“This is downright studious for Louis, mate,” he says. “Look, he’s actually still got a book touching him.” Right as he says it, though, Louis shifts to try and shove a handful of popcorn down the back of Harry’s shirt, and the brand new and unopened copy of Frankenstein that had been perched on his knee falls to the ground.
Zayn rolls his eyes. “M’gonna get a drink,” he says, standing up and trying not to grind any loose popcorn into the carpet. Harry’s mum’ll have a fit if she sees this mess.
He remembers that he promised Harry he’d try to be nice, though. “Er, you want anything?” he asks Niall and Liam, who’s diligently taking notes on Niall’s other side.
Liam shakes his head without looking up from his notebook (why’s he got a notebook? Zayn wonders, he’s not even in that class anymore), and Niall just grins easily. “Nah, cheers though.”
Zayn shrugs, and steps pointedly around Harry and Louis on the floor, not asking if they want anything. He hadn’t specifically promised he’d be nice to Louis, he reasons, just that he’d try, in general. Which he has.
He wanders upstairs and lets himself into the fridge, searching for a drink and possibly a snack like he’s done more times than he could possibly count. Harry’s mum has always told him to help himself to anything, that he should feel at home even if she’s not there, which often she’s not, working late at the hospital and all. Sometimes he suspects that she likes him a bit better than she likes Harry. Which is fair enough, because he knows his own mum feels the same way about Harry.
He’s running his finger absently over an old football schedule that’s held up on the refrigerator with a magnet when he hears someone coming up behind him.
“Hey,” Louis says. Zayn’s back stiffens, but he forces himself to turn around.
“Louis,” he says evenly.
“Just getting some napkins, Harry kicked over a glass of water.”
“Oh. Okay.” Zayn’s not thirsty anymore, or hungry, and mostly he just wants to leave the room as fast as possible, but Louis is between him and the door, so he stays put. For nothing better to do, he pulls a pile of towels from beneath the sink and hands them to Louis.
“Thanks,” Louis says. He’s not as loud as he usually is, like he think Zayn might spook easily. “Been a while, yeah?” he continues.
“Yeah, a bit,” Zayn agrees, trying to stay neutral. It’s been years since he’d actually spoken to Louis, but who’s counting?
“Your sisters alright? Your mum?”
“They’re fine,” Zayn grits out.
“Good. Um. Give ‘em my best, yeah?”
Zayn just huffs a sigh and shoves past Louis, and heads out to the garden instead of back downstairs. He folds himself up in one of Harry’s mum’s uncomfortable outdoor chairs and pulls his crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His hands are clenched into fists and he has to make a conscious effort to uncurl them before he can get his fingers to work his lighter properly.
Having Louis around is bad enough, but the fact that he has the nerve to talk to him like they’re friends, and to ask after Zayn’s family -- he wants to go back in there and chuck Louis out of Harry’s house, and then shake Harry until some sense works its way into his brain.
But possibly that doesn’t fall under the umbrella of trying to be nice, so instead he stays curled up in the chair, chain-smoking and hiding the cigarette butts in the rubbish bin so Harry’s mum won’t find them and go spare.
It starts to half-heartedly rain and he’s about to stand up and go inside when he hears the back door opening behind him. If it’s Louis, he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from saying something nasty. If it’s Harry, he might have to forcibly lock him into a cupboard until he develops better taste in blokes.
But instead it’s Niall, shuffling out in his bright trainers and hunching his shoulders up against the misty rain. “Wondered where you got off to,” he greets, wandering over to sit in the chair next to Zayn.
“Getting a bit of air,” Zayn explains. Niall glances at the end of his lit cigarette and snorts out a laugh. “Clearly.” They sit silently for a bit, Zayn smoking a bit nervously, before Niall speaks again.
“Think the lads wanted to order a pizza. You in?”
Zayn doesn’t particularly want any, but he knows Harry will be cross with him if he stays outside sulking much longer, or just buggers off home like he wants to, so he squashes out his cigarette and stands. “Yeah, alright.”
He hesitates and then reaches out a hand to pull Niall out of the chair. Niall takes it, yanking himself free, and grins again at Zayn. Briefly, Zayn wonders if he ever stops smiling. It certainly doesn’t seem like it.
“Harry and Louis seem to be getting on,” Niall says as the walk back into the house.
“Guess so,” Zayn says, kicking at a loose pebble.
“Get the impression you’re not the biggest fan of it,” Niall says, shrugging.
“I mean, it’s whatever. Harry can hang out with whoever he likes.” He tries to keep the disapproval out of his voice without much success, and Niall must hear the edge to it, because he changes the topic almost immediately, asking Zayn about his classes instead. He’s all easy grins and barking laughs, and by the time they get back to the basement -- where to Zayn’s surprise Harry and Louis are actually studying, perched together flipping through their notes and books -- Zayn forgets to be as angry as he means to be.
Louis looks up at him once, and Harry glances back and forth between Louis and Zayn expectantly, but Zayn just purses his lips together and looks away, dimly registering a flicker of disappointment on Harry’s face before he stares down at his lap. He spends the rest of the evening avoiding Louis’ eyes and talking to Niall and occasionally Liam. Niall puts away an impressive amount of the pizza they order and laughs at Zayn’s incredulous expression afterward.
Liam finally ushers the other two lads out the door, telling them it’s a school night and reminding Niall that he’s got a quiz the next day and Louis that he’s got a paper due soon, which earns him twin eye rolls from both of them.
Zayn nods as they go, and slumps with something like relief as the door closes behind them.
“That wasn’t awful, was it?” Harry asks him hopefully.
“It was tolerable. Sort of.”
Harry sighs, smiling and shaking his head. “Staying to eat? Mum’ll be home soon, we can have second dinner.”
“Yeah, alright,” Zayn says, pulling out his mobile to let his mum know he’s staying.
“Thank you,” Harry says. “For coming. I know you didn’t really want to and all.”
“S’not a problem,” Zayn says, trying to sound agreeable. He finds it’s a much easier task now that Louis’ not around. “C’mon, is there more pizza left?”
-
Louis is at their lunch table again the next day, along with Niall and Liam. Zayn nods hello to all of them, wondering briefly if this is going to become a permanent arrangement.
When they’re there for the next three days in a row, and Harry forces them all to exchange phone numbers (“for future study groups, innit?” he says), he’s fairly sure of it.
part 2
pg-13, 15,000 words
harry/louis, zayn/niall
high school AU
a/n: I SAID I WOULD DO IT AND I DID IT!!! a hs au full of misunderstandings and dumb boys talking about their feelings. I REGRET NOTHING.
“So,” Harry says, flopping carelessly onto Zayn’s bed and knocking several of Zayn’s textbooks off in the process. “Guess who I’ve got loads of classes with?”
“Dunno,” Zayn replies, bending over to retrieve the books Harry’d kicked off and re-sorting them into stacks. It’s the first day of term, and he’s trying to at least feign being organized for at least a full week of classes, just as a personal challenge.
“Guess,” Harry demands, grinning his stupid charming grin and pulling a bag of crisps out from who knows where. Probably he’d stashed them between Zayn’s bed and the wall at some point, which doesn’t surprise Zayn at all. Harry spends more time in Zayn’s bedroom than his own, and has a nasty habit of ferreting snack foods in strange places. Once Zayn had found a whole tray of party rings hidden beneath his bathroom sink.
“Wayne Rooney. The Queen. The ghost of Oliver Cromwell. I dunno, Haz.” Zayn shoves Harry’s leg aside so that he has some room to sit, and pulls out his mobile to text his mum, asking if Harry can stay for dinner. He’s not sure why he still bothers because his mum makes enough for Harry to eat with them as a matter of course now, but Zayn’s in the habit and it’s hard to break.
“Better than that,” Harry says, wiggling his toes excitedly. “Are you ready? Properly excited? I don’t want to reveal it unless you’re properly excited, Zayn.”
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Alright, please, Haz, I can’t stand it any longer. Please tell me which boring twat that we go to school with has you so worked up. The suspense is killing me.”
“Alright, if you insist. It’s Louis Tomlinson.” Harry sits back, looking inordinately pleased with himself.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Zayn repeats, feeling something sour twist in his stomach.
“Louis Tomlinson,” Harry sighs in confirmation. “The fittest boy at school and my future husband, probably. It was brilliant, Zayn, he sat next to me in every class we had together and called me ‘Curly’ and I loaned him a pencil in maths and he didn’t give it back.”
Zayn stifles a groan. He’s not terribly surprised -- Harry’d been mooning over Louis since the day they met three years ago when Zayn had moved into the house next to him -- but he’d been hoping that Harry would eventually get over it and redirect his attention to someone else. This development does not bode well for that turn of events, though.
“He’s dead funny, Zayn, and his smile is dreamy.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard,” Zayn says, frowning. “From you. Repeatedly.”
Harry frowns right back. “I dunno why you hate him so much,” he pouts.
“He’s just a twat,” Zayn says, shrugging. “He thinks he’s such a laugh but really he’s just obnoxious and loud, and he gets off with anything that’s got two legs, and--” He sighs, and doesn’t finish.
“He is a laugh,” Harry says, nudging Zayn’s ankle with his own. “And so what if he’s a bit slutty? Just improves my odds, doesn’t it?” Zayn pulls a face at that. “C’mon, Zayn, I’ve very likely just found true love, can’t you at least fake enthusiasm for me? Or else I’ll have to find someone else to be my best man when we elope, and I’d rather not.”
“Hooray,” says Zayn flatly.
“Seriously,” says Harry, his voice going softer. “You’ve never even said a single word to him. I really think you’d like if him you did.”
Zayn considers explaining to Harry exactly why he’s so disparaging of Louis, but it would probably take far too much time, and he already feels like enough of a twat for raining on Harry’s parade when he’s so excited, so instead he just says “Doubt it.” Harry shrugs, but lets it go.
“Alright, fine, be like that. Hey, d’you reckon I can stay for dinner? Mum’s got another late shift.”
Zayn feels himself relax and leans against Harry’s shoulder, pulling one of his notebooks into his lap. “Yeah, you’re good. Mum told me to tell you we’ll eat around half six.”
“You’re the best best mate in all of England, Malik,” Harry grins, resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder. Zayn smiles and snuggles in closer to Harry to, ignoring it when he gets a mouth full of curls in the process.
-
The thing about school is that it’s fine, Zayn just wishes he didn’t have to waste so much time there. Some of his classes are decent enough, he likes art and this term he’s got a free study in it to work on his drawing portfolio, and his literature courses are interesting enough. Maths is a whole different issue, but if anything it’s good for a nap, so there’s that.
Mostly he’s unimpressed by the people. Harry’s the only real mate he’s got there even though his parents had moved the family to the area more than three years ago. They’d been after Zayn to try out for the football team when he’d first started, but after their second practice he’d seen two of the starting players roughing up a younger boy outside the change rooms, and after he’d pulled them away and told them to fuck off, he’d thrown his kit in a bin and hadn’t been back since. After that he’d never really been the football players’ favorite person, which was fine as far as he was concerned, but it did limit his social options a bit.
There were a few others that seemed alright -- Aiden with the hair, for instance, who usually laughs when Zayn makes snide comments during their shared history lecture, and Will from his drawing classes is always up to bunk off and smoke cigarettes behind the gym. But still, Zayn would hardly count them as friends -- just people who were more tolerable to be around than others.
But he had Harry, which was plenty in Zayn’s opinion. He hadn’t quite known what to do with Harry the first time they’d met -- his family had only been in their new house for a few days and Zayn had been outside reading when Harry had hopped over the garden wall separating their houses, plopped down easily next to Zayn, and asked what his book was like they’d left off in the middle of a conversation and were picking it up again. He’d been startled, but showed Harry the cover of his book, and then Harry had been off like a shot, talking about books and then football and then a million other things, and before Zayn had a chance to think about it, Harry had decided they were mates, and that had been that. He’d been hanging around ever since, which was more than alright with Zayn -- he liked Harry as totally as he was indifferent to everyone else, which was a considerable amount.
So Zayn doesn’t love school, and he doesn’t hate it either, but he really does hate the part where he has to see Louis Tomlinson every day, and relatedly, having to hear Harry wax poetic about Louis’ hair and how it defies the laws of gravity. Louis doesn’t make sense to Zayn -- he’s not athletic or particularly popular but somehow he gets on with everyone anyway. He throws parties at his step-dad’s enormous house, which inevitably end with someone walking in on him with his hand down someone’s trousers -- last year it had been Jeremy Smith, and the general non-reaction to that had left Zayn confused for days. If it had been anyone else it would’ve been a massive scandal, he’s sure, but somehow it had mostly been forgotten by the following Monday.
But Louis has always been the exception to the rules, apparently. He’s inappropriately loud and can’t seem to shut up when he ought to, and he does things like hijack the broadcasting class’ weather announcements to perform one-man-band routines and change around the notices on the bulletin boards so they spell rude things, but somehow he’s never in trouble, which only irritates Zayn further. By all accounts Louis should be the annoying kid that people grudgingly tolerate at best, but for some reason, everyone seems to genuinely like him.
With the exception of Zayn.
So a week into the term, Zayn is less than thrilled to look up halfway through his biology class to see Louis swaggering into the room.
“Schedule change,” Louis drawls loudly, handing a slip of paper to the teacher. “My talents were being wasted in physics, apparently.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, hunching over a bit more and scribbling indistinctly in the margin of his notebook.
“So it would seem,” the teach confirms, handing the paper back to Louis. “There’s a seat in the back for you, Mr. Tomlinson.”
Zayn tries to surreptitiously shove his books over to take up the empty spot next to him, hoping there’s another one further back that Louis can go to but not wanting to draw attention to himself by turning to look. Louis’ hip catches the corner of Zayn’s table as he passes and Zayn’s pulse races a little at the jolt, but fortunately Louis keeps walking, and slouches into a seat in the furthest row.
Zayn keeps his head lowered over his notebook for the rest of classes, and by the time the bell rings he’s stiff in the neck with the effort of ignoring Louis.
-
“He’s in your biology class?” Harry asks at the end of the day. They’re sprawled on their backs across one of the far tennis courts, Harry resting his head on his bag and Zayn smoking and squinting up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. “Lucky bastard. That’s one of the only ones I haven’t got with him.”
“Yeah, well, you’re welcome to swap me if you like,” Zayn says.
“His mate Liam’s in mine, though,” Harry continues. Zayn doesn’t much like the sappy tone his voice is taking. “We’re partnered up for the next few weeks and he said maybe we could get together and revise. D’you think Louis would come too, even if he’s in a different class?”
“Only if you’re very unlucky, I suppose,” Zayn drawls, flicking the butt of his cigarette away and lighting another.
“Liam’s quite nice, though. You’d like him as well, I think.”
Zayn shrugs. Harry seems to be under the impression that Zayn would make great friends with anyone. He’s not sure where he’s got that idea from, as historically it’s proven to be untrue.
“D’you know Nick’s having a party in a few weeks?” Harry asks. “Cher told me about it after lunch, supposed to be massive. Reckon we’ll go?”
“Probably, yeah,” says Zayn, stifling a yawn. It’s bloody hot out in the sun, and it makes him want to lay down and sleep. “Unless a more attractive option presents itself.”
"More attractive than going to a party with me? Unlikely,” Harry jokes.
“Point taken,” Zayn says, laughing. “Your beauty remains unchallenged, rest assured.”
Harry just reaches out to flick Zayn on the ear, which leads to Zayn yanking the beanie off Harry’s head, and it’s several minutes after that before they compose themselves.
“Anyway,” Harry continues once he catches his breath. “You will go with me, yeah? To Nick’s party?”
“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn says. He suspects there’s an unspoken motive as to why Harry wants to go so badly and that it starts with an L, but if Harry’s not going to bring it up then neither is Zayn. He’s had about his fill of talking about Louis for the year.
“Oi, we’re meant to have this court,” a voice says from behind them, and Zayn glances backwards. One of the tennis players -- Dan, or Dean, or something stupid -- is frowning at them, his hands on his hips petulantly. “And you can’t smoke here, Malik.”
“Piss off,” Zayn calls, shoving one of the sleeves of his plaid shirt up where it had started to come unrolled.
“We’ve got practice,” Dan or Dean complains.
Zayn doesn’t respond, and eventually Dan or Dean stomps off. It’s really quite unbecoming, Zayn thinks, storming around like a git in tiny white shorts.
“C’mon, let’s go back to mine anyway,” Harry says, standing up and dusting off his hands before offering one to Zayn. “M’starving and Gemma left half a pizza in the fridge.”
Harry links his arm through Zayn’s as they walk to the parking lot, and after they eat all of Gemma’s pizza and dispose of the evidence they collapse into Harry’s bed, where Zayn immediately falls asleep. He wakes up hours later, and it’s dark out. Harry’s next to him in bed, wearing his glasses and grinning like a maniac as he types away on his mobile.
“Texted your mum and said you were sleeping here,” Harry explains. “She says to pick up milk on your way home from school tomorrow.”
Zayn just grunts and kicks off his trainers. Harry pulls a clean pair of jogging bottoms from the pile of clothes on his floor without even looking up from his phone and tosses them towards Zayn.
“Y’still texting her now?” Zayn asks, wriggling out of his jeans and pulling on the joggers. “You two are too chummy, honestly.”
Harry laughs. “Nah, she went off to bed ages ago.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Louis had a question about the play we’re reading in drama, and we’ve just been sort of... chatting.”
“Hm,” Zayn says. “Budge over.” He shoves at Harry’s shoulder to make room for his own, curling up under the blankets.
“Zayn,” Harry starts. “I know you don’t, like. I mean. I know you have this thing about Louis, but I like him quite a lot, and, like. I dunno, I think he might like me too.”
“Er. Are you sure?” Zayn asks. “I mean, no, not that you aren’t a catch, but he flirts with everyone, y’know? Are you sure he’s not just being... Louis?”
“I don’t think so,” Harry says, and his face is all soft around the edges. Zayn doesn’t remember the last time he saw Harry look like that. “I think it’s different.”
“Well,” Zayn starts. He wants to say he’s happy for Harry, but can’t bring himself to do it. “Well I hope it works out for the best.”
Harry bites his lip and finally turns to Zayn. “I won’t -- I mean. If you really hate him that much and tell me not to do anything with him, I won’t, but. I dunno. I think I’d like to try, at least.”
“Haz,” Zayn says, not sure how he means to finish it. “Just -- whatever you do, be careful, yeah?”
Harry tosses his mobile on the table next to his bed and folds his glasses on top of it. “Yeah, ‘course.”
Zayn curls in closer as Harry flicks off the light. He thinks he ought to feel better knowing that he could end this whole thing before it begins if he wanted to, but somehow the knowledge just makes him feel worse, sitting like lead in his stomach.
-
For the rest of the week, Harry can’t stop rambling on about Louis -- what particularly hilarious thing Louis had said in maths and what color his shirt was that day and how fit he looked the day he wore a blue jumper. Zayn begins to keep a tally of how many times Harry says Louis’ name, but gives up when he gets to twenty three during a single rerun of Friends. So when Zayn gets to lunch on Wednesday the following week, he’s simultaneously surprised and not surprised at all to see Louis sitting next to Harry. He recognizes Louis’ mates Liam and Niall with them as well -- Liam had been in his advanced literature class last term, and Niall’s on the football team, although he hadn’t been when Zayn was for those two days. They both seem alright enough, which is why Zayn’s never been able to sort out why they hang around with Louis, but the three of them have been as thick as thieves since Zayn started school.
“Zayn!” Harry greets him, grinning like a maniac and waving like Zayn might have somehow forgotten which table they’ve sat at together for the last three years. Zayn cautiously sits down on Harry’s other side, trying to avoid making eye contact with Louis. Luckily, Louis seems determined to do the same. “You know Niall and Liam, yeah?” Harry continues.
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, nodding at the other two. “Alright?” Liam nods back politely, and Niall grins at him around a mouthful of sandwich.
“And, er. You know Louis too?” Harry’s voice goes unsure and questioning at this, and Zayn forces himself to glance over at Louis.
“We’ve met,” he says, trying to sound impassive. Louis just nods, raising his eyebrows slightly. It doesn’t look like it’s meant to be challenging, just a bit unsure and appraising, like he’s not sure how Zayn’s going to react to his presence.
“Well. That’s. Good, yeah,” Harry says, glancing back and forth between the two boys, smiling like he’s a bit nervous but mostly just pleased with himself. “Louis and I have loads of classes together this year,” he announces to no one in particular.
“Brilliant,” Zayn says, forcing himself to swallow a bite of the first thing he can grab, which turns out to be a granola bar that’s gone a little stale. He grimaces.
“You’re both in Ms. Hall’s literature class, yeah?” Liam asks Harry and Louis. Harry nods enthusiastically, and Louis smiles brilliantly at him before answering.
“Yeah. Doing Frankenstein next. Bit cliche, but I suppose it’s always fun hearing about people getting ripped limb from limb and what have you.”
“You’re not supposed to enjoy it, you twat,” Harry says, laughing and swatting at Louis’ arm. “It’s supposed to be morbid and grim.”
“Each literary interpretation is as valid as the next,” Louis replies loftily, shoving Harry’s shoulder in return. They dissolve into a mess of play-fighting and giggles that makes Zayn roll his eyes despite his efforts not to.
“We did that last term,” Liam finally says when they stop. “Zayn was in my class. Remember?” He directs the last part to Zayn.
“Er. Yeah. Was alright, I guess.”
“Well, if you lads needed any help revising it--”
“What, not our Louis,” Niall adds. “Perfect grades and all that.”
“Oi, piss off,” Louis laughs. “I’m street smart, is all.”
“Right, well, if you decide you actually want to pass your classes this term so you don’t end up on the streets, we could help you, is all I’m saying,” Liam continues. “Zayn and I. And I suppose Niall can come as well.”
“Thanks,” Niall says sarcastically, and he pulls a face at Zayn that looks like it’s supposed to mean what can you do?
“That’d be brilliant,” Harry says before Zayn can refuse. “I’m hopeless, but Zayn’s ace at, like, books and stuff.”
“I mean, not -- not really,” he protests weakly. Louis turns to look at him, and there’s still something appraising in his eyes -- not unfriendly, but still gauging him about something.
“No, c’mon, let’s. We’ll have a proper little study group,” Harry says, and Zayn doesn’t at all like the devious expression he’s got on.
“What do you say, you lot free tomorrow after school?” Louis asks. The rest of them murmur in agreement, and Zayn stares hard at his sandwich. He has a long list of things he’d rather do than spend his spare time with Louis. Miles long. It has, like, multiple volumes.
“Brilliant. Come ‘round mine, then?” Harry volunteers. He looks meaningfully at Zayn, and Zayn is positive that there’s no way for him to get out of this now that Harry’s got the idea in his head.
“Fine, yeah,” he agrees, and absently hopes that if he’s driven to manslaughter from being forced to watch Harry flirt with Louis all night, that at least a judge will grant him clemency for the cruel and unusual circumstances.
-
“Just please try to be nice,” Harry begs him, leaning up against Zayn’s locker the next day after classes are dismissed.
“I am nice,” Zayn protests, but it’s half-hearted at best. “Or, like. I can be. If I want to.”
“Well I want you to, so please, yeah? C’mon, it’s like, best mate duties, or something.”
“Fine, alright, I’ll try,” Zayn moans, trying to sound put upon as he follows Harry out to his car. He feels put upon, and Harry deserves to know it.
“Anyway you’ll have to learn to get along with him when he falls in love with me and we get married and go live on a farm to raise, like, goats and stuff.”
“Yeah? And how exactly am I involved in your little married on a farm goat-raising scenario, then?”
Harry looks at him like that’s a very stupid question. “You’ll come live with us, obviously. To tend to the chickens.”
“I see,” Zayn answers. “And I don’t suppose I get a say in this?”
“Not at all,” Harry laughs, slinging an arm around Zayn’s neck. Zayn elbows him in the ribs, but by the time he finally shakes Harry’s octopus-like grip free, Zayn’s laughing too.
-
Zayn is decidedly not laughing several hours later when he’s shoved in the farthest corner of the couch in Harry’s basement while Harry and Louis make a mess trying to toss popcorn into each other’s open mouths. Someone’s probably going to choke, he thinks. Zayn knows the Heimlich maneuver, but he’s not sure he’s particularly in the mood to use it right now, so if they do, they’re on their own.
“Thought we were meant to be studying,” he mumbles to no one. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, necessarily, but Niall’s crammed up against his right side, and he snorts with laughter.
“This is downright studious for Louis, mate,” he says. “Look, he’s actually still got a book touching him.” Right as he says it, though, Louis shifts to try and shove a handful of popcorn down the back of Harry’s shirt, and the brand new and unopened copy of Frankenstein that had been perched on his knee falls to the ground.
Zayn rolls his eyes. “M’gonna get a drink,” he says, standing up and trying not to grind any loose popcorn into the carpet. Harry’s mum’ll have a fit if she sees this mess.
He remembers that he promised Harry he’d try to be nice, though. “Er, you want anything?” he asks Niall and Liam, who’s diligently taking notes on Niall’s other side.
Liam shakes his head without looking up from his notebook (why’s he got a notebook? Zayn wonders, he’s not even in that class anymore), and Niall just grins easily. “Nah, cheers though.”
Zayn shrugs, and steps pointedly around Harry and Louis on the floor, not asking if they want anything. He hadn’t specifically promised he’d be nice to Louis, he reasons, just that he’d try, in general. Which he has.
He wanders upstairs and lets himself into the fridge, searching for a drink and possibly a snack like he’s done more times than he could possibly count. Harry’s mum has always told him to help himself to anything, that he should feel at home even if she’s not there, which often she’s not, working late at the hospital and all. Sometimes he suspects that she likes him a bit better than she likes Harry. Which is fair enough, because he knows his own mum feels the same way about Harry.
He’s running his finger absently over an old football schedule that’s held up on the refrigerator with a magnet when he hears someone coming up behind him.
“Hey,” Louis says. Zayn’s back stiffens, but he forces himself to turn around.
“Louis,” he says evenly.
“Just getting some napkins, Harry kicked over a glass of water.”
“Oh. Okay.” Zayn’s not thirsty anymore, or hungry, and mostly he just wants to leave the room as fast as possible, but Louis is between him and the door, so he stays put. For nothing better to do, he pulls a pile of towels from beneath the sink and hands them to Louis.
“Thanks,” Louis says. He’s not as loud as he usually is, like he think Zayn might spook easily. “Been a while, yeah?” he continues.
“Yeah, a bit,” Zayn agrees, trying to stay neutral. It’s been years since he’d actually spoken to Louis, but who’s counting?
“Your sisters alright? Your mum?”
“They’re fine,” Zayn grits out.
“Good. Um. Give ‘em my best, yeah?”
Zayn just huffs a sigh and shoves past Louis, and heads out to the garden instead of back downstairs. He folds himself up in one of Harry’s mum’s uncomfortable outdoor chairs and pulls his crumpled pack of cigarettes from his pocket. His hands are clenched into fists and he has to make a conscious effort to uncurl them before he can get his fingers to work his lighter properly.
Having Louis around is bad enough, but the fact that he has the nerve to talk to him like they’re friends, and to ask after Zayn’s family -- he wants to go back in there and chuck Louis out of Harry’s house, and then shake Harry until some sense works its way into his brain.
But possibly that doesn’t fall under the umbrella of trying to be nice, so instead he stays curled up in the chair, chain-smoking and hiding the cigarette butts in the rubbish bin so Harry’s mum won’t find them and go spare.
It starts to half-heartedly rain and he’s about to stand up and go inside when he hears the back door opening behind him. If it’s Louis, he really doesn’t think he’ll be able to stop himself from saying something nasty. If it’s Harry, he might have to forcibly lock him into a cupboard until he develops better taste in blokes.
But instead it’s Niall, shuffling out in his bright trainers and hunching his shoulders up against the misty rain. “Wondered where you got off to,” he greets, wandering over to sit in the chair next to Zayn.
“Getting a bit of air,” Zayn explains. Niall glances at the end of his lit cigarette and snorts out a laugh. “Clearly.” They sit silently for a bit, Zayn smoking a bit nervously, before Niall speaks again.
“Think the lads wanted to order a pizza. You in?”
Zayn doesn’t particularly want any, but he knows Harry will be cross with him if he stays outside sulking much longer, or just buggers off home like he wants to, so he squashes out his cigarette and stands. “Yeah, alright.”
He hesitates and then reaches out a hand to pull Niall out of the chair. Niall takes it, yanking himself free, and grins again at Zayn. Briefly, Zayn wonders if he ever stops smiling. It certainly doesn’t seem like it.
“Harry and Louis seem to be getting on,” Niall says as the walk back into the house.
“Guess so,” Zayn says, kicking at a loose pebble.
“Get the impression you’re not the biggest fan of it,” Niall says, shrugging.
“I mean, it’s whatever. Harry can hang out with whoever he likes.” He tries to keep the disapproval out of his voice without much success, and Niall must hear the edge to it, because he changes the topic almost immediately, asking Zayn about his classes instead. He’s all easy grins and barking laughs, and by the time they get back to the basement -- where to Zayn’s surprise Harry and Louis are actually studying, perched together flipping through their notes and books -- Zayn forgets to be as angry as he means to be.
Louis looks up at him once, and Harry glances back and forth between Louis and Zayn expectantly, but Zayn just purses his lips together and looks away, dimly registering a flicker of disappointment on Harry’s face before he stares down at his lap. He spends the rest of the evening avoiding Louis’ eyes and talking to Niall and occasionally Liam. Niall puts away an impressive amount of the pizza they order and laughs at Zayn’s incredulous expression afterward.
Liam finally ushers the other two lads out the door, telling them it’s a school night and reminding Niall that he’s got a quiz the next day and Louis that he’s got a paper due soon, which earns him twin eye rolls from both of them.
Zayn nods as they go, and slumps with something like relief as the door closes behind them.
“That wasn’t awful, was it?” Harry asks him hopefully.
“It was tolerable. Sort of.”
Harry sighs, smiling and shaking his head. “Staying to eat? Mum’ll be home soon, we can have second dinner.”
“Yeah, alright,” Zayn says, pulling out his mobile to let his mum know he’s staying.
“Thank you,” Harry says. “For coming. I know you didn’t really want to and all.”
“S’not a problem,” Zayn says, trying to sound agreeable. He finds it’s a much easier task now that Louis’ not around. “C’mon, is there more pizza left?”
-
Louis is at their lunch table again the next day, along with Niall and Liam. Zayn nods hello to all of them, wondering briefly if this is going to become a permanent arrangement.
When they’re there for the next three days in a row, and Harry forces them all to exchange phone numbers (“for future study groups, innit?” he says), he’s fairly sure of it.
part 2