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Chapter Text

Zayn Malik was one for first impressions, but not first chances. His mother raised him well and taught him his manners, so he could make small talk and smile at the right people until they put him in front of a camera and told him to pose. His friends were close and loyal; he didn't have time for fake people. He also worried, although he knew it was vain and somewhat privileged to say so, that certain people only stuck around for his appearance. Those that he chose to be in his life were in for good. He would defend them to the grave and expected them to do the same.

Louis Tomlinson was a bit of an exception. Not in the loyalty aspect; Louis was the fiercest friend Zayn had and treated him like a brother. But Zayn did not give people a first chance, they had to earn it. Louis, however, stole it. And he stole it so well--sitting next to Zayn in their Bio 101 lecture, talking through the entire class, and promptly never leaving his side again--that Zayn really never got a say in the matter anyway.

They've been friends since their first year of college, stumbling their way through classes and living away from home and college parties together. One thing they definitely did not do together, though, was rush frats. Louis did, and successfully. He was elected president last year, as a junior, and had just stepped down to spend his senior year in 'retirement,' as usual. He was busy captaining the soccer team this year, anyway.

As the opposite of an athlete, Zayn preferred to model rather than run around and sweat for fun. Plus, he got paid to let someone cake makeup onto his face while Louis caked mud onto the side of his calves and, often, his entire body. Zayn was decent at having acquaintances and best friends, but he wasn't good at the intermediary stage, which was where most of Louis's frat brothers sat in Louis's life. Zayn wanted to live on his own, anyway. Frats were never his thing.

Louis joked that fraternities were the only thing he had in common with his deadbeat dad, the one who got his mom pregnant and then left, causing her to drop out of college and start working so she could support Louis. Two stepdads and six siblings later, Louis's family is a hell of a lot more whole than his biological dad could've ever made it.

It was somewhat entertaining, the stark difference between the two despite their flawless dynamic. Louis swaggered around in sweatpants and t-shirts, sometimes tank tops or jerseys, and often a backwards hat or beanie. Zayn refused the labels 'emo' or 'edgy,' but could often be found walking next to his slightly shorter best friend in all black, or some other dark color scheme. It was sleek, ripped jeans and leather jackets and tight shirts that showed his model frame well. If he was going to be paid to look good, the least he could do was practice a bit in his day-to-day life.

But 'model Zayn' who painted and sketched, whose fallback plan, if modeling or becoming an R&B star never worked out, was to teach English to high schoolers, got along swimmingly with soccer team Captain, ex-president of a frat, 'dude-bro Louis.' The first time they smoked weed together was when Zayn knew Louis would probably end up being his Best Man at his wedding. Louis filled all of Zayn's casual, pondering silences with entertaining chatter. Louis knew when to push Zayn out of his brooding moods and when to give him space. Louis understood what it was like to grow up in a household of younger sisters.

Louis was a writer and what Zayn could do with pictures, Louis did with words. It meant he jumped straight into the deep questions with Zayn and never let him come up for air. He could talk Zayn into any prank and talk the two of them out of any trouble. He did so constantly for his frat brothers; his ability to placate the school administration and local police was one of the main reasons he was elected president in the first place.

But most of all, Louis was loyal. He always had Zayn's back, never steered him wrong, and would do anything Zayn needed him to do. He did absolutely nothing that Zayn wanted him to do, but Louis always knew the difference and which buttons to press.

So when Louis asked Zayn for a favor, Zayn groaned and bitched and complained and said he wouldn't, but of course he would. Louis'd do the same for him, and it wasn't that big of a deal. At least, that's what Zayn told himself. He was helping out Louis, his best friend, by designing an album cover for one of his friends. It was a good chance for Zayn to get some of his art out there anyway and Zayn liked working with other artists and musicians.

The only problem, or the only thing Zayn repeatedly told himself to ignore, was the fact that this friend of Louis's was actually one of his frat brothers. Specifically, the one who'd taken over as president after Louis became a senior.

To be fair, Zayn liked Louis a whole lot, and he liked some of his brothers.. fine. That was the problem, though; they were more people who wanted to be friends, but Zayn didn't do friends. He did "I vaguely know your name and will talk to you about your classes or work while we're waiting in line for coffee," and he did "I would trust you with a loaded gun against my temple," but he didn't do "we text occasionally and hangout but I don't necessarily know every single detail about your life."

Liam Payne, one of Louis's brothers who was in the same pledge class as the new president, was one of those people who desperately wanted to be friends with Zayn. Liam seemed.. nice, but he also seemed like a people pleaser and Zayn thought he wanted to be friends more because he was friends with everyone than because of who Zayn was. But out of all the brothers Louis had, Liam was the one he'd interacted with the most in the past two years, since Louis typically kept his frat life and his 'Zayn life' separate. Most of that was per Zayn's request, as their party scenes were very different, and there wasn't much else for Zayn to do with Louis's frat aside from party.

But he'd agreed, begrudgingly, to help out the new president, because Louis was Louis and Zayn would never say no to him. Zayn had met Harry Styles before, a few times, when he picked Louis up from the frat house or dropped him off after a long night of studying or smoking together. He'd also bumped into Harry a few times while walking around on campus with Louis, in between classes or practices or before Zayn had to go to a shoot. Louis kind of seemed to love the guy like a little brother and the old president definitely took Harry under his wing, so Zayn always made an effort to say 'hi' to Harry for Louis's sake.

Sometimes, Zayn joked about worrying if Harry was replacing him. Louis entertained the joke, but was clear there was no threat. He may have been very close with Harry, but their friendship couldn't be more different than Zayn and Louis's. Besides, Louis always insisted, he could have more than one best friend.

So Louis gave Harry Zayn's phone number and Harry sent an eager and excited text about working on the album cover that weekend. Zayn wasn't working and didn't have anything scheduled until the party he needed to arrive fashionably late (around 1 am) to on Friday (Saturday morning), which led to him lazily replying with an unbothered 'sure. 10pm friday if ur free. my place. get the address from lou.'

Zayn's last class of the week, a seminar on Toni Morrison, got out at 5:30. He smiled easily and nodded at his classmates' goodbyes as he slid his books and computer back into his bag. The professor waved from her desk as Zayn slipped out of the room, the hall not too crammed due to the later hour but still full with students getting out of class at the same time. The Humanities building at his university was typically one of the busiest.

"Zayn! Yo, Zayn!"

Zayn stepped out of the stream of students heading out and scanned the crowd for the familiar voice. Sure enough, after a few moments, a bright smile and brown curls squished under a backwards green snapback. Green Bay Packers boy.

"Hey, Harry," Zayn greeted, hands casually digging in the pockets of his leather jacket for his packet of cigarettes.

"I just got out of class and thought I saw you. Hard not to with the hair."

"Thanks," Zayn replied, choosing to take it as a compliment. He didn't think Harry was capable of anything but. "My agent's worried about it limiting jobs, but the fact that it was requested by an upcoming shoot says otherwise."

"Really? I like the green. And the length suits you," Harry said, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. They wouldn't be tight on most people, but his runner's quads and general toned muscles from cross country and track definitely had the material stretching.

"Mind if we head out?" Zayn asked, tilting his head to the door and shaking the carton in his hand.

"Oh, yeah. 'Course. You grabbing dinner?"

Zayn nodded in response as they rejoined the flow of traffic out of the building, this time less busy after a bit of waiting. "Yeah, gonna have a smoke or two and then grab something on my way back to my place. Was planning on cleaning up a bit and getting some shit done before you came over."

"Don't worry about it. I live in a frat house, dude. You really don't have to clean for me."

Zayn shrugged. The communal house wasn't actually dirty most of the time, aside from right after parties, but Zayn knew shared living spaces between college men would never be the epitome of cleanliness. Still, Louis ran a tight ship and he'd be surprised if Harry didn't, considering how much Louis mentored him. "Want one?" he asked instead, changing the subject and offering Harry a cigarette.

"Nah. I got asthma. 'Sides, try not to smoke too much for running, anyway. Thanks, though."

Zayn blew his smoke away from Harry out of courtesy, but Harry didn't seem too bothered as he didn't add any distance between them. Harry's phone buzzed, short but loud, and he pulled it out of his pocket.

The text conversation going on seemed to entertain him for at least half of Zayn's cigarette. As he neared the end of it, Harry put his phone away and looked sheepishly up at Zayn. "Sorry. Shouldn't have ignored you for my phone. Just some frat emergency that totally wasn't an emergency."

"'S fine." It was.

"Hey, look, so I know you said you wanted to meet later tonight, but I've kind of got this paper due midnight. I also haven't eaten yet, so would you mind if I tagged along while you grabbed some food and just went back with you after? Just so we'd finish up earlier. But, like, if you've got shit you need to do first that's totally fine, I'd get it if-"

"I don't mind. You'll just have to deal with my place being messy."

"That's totally cool."

"We're getting Thai. Hope you can handle your spice, white boy."

Harry, it turned out, could handle his spice. Maybe not as well as Zayn, but he grew up visiting family in Pakistan. Still, Harry got the same heat level as Zayn and only downed two glasses of water throughout dinner. He was doing better than Louis.

They'd walked to a nearby Thai place Zayn loved, the restaurant barely big enough for three tables crammed near the front window and loud from the sounds of the kitchen that took up most of the space. The menu sign above the counter hadn't been replaced in the past seven years or so, but Harry impressed Zayn by reading it and choosing what he wanted in the time it took Zayn to ramble out his usual order without thought. The fluorescent lighting gave Zayn a headache usually, so they ordered to-go and walked the eight minutes to Zayn's apartment.

They didn't talk much, going between introductory questions, casual conversation, and one or both of them checking their phone. Zayn didn't mind; he felt more uncomfortable by forced conversations than silence and was more than happy to walk his usual route quietly while Harry typed out a message with furrowed brows. Zayn had been best friends with Louis during the entirety of the previous year, obviously, and he knew well the demands of a fraternity president. Besides, he didn't really know Harry and they didn't owe each other anything.

"You have any roommates?" Harry asked, pocketing his phone after hitting send, as they approached Zayn's apartment building.

"Nope," Zayn answered simply.

After punching in the code for the door and heading upstairs, Zayn unlocked his front door and led Harry into his place. It was one main room with two additional doors inside: a closet by the entrance and a full bathroom. The kitchen and living space were open to each other and Zayn had set up a few clothing racks, somewhat accidentally, as a fake wall around his bed that was pushed into the corner against two more real walls. 

His bed had about four different blankets haphazardly thrown over the sheets. It was a nice mattress, but it sat on the floor. He was slightly too broke and way too busy to bother buying a frame, at least for now. Zayn preferred to spend his money, even as a college student, on art. His walls were full of it. Some colored, some in black and white, some photography, some prints of paintings, some real paintings, drawings, posters, anything he could get his hands on. He had one section, above his bed and next to a window, of polaroids of his family and friends.

He had another section, behind the couch, where he hung vinyl records with the nicer album covers. The rest were stacked on a shelf under his record player. Plenty of the art on his walls was made by friends or by himself, his easel set up in the corner opposite his bed. His pencils and sketchbook were splayed on the coffee table by the couch, to the right of the entrance and on the same wall as his bed.

A large window spanned most of the back wall, his mattress in the rightmost corner of it. Unfortunately, since he lived in the city, his view was the brick wall of the apartment building behind his, but he managed to get enough natural light during the day. Since it was nearing sunset, though, the bricks cast a reddish orange light into Zayn's apartment, so he turned on a few lights and lit two of the candles on the coffee table.

"You can sit, if you want," he told Harry, gesturing to the small kitchen to the left of the front door. Harry, politely, followed Zayn's example and took off his sneakers before padding over to the counter and placing his takeout box on the counter.

Zayn got them both drinks and they sat quietly as they ate dinner. Harry made a few noises of praise, even as he winced a bit from the heat and took generous gulps of water, and asked Zayn a few more questions about himself, but their main focus was on chewing and swallowing.

"So," Zayn began as he threw away both of their containers and Harry drained his second glass, "you're writing an album."

"Yep." Harry stood up and joined Zayn on the couch, leaning back comfortably and planting his feet on the floor.

"What're your plans for the cover?"

"No idea."

"What?"

"I've got, like, no clue. It feels like there are forty different vibes I could go for and I really have no idea what I want to do."

"Louis told me you wanted help designing it. I figured this would just be us getting on the same page about the art and then I'd make it and send it to you."

"I told Louis I needed help thinking of a design. Like, brainstorming what the fuck it's gonna be."

Zayn sighed and rubbed his forehead. "Do you have a title? Is it gonna be named after a specific song or something else?"

"No. Dunno. Might just call it my name."

Zayn really had to fight back a groan.

"You're an artist, aren't you? I'm terrible at visual art. Well, 'cept photography. But I do, like, nature shots and candids. I'm not good at designing artistic photoshoots and, like, thinking of concepts and shit. Louis said you were really good at that, coming up with different looks and concepts and stuff. He talked really highly of your work, said you often direct shoots you model in."

Speaking of Louis, he was going to get a text from Zayn after Harry left about what the fuck helping out with an album cover meant. Zayn thought this would mean getting to publish work, not giving Harry his ideas and then Harry leaving and doing it on his own. "Yeah, I do," Zayn settled on, instead of ranting about the gross overstepping on his generosity. "I can show you some, if you'd like. It's mostly focused on the clothes, though, so I'm not sure how helpful it'll be for an album cover."

"I mean, if you wouldn't mind showing me, I don't think it'll hurt to check them out."

"Let me grab my computer," Zayn resigned, heading over to his mattress where he flung his backpack the moment he walked in the door. "Shit. It's about to die."

"Oh, do you wanna plug it in?"

"Yeah, but my charger only reaches to the outlet by my bed. Come over," he explained, leaning to plug the charger into the wall.

After, Zayn dropped down on the bed, scooting to the side pressed against the wall so Harry could easily sit next to him. Harry did so, joining him casually after propping one of Zayn's pillows up behind his own back. He watched patiently as Zayn logged onto his computer and pulled up folders from specific shoots. Luckily, Zayn didn't have any porn left open.

Harry settled in easily, stretching his legs out beside Zayn. It seemed like the ability to acclimate immediately was Harry's secret superpower. He listened patiently as Zayn clicked through pictures and explained themes and ideas behind different shoots. He watched carefully, like he was searching critically for something he could use. Zayn respected his genuine interest but also his effort to gain something out of it. 

Zayn clicked to the end of one of his projects. "Think that's it. Anything speak to you?"

"I liked what you said about new beginnings," Harry said, eyes drawn together in concentration. It was an oddly focused look, one Zayn hadn't seen on Harry before as the boy was usually smiling and laughing to make others around him feel happy and welcome. Louis talked a lot about image when he was president. Harry's job was to represent his frat well, with bright white teeth and dimples and sparkling eyes that made you say 'yes' to a party invitation.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Your friend who designed that line? The one you said was a lot different than his previous stuff? That's kinda how I'm thinking about this record. I mean, it's not done yet, and I've only written a bit here and there before I started working on it, but it's a lot different than anything I've done before. I'm tryna, like, push myself a lot more, ya know?"

"Makes sense."

"So I liked the fact that you and him stripped it down to the basics. Like, the bare and honest and shit. The essence of what made the designs good."

Zayn opened a notes tab on his computer. "All right. So, 'bare.' That's a good word to start with. Do you want it abstract or literal?"

"What do you mean?"

"Do you want an art piece that represents the idea of 'bare,' or do you want a picture of a naked person?"

"Oh. I mean, photography is the medium I'm most comfortable with. I was thinking of making it a photo. And, like, I don't really mind being naked. Clothes are dumb, anyway."

Zayn snorted. "Okay, first: my job is wearing clothes. Second: you don't have to be the naked person on the cover."

"No, I meant- Like, fashion is really cool. It's a form of art. Dressing up can be super fucking fun. But, like, wearing clothes on a regular basis, like at home and shit, is annoying. I'd rather wear nothing around my house than have to put on clothes. 'S why I sleep naked."

"Good to know," Zayn teased.

"And to your other point, yeah. But, like, 'essence of the art,' ya know? It's mine, it's really personal. I wouldn't want the image of that music to be someone else being vulnerable."

Zayn raised his eyebrows. "Fair point," he said, typing 'Harry, photographed nude,' next to his earlier notes.

"Can it be, like, implied, though? My mom's gonna see it, dunno if I want my ass on the cover," Harry interrupted, with a sly grin.

Zayn laughed. He replaced the last word with the phrase 'subtle/imply nudity. No ass or dick.' The specification wasn't professionally helpful in any way, but it was intended to get a chuckle out of Harry, and it worked.

"Thanks. You're really making me out to be super classy."

"What else? How do you want to be posed? Where are you, what does the set look like? What colors do you want to use? Or black and white?"

"Um," Harry hummed, pinching his lip between his teeth. "Dunno. Think I want it in color, though."

Zayn tried not to bitch. This was gonna be more of a pain than he thought. Harry'd been at his place for over an hour and he thought it'd be a twenty-minute meeting, at maximum. "Well, do you have any music I can hear? Hard to figure out how to represent it if I've never heard it."

"Right, yeah, of course," Harry replied, sitting up straighter. Zayn didn't know him well enough to tell if it was out of nerves or excitement. "So, I think I want it to have ten tracks. There are a few I'm still working on and some others I've finished but haven't recorded yet. I've got, like, rough demos of four of 'em on my phone."

Zayn nodded him on.

"But, like, I've finished writing the first track--at least, I'm pretty sure I want it to be the first track--and I haven't gotten to recording it yet. I feel like you should probably hear it first. Do you have a guitar? I was gonna bring mine but then I saw you after class and-"

"Yeah, in the closet," Zayn interrupted, pointing toward the correct door.

Harry flashed his dimples before hurrying over to the closet. While he rifled around in it, Zayn took out his phone and texted Louis a 'not fucking cool dude,' carefully shutting off his phone as Harry made his way back to the bed.

The guitar was embarrassingly out of tune, but Harry fixed that quickly. His fingers deftly picked over the strings for a moment, making sure everything sounded right, before he paused and turned back to Zayn. "It's called 'Meet Me in the Hallway."

Zayn relaxed back into his pillows as Harry began to play, the simple strums of an acoustic making him worry that he'd have to put up with some singer-songwriter type of bullshit. He could do it for paid work or publicity, but this clearly wasn't that. He should've guessed, anyway, what with Harry being president of a fucking fraternity. 

But then Harry opened his mouth, and oh. The reason why Louis insisted he help Harry made sense; Harry was incredibly talented.

It wasn't like his guitar playing skills or vocal technique were astonishing, but the emotion he could represent with a shitty acoustic and no warm-up, while he sat on Zayn's mattress on the floor in skinny jeans and a gray henley, was alluring. He dipped between soft, croaked lines that begged and bashfully admitted secrets, and louder, desperate insistences. He seemed to perfectly bounce along the words and, frankly, it was captivating to watch him play.

He wasn't performing a show, but he was performing, in some odd way. Zayn could appreciate his presence because of modeling; it was about the slight changes and positioning nobody noticed. Harry seemed to do the same thing with his energy that Zayn did with his body.

The song clearly wasn't in its fullest form, but it still left Zayn with a strong taste of something in his mouth, and he wanted more. The song was eery, vaguely off-putting in an intentionally mysterious and tense way. When Harry strummed the last chord and opened his eyes, because it was weird to sing only to one other person and look at them the whole time, Zayn raised his eyebrows and grinned easily.

"Nice."

"Thanks, bro."

"It's not.. what I expected. Also not what I typically listen to, but I'd be totally down to listen to more if you have it."

"Yeah," Harry said, placing the guitar carefully on the floor and leaning the neck against the windowsill. "Like I said, I've got some demos and shit on my phone. It's still a bit rough, but they'll do."

"Sweet."

"You have a charger nearby? I'll plug my phone in and download it onto your computer so you can reference it if you need to and I'm not around."

"All right."

"Also, I kinda need to piss, so I'll set you up and then I don't have to awkwardly sit here while you listen," Harry added with a chuckle, as Zayn handed him a cord to plug his phone into Zayn's laptop with. Harry quickly navigated the two pieces of technology, once Zayn passed his laptop over, and four untitled tracks popped up in Zayn's iTunes under the name 'HS1.' "Sick, you should be all set," Harry said slowly, clicking around a bit more. "There. Just hit play," he instructed, plopping the computer back in Zayn's lap as he got up from his mattress again.

"Enjoy your piss," Zayn offered, as he hit play on the first track and the beginning piano notes of a ballad began to play.

"Thanks," Harry replied, sarcastically, his middle finger held up as he slipped into Zayn's bathroom.

By the end of the first song, Harry was back, anyway. Granted, the song was almost six minutes long. The next two were also kind of sad, the first heavily influenced by some kind of break-up, probably, and the second also seemingly about love. Both were acoustic, the first with nearly a country sound, and they were better written versions of what Zayn was expecting, at least genre wise. The last was the direct opposite of the ballad: quiet, soft, pitiful. Nothing was grand and big. Although it wasn't finished, Zayn had a feeling the final cut would also be quite stripped-down.

"I kind of wanna give you a hug after that last one," Zayn admitted, after the track ended. "Does it have a name?"

"'From the Dining Table,'" Harry replied automatically.

"Huh." The lyrics had no references to the title, so it must've been tied into the experience that cause Harry to write it. "Seems really personal."

"It is."

"Is the whole album gonna be this sad?" Zayn asked, a bit surprised at the bluntness of his question.

Harry laughed, shaking up their pensive and quiet mood. "No. I'm still finishing up a few tracks, but the happier ones are a bit more labor-intensive in terms of recording. I just need more time and more people in the studio than I've been able to get, but it'll happen soon."

Zayn turned back to his computer and opened up the note he'd been making earlier. Harry leaned in closer to see. "So. Now that you've shown it to someone, and listened to it again, what's the first color you think of?"

Harry squinted, his mouth tightening into a thin line. "Um-"

"No thinking."

"You just said-"

"I meant the first color that pops into your mind. What does it emulate? Go."

"Uh-"

"I said go."

"Pink."

"Pink?" Zayn asked, vaguely surprised by the frat president answering 'pink.'

"Yeah. Not, like, bright or saturated, but, like.. pale. Pale pink. Maybe a muted orange, too."

Zayn wrote down Harry's suggestions. "What about brown?"

"Um, sure, I guess."

"Your hair's brown. I'm trying to figure out if you'd rather just have skin, or your hair, too."

"Yeah, I think that'd be good. I don't want it to be about what my body looks like, I want it to be about me. But also.. not. Like, maybe have my tattoos show or something, something that's me that I've chosen, but maybe not my face. I don't want me as a person to be the focus, I want me as in my experiences and preferences and choices and all the shit that went into the music to be on there."

"So, maybe we shoot your back," Zayn offered, noting Harry's suggestions. "Or have your hair hanging down, or something. We could also do a close shot, so you fill most of the frame, but at the same time it's not your face or you, like you said. And we'll probably stay above-waist, for the moms."

"For the moms," Harry repeated, with a grin.

"Anything else? Anything you like to take pictures of, that you just enjoy visually?"

Harry shrugged. The motion made Zayn realize that, when Harry leaned in closer, he actually put his arm on the pillow behind Zayn's shoulders. "Water? It's a pain in the ass to get right, especially in motion, but it looks really cool when you do get it."

Zayn nodded and typed it into the note. He titled it 'Ideas for Harry's Shitty Album,' getting a quick, bright laugh from Harry, before exiting out of the tab. Closing his laptop, too, Zayn looked up at Harry. "Think we've got enough for now. I'm gonna put on a record so we can forget the horrible screeching you showed me," he teased.

Harry laughed again, but it was cut short as Zayn threw a leg over Harry's lap. Zayn had been sitting on the side pressed against the wall, so he had to scramble over Harry somehow to get up. Or, he could've crawled off the end of it, but this was a more enjoyable, and significantly sexier, option.

The moment Zayn was straddling Harry's hips, up on his knees, Harry's hands found his hips. Respectfully, Harry didn't drag Zayn down onto him, although Zayn wasn't sure he'd mind. Instead, Harry held him securely as his other leg came around too and he stood up from the mattress. Zayn placed his computer on the nightstand next to Harry and approached the record player in between his mattress and the couch.

He bent over, purposefully giving Harry an eye-full of his ass, and ran his gaze over the records on the open shelf under the small table the record player sat on. He stood back up and looked at the vinyls hung carefully on the wall. One near the top caught his eye, but he'd hung it when he'd first moved in and always had a hard time reaching it unless he moved the whole table beneath it. He'd have to stretch up on his tippy toes and reach for it like a clumsy fool, which he didn't want to do in front of a Varsity athlete and frat president. He only needed a few more inches which, unfortunately, Harry did have over Zayn.

He pouted and turned back to Harry whose eyes, interestingly, were trained on Zayn. "I want Sgt. Pepper but I can't reach it well."

"Are you asking me for help?"

"No."

"Fine, I'll help," Harry ribbed. He got off Zayn's mattress, stretching up from the relaxed slouch he'd been in for awhile. The hem of his henley rode up and Zayn got a peak of love handles, a toned v-line, and some dark ink. The shirt fell down before Zayn could read it properly.

"What tattoo is that?" Zayn asked, unashamed that he was staring.

Harry glanced up at him and grinned. He lifted his shirt for a moment, higher this time, to just above his belly button. "'Might as well...'" Harry quoted, as he dropped his shirt and walked toward Zayn who still stood in front of the record player.

"Cheeky," Zayn decided, about to move out of Harry's way.

Before he could, Harry's hand was firmly on his hip, holding him in place as Harry's broad chest pressed against his back. Harry reached up and carefully lifted the album out of the stand mounted to the wall. "Mhm," Harry hummed in agreement, into Zayn's ear. His arm came around Zayn's side to present the album to him, while still pressing up against him and caging him in.

Zayn, out of spite, ignored Harry plastered to his back and gripping his hips. Instead, he focused on sliding the album carefully out of its packaging, setting it into the record player, and carefully dropping the needle in place. Once the sound of an orchestra tuning filled Zayn's apartment, he turned in Harry's arms.

Harry's hands stayed on Zayn's hips as Zayn's arms wrapped around his neck. There wasn't much of another option with how close they were, pressed chest-to-chest. The difference height was more noticeable this close, as Zayn looked up into Harry's eyes.

"I wanna blow you," Harry admitted. "Can I?"

Zayn blinked. He searched Harry's face and, after either finding or not finding whatever he was looking for, answered. "Sure."

"Sick," Harry replied, a grin breaking out on his face.

He ducked in quickly to kiss Zayn first. Zayn was instantly grateful that Harry was a good kisser because if he wasn't, Zayn may have needed to change his answer. But Harry's lips were plump and firm against Zayn's. His tongue swiped nicely against Zayn's lip, so Zayn opened his mouth and let Harry explore. His tongue was.. talented, to say the least, so Zayn didn't mind when Harry guided him to the bed.

Harry tipped Zayn over the edge, pushing him lightly so Zayn willingly fell back onto the mattress. Grinning at Zayn again, Harry reached up behind his head, bunched the fabric of his henley in his hand, and then proceeded to pull his shirt off.

"You really need to undress for a blowie?" Zayn mused, watching Harry also shuck off his dark blue jeans.

"I told you I hate wearing clothes when I don't have to. Besides, it's not like you aren't grateful for the view," he answered, cockiness ironic but somewhat earned, judging by his strong thighs and tight abs. His bulge also looked sizable in his boxer-briefs.

"I guess I don't mind," Zayn sighed, feigning boredom.

Harry rolled his eyes, pouncing on Zayn the next moment. Zayn's acting broke when Harry laid on top of him, embarrassingly squealing in surprise. It was gleeful, luckily, so Harry just grinned and kissed him again.

After a few minutes of making out, Harry started to make his way down Zayn's neck, taking time to suck a purple spot under his jaw. "Fuck, you look so fucking hot underneath me," Harry said, tugging at the hem of Zayn's shirt so he'd slip it off. Zayn did so, but it was his turn to roll his eyes as he laid back down.

"You say that to all the girls you fuck?"

"Only the hot ones," Harry joked.

Zayn smirked and kissed him quickly again. He sank into his mattress and let Harry make his way back down Zayn's throat and chest. His tongue flicked over Zayn's nipples and traced a few of his tattoos, fingertips trailing lightly over his ribs.

"Please, fuck, c'mon," Zayn groaned, hips grinding up as Harry's lips popped off his right nipple.

"Yeah?" Harry asked, still grinning, a glint in his eyes.

"Yeah," Zayn said, flatly.

He pushed Harry's shoulders down. Usually, Zayn wouldn't dare, as it was an incredibly dickish move while trying to get head, but he did it just to play with Harry and between their banter and natural teasing dynamic, he didn't think Harry would really mind.

"Rude," Harry replied, once his face was level with the patch of skin above the waistline of Zayn's black jeans. Zayn could hear the smirk in his voice, though, and Harry pressed kisses to his lower stomach. "You have a condom?"

Zayn blinked down at him.

"Dude, I'm not putting my mouth on your cock without some kind of barrier. Unless you've gotten tested since your last sexual partner and have your results-"

"Yeah, no, that's fine," Zayn hurried out, interrupting Harry. He twisted and leaned over to his nightstand. "Just surprised you don't have one, Mr. President," he joked, trying to make that the focus, instead of his assumption that no frat bros practiced safe sex. Louis only did because a one-night-stand of his had to get an abortion. It was a whole ordeal last year and Zayn had given him a lot of shit.

Besides, Zayn wasn't going to turn down Harry because of protection. Sure, he preferred head without a condom--who didn't?--but it was still head. 

"Just, two quick rules. One, no saying 'dude' or 'bro' or 'buddy' when your hand is on my dick. Also, two, no quoting sex ed. textbooks," Zayn decided, tossing a condom from his drawer at Harry after checking the expiration date.

"Deal," Harry said.

He had popped Zayn's button open and unzipped his fly while Zayn was routing around in his drawer. Harry's hand was, in fact, down the front of Zayn's undone jeans and massaging his dick through his underwear. He pulled Zayn's cock from his underwear and jeans, Zayn lifting his hips so Harry could slide the clothing down a bit further and out of the way. Harry opened the condom and slid it carefully onto Zayn.

Before tossing the package to the side, Harry glanced down. "Ooo, cherry."

Zayn snorted, but a second later he was groaning as Harry's mouth wrapped around him. His suction was strong, creating a firm, wet heat around Zayn. He licked over the tip of Zayn's cock, twisting his large hand over the rest of it. He played around a little more, getting used to Zayn's particular shape and size, and his sensitivities, before sinking down further, gripping where Zayn's thighs met his hips for stability.

"Fuck, feels good," Zayn bit out, trying to prevent his hips from rocking up.

Harry just sank even further, humming around Zayn's cock as his nose reached the dark thatch of hair. A moment later, Zayn's entire cock was in Harry's mouth or down his throat. Zayn swallowed sharply as he looked down, watching Harry bob his head slowly, his lips stretched and pink and slick.

Lennon sang about kaleidoscope eyes and then a familiar chorus was playing for the third time. Zayn couldn't believe he was getting deepthroated to "Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds."

With a messy, wet sound, Harry pulled off briefly. "You can fuck my throat, if you want."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Go for it. I'll tap you twice if I need to come up."

"Okay."

Harry leaned back down, about to take Zayn again, before glancing up sheepishly. "Also, um, I'd kinda like it if, uh, if you'd pull my hair. Like, force my head down and shit, but keep a tight fist in my hair."

Zayn's head was swimming. "I can do that."

And then Harry was back on his cock, except the time Zayn's hand weren't wound around his sheets, they were buried in the back of Harry's hair. Zayn gripped the brown strands and Harry moaned, encouragingly, so he clenched his fist tighter. With a hold on Harry's head, Zayn slowly, at first, started pushing Harry down and pulling him up, on his cock.

As Zayn got more into it, he held Harry in place for longer and pushed his hips upward into his mouth. Zayn's head fell back, eyes falling closed, as he lost himself in the tight heat around him. Electric guitar strummed as the audio cracked through the record player's shitty speakers. The smell of sweat and sex mixed with fig and cedar from the burning candles.

"Fuck, think I'm gonna cum," Zayn moaned out, fucking into Harry's mouth quick and harsh.

Harry tapped his thigh and Zayn let up, concerned he did something wrong to make Harry want to come up. "Wanna cum on me?"

"Yeah, fuck, okay. Wanna cum on your stupid fucking butterfly," Zayn decided.

Harry laughed but plopped down next to Zayn, pulling him over and on top of himself. Zayn perched up on his knees, somewhat restricted by the jeans and underwear around the middle of his thighs. He stripped off the condom and tossed it lightly onto the floor next to his bed. The A side of the record finished, quieting the room so the pair could hear their panting breaths clearly.

Zayn moved his hand, in a tight fist, over the head of his cock, pulling and twisting the way he liked. It took only a few more moments to work himself up to where he was before Harry pulled off. "Shit. Close."

"Yeah? Look so fucking hot, all fucked out, baby. So much pretty skin, looks even prettier all bruised. Want you to cum, Zee," Harry urged.

"Fuck. Fuck, fuck, Haz-" Zayn choked out, as he came in a few spurts over the tattoo just below Harry's firm pecs.

Zayn worked himself through it, Harry's hands holding the back of his thighs and thumbs rubbing over his jeans. When he was done, Zayn pulled his pants back up, tucking himself in gingerly. With the fabric resting where it was supposed to, Zayn was no longer as restricted and could sit back comfortably on Harry's groin.

Harry's hands tightened around Zayn's hips as he sat directly on Harry's hard cock. "Fuck. Feel big, Haz," Zayn said, languidly.

Harry huffed. "Yeah. Lemme flip the record and then you can finish me off?"

Zayn nodded, but didn't move. Harry shook his head with a smile. He reached his arm off the edge of the mattress and grabbed the henley he'd flung onto the floor earlier. After using it to wipe Zayn's cum off his chest, Harry let it fall back to the floor. Then, he sat up, holding Zayn's hips in place as he turned and planted his feet on the ground. The next moment, Zayn found himself in the air, only supported by Harry, as the runner moved them over to the record player.

"Hold on," he instructed, patting Zayn's thighs.

Zayn's legs tightened around him, enough that Harry could let go of him. Peeking over Zayn's shoulder to see what he was doing, Harry's hands easily pulled the needle off, flipped the record, and replaced the needle. The five minute start to the B side of the album began to play.

Harry sat back on the bed, arms coming up around Zayn's torso to hug him close as Harry kissed him.

"That was kinda hot."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Not just the blowjob. Like, you being able to pick me up and shit."

"If you wanted to be manhandled, all you had to do was ask, babe," Harry teased.

"Ah, well, there's always next time," Zayn said, jokingly wistful.

"Next time can definitely be arranged," Harry replied, knowing what Zayn was fishing for.

"What time is it?" Zayn asked, changing the subject so he wouldn't get too giddy or dorky. Because, damn, was that good head.

Harry grabbed his phone off the bed and tapped the screen. "Just after 7:30."

"Mmkay. I vote I jack you off and then after we light up for awhile and maybe work on your album cover a bit more because everyone knows you have creative breakthroughs when you're high. Oh, wait, shit," Zayn realized, "you don't smoke, do you? I might have some edibles lying around somewhere. Unless, do you not, like, do weed?"

"Do I not do weed?"

"Shut up. You know what I mean," Zayn complained, hitting Harry's shoulder.

"It's fine. Weed, I mean. I just don't smoke cigarettes because of the addiction and all that. And fuck doing sports if it means I have to be straightedge."

"Honestly," Zayn laughed along. "Was why I figured I'd just never play one ever."

"Uh huh. Anyway, as long as I pace myself I should be fine with my asthma. I just, uh, I don't really smoke a ton because I get really sleepy. I may end up falling asleep, so, if you want to work on the album.."

"It's fine. If we do get work done, great. If not, whatever. I wouldn't mind a nap."

Harry grinned and pressed a kiss to Zayn's lips.

Chapter Text

It turned out, Harry really did get sleepy when he smoked. They talked about random shit and giggled while they smoked, but eventually Harry was leaning against Zayn like a lapdog and Zayn decided it was time to blow out the candles and take a nap. Not, however, before he remembered Harry's paper he had to work on, the one that made him want to come over earlier. Zayn, slightly panicked, pressed him about the assignment and Harry waved him off.

"I lied," he mumbled. "I wanted the possibility of spending more time with you because you seemed really cool. And Lou talks about you so much. And also I hate staying up late if I'm not partying. I get really tired and grouchy, but that seemed lame so I didn't want to say that."

"I wouldn't have minded," Zayn said, clicking off his bedside lamp and tugging his blanket pile over his shoulder. "'S fine. Just, next time, don't lie about it. I get weird about people lying. I like it when everything's straightforward and honest, no subtlety bullshit. Just say what you're feeling, ya know?" Zayn's eyes were already slipping shut from the warmth of Harry laying half on top of him. The weed was loosening his tongue and his tiredness slurred his words. "You're pretty good at it, though. Just said you wanted to blow me and there ya go. No circling around each other or awkward pining."

"What're you talking about?" Harry joked, barely conscious enough to keep up with Zayn. His lips were smushed into Zayn's shoulder, one of his arms thrown over Zayn's waist and a leg between Zayn's.

"Dunno," Zayn giggled, tracing the top of Harry's bare spine with his fingertips. "Let's just sleep."

"Mmm, sounds like a good idea," Harry hummed.

His breathing evened out a moment later and Zayn followed close behind. By the time they woke up a few hours later, it was past the hour Harry was initially supposed to come over.

Zayn closed the shade over his window so Harry could walk around his apartment naked, which they both seemed to prefer for him. Zayn slipped on a pair of sweatpants instead of his jeans, but stayed shirtless because his apartment was warm enough to do so despite the fall weather.

After packing up the finished record, Harry placed it back on the stand mounted to the wall while Zayn cracked open his fridge. Harry joined him, pressing against his back and wrapping his arms around Zayn's waist. They bickered lightly about what food to eat, but Harry's argument of reheating pasta won out so Zayn grabbed the Tupperware and closed the fridge. Harry smacked a kiss to his cheek, saying "thanks, babe," gloatingly, before stepping back and allowing Zayn to grab plates and put the pasta in the microwave.

Zayn finished heating it up and stood with Harry in the middle of the kitchen, half- and fully naked respectively, while eating. Harry got some sauce on his chin and Zayn smeared it to make it worse and they joked around with each other until their plates were empty. Then, Zayn got to watch a naked track star and frat president do his dishes for him. Zayn wasn't sure his life could get any better.

With some time on his hands until the party he was planning to go to, Zayn suggested they take another stab at planning the album cover shoot. Once he'd grabbed his laptop, Zayn was promptly pulled into Harry's lap on the couch. 

Jokingly, Harry suggested they shoot in Zayn's bathtub. Buzzed enough to miss the subtle sarcasm, Zayn genuinely agreed and added the idea to his note. Harry explained he was joking but Zayn shrugged him off. It was accessible, affordable, and was an excuse for Harry to strip in Zayn's apartment again. He really didn't mind.

They didn't get much further than that before Harry was drumming his finger's against Zayn's waist and seemed a little antsy. "You bored?" Zayn asked as he elaborated in his notes about ways to incorporate the pink color scheme.

"Kinda. You wanna watch a movie or something?"

Zayn was secretly very grateful Harry hadn't said he was thinking about heading out. "Sure," Zayn replied. His eyes glanced to the top corner of his computer screen and checked the time. "I do have to leave in a couple hours for the party, though, so we may have to cut it short."

"Shit, do you want to get ready for it? I've, like, been here for over five hours. I should leave."

Zayn shrugged. "I really don't mind." He was telling the truth. It was a rare statement for Zayn to make, not being irritated by someone overstaying their welcome. Even Louis got to be a bit much sometimes. But Harry was easy to be around and comfortable to cuddle with and gave really good head. His words were direct and he didn't waste Zayn's time, even as he took up a lot of it. "You can come with, if you want. Not sure if you'll like it. It's a really different crowd than your house."

"Yeah? Who's hosting?"

"My ex, Gigi, and her sister. Gigi and I work together a bunch, and we're still good friends, so she always invites me."

"Hadid, right? Her brother pledged last year."

"Yeah, he did. I always forget. I've modeled a bit with Anwar, too. Sweet dude."

"I'll text him, see if he's going. Either way, I'm down."

"Cool," Zayn said, leaning further back into Harry, who opened his phone to send the quick message.

Zayn pulled up Netflix and they clicked around for a bit, debating on what to watch before losing themselves in a heated conversation about their favorite films, even pulling up movie trailers to convince the other. By the time they realized they still hadn't picked a movie, they only had forty-five minutes left before the party anyway, so Zayn just closed his computer and peeled himself out of Harry's lap.

"You need to borrow anything?"

"Um, I can just wear my jeans, but I think my shirt's got cum on it. Your shit may be a bit small for me, though."

"I've got some looser ones over there," Zayn directed, pointing away from the dresser Harry was edging toward and to a section on his clothing rack. "Unless you're afraid of a blouse, Mr. President."

"Never," Harry said with a dramatic gasp. He held up a sheer black long-sleeve off the rack. "What do you think? Pretty enough for me?"

"Hardly, but nothing ever will be," Zayn teased. Harry rolled his eyes and playfully waved him off. "Might be a bit tight on you. Leave some of the buttons open so it fits over your chest."

"If I hear ripping I'll take it off," Harry promised, as Zayn winced at the idea.

Truthfully, his biceps probably stretched the material, but the shirt had been loose all around for Zayn. Maybe he'd just let Harry keep it after the party.

Zayn himself spent a bit longer digging around. Harry was sitting on the bed, attention turned toward his phone, as Zayn rifled through a few drawers for the perfect pair of black jeans (not to be confused with the other black jeans he was wearing earlier). The sound of metal scraping against metal rang through the room as he pushed hangers over to examine the clothes hanging from them.

Eventually, after about half of the rack, Zayn settled on a black long-sleeve with the words FEAR OF GOD written down the arms and across the chest. The collar and cuffs mimicked a varsity jacket with one bold stripe of white in the middle of the ribbed black material. Harry--by complete coincidence, obviously--happened to look up as Zayn tugged on his fuck-me jeans. They were probably women's, with how they clung to his thighs, but they made sure everyone with a sex drive wanted to fuck him.

Harry definitely took notice. "Damn, Zee," he said, eyebrows raised and eyes trained on Zayn's ass. "Like, holy fuck."

"Right?" Zayn looked over his shoulder and shot him a wink. Before Harry's raising arms could wrap around him, Zayn stepped out of reach. "I gotta finish getting ready. Come wait with me?"

Harry shrugged and Zayn nodded him over to the bathroom. While Zayn styled his hair, Harry sat on the closed lid of the toilet and continued to scroll through his phone. "Anwar said he's already there."

"Cool," Zayn replied, leaning closer to the mirror as he ran his hand through the front swoop of his hair. "I think it started a few hours ago. The earlier crowd is rowdier and some people show up just to pregame other parties. I usually go later because everyone's fucked out enough by then to offer you the good shit and you don't have to pretend to dance to loud music for two hours."

"So, what I'm hearing is we need to pregame before we leave," Harry said, a grin slipping onto his face.

Zayn rolled his eyes at Harry through the mirror. "I've got a handle of shitty vodka above the stove and there's orange juice in the fridge."

"Sweet." With that, Harry was out of the bathroom and digging around Zayn's kitchen.

Zayn turned his attention to the makeup pencil in his right hand. He dragged the top of his cheek down with a finger and carefully traced a line along his bottom eyelid, up to the corner of his eye. He repeated the action on the other eye, finishing just as Harry shouted "Found it!"

Harry popped back into the bathroom with two shot glasses and both bottles. Zayn carefully smudged the corner of the eyeliner and softened the harsh line with the pad of his finger. 

"Looks good," Harry complimented, as he passed Zayn a full shot glass. Zayn threw it back, cringed, and snapped his fingers for the orange juice. He drank straight for the bottle and passed it back to Harry as he took his own shot.

"Want some? I could do it for you," Zayn offered.

Harry paused for a moment, juice swishing around while he held the bottle still, and narrowed his eyes. "Umm," he hummed, thinking, "yeah. Sure. Why not, right?"

Zayn grinned. "Don't move," he said, stepping right up to Harry's front and raising his hands. "Look up," Zayn instructed, pulling Harry's lower eyelid down to trace it delicately.

Careful not to poke him, Zayn switched to Harry's other eye, breath puffing across Harry's cheek. Then, like he'd done to himself, Zayn's thumb brushed over the makeup to soften the edges and blur the corner. 

"There," Zayn said, looking back and forth to make sure the lines were even.

Before Zayn stepped back out of Harry's space, Harry's free arm came around his waist and drew him closer for a kiss. "You look really pretty when you're all focused."

Zayn kissed him again in response.

They managed to get down four shots each before Zayn started waving off the vodka. It burned going down and he knew his headache tomorrow would be horrible if he kept going. Harry put them back as Zayn grabbed his keys, wallet and phone. There was a muted plum satin jacket Zayn tugged on right before stuffing a few rolled joints and a lighter into the pockets.

The cross and Star of David pendants bounced against Harry's exposed chest, the blouse unbuttoned to his butterfly tattoo, as Harry tugged on a familiar denim jacket with a fuzzy wool lining. "It's Tommo's," Harry explained at Zayn's curious look.

Zayn turned off the light on their way out, locking the front door quickly before pocketing his keys and following Harry down the stairs. They popped out onto the street and Zayn guided them to the Hadid sisters' place.

Gigi and Bella's parents were famous or rich or some shit because the sisters had a house in the city, their combined rent paying for half of the building. The other side was either empty or the tenants had to be deaf since they'd never gotten a noise complaint during one of their parties. Sure enough, deep bass pulsated through the concrete sidewalks as Harry and Zayn neared the building. The door had been propped open with a brick and the inside was dark but random flashes of color reached the front hall.

The house was packed with a decent amount of people, all fucked out beyond belief. There were piles of people in corners of every room, couples edging closer to having sex the farther they made their way into the building. There was a short line for one of the bathrooms. People waiting leaned onto each other as they whispered through faded grins. The music was loud and heavy, the beat slightly too intricate to dance to.

Some people were swaying in time, but nobody was dancing--or, jumping up and down or grinding on each other like Harry was used to. Nearly everyone was in the middle of a conversation, a low but heavy thrum of voices instead of high-pitched shouts or loud yells. The discarded beer pong set-up was on a heavy wooden table instead of a plastic folding one, like the one Niall always arranged for the frat's parties. Most people were in tight black and bold, glittery jewelry. Zayn's chunky silver wrist band fit right in.

"There's a closet over here," Zayn instructed, guiding Harry over to a door off of the main room. They couldn't find free hangers and Harry was about to toss his jacket over the couch when Zayn slipped someone else's puffer onto the pile building on the floor of the closet. He shrugged off his own satin jacket before putting Harry's denim one on top of it on the same hanger and hung it back up. Zayn pushed his sleeves up to the edge of his elbow, the air warm from the past few hours despite the door being open the whole time.

"Drinks?" Harry asked, leaning close to Zayn to be heard.

Zayn nodded toward the kitchen. They were making their way to the other room when long, slender fingers winded their way around Zayn's wrist. Cold rings cut into his skin as Gigi tugged Zayn back. Harry, in front of him, glanced back to make sure he was okay before forging on. Zayn waved him off, knowing he'd catch up with him later.

Sure enough, when Zayn turned around, Gigi's mouth was hanging open as her eyes trailed after Harry. "Is that- Holy fuck, is that Harry Styles?" she asked, shocked disbelief woven into her slurred words.

"Yeah," Zayn breathed.

"I knew he was hot, but.. damn. Nice job, Malik."

"Thanks," he said, a sly grin slipping onto his face.

"No need to be cocky about it."

"You know where Anwar is?" Zayn asked, changing the topic before defending the fact that he absolutely deserved to be cocky about it. "I think Harry wouldn't mind a familiar face. Dunno if this is his scene."

"Pretty sure he's upstairs. He's also got shrooms if you're looking."

"Yeah, thanks."

Gigi's hand slipped from his wrist as she drifted off to greet another person, waving goodbye at Zayn as she went.

Zayn spotted Harry easily in the kitchen, despite the sea of people. He was wearing Zayn's shirt, after all, and his pushed back hair and thick muscles stood out in the crowd of lithe models. Some looked vaguely sickly, skin stretched over pointed joints. The far-off looks on their faces and red eyes didn't help much.

Harry hadn't seen Zayn yet, though, when Zayn's phone buzzed in his back pocket.

you wouldn't have done it if i'd told u, asshole. suck it the fuck up. he deserves it.

Zayn cringed at Louis's response to his earlier, probably too harsh, message about the album cover. Granted, Louis had lied--or exaggerated the truth--and he knew how much Zayn hated when people lied. However, Zayn's frustration had quickly ebbed once he heard Harry's music, and gotten head, and smoked some weed. Louis's answer did more to make him feel guilty than fire up his desire to argue with his best friend.

we worked some shit out. just dont do it again, Zayn sent.

ur right. my bad, bro, Louis placated right back.

Zayn pocketed his phone and finally approached Harry, making himself known by sliding an arm around his waist. "Cook up anything good?"

"I'll have you know I'm an excellent chef. But, no, I was about to start pounding tequila shots."

Wrinkling his nose, Zayn laughed. "This isn't a frat, dude. The Hadid's are, like, stupid fucking rich. Steal their nice whiskey."

Harry's eyebrows shot up and Zayn laughed again. After Zayn pointed him to the right shelf, Harry brought the bottle down carefully. They passed it between themselves as they walked into the next room: another lounge area.

"Zaynie!" A higher voice squealed as they walked in.

The younger Hadid sister was matching the unofficial black-clothing theme in a tube top, braless, with tight leather pants. She clutched her phone in her hand as she threw her arms around Zayn's neck. As his nose tucked into her neck, Zayn could smell flowery perfume under sweat, smoke, and vodka nicer than his own. Bella had a bright smile on her happy face as they pulled apart.

"The party really hasn't started 'til you show up. Always arriving fashionably late," she teased, swatting his shoulder. "I'm glad you did come, was starting to worry you wouldn't. Gigi always reminds me how much you hate parties."

"Nah, I love anything you two put together," Zayn promised honestly. "Would never bail without a text, at least. It was just this one making me late," Zayn explained as Harry pressed against his back, arms winding around his waist. His chin rested on Zayn's shoulder and he grinned, a little guilty, at Bella.

It was the truth, after all. Harry's incessant pawing at Zayn's ass after the first two shots made it a little harder to finish getting ready. They'd left the house about twenty minutes later than Zayn had planned, which was already nearly half an hour after when he usually showed up, still late, to the Hadids' parties. His classes had left him tired and Zayn was hoping to pop by quickly, score some free booze, and dip early. Harry had somewhat disrupted his plans.

"Sorry," he hummed out in his deep voice.

"No worries, babe," Bella replied. "I'm glad you came along. New faces are always welcome at ours."

"Anwar talks about your parties a lot, usually when he's bored at the frat. Think some of the other boys get annoyed by it, but I've always been intrigued."

Bella positively beamed at that. "Well, I won't hold you, then. Feel free to look around! Zee, Megan's upstairs if you want some fresh ink. She brought her needles and shit."

"Good to know. Thanks, Bel," Zayn answered, smiling warmly at her.

"Thanks for the welcome," Harry called out, too, as Bella got tugged in another direction by one of her friends.

Zayn and Harry pulled apart, heading back to the main room and up the grand wooden staircase. They passed someone shaving someone else's undercut in the bathroom at the top of the stairs. There were a few other open doors along the hallway, mostly filled with people smoking and talking softly, or cuddling close and kissing lazily. The music was still audible but muffled on the second floor. The end of the hallway opened to a larger space filled with more bodies. Distinct buzzing sounded in one corner and Zayn itched to head toward it as Harry led them to the opposite side of the room.

"Hey, bro," Harry greeted as Anwar came into view. He was slouched on a beanbag, surrounded on all sides by other people. Some were sitting up but most were lying down, either on top of each other or just on the floor. A small plastic bag with dried mushrooms, brown at the tip with white stalks, laid by his hip. 

"Yo, you came," Anwar pointed out, dapping Harry up in greeting from where he sat. He looked well on his way through a trip by the distant look in his eyes. His eyebrows still raised as he took Harry's appearance in. "Zee, good to see you, man."

"You too," Zayn replied casually, leaning down to grab the bag from beside Anwar while Harry sat down on the floor with his back against the wall. He pulled out a couple and checked their weight on the digital scale laying on the floor in front of Anwar. They measured out to just below a couple grams, which seemed to satisfy Zayn, what with his tolerance and intention of staying semi-lucid through the night. He popped them into his mouth and winced at the taste. Zayn motioned for Anwar's water bottle but he held it close to himself instead of handing it over.

"I made tea, bro."

Zayn rolled his eyes and flipped him off, someone else passing him a plastic cup with more Coke than rum in it.

"You've done shrooms before?" Harry asked, curious but lacking judgement in his tone.

Anwar answered for Zayn. "He's the reason I started bringing them to these parties. He'd always nag 'til I let him buy off me. Which, you owe me." Zayn flipped him off again. "You ever try them?" Answar asked Harry.

"Nah."

"You want to? First trip's free for friends."

Harry looked to Zayn. Zayn shrugged. "It's fine if you don't want to. His shit's good, though. And I promise it's safe."

"I'll try it, as long as you don't ditch me."

"One of us will stay close by," Anwar promised. "I'm sure as hell not moving 'til tomorrow. And this is Gigi and Bella's place. They'll be around if you need anything. They're, like, super sweet. I swear. You can always crash here if you need to."

Zayn asked Anwar about the concentration of his tea, checked the size of the bottle, and told Harry how much to drink. As Harry drank, Zayn sat next to him and explained that his high would likely hit before Zayn's own. Harry got down to the end of his serving, Zayn keeping a close eye to make sure he didn't accidentally take too much his first time around. 

When the bottle was passed back to Anwar for safe keeping, Zayn broke out the joints he'd brought. Anwar cheered so Zayn threw him one, considering it payment for the shrooms even if it wasn't really. Anwar was fucked; he may not remember anyway.

"You want some? It helps with the anxiety, 'specially the first time around. Tried to make sure you didn't get too much, but everyone's different. They can be kind of overwhelming the first time."

"Only if we shotgun," Harry responded, a cheeky grin appearing at Zayn's lack of amusement.

Zayn complied anyway, fishing out a lighter to burn the end of the joint. He inhaled sharply, taking a long drag, before turning to Harry and beckoning him closer. By the third or fourth hit, Harry pulled him in for a tongue-heavy kiss. Zayn tried not to groan, out of annoyance of their audience or out of pleasure, but kissed back.

After, Harry slumped against the wall and stared at him for a bit. Zayn was willing to bet he'd begun to felt it when Harry opened his mouth again. "Your skin is, like, breathing."

Zayn laughed and patted his thigh. "You're officially tripping."

Harry stared down at his hands, opening and closing his fists a few time before letting his head fall back to stare at the ceiling. The muffled music from downstairs was beginning to swim a bit in Zayn's ears. The bright orange and pink hair of the tattoo artist in the corner caught his eye, vibrant and focused in a vague mess of other people. It seemed to radiate, casting a pink glow on the air around her. "Think I'm gonna go get a tat."

"You said you wouldn't leave," Harry said, head snapping down to look at him.

Zayn kissed Harry softly, partially to calm him and partially because Zayn wanted to. "'M not. She's on the other side of the room. You can shout if you need anything, but Anwar's right here. I'll be back in a bit, okay?" Zayn planned to wait if Harry was uncomfortable, but Harry nodded and his head fell back to stare upward again.

Standing made Zayn's head swirl, but the shitty vodka, weed, and general lack of water probably had more to do with that than the shrooms. Zayn's arms swung easily at his sides as he moved toward the tattoo artist, Megan, and the lounge chair she was working from. He absentmindedly wondered what modeling on shrooms would be like. He'd have to ask Anwar, if he remembered. If anyone had tried it, it'd be Anwar.

The tattoo artist had done some of Zayn's tattoos and she occasionally popped by Gigi and Bella's parties, so Zayn knew her well. He greeted her warmly with a hug, chatting for a bit about classes and work. The latter turned them onto the topic of Zayn's new tattoo.

He quickly explained the design, the acronym V.V. above a date coming up in a few weeks, and Megan started drawing it onto his left forearm with a marker.

"Versace, eh? Pretty sure this entire room would kill you for that gig."

Zayn blushed. "I'm not supposed to say anything 'til they announce it. You're the only one aside from Gigi who knows. She helped me get it. She's, like, personal friends with Donatella. Fuckin' crazy."

"It's wild when people you know are famous, isn't it?"

"I always forget. She was real good about it when we were together; always kept me apart from it. Ultimately, her career was important to her and I was trying to work while in school.. we just didn't have enough time."

"Don't think she's slowed down, either," Megan added. "That look good?" 

"Yeah," he answered, looking down at his arm. It was dark and he couldn't make out the purple ink very well against his tan skin and litany of other tattoos, but he trusted her. From what he could see, at least, it seemed to be what he wanted.

Megan disinfected his skin again and balanced the side of her palm against his arm, the tattoo machine in her hand.

Zayn didn't resent Gigi for breaking up with him. She did it cleanly and earlier enough that they could still be friends after. And they were. It sucked, and it hurt like hell, and Louis drank with him for a few weeks, but it was the right decision. Gigi really was too busy building an international modeling career. She and Bella, and now Anwar, were basically celebrities on their own because of their family name and their work. She didn't have time or space for Zayn and Zayn didn't like to be pushed to the side and strung along.

They knew it wouldn't work out until they were both in more stable places in their careers. Maybe, eventually, they'd end up together again, but Zayn knew once she entered his life she'd never fully leave it. Zayn definitely still loved her, but he was no longer in love with her. He was content to just be friends. And buy shrooms off her brother.

"Can't believe you booked that gig with this many tats," Megan said, pulling Zayn out of his reverie.

Zayn went to shrug, but remembered the needle currently piercing his skin. "Sometimes they book the gig for me, other times it's an instant 'no.' Once I was offered the job, but only if I sat through makeup to cover 'em. I figured out pretty much immediately after getting the offer that I didn't want to do work if they turned away tatted models. Otherwise the fashion is, like, inaccessible and elitist anyway. And don't even get me started on the amount of whitewashing. I had to call my agent once after I got edits back, it was that bad."

Megan snorted. "Honestly. If you want white models, just fuckin' say that. Own up to your racism."

"Sometimes I can't believe I still model," Zayn laughed. 

"But then you're out doing a shoot for Versace," she hissed out the last word in a whisper before raising her volume again, "and suddenly it all seems worth it."

"Yeah. Still kinda feels like a fever dream. Guess it's why I wanted it tatted."

"Just hope it drops on schedule," Megan joked.

"Eh, if it doesn't, at least I'll have a sick story."

Megan laughed along and finished up the last few lines of the tattoo. Somebody offered a phone flashlight to make sure everything looked right and she neatened the dots of the acronym.

Once it was done, Megan cleaned it again and wrapped it, not bothering to give Zayn the aftercare speech. The number of tattoos he had, probably too many for his limited budget and the fact that he'd only been legal for four years, did nothing if not explain that he knew how to take care of fresh tattoos.

Zayn thanked the tattoo artist and moved to take his wallet out. Megan waved him off, claiming it was a 'congratulations on the career break' gift. Zayn thanked her again, giving her one last hug before meandering back to the corner Anwar and his posse were occupying.

They were in some deep conversation, Harry still squinting up at the ceiling as existential words tumbled out from his loose lips. Zayn plopped down next to him, right arm thrown over Harry's shoulder. Zayn was feeling the late hour and the weed in his system, despite the way the shrooms made him silly.

It turned out, Harry had his giggly phase while Zayn was getting his tattoo. Anwar mentioned it and Harry already started to crack up a little, so Zayn squeezed him in close and smiled.

Somebody had started playing music from their phone speaker, unfamiliar but welcomed. However, with the way Zayn could pick out the patterns in the music so clearly, they clashed somewhat with the sounds from downstairs. Mixed with the way the room, visually, was pulsing, Zayn's head started to ache with overstimulation, so he closed his eyes and leaned his head on Harry's shoulder.

Following Harry's breathing was easy. Zayn's head rose as Harry inhaled and fell as he exhaled. The world melted away for a little while as Zayn watched colors flashing through his eyelids dance. 

When someone passed Zayn a water bottle, it felt like more time had passed than he could account for. Opening his eyes fully, Zayn stretched out his back. His fingers, lips, and lungs all itched for a cigarette.

He fished the carton out of his pocket and packed it by hitting it against the bottom of his palm.

"You gonna smoke?" Harry asked.

"Yeah. You want one?"

"I don't smoke," Harry reminded, shaking his head. "You should go outside if you are."

"Oh, nobody cares. We lit up earlier."

"I care, Zee. My asthma, remember? C'mon, I'll go with you."

Zayn shrugged but stood up nonetheless. He offered Harry a hand and helped pull him up, trying not to resent how much energy he had to use. They trotted down the hall and back downstairs in comfortable silence, Zayn guiding their way through the house as he knew it much better than Harry did.

The backyard was small, as they were in a city, but it wasn't very full. The alcohol, drugs, people, and music were all inside, so most guests didn't want to come out. Zayn leaned against the wall, staring up at the clouded dark sky as he lit the end of a cigarette and took a drag.

"How're you feeling?"

"Like I'm fucking flying," Harry giggled out.

Zayn smiled. "Good. Nothing bad?"

"Nah. Think you were right about the weed. Helped slow everything down and not become too much. Made me a bit sleepy when I probably would've been bouncing off the walls."

"You tired?" Zayn asked, breathing out smoke.

"A bit," Harry repeated.

"You wanna head home?"

Harry blushed. "I kind of have no idea where we are. Not sure if I could get back on my own."

Thinking for a moment, Zayn realized they had steadily moved farther and farther from Harry's fraternity house during the night. He didn't really want to walk Harry all the way back to the frat, just to turn around and have to walk home himself. "You can stay at mine."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"I've known you for, like, less than twelve hours."

"I've known you for two years, Harry," Zayn replied, rolling his eyes.

"No, you've known Louis's brother, while religiously avoiding our frat, for two years."

Zayn thought he may have had a good point. "Either way, you can still stay at mine. We can head out, if you want?"

"I mean, I don't want to make you leave this early."

Zayn tapped the screen of his phone. "It's 5:30."

"Shit. My phone died and I- I really do not know where the past four hours went."

"Me neither."

Harry giggled. "Like, not like I'm blacked out, just.."

"Didn't realize time would continue to move?" Zayn filled in.

Harry giggled again. "Yeah. That."

"C'mon. We've already been here way longer than I thought. Let's head out."

Zayn finished his cigarette and stamped it out on the patio. Gigi caught them on their way back upstairs to grab Harry's things and say goodbye. She checked Zayn was cognizant to find his way home, and he promised to call if he had any problems, before she hugged them both.

After grabbing Harry's wallet and useless phone, the pair made their way back to the closet, only because Zayn reminded Harry who was already heading toward the now-closed front door. Zayn was quick to locate their jackets as the closet had cleared out significantly. Bella, it sounded, was already asleep, so they waved goodbye to Gigi again from the doorway.

Harry linked his fingers with Zayn's effortlessly as they walked.

It was hard for Zayn to figure out how to interact with someone he'd hooked up with but was barely-kind-of friends with aside from that. He appreciated Harry making it simple for him. Truth be told, it seemed like they were both fairly physically affectionate people, Harry especially. Zayn felt weird when people immediately pretended like hook ups didn't happen and shrugged off his touches. He typically stressed his personal space with people he wasn't particularly close with, but you were exempt the minute you'd touched his dick.

Harry didn't seem to be proclaiming to everyone that they'd fucked, nor was he trying to push Zayn to label them. It wasn't like Zayn was instantly in a relationship with someone if he held hands with them. Sometimes, he casually held hands with the best friend of a best friend, who'd given him a blowjob after the first real conversation they'd had in two years, while he guided them home as they tripped on magic mushrooms. No biggie.

Zayn's mouth was dry and his head hurt and he fucking needed nicotine now.

In his effort to roll over toward his nightstand, he was blocked by a very large, very warm object.

"I'm gonna go smoke out the bathroom window and try not to die of dehydration," Zayn groaned out, clambering ungracefully over Harry's (no longer) sleeping form.

Harry hummed, voice low and crackling. "Hungover?" he asked to Zayn's back. The model was currently rooting around in the pockets of his jeans from last night for his cigarette carton.

"Fuck off."

"You may have a tolerance to shrooms and weed, but I'll still out-drink you any night."

"Fuck off."

"You already said that."

"I meant it. Why is your morning voice so hot?"

"Go smoke."

Zayn flipped him off but did as he was told. He nearly ran to the bathroom, wearing only underwear and his hair lumped to one side. Harry, true to his word, has slept naked, but wasn't looking much better than Zayn. The sound of the faucet squeaked as Zayn filled up a cup multiple times and chugged the water down.

After about ten minutes, Zayn came back into the main room. He thumped to the kitchen and dumped a couple cigarette butts into the trash. Pouting the whole way back, Zayn's ungainly walk earned him Harry's open arms to fall into. He was warm and solid and Zayn really hadn't slept next to someone the whole night, besides Louis, since he and Gigi broke up.

"Time's it?" Zayn grumbled out, face pressed to Harry's bare chest.

"Dunno. My phone's dead."

"Check mine."

"Yours is too."

"Fuck."

"Sorry."

"'S fine," Zayn said, eyes closing again. "Must've forgotten to plug it back in."

He'd drained the majority of his battery last night, streaming music videos for Harry. The images and colors swirled while the music effortlessly accentuated the cuts in the video. Harry told Zayn he wanted to write music the next time he tripped.

Zayn's high started to end about a couple hours before Harry's, and wasn't as intense, but Harry was still tripping by 7 a.m. when Zayn had decided he'd have to sleep through the rest of it because Zayn couldn't keep his eyes open.

They must not have slept for long enough, though, because Zayn was already starting to drift off again.

"You asleep?" Zayn asked, barely conscious but vaguely remembering he was hosting.

"Yeah," Harry mumbled.

They both fell asleep immediately after, Zayn's body relaxing a split second before Harry's.

When Zayn woke up again, Harry was still asleep. A little more aware of his surroundings--without his body screaming at him--and wanting to be more polite, Zayn carefully detached himself from Harry and got out of bed. He remembered the eggs in his fridge and decided to make food because if he ate he'd either stop feeling nauseous, or he'd throw up and then stop feeling nauseous.

The toaster had just popped up when Harry spoke. "G'morning."

Zayn glanced back at him, watching as Harry stretched and cracked his back before getting out of bed. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Harry hummed. "You're very comfy," he complimented, hugging Zayn from behind. "Eggs?"

"That okay?"

"More than. Thanks." Harry punctuated his appreciation with a quick kiss. "Oh, shit, morning breath."

"Eat first, but I think I've got a spare toothbrush in the drawer under the sink."

Harry dramatically praised Zayn's fluffy eggs, as well as his use of hot sauce on them, and the 'perfectly buttered' toast. Zayn rolled his eyes but smiled all the same. 

He did end up having a spare and they brushed their teeth together. Their elbows bumped and Harry made funny faces through the mirror at Zayn, who tried but failed to ignore them.

Zayn denied Harry's request for him to put the jeans from last night back on just so Harry could peel them off himself. However, he did climb into Harry's lap after plugging his phone in beside the bed.

They were a good few minutes into licking the taste of mint from each other's mouths when Zayn's phone buzzed loudly. Harry tensed momentarily, but relaxed as Zayn continued to kiss him. Harry's hands squeezed the sides of Zayn's thighs when the phone buzzed again. Zayn pulled back and huffed, not removing his arms from where they were linked behind Harry's neck as he leaned to check his phone screen.

It was only a couple texts from Louis. He moved to return to his objective of giving Harry beard burn, when another text came in. And another. And a receipt for a voicemail.

Zayn frowned. "Sorry. Hang on," he told Harry as he grabbed his phone, careful to keep it plugged in.

"Take your time," Harry said, with humor.

Zayn flipped him off good-naturedly and checked his text conversation with Louis.

10:27 a.m. - harry with u? he didnt come home last night

12:42 p.m. - not fucking around, z. nobody's heard from him for 24 hours

3:51 p.m. - even if hes not, could u text me back? kinda starting to worry

3:53 p.m. - he like totally doesnt do this. if he isnt with u then do u know what he did after he left??

3:53 p.m. - zayn pick up

3:54 p.m. - anwar just got back and said h did shrooms and then left with u

3:55 p.m. - pick the fuck up

4:01 p.m. - payno hasnt heard from him since he left at 10am YESTERDAY for fuckin class. can u please call me?? im freaking out

4:12 p.m. - im giving you five minutes to call me back before i go to ur place and pick the lock im not fucking kidding

The last message was sent four minutes ago. Zayn cursed and hurried to press Louis's contact and call him on speaker.

"Zayn, where the fuck-"

"He's here. He's here with me. We're okay. We're both safe, I promise." He nudged Harry.

"Yeah, Tommo, it's me. I'm fine. What's going on? You okay?"

Louis breathed loudly over the line. "I'm fucking great, Styles. I was just losing my shit over you. Nobody's fuckin' seen you for like a day and a half."

"He was with me the whole time, Louis. Get off his case."

"Well, I'm glad you two made such fast friends that you spent nearly an entire day together, but Harry's the fucking president and told absolutely no one where he was."

"I'm sorry, that was my fault, I should've-"

"No, it's totally not that big of a fucking deal, Harry. It's not like Louis never went on benders."

"Not last year."

"Well, he didn't fucking knock up some chick, if we're considering what you did do as president," Zayn shot back.

"Low fucking blow, Malik."

It was. Louis took the whole thing very seriously and was ready to drop out and raise a kid with a girl he'd met once if she decided to keep it. He wasn't about to be his own father. She'd ultimately decided to abort it, which was a relief, but wasn't exactly easy for Louis either. Family was the most important thing to him and it was the closest he'd come to starting his own. Part of the reason he was so good as the president, and part of the reason he was freaking out over Harry, was his role as doting older brother to six younger siblings.

"It's not like it isn't true-"

"Zayn," Harry cut in sternly. "It was my fault for not texting, Lou. My phone died and I didn't think. Was Liam worried about the meeting tonight?"

"Yeah. You gonna be here in time? You've got a couple hours," Louis said, sounding worlds less panicked since he'd heard from Harry. He was mostly just annoyed, now.

"Yeah, 'course. Wouldn't miss a council meeting. I'll bring beer to make up for today."

"Probably a good idea. And it's not- It's not like you aren't allowed to have a life or hang out with other people, Haz. Just, text or call next time, yeah?"

"Totally. I'm really sorry it happened."

"People fuck up sometimes. Shit happens."

"Yeah."

"I'm gonna get him out the door and I'll call you back, all right?" Zayn asked. He knew Louis didn't feel right tearing Harry apart, but he definitely needed to chew somebody out. Zayn was a good enough friend to take the fall. Louis'd done it for him plenty of times.

"Sure. Talk to you then ."

"Bye, Louis," Harry called out.

Zayn ended the call and glanced up at Harry, who gave him an apologetic smile. Quietly climbing out of Harry's lap, Zayn felt a tension that hadn't been there before permeate the air.

He found a pair of sweatpants quickly in the pile of clothes on the floor by his mattress, oddly wanting to cover up. When Zayn turned, he found Harry zipping up his jeans and an awkward expression on his face.

"You wanna borrow a sweatshirt? It's cold out."

"That'd be great. Thanks," Harry said, face instantly flooding with relief.

The school sweatshirt a family member had bought Zayn in the wrong size when he first got into college was still folded at the bottom of one of his drawers. It hadn't been touched since he moved in, but Harry slipped it over his bare torso and it seemed to fit well.

Zayn made a comment about keeping Harry's henley as collateral, but the joke fell flat. He explained he'd wash it and get it back to Harry after, not wanting to make him ball up the dirty shirt at the bottom of his bag. Harry shrugged and thanked him again, before moving to gather up his things.

Waiting by the kitchen counter, Zayn noticed how different his apartment looked in the daylight. The clothes flung over the couch and mugs cluttered on the table didn't seem to make the apartment homey or feel lived-in, instead just adding to the mess Zayn hadn't cleaned up before Harry came. The vinyls on the wall slumped tiredly in their stands and the easel in the corner stood abandoned.

Without the secrecy of the nighttime and the warm glow of his lamps casting shadows, Zayn couldn't help but think his apartment looked lonely. Despite the art he crammed onto every surface and the small space he took up with every ounce of his being, his chest felt heavy as Harry silently prepared to leave. A sense of isolation flooded Zayn's veins, only heightened by the knowledge they both suddenly felt uncomfortable in the presence of the other.

Fixing the straps of his book bag on his shoulder, Harry nodded toward the front door. Zayn crossed the room to politely meet him before the short hallway and walk him to the end of it. 

Just as they reached the exit, Harry turned in the doorway. His eyes searched Zayn's face and he looked like he wanted to say something.

Zayn, unable to tolerate silent implications, bit out a harsh "What?"

Harry glanced away and Zayn's expression softened. "I-" he wormed out before cutting himself off with a sigh. Harry looked up again. "I know you prefer it when people just say what they're feeling, so I- I feel like I owe you that. This is kind of really awkward but I don't think I'm gonna be comfortable with the way we're about to leave things if I don't at least ask to kiss you goodbye. It's just, with Louis and everything, it feels-"

"You can kiss me," Zayn interrupted, without thinking. "You can kiss me," he said again, surer the second time.

Harry smiled softly and then Zayn could feel that smile against his own.

Chapter Text

Louis spent exactly seventeen minutes tearing Zayn a new asshole before he subtly mentioned that he got a failing grade on a paper worth 40% of his grade. After that, he slowly transitioned into venting about his dickhead of a professor while Zayn agreed and tried to suggest solutions. It wasn't long before Louis started digging into what happened with Zayn and Harry the night before.

"A gentlemen never kisses and tells."

"So you did kiss him," Louis responded through the phone, grin evident in his tone.

Zayn rolled his eyes fondly. "And maybe a bit more."

"Did he suck your dick?"

"Lou."

"Did he?"

"I just said-"

"Yeah, but did he?"

"..Yes."

"Was it good?"

"I'm not-"

"I've heard he's got good head game."

"..It's fucking amazing I've genuinely never gotten a blowie that good. I wanna, like, thank his mother," Zayn eventually gushed.

Louis complained about needing to get laid and Zayn pointed out that he had a very serious girlfriend who simply didn't sleep with him because he was a horrible lay. Obviously, Louis resented that statement, but he hung up soon after, probably to beg his girlfriend for nudes. Zayn loved his best friend, but Eleanor really deserved better.

And Zayn told her as much the next time he saw her. She had gone with Louis, and most of his frat brothers who were free, to a cross country meet on their campus. Harry was racing that Saturday night, as he'd casually mentioned to Zayn as they headed out of the library two nights ago. They'd been studying together, which would have been odd for them a few weeks ago but happened multiple times a week now. With or without Louis.

When Harry mentioned the meet, Zayn had wished him good luck. Harry's implicative look didn't budge from his face. After Zayn raised an eyebrow, Harry remembered the key rule with Zayn and admitted that he'd like it if Zayn came to support him. Just to tease him a bit, Zayn shrugged and offhandedly said he may be busy. When Harry's face fell, he laughed and promised he'd go.

The smile on Harry's face was worth sitting in 40 degree weather surrounded by frat bros. It also must've made up for the fact that most of the 10km trail was out of view of the group. Most of the guys were there to support Harry and their other brothers on the team, but they all went to so many races and sports games that they stopped bothering to follow along the trail the whole time. They chose to stay by the start and finish lines, so Zayn didn't even get to watch Harry for a large portion of the race. It did give him plenty of time to flatter Eleanor, though.

Louis took notice and kept elbowing Zayn for trying to convince his girlfriend to leave him. Zayn was pretty sure Louis took time out of his day to sharpen his elbows, but Zayn remained vigilant if only for the fact that Louis made Zayn sit with his fraternity. 

"I fucking hate sports," Zayn whined, not for the first time, as his phone told him the last time he'd seen Harry was twenty-five minutes ago.

"That's because you smoke so much that you can't run without collapsing," Louis replied, one arm around Eleanor's shoulder. A cigarette bobbed between his lips as he spoke. Zayn looked at him pointedly. "What? My lungs are so fucking strong that I can poison them and still be Captain."

"Right. The nicotine just stunted your growth."

Louis glared at him and held up his middle finger. Liam thwacked him on the back of the head and shot Zayn a stupid grin. "C'mon, this isn't that bad. And you've been to Tommo's games. You should come to the football one next weekend. Niall and I are starting."

"Absolutely not," Zayn responded, without missing a beat. Liam's smile slipped slightly. He gave up on trying to appease Zayn--a hopeless task, really--and turned back to his friends.

It only took a few more minutes for Harry to reappear down the track, coming out from the trails that loop through the forest. There were some athletes in front of him, but they were ones who had started ahead as well, so Zayn had hope. 

He and the frat cheered loudly as Harry ran down the last stretch. There was a focused, squinted expression on his red face as his legs pushed hard, flying past the finish line and braking into a jog past it. He then slowed to a walk, taking a few steps before stopping completely. Zayn looked on with the others as Harry stretched his side, chest rising and falling quickly, as he checked his watch. When he frowned, Zayn winced internally.

The race wrapped up completely within the next ten minutes, the scores coming out quickly as there were only two competing teams. Although, it still took a moment or two to find Harry in the mass of people, mostly spectators, hanging around. Louis, always the older brother, spotted him first.

"Oi! Curly!"

Zayn looked to where Louis was shouting and saw a head whip around. Harry pushed through the crowd, tipping back his water bottle, and joined them with a tired expression as he continued to chug water.

"Nice job, Harold. You looked.. fast," Louis complimented lamely, Eleanor under his arm.

Zayn figured Harry would laugh at Louis's dumb comment, but instead he frowned again. "Didn't come close to PRing, though. I still need to cut down my time in the next few weeks if I wanna place at Championships."

"Dude, you won. Enjoy it for a bit," Liam said.

Zayn wasn't sure how Liam knew already, but it seemed to be true as Harry just shrugged. "Wait, you won? Congratulations, Haz."

Despite standing next to him, Harry seemed to finally take in Zayn's presence after he spoke. "Oh- Yeah, thanks," he responded, blushing and scratching at the back of his neck. "We usually beat the other team, though. This meet is pretty lowkey," he explained, leaving out the obvious fact that he was the fastest on their own team.

"Still. You did great."

Harry shrugged again, but he finally smiled. "Thanks for coming."

"Wouldn't miss it."

The group fell into conversation about the race and Niall's personal highlights, including somebody stumbling at the start and a picture he took of Harry red-faced and nostrils flaring. Zayn was pleased as Harry moved closer to him after the discussion of the results died down. Eventually, they all got cold standing outside, Harry especially as his sweat evaporated and his heartbeat calmed.

Once Harry located his gym bag, the group started their trek back to the frat house. Harry and Zayn fell in step with the others, leading the pack up with Louis but still off in their own little world.

"Like your shirt, by the way," Harry commented casually. Zayn was wearing the henley Harry'd left at his place.

"Yeah?"

Harry nodded. "You look hot in my clothes."

As a model, that was kind of exactly Zayn's job, but he blushed nonetheless. Harry noticed, the asshole, and smirked at Zayn. "Wanna come back to mine?" Wanna get this shirt stained with cum again?

"Sure."

Neither kept their grins down very well as Harry mentioned to his brothers that he was going to spend the night at Zayn's instead. Niall and Louis hollered, a few of the others joining in as Harry slid his hand into Zayn's back pocket and tugged him in the direction of his apartment, away from where the group headed.

They walked back in comfortable silence, Zayn tucked into Harry's side most of the way back. The runner knew his way to Zayn's apartment from anywhere on campus or in the city by now. Their library study sessions frequently ended in heading back to his place for dinner and a blowjob. Harry respected his lack of desire to be in the frat house, so Zayn's apartment was there go-to when they wanted to hang out.

He had also come over a few times to show Zayn new songs or the recordings he had made since the last they saw each other. They worked a little more on the concept of the album art but knew they wouldn't end up shooting it until the new semester, after the finals that were eating away at their amount of free time.

Zayn still met Louis nearly daily for lunch and met him after practice to do work and talk shit and smoke. They still sent each other memes and new music and Zayn picked up all of Louis's phone calls about the guys in the frat being idiots or his mom needing him to send a bit of money home or a barista who flirted with him. But Zayn walked with Harry to and from their Friday English classes, getting dinner from various take-out places.

They also finally started to watch the movies they debated the night of the Hadids' party, curling up on Zayn's bed and pulling up Netflix twice a week. Typically, they made it through the movie before Zayn started to rub his ass against Harry's crotch or Harry started kissing down Zayn's neck. On nights like those, they'd fool around for a bit before Zayn inevitably sent Harry back to his house with a paper to write or a frat party to throw. 

Harry had the sweatshirt, three beanies, an eyeliner pencil, and a black bomber jacket all owned by Zayn in his room. He also had a pack of cigarettes in his nightstand, he told Zayn, which had been left in the jacket pocket with a hair elastic. The elastic he wore every day around his wrist.

Zayn had the henley, a pair of jeans, three hoodies, a few pairs of running shorts, and about five t-shirts of Harry's in his apartment. These were accompanied by water bottles and a pair of earbuds and a few records Harry had lent him. There was a sauce stain on Zayn's stove that Harry hadn't cleaned up when he made mac and cheese once. The second toothbrush never moved back to its drawer under the sink. They'd traded an unknown amount of underwear, what with Harry ruining his and not wanting to walk back to his house in dirty briefs.

So, while Louis was irreplaceable (even if Zayn wanted to replace him), Harry started.. being around a lot more. In the few weeks since they first met to talk about the album, Harry'd already learned how to let himself up into Zayn's apartment when Zayn was finishing up classes for the day. Harry's contact was frequently at the top of Zayn's texts and he found himself looking forward to the next time he'd get to see Harry.

They didn't spend an exuberant amount of time together, especially not during the day. Harry was still a Division I athlete with Championships in two weeks. Their finals week would start two weeks after that. Zayn was still working, modeling as much as he could, and both were rather present in their respective party scenes, despite Zayn wishing he wasn't. Zayn consistently showed up to any Hadid get-together and often popped by, always late, to others hosted by models or coworkers just to network a bit and score some free weed (or shrooms, if Anwar was there).

But most weeknights, after classes and jobs and practices, they'd meet up to study or blow off steam or eat dinner or just lay eyes on each other. It was frequent enough for Harry to know his way to and around Zayn's apartment. It wasn't uncommon for Zayn to wake up after a nap and find Harry tucking away dishes in the cupboards or folding some laundry Zayn'd left out. The frat president seemed to love cleaning and Zayn wasn't one to deny the man any joy.

When they made it back to Zayn's building, he let them in and Harry joked about having to be carried up the stairs after his race. Zayn offered to leave him by the front entrance and Harry huffed but followed on his own feet nonetheless. They entered Zayn's apartment, Harry instantly dropping his bag on the floor by the shoe rack, the same place he left his things every time he came over. Zayn took off his jacket and hung it up in the hall closet.

He barely managed to shut the door when a hand grabbed his wrist and another grabbed his waist. Quickly, Harry turned him around and pressed his back against the door, slotting right up to Zayn's front. Once Zayn glanced upward, Harry leaned in and kissed him.

There was no rush behind it, just the lazy, sweet movement of soft lips against each other. Harry breathed out through his nose and sagged his weight against Zayn, pushing him further into the wood behind him. Exhausted and heavy, Harry's lips fell from Zayn's and his head came to rest on Zayn's shoulder.

"I'm gross. Sorry. I just really wanted to do that."

"It's fine," Zayn mumbled, one hand coming up and stroking Harry's back while the other played with the hair at the base of his spine. Both his back and hair were slightly sweaty and his body weight was slightly oppressive. But, Harry was drained of all energy and holding him, having Harry in his arms, was nice.

It was nice.

"You must be hungry. Wanna eat something? I've got some chicken left over from lunch, I think. And Lou told me to get you chocolate milk."

Harry's head lifted and his wide eyes blinked. "You- You got me chocolate milk?"

"Yeah, is that all right? Do you like it, or... Tommo's kind of a dick sometimes, so I don't know if he was joking-"

"No, it's fine. It's, like, the best post-workout drink ever. I fucking love chocolate milk after a race."

Zayn grinned. "Let's get some food in you and then you can go shower."

They did exactly that. Harry chugged a good amount of the half-gallon Zayn had bought, the latter vaguely worrying Harry may throw up after ingesting that much liquid so quickly. As he did so, Zayn reheated the chicken breast he'd made for lunch and threw together a salad. Zayn himself wasn't too hungry, so he ate a bowl of cereal while Harry wolfed down his meal. It was sort of disgusting to watch, athletes gorging after a sporting event, but Harry always stuck his tongue out before a bite and it was kind of adorable. He always seemed to contradict himself, in everything he did.

As Harry started to finish eating, Zayn slipped off to the bathroom to turn on the shower. His water took longer than usual to heat up, the frequent cause of Zayn's lateness, and he didn't want to make Harry wait. He was practically dead on his feet when they walked in, after all.

Harry met him in the doorway after putting their dishes in the sink, leaning against the frame with a worn expression on his face. "Thanks, babe."

"Of course. You look tired."

"Feeling a little better after eating, not gonna lie," Harry admitted, scratching the back of his head. "But, yeah. Kind of ashamed how wiped out I am after that. Definitely didn't push as hard as I should've."

Zayn shrugged and stepped up to him. "Maybe tonight was just an off-day. You still did great. It's just a reminder to sleep and eat well before next Saturday." It was an important point to make, seeing as balancing classes and presidential duties and work and a social life and, well, Zayn, all while trying to be the fastest runner at every meet wasn't really feasible. It wouldn't hurt Harry to take a bit more time for himself. Zayn told him as much.

"Maybe. I just let a stupid paper distract me for too long. Submitted it fifteen minutes before I got to the meet, so my head was still scattered from it."

Zayn hummed quietly in agreement. Harry's large palm fit perfectly in the dip of his waist, so Zayn leaned up and kissed him again. "Go shower," he muttered when they pulled apart.

"You're not coming with me?" Harry asked, feigning offense.

Zayn rolled his eyes but followed suit when Harry started undressing. "You just want shower head."

"Mm, you just look pretty on your knees."

Harry was right, of course, that Zayn looked positively gorgeous with his hair slicked back and dripping with water while his lips stretched around Harry's cock. They barely finished actually washing off their bodies before Zayn was slipping down. His knees kind of hurt from the hard tub beneath them, but it was worth it to see Harry's thighs tremble as Zayn licked over his tip. He would've felt slightly bad, knowing Harry's legs were probably sore already, but Harry's face was blissed out and his abs were taught. He was a tall, tan expanse of skin and muscle and inky tattoos above Zayn.

Always the responsible one, Harry had gotten tested less than a week after their first hook-up and, the next time he saw Zayn, explained that he was clean and wasn't seeing anybody else for the time being. Feeling somewhat guilty the longer he went without getting tested, Zayn did the same. After the conversation that followed about their comfort with not using protection, Zayn realized that, genuinely, neither of them were hooking up with someone else. They weren't actively trying to stay exclusive. It just meant they were seeing each other frequently enough for both of them to be satisfied, an uncommon occurrence on a college campus.

Nevertheless, it had led to Harry's mouth on Zayn's bare cock, so Zayn was content. It also led to Harry trying not to buck up his hips as he brushed water off of Zayn's cheeks.

"Fuck. S'good, Zee, so fuckin' good," Harry groaned, words slurring as they fell loosely from his tongue. "So pretty, babe, look so perfect."

Zayn hummed around him and took him deeper, the back of Harry's skull slamming against the wall as he threw his head back.

"Fuck, fuck, I'm gonna cum-" Harry warned, his hips rolling up into the tight wet heat of Zayn's mouth.

Sure enough, he spilled down Zayn's throat soon after, Zayn hollowing his cheeks and sucking him clean as Harry's breath stuttered to a stop. He lightly nudged Zayn's shoulders away as his stomach fluttered from the sensitivity.

Harry helped Zayn up after he regained control of his lungs, pulling him up into a deep kiss. They turned the water off soon after, not wanting to drive Zayn's water bill through the roof. The latter brushed his teeth quickly and drank some water so his mouth stopped tasting like cum and his throat didn't feel coated. Harry toweled off as he waited, drying his hair as much as he could before collapsing onto Zayn's mattress.

"Thanks for that," Harry murmured, when Zayn climbed onto his lap and leaned down to kiss him.

"That's just what winners deserve," Zayn replied, cheekily. A horrible thought popped into his mind. "Don't you remember last year when the soccer team won their last game so Louis and I-"

"Nope!" Harry said quickly, hands coming up quickly to slam against his ears. "Nope, nope, I do not want to hear about you and Louis fucking. Absolutely not."

Zayn laughed loudly, openly, as he tugged Harry's wrists down. "I'm kidding! I'm kidding; he's straight, anyway."

"Everyone's a little bit gay."

"I think I'm a lot gay," Zayn said with a grin. It was dumb and a flat-out awful response, but it made Harry smile and Zayn really could say anything around him.

Harry's hands smoothed out across the tops of Zayn's bare thighs. "That was awful. I don't think I could tell you enough how lovely you are."

Zayn very, very rarely fell for anybody's dumb lines, Harry's included. The frat president had built up an incredible repertoire to make his countless casual partners feel as though they were actually special, when they were possibly not even the only one that night. Usually, Zayn laughed off the flirting or showed Harry, in some way, that he saw right through him. This time, and maybe it was how perfectly contradictory Harry was, Zayn's stomach swirled.

His cheeks heated pink so obviously that he ducked down to kiss Harry, only so he wouldn't notice. Harry welcomed him gladly, right hand reaching out to fumble for the lube on Zayn's nightstand halfway through the kiss. When he got a hold of it, Harry broke the kiss only to pour a bit on his hand. The moment he wrapped around Zayn's dick, he was kissing him again.

Zayn panted heavily when Harry's lips detached from his, instead nibbling Zayn's neck and collarbones as Zayn stretched up. He rocked forward into Harry's hands, his own pressed against the wall behind Harry's head for balance. The glide and Harry's tight fist felt heavenly as Zayn writhed in his lap.

Sucking a particularly pretty bruise into Zayn's skin, Harry's free hand found its way under Zayn's thigh and pulled up lightly, indicating for him to lift off of Harry's lap. Zayn did so, rising up onto his knees. Harry's hand fell away from him for a moment, before Zayn felt the pad of a finger press over his hole and he inhaled sharply.

"Yeah?" Harry mumbled.

Zayn nodded frantically.

Returning to the bottle of lube, Harry coated a few fingers and kissed Zayn's chest as he circled around the tight ring of fluttering muscle. As he slowly pushed his middle finger in, Zayn's hand wrapped around his own dick as he tried to sink back on Harry's finger.

It didn't take long before a second was nudging against his entrance and Zayn hissed out a quick "Yes, fuck, please." Harry obliged, the stretch burning just right as he pumped in and out.

Once Zayn seemed adjusted, Harry started interchangeably petting his walls, to look for the right spot, and scissoring his fingers. He found what he was looking for quickly, Zayn whimpering slightly and pushing back for more. Harry pressed against it a few more times, teasingly, before slipping in a third, slicked finger and properly going after what Zayn wanted.

He was still holding himself above Harry, choking out quick breaths and whining softly. His legs started to tremble as Harry stroked his prostate mercilessly, muscles feeling weak as he tried not to beg for more. Harry noticed, worried Zayn wouldn't be able to support himself for much longer. Quickly and easily, Harry pulled his fingers out and wrapped his free arm around Zayn's waist. He flipped them over, pressing Zayn against the mattress for a moment before Harry sat back on his knees between Zayn's spread legs.

"So tight, Zee," Harry mumbled as he drizzled more slick over his fingers and rubbed Zayn's hole again.

Zayn moaned softly as Harry pushed into him again, building up his pace and pressure to where it was before Zayn was on his back. It didn't take long, with Zayn jacking himself off and Harry working his prostate, for Zayn to finish. He came with a choked groan of Harry's name, spilling into his hand as he squirmed slightly.

Harry kissed him once he was done and carefully removed his fingers. He pulled back only to get a hand on himself again, not taking long before he streaked the inside of Zayn's thigh with a few whispered curses. Despite his two orgasms and the 10k he ran earlier that night, Harry took his time to clean Zayn up with a few tissues.

"They hurt?" he asked softly as Zayn pressed a thumb into the marks Harry had left.

Zayn shook his head. "I like them."

Harry grinned brightly, tossing the tissues toward the nearest garbage can before he was falling next to Zayn on the mattress. "You mind if I stay over?"

"Not at all," Zayn answered, facing Harry and reaching up to turn off his light. He hadn't objected when Harry mentioned it to the group after the meet and he wasn't planning to now. "You got anything tomorrow?"

"Just a Council meeting and some homework for Monday," Harry said, turning onto his side toward the clothing racks and the easel behind them. 

Like it was second nature, Zayn squeezed closer so he was plastered to Harry's back, one leg thrown over his waist and an arm squeezing his torso while the other snaked under their pillows. Harry hummed warmly and scooted back, further into Zayn's chest, while Zayn's nose brushed the base of his neck.

They'd managed to fit in some naps over the past few weeks, but Harry hadn't been able to stay the night since the first time. There was always something, between the two of them, to do later or early the next morning. Papers, photoshoots, sports events or practices, classes - the timing simply hadn't worked out. As Zayn breathed in the scent of his soap on Harry's skin, he couldn't help the pleasant feeling in his chest at the prospect of waking up tomorrow to Harry still in his bed.

Unfortunately, it wasn't nearly as cute as he thought it'd be. Harry looked peaceful as he slept, sure, but his face was puffy and Zayn was uncomfortably warm from having someone pressed against him the entire night. Both of their hair had been somewhat wet when they fell asleep, so Harry's curls were more pronounced and slightly frizzy. And incredible lopsided. Zayn pulled his own hair into a topknot in the bathroom when he noticed the lumps.

Zayn brushed his teeth while he was in the bathroom and started brewing coffee once he made it into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter while watching Harry sleep, awkwardly rumpled and snoring softly. By the time he woke up, with a soft groan and a full-body stretch, Zayn had moved to the couch with a mug of caffeine.

"G'morning," Harry yawned out from the mattress, arching his back again.

A few pops from his shoulders sounded as he reached up and twisted. Zayn looked on with an amused, but vaguely concerned, expression. "Are you, like, okay?" he asked as Harry stood up and his body cracked.

"Fine," Harry groaned, bending his neck to each side. "Just didn't cool-down as much as I should've from the race. You got Advil?"

Zayn explained where to find the medicine in his bathroom and Harry disappeared for a moment. The water ran and he appeared again in the doorway, foamy toothbrush in his mouth. He stood there for a moment, just watching Zayn watch him, before he retreated and spit into the sink.

"I was gonna wake you up with breakfast," Harry said, crossing the room to stand between Zayn's knees as he sat on the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Was gonna try and make pancakes. I guess it's a waste of time, now that you're up."

Zayn shook his head eagerly. "Absolutely not. I will eat pancakes no matter when they are presented to me."

Harry's grin was goofy, a spot of toothpaste dried in the corner of his mouth. "I hope you have flour. And chocolate chips."

Reaching up to Harry, Zayn pulled him in for a quick kiss after wiping the toothpaste off his skin. Obviously, he didn't want to be a bad host, so Zayn sat on a stool by the counter and blabbed on about an upcoming shoot he was doing with a friend while Harry mixed ingredients in a big metal bowl. Harry asked questions about fabrics while he spooned the batter onto an oiled frying pan. Per request, Zayn hopped up for a moment to put on a Fleetwood Mac record while Harry searched for a spatula to flip the pancakes.

Once he had five stacked on one plate and two neatly placed on another, Harry slid onto the stool next to Zayn so they could eat at the counter. He finished his five in less time than it took for Zayn to eat his two, but they were fluffy and the chocolate chips had melted perfectly. Harry was right; he was an excellent chef.

In return for Zayn inevitably doing his laundry, because Harry always left sweaty workout clothes on Zayn's floor instead of cramming them into his bag, Harry cleaned their dishes and put them away nicely. He knew how Zayn's small kitchen was organized, partly because he was the one organizing it for the past few weeks. 

By the time he was done, the time to leave was encroaching quickly if he wanted to prepare for his meeting. Harry pulled on a pair of Zayn's underwear and sweatpants, but Zayn managed to fish out one of the countless t-shirts Harry'd left. Once dressed, Harry grabbed his phone off the second charger Zayn had bought for him to use when he came over because Harry never seemed to remember one. He gathered up the rest of his things and Zayn walked him to the door.

"Text me when you get home," Zayn said.

Harry leaned down to kiss him. "Will do," he promised, after. "I'll see you. Tomorrow, if you're around?" Zayn nodded and Harry gave him one more quick kiss before opening the door.

"Wait!" Zayn shouted suddenly, Harry turning around confusedly. "I feel like I'm doing you a disservice."

"What?"

"Your friends know you stayed over and I'm sending you home without anything for them to tease you about."

Harry stared at Zayn blankly. "I'm wearing your sweats."

"I know, but..."

Harry sighed loudly and tilted his head to the side, a finger coming up to hook in the collar of his shirt and pull it. "Fine. Have at it."

Grinning happily, Zayn attached his lips to Harry. He stood in the doorway, actively trying not to get hard before he had to leave, while Zayn sucked hickeys onto his neck. A good few bruises littered his skin when Zayn finally pulled back, his own lips a bit pinker than they were before.

"You're immature."

"You look hot like this," Zayn corrected, giving Harry one more kiss. As he left, Harry slapped Zayn's ass.

They did end up connecting on Monday. It was only a study session in the library, but Harry managed to break up the four straight hours of work by jacking them both off quickly in the bathrooms. He'd cupped his other palm over Zayn's lips when he couldn't stop whimpering and Zayn wanted to explore his desire for Harry to move his hand lower at a later date. The thought of his long fingers bruising not his hips but his neck was a little too enticing for him to ignore.

The shoot in the moonlight Zayn had mentioned to Harry over pancakes was that night, however, so they didn't make it back to Zayn's apartment after the library. By the time Zayn's Versace shoot came out, they hadn't been in contact for the past couple of days, the longest since the meeting Louis set up between them.

Zayn woke up on Thursday to a few congratulatory texts from the Hadid sisters and one from Louis. A few others whom he'd worked with sent messages, but Zayn ignored them. He logged onto his social media to repost the official pictures from Versace, fingertips buzzing as he did so. His own eyes stared at him from the screen. He still couldn't really believe it.

His follower count had risen significantly since the previous day, most likely from Gigi and Bella sharing the posts. Versace was massive, sure, but being the face of their campaign didn't seem to generate as much attention as an international celebrity like either of the Hadids did. Still, Zayn was grateful. And unbelievably excited for this career moment.

The hard work he'd put in got him to parties where the right people knew the right people who knew Gigi. As soon as she saw his face she was interested, but their first few dates went well enough that she genuinely liked him. A year and a half of dating on-and-off came to an official end the summer after Zayn's junior year. As difficult as it was, she still stuck by his side. Time was their biggest issue, not their love. When she heard Versace was looking for fresh meat, pretty enough for the public to like but talented and disciplined enough to be able to handle the crazy schedule and intense pressure, Gigi immediately got Zayn in the room.

He would die thanking her for the opportunity, but she'd insisted she could only recommend him because of his perseverance and drive. Plus, she added, she only got him into the applicant pool. Zayn was the one who earned himself the job.

His mom reiterated the statement on their call as he walked to his first class of the day. She commended him on the photos, which truly did look stunning, but also on his decision to finish his degree. With Versace on his resume and Gigi Hadid in his corner, anybody he spoke to agreed he could drop out and support himself on modeling. But he had a few weeks to finals and then one more semester before he was done. It felt weak to drop out now, so he stuck with it. If anything were to happen, he'd feel better with the degree. Also, he had little sisters to set an example for, all of whom shouted through the phone in celebration.

Eventually, Zayn had to hang up as he was standing outside of his class which started in a minute. His mom gushed her delight and final goodbyes as students filed past him into the room, ignoring him completely as he grinned into his phone. When he hung up, he had a text from his dad expressing his pride in Zayn. He'd already left for work by the time Zayn's mom had called from the car as she drove Zayn's sisters to school. 

Floating through the rest of the day with an easy grin on his face, Zayn felt like he was high. None of his classmates knew; nobody in the hallways or on the paths across campus recognized him. But they didn't care. If they did, about fashion or about Zayn, they would. That was enough for him.

Gigi insisted on throwing a party for him that he could show up to late, but he managed to talk her into hosting it Friday night so he didn't go to his classes tomorrow hungover. So, when he'd attended to all of the required and pressing things in his schedule, Zayn headed home. He sighed in relief, a long and low exhale, as he dropped onto his couch. It was out. The shoot and the clothing line were both officially out and Zayn's phone wouldn't stop buzzing with notifications.

The whole thing was slightly overwhelming, trying to wrap his around the astronomical career move he just made while an unbelievable amount of attention poured from his social media and inboxes. It made him that much more grateful that Gigi had kept him private when they dated. He wouldn't want this level of publicity without feeling like he even slightly deserved it. And his agent wouldn't stop reaching out with job and interview offers.

Despite all this, Zayn was a college student. He had a paper due by midnight tomorrow and a party to attend that night, so he turned off his phone and opened his computer.

The next few hours passed quietly, the only sound in his apartment that of his fingers hitting his laptop's keyboard. Zayn toggled between tabs as he researched child development for one of his primary education classes. He had managed to finish drafting all paragraphs except for the conclusion when a knock sounded from his front door. Glancing at the time in the top right corner of his screen, Zayn realized it was past 8pm and he hadn't eaten dinner.

He was pretty sure he had Chinese leftovers in his fridge, he thought to himself as he rose from the couch and moved to answer the door.

Harry was on the other side of it with a bottle of champagne in each hand.

"Surprise!"

"Harry? What're you doing here?" Zayn asked, stepping back to let the runner into his house.

Harry slipped his backpack off his shoulder and onto the floor. He toed off his sneakers and gestured with the bottles he was holding. "I'm here to celebrate! I texted you, like, an hour ago, but you never responded. I figured I'd just swing by and see if you were around."

"Oh, sorry," Zayn replied, heading into his kitchen and hopping up on the counter. "I was working on a paper so I turned my phone off because it was blowing up."

"You were working on a paper?" Harry asked, pausing his trip to the kitchen and furrowing his eyebrows.

"Yeah."

"Really?"

Zayn answered his question with a question, laughing slightly. "Why are you confused by that?" 

"Because you're a Versace model? Duh?"

Harry grinned and finished walking up to Zayn, putting the champagne on the counter next to Zayn's thighs. The model dropped his head and shook it as he blushed. "C'mon. Let's pop these. I brought one to shake and completely waste and another to drink."

Zayn looked up into sparkling green eyes, crinkled in the corners, and kissed Harry. Strong arms wrapped around him as Harry stood between his knees. "Thanks for coming," Zayn whispered when they pulled apart.

"Of course," Harry said honestly, like he would never not come. Like there was nowhere else he'd be today. Like he was always planning to be there, despite only finding out today about the Versace photoshoot. And that was the point; that was what made him Harry and what made Zayn want him around.

Zayn's mom had been overly excited, but she was just as vibrant when he'd booked his first modeling gig and nearly every one after that. Louis and Gigi and Bella's words of congratulations were all touching and meaningful, but Zayn knew they would be.

Here was a guy who'd, really, been in Zayn's life for less than four weeks and knew next-to-nothing about the fashion industry. Harry was the president of a frat and the star of their cross country and track teams and he was kissing Zayn in his apartment with unbridled joy for his success. He was the hook-up who did Zayn's dishes and deepthroated him to The Beatles and spent thirty-seven minutes rewatching an Usher music video over and over the first time he did shrooms. And here he was, surprising Zayn with champagne the day his Versus Versace shoot dropped.

"I'm thinking we do the fun one in your tub. Or we can go outside, if you like," Harry mentioned conversationally, like Zayn hadn't been overwhelmed the whole day and was just now realizing how much Harry might accidentally mean to him.

"Yeah. Sure," Zayn breathed out. "Tub's fine."

"Sick," Harry replied with a grin.

He offered Zayn a hand and helped him hop down from the counter, grabbing the cheap bottle and leading them into the bathroom. Zayn drew back the shower curtain and Harry grabbed his phone from one back pocket and a wine key from the other. Once Zayn climbed into the tub, Harry passed him the latter item from his pocket and the champagne. He opened his camera app.

"You're not coming in?"

Harry shook his head. "Wanna film it. That's the whole point of doing it, after all," he said wisely. Zayn laughed at him but he started recording a video anyway.

Grinning, Harry watched through the screen as Zayn cut the foil away from the top of the bottle. With a thumb on the cork, he shook the bottle vigorously. Harry shouted encouragement from behind his phone. Zayn laughed again and shook harder, arms raising up and falling down as he flicked his wrists. Once he deemed the carbonation properly stirred, he quickly tucked the bottle under his shirt and twisted the cork out. A loud pop sounded and Zayn immediately pulled the bottle away from himself, pressing his thumb over the opening so the champagne sprayed with a higher pressure.

Harry whooped and hollered and Zayn shook the bottle again so some more champagne might fly out. He giggled as Harry ended the video, noticing his shirt and jeans were soaked in alcohol. Harry, still dry, stepped into the tub with him and sympathetically let Zayn turn it upside down on his head. Based on Zayn's surprised guffaw, more liquid sloshed over Harry than he thought was left in the bottle.

"Sorry," Zayn giggled out at Harry's unimpressed look. The top of his hair was matted and the champagne was dripping down the back of his neck and onto his shoulders. Zayn licked the wet tip of his nose but drew back at the taste. He held out the bottle to properly read the label.

"That bottle was, like, four dollars. I did not recommend drinking it, did I?" Harry pointed out.

"I'm surprised it had a cork," Zayn commented, carefully stepping out of the tub so as not to slip.

Harry followed after him, grabbing towels from the shelf. "Pretty sure it technically wasn't even champagne."

Stripping out of his wet shirt and pulling a towel around his shoulders, Zayn snorted. "Let's go get buzzed."

"Absolutely," Harry said with a grin.

When they made it back to the kitchen, Zayn took his time to read the bottle before rather than after opening it. The label was a white rectangle, framed with a clean gold line which matched the foil at the top. The logo was elegant script and stood for something French. The bottle itself was dark, nearly black.

His eyes flitted over the brand name and he blanched. "Harry," he began slowly, "this is, like, $180 champagne."

"Something like that." Harry's wince implied it was more.

Zayn held out the bottle for Harry to take back. "I can't accept this."

"You can." Harry pushed it back to Zayn. "It's a gift, one you absolutely deserve."

Biting back his refute of no, I don't, Zayn looked down at it again. He knew Harry wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. "If you're sure..."

"I am."

Taking a deep breath, Zayn fished out the wine key. He cut the gold foil away again, this time grabbing a dish cloth to wrap around the top. He twisted carefully, putting pressure on the cork so it wouldn't pop too soon. Once it felt ready, he pulled it out. The pop was a much more satisfying sound this time around. He delicately poured the champagne into the glasses Harry had gotten down from his cabinets.

Meticulously, Zayn took a small sip. He let the alcohol coat his tongue before swallowing. It felt smooth going down despite the bright bubbles. There was a deep fruity taste, not quite sweet, and an oaky, earthy flavor. It was clearly very good champagne, although Zayn couldn't really explain why. He wasn't a sommelier by any standards.

"I asked the guy for help and he mentioned this one had hints of tobacco. Made me think of you." Harry had a shit-eating grin behind his glass.

Zayn rolled his eyes and grabbed the bottle off the counter as he moved to the couch. "It's lovely. Thanks, Haz."

Harry pulled Zayn into his lap easily, Zayn yelping as he tried not to spill any champagne. Once they were settled, Zayn's back against Harry's front and tilted so he was slightly on Harry's thighs, Harry clinked their glasses together. They drank the champagne as Harry lured Zayn into enthusing over the Versus Versace campaign. He described Gigi introducing him to Donatella and how talented the creative director for the shoot was. 

Extensively complimenting the photos of Zayn, Harry poured them both second glasses. He explained how Louis sent him the link to the video ad, how he saw Bella first and thought it was cool and then Zayn was there, dressed in Versace, and Harry lost his shit. Zayn shared a similar sentiment, admitting how he barely kept it together while shooting. Bella, adoringly, brought him back to hers and Gigi's after the first day. The three of them had a dance party together, he told Harry, just the three of them in the Hadids' living room to celebrate and to help Zayn release his nervous energy.

When they finished their second glasses, Harry offered to pour more. Zayn waved him off. "I'm good. Gonna try and finish this paper tonight."

"Oh, right. If you wanna work on it, I can head out."

"You don't have to just yet. I haven't got classes tomorrow 'til the afternoon. Probably will be up late anyway."

"Lucky. I've got 7am practice. Should probably stop, too, so I don't get a headache."

"The bubbles do go to your head."

Harry agreed and set his empty glass on the table, tugging Zayn along once he leaned further back into the couch. Zayn giggled but went easily, melting into Harry's hold.

Sighing, Harry nuzzled Zayn's shoulder. "I don't mean this in, like, a rude or objectifying way, but I kind of can't believe I've fucked a Versace model."

Tilting his face, Zayn leaned back so he could look at Harry. "Technically, you haven't."

Harry hummed. "Maybe we should remedy that."

"Maybe we should." Zayn shifted in his lap.

"Are you drunk?" Harry stared at his mouth.

"No. Pleasantly buzzed. I'm not even tipsy."

The champagne may have been strong, but their tolerances were stronger. Bless being college students and avid drinkers.

Harry's eyes followed Zayn's tongue as it swiped through the seam of his mouth. "Same," he murmured.

There was a brief pause, before lips crashed into lips.

The angle was awkward and Zayn quickly turned to straddle Harry. He managed to do so without breaking this kiss and worked a hand into Harry's hair. He tugged. Harry groaned as he squeezed the tops of Zayn's thighs. 

Grinding down in Harry's lap, Zayn met hips rolling up. They both breathed sharply at the friction. Harry broke the kiss and looked into Zayn's eyes. "You like it when I manhandle you, right?" Zayn nodded hurriedly. "Yeah? Want it rough tonight?"

"Please," Zayn whined, ducking in for another kiss.

Harry entertained him for another moment or two before pulling away again. "Can you tell me what you want?"

"You to fuck me," Zayn answered, leaning in again.

Harry laughed and kissed him briefly. "Gathered that, babe. I meant how. We haven't spoken much about how you like to be fucked."

"Wanna see you." Zayn wriggled in Harry's lap again. If they were going to stop kissing to talk, he was going to make it difficult for Harry. "Want you to pin my hips down and fuck me hard."

"What else do you like, Zee?" Harry asked, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones. Zayn couldn't help but admit Harry was making a necessary conversation productive and, well, hot.

"I like it when you give me hickeys. And when you talk - when you tell me how good it is."

"Yeah? Do you like it when I call you 'baby?'"

Zayn nodded. "Wouldn't mind it if you called me a slut."

Eyebrows raised and smirking, Harry asked his last question. "Anything else I should know?"

"I want you to choke me."

With that, Harry was hoisting Zayn up and rising off the couch. He took a few broad steps to the foot of the bed and promptly threw Zayn onto it. Skin flushing warmly, Zayn's bare back hit the mattress and he bounced lightly up the bed.

Harry whipped his top over his head, a maroon crewneck sweatshirt, and slipped the white exercise shorts from his hips. His underwear quickly joined the pile before Harry was climbing onto the bed, hands already reaching for the waistband of Zayn's jeans.

Zayn lifted his hips so Harry could pull them down his legs along with his boxer-briefs, dumping the clothes to the side. He laid between Zayn's open legs, propping himself up slightly on his hands. Harry kissed Zayn tongue-first, loosening them both up with something familiar.

"Love it when you're spread out under me," Harry admitted as he reached for the nightstand.

Zayn inhaled sharply and Harry tossed the bottle of lube and a condom onto the bed by Zayn's hip. He kissed Zayn deeply before slipping down to his neck. Harry took his time leaving bruises below Zayn's jaw and on his collar bones and one right below his nipple. He kissed the bright red lips on his chest down to the black heart by his hip and the messy scrawl on the other side reading don't think I won't...

"You're a fucking tease, aren't you?"

"'Might as well...'" Zayn quoted, referencing to the tattoo Harry had in the same place. The coincidence would be almost comical, if the statements themselves weren't.

"Fair fuckin' point."

Harry nosed the inside of Zayn's thigh softly before carefully wrapping his lips around the head of Zayn's cock. Zayn inhaled deeply, eyes falling shut as he chose to lose himself in the feeling of Harry's warm mouth. By the time Harry was bobbing his head up and down slowly, sucking firmly and taking about half of Zayn's length, he lifted under Zayn's knees to rest Zayn's legs over his shoulders.

Comfortably in between Zayn's thighs, Harry opened the bottle of lube. He popped off Zayn's cock to make sure he didn't make a mess while he slicked up his fingers, Zayn's legs sliding off his shoulders. "Turn over, baby."

"Wanna see you," Zayn mumbled, face heating up even as he admitted it.

Harry patted the side of his thigh. "I know, you will. It'll just be easier to open you up."

Flushed, Zayn did as Harry requested, turning over onto his stomach. He turned his face to the side and held the pillow underneath him. Suddenly, Harry's arm was underneath his waist and tugging him up, so Zayn's knees were on the bed and his ass was in the air. Harry's middle finger circled Zayn's hole, pressing lightly against his skin as Zayn moaned.

Slowly, Harry pushed one finger into Zayn, cursing as he did so. "You're all warm and pink for me. And so fuckin' tight." As he began to pump his finger, Zayn tried to turn his head and catch a glimpse of what Harry was doing. However, as Zayn attempted to lift himself up slightly, Harry placed his wide palm between Zayn's shoulder blades and held him down. "Don't be a slut. You'll see when I want you to," Harry said, voice easy and confident like he was barely paying Zayn any attention.

Zayn's skin felt warm as Harry's voice surged pleasure through his body.

It didn't take long for Harry to have Zayn moaning against his pillow and rocking onto Harry's fingers. He was loosened and open, ready to be fucked. All Harry had to do was grab Zayn by the hips and flip him over to have Zayn writhing. Ever the gentleman, Harry took the time to slide a pillow under Zayn's lower back before he rolled the condom over himself.

"You sure about this?" Harry asked, one hand on Zayn's hip and the other holding himself.

"Yeah. Fuck me."

Slowly but surely, Harry guided himself into Zayn, first the blunt head of his cock stretching Zayn's rim until he slipped in and then the rest of his shaft pressing deep into Zayn. Finding no obvious discomfort on Zayn's face, Harry gently pulled out part of the way and then rocked back in, his movement shallow and drawn out. It only took a few more thrusts for Zayn to link his fingers behind Harry's head and tug him down for a kiss.

"Hi," Harry said when they pulled apart, forehead resting on Zayn's. His dumb, big, dopey grin was out as he pushed repeatedly into Zayn, eyes sparkling and cheeks pink as he kissed Zayn again.

"Hi," Zayn giggled out, Harry's face right above his.

"I know we said rough, but you're so fucking precious."

The tips of Zayn's ears heated up.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous," Harry groaned out as he pressed deeper than he had before, hips moving with a bit more pressure. "That- That picture--of you dressed in Versace and your perfect fucking hair all messy and the lights red--I saw it and wanted to fucking wreck you. All pouty and breathtaking. Just wanted to fuck you so good."

"Please," Zayn whined, thighs wrapped around Harry's waist.

Harry's long movements quickened slightly, rhythm steady and firm as he continued to glide in and out of Zayn. "Part of- Part of me just wanted to- to hold you. Just wanted to sit you in my lap and wrap you in my sweatshirt and kiss you. Looked so soft and warm." Zayn's head swam with the sweet, domestic comments as Harry fucked into him. "But I knew I'd--fuck--give you whatever you wanted. And you wanted my cock, isn't the right, baby?"

Groaning, Zayn's head tilted back into the pillow as he arched his back, trying to press Harry closer to the right spot inside of him. Harry took the bared neck as an opportunity, biting into Zayn's skin and leaving a dark bruise before he leaned back.

"Damn, baby, you're so fucking tight."

Right as Harry said so, his cock nudged the inside of Zayn just right and a spark ran up and down his spine. "Fuck, fuck, fuck. Right there. Do that again, Haz, please."

"Yeah? Does it feel good? Tell me, Zee, tell me how good you feel."

Zayn whined again, hips rolling up to meet Harry's. "So big," he groaned out, without thinking. Sure enough, Harry was smirking when Zayn looked down at him. Having half the mind to take it back just because of the obvious ego boost that went straight to Harry's head, Zayn had to consciously stop himself from rolling his eyes. He hadn't lied, after all, and it wasn't as if Harry didn't deserve the compliment. "Feel so fuckin' good, Haz, fucking me just right. Taking care of me with your big cock." Zayn wasn't lying, but the dirty talk didn't feel as natural falling from his lips as it sounded from Harry.

"You look stunning all pink," Harry praised, one thumb coming up to press into the bruise on Zayn's neck. "And purple."

Exhaling sharply as Harry pushed in, Zayn's hand tugged upward on Harry's wrist. Harry followed Zayn's pull and placed his hand on Zayn's neck.

"Tap me twice if it's too much, okay?"

Zayn nodded, baring his neck more and trying to get Harry to tighten his grip.

"Zayn. Verbal answer. I want you to practice it."

"Yeah, I will," Zayn promised. With the hand that had been on Harry's wrist, Zayn took two fingers and carefully hit the skin on Harry's forearm.

It was strange to pause and practice while Harry was still inside of him, but it made Zayn feel that much more comfortable with trusting Harry. Although his expression remained relaxed, Zayn could see Harry's eyes watching carefully for any resistance as his hand settled on Zayn's neck. However, none came as his middle and ring finger squeezed on one side and his thumb did so on the other. He held his grip for a few seconds, long enough for Zayn's brain to just begin to become fuzzy.

Harry loosened his grip for a few moments, allowing Zayn to come back almost to full clarity before he squeezed again. As Zayn whined beneath him, Harry began to push harder into him, thrusts getting sharper and quicker. Applying the short instructions from Zayn earlier, Harry was pressing against Zayn's prostate nearly every time.

"Perfect tight ass. You look so sexy all fucked out, just begging for it like a slut, baby, just wanting me

It didn't take long for the stimulation to build up, especially as Zayn's mind felt hazy and the only thing he could think of was the pleasure. Zayn wrapped a hand around his cock and tugged, as in time with Harry as he could be, and came quickly. Harry fucked him through his orgasm, but his hand retreated from Zayn's neck and his hips slowed as Zayn tried to catch his breath.

"Want me to pull out?" Harry hummed.

"No," Zayn said, panting slightly. "You can keep going. Want you to finish in me."

"Okay. I'm pretty close, anyway," Harry promised, fingers wrapping around Zayn's hipbone. 

Angling himself slightly different so he wasn't repeatedly ramming the sensitive bundle of nerves, Harry picked up his pace again. He seemed to let himself go, more than he had before, as his head tipped back and his eyes fell shut. His thrusts were hard and fast but they lost their rhythm quickly. Zayn felt him unravel so he tightened around Harry as his cock throbbed inside of Zayn.

Once he finished working himself down from the high, Harry gingerly pulled out of Zayn, both wincing at the cold air. He stripped himself of the condom and tied it off, placing it on the pile of dirty tissues Zayn had left on the floor from cleaning himself up.

Harry collapsed partially on top of and partially next to Zayn, his usual post-coital cuddle position, and nuzzled his face into Zayn's neck. He was definitely a cuddler, slow to pull himself away after sex. Zayn couldn't help but think how ineffective and annoying that would be for one-night-stands, wondering slightly if Harry was this affectionate with everyone he hooked up with or just Zayn.

"Congratulations, Versace model," Harry said, voice muffled against Zayn's skin.

Zayn smiled to himself and ran his fingertips up and down Harry's back. "Thanks, babe. I appreciate you coming. And, well, cumming."

A loud snort sounded and Harry pulled himself away from Zayn to look him in his eyes. "That was awful. Like, me-level horrific."

"Shut up," Zayn replied with a grin, tugging Harry back in.

Harry hummed as he pressed his face against Zayn again, relaxing into the warmth surrounding him. It wasn't particularly comfortable for either one of them. Harry was a heavy, dead weight squishing Zayn, who was somewhat bony and not the most comfortable pillow. They were both awkwardly sweaty and the room smelled like cum and their skin was sticky from the bodily fluids and the champagne that soaked through their clothes. Harry's hair absolutely smelled like alcohol as Zayn nosed his curls, but neither one of them wanted to move.

Unfortunately, they had to.

"I have to leave, don't I?" Harry grumbled out after a bit of cuddling.

"Yeah, I think so. I've got to finish that paper and you've got practice tomorrow morning."

Eyes bleary and face pink, Harry raised his head to squint at Zayn. His lips were full and shiny as he twisted them into a pout. "I fucking hate Friday morning practices. They should be illegal."

"Then become Team Captain and ban them," Zayn offered, brushing some hair out of Harry's eyes and off his forehead.

Harry kissed him--lazy and tasting slightly bitter like Zayn's cock--oh so lovely.

He exhaled heavily and groaned as he hoisted himself up and off of Zayn, planting his feet onto the floor and standing up from the bed. "I don't want to go," he whined childishly, even as he pulled on his underwear and maroon crewneck.

"I know," Zayn consoled, rolling on his side to watch Harry get dressed. "I wish you could stay the night.

"Ugh, don't tempt me," Harry said, grumpy until Zayn beckoned him over for a kiss.

Zayn's lips always seemed to make things better.

But Harry still had to leave, so he continued getting dressed and gathered up his things. Once he'd slipped his Vans on, he trotted back over to Zayn for a soft kiss and a sweet goodbye. With one more whisper of congratulations, Harry was smiling and walking out of Zayn's apartment.

Zayn flopped onto his back the moment the door closed, digging the heels of his palms into his eye sockets as he tried to make sense of the weird tension in his throat and chest. He gave himself a few moments to breathe before dropping his hands and swinging himself up into a sitting position.

There was a paper to write, whether or not Zayn had just had sex with Harry.

Chapter Text

The wall of sweaty men in tank tops seemed to pulsate, like a shroom trip gone bad. As he pushed his way through bodies, Zayn couldn't help but cringe at the obnoxious amount of warm, thick skin on display. Everyone was incredibly intoxicated, but in that loud pushy way Zayn hated. They stumbled into him and shouted in his ear and shoved cups into his hand, instead of zoning out quietly in the corner or chatting with friends while tripping. Nobody had any boundaries at a frat party, seriously.

The music was positively shit, some repetitive beat looping over and over as half of the jam-packed house screamed the wrong words. Promiscuous outfits were overtly skimpy with no taste or subtlety to them; most men were shirtless if not barely covered by sweated-through white cotton, while women wore clothes shorter than their dimensions. Cleavage spilled out and backs of thighs rubbed against vinyl chairs just to leave a wet patch.  Zayn missed the tight leather and sultry eye makeup and dark lips. He missed the flashy jewelry and the carefully slicked hair.

This wasn't his scene, not even close, but he didn't come for himself. 

Sure enough, with a cigarette between his lips and a crowd of people around him, Louis Tomlinson reigned like a king in the middle of the room. He was dancing, vaguely, while Eleanor draped off his arm looking pretty. Truly, she did look stunning with her pin-straight hair and shiny lip gloss, tiny shorts on her thin legs and massive hoops dangling from her ears. Louis, in comparison, was sweating through a gray, loose tank-top. Zayn wasn't sure his best friend deserved her, but she looked at home with a red Solo cup in one hand while the other clung to Louis's arm over her shoulder.

A well-landed ass squeeze had him turning his head to face Zayn, cigarette bobbing as he did so. "What's up, babe?" Zayn nearly shouted into his ear as his hand moved up to Louis's lower back.

"Hey, hot stuff!" Louis yelled back, easily heard over the music without having to lean in due to his usual loud voice. "Holy shit, you're at our party! You actually came!"

"Haven't been to one of these since I was a freshman."

It was true; Zayn had only been to one party at Louis's frat and it was the first one they threw after Louis was initiated. He'd bribed Zayn with the promise of free shitty booze and Zayn went under the condition that he could leave whenever he wanted. Seventy-two minutes after Zayn arrived, someone threw up on his shirt. He lost his dorm key that night and had to pay for a replacement. He also woke up the most hungover he'd ever been, despite the fact that he drank more on weeknights for fun in his apartment than at that party. 

"Malik! Can't believe you're here," Eleanor called out, detaching from Louis only for a moment to give Zayn a hug. "What finally convinced you?"

"Are you fucking kidding? He's here for a dick appointment, obviously," Louis replied, Liam hollering loudly when he heard.

While Louis definitely wasn't wrong, Zayn could get Harry to fuck him with literally one text. He'd done it before, as had Harry. The real reason he was here, tonight, was to be at least a little bit nice to the president. His fraternity was hosting "an absolute rager," according to Louis, in celebration of the cross country team winning their championships.

Well, the soccer team also won--Louis's team hoisted their Captain up on their shoulders the moment he scored the winning goal--and the football team placed third in their division, but Zayn really only cared about cross country. Harry had shown up to his apartment with obnoxiously expensive champagne to celebrate the Versace campaign. The least Zayn could do was go to a party intended to celebrate him.

"What else are frat parties for, Tommo?" Zayn asked, rolling his eyes. "You know where Harry is?"

"Think he's in the kitchen," Liam answered.

"Straight to the point, huh? You won't even hang out with me. I've been replaced." Louis pouted, wild eyes sparkling as Eleanor laughed beside him.

Zayn patted Louis's cheek as he stepped around him, heading for the kitchen. "You couldn't fuck me that well if you tried, babes. He didn't replace you; your three-inch dick was never in the game."

"That was cold-hearted!" Louis yelled after Zayn.

"It's, like, at least four," Zayn heard Eleanor offer up.

Zayn grinned to himself as Liam howled with laughter.

However, Zayn's attempts to push through the crowd were proven futile when he made it to the kitchen only to find it not quite the respite he expected. The counter was a fucking mess, cups tipped over and spilling out horrifically bright colors of sticky substances. The bottles were awkwardly shoved into one another and the closest bottle to Zayn was open, wet, and had a label telling him it was shitty tequila. When he took a shot of it, just to get something in his system, he regretted it instantly.

A feminine squeal to his side drew in Zayn's attention. "Oh my god!" A blonde, wearing a bright red bikini top as a shirt and a short, crisp white tennis skirt, exaggerated a bright smile. "Niall, stop!" She giggled loudly as the football player with bleached ends shotgunned another can of beer in front of her. Zayn wasn't surprised; in the little he'd interacted with Niall, the frat brother seemed to constantly be drinking. Louis mentioned some nonsense about Irish blood when Zayn raised a concern, so he dropped it for good.

As he finished, the woman glanced to the side, gaze briefly landing on Zayn before she did a double-take. When she saw him looking back at her, she smiled and took a few steps toward him.

"Hi!" she said, her high-pitched voice ringing annoyingly. "You look lost," she added, a look of pity in her eyes as she kept her plastered smile, "do you need help finding something? I know this place, like, really well. I basically live here."

The perfume on her skin was nauseatingly sweet, like she'd bathed in frosting before showing up to the party. Her legs were long and thin, perfectly smooth with just a hint of a tan. Zayn could guess, from his years of experience watching models completely transform their look for a job, that her hair was likely a dirtier, darker color naturally. Her highlights shone a little too bright to be fake, the blonde slightly ashy in a way that made him think she'd gotten it done before coming to campus and hadn't touched it up since. "I'm fine."

"You sure? I totally get it if you're not into the whole 'frat party’ thing," she laughed out forcefully. "It can be kinda intense. I mean, not for me, it's always just felt really natural. But stick around and you'll get used to it! I'm Taylor, by the way. I'm kinda, like, the unofficial brother around here," she joked with a grin.

Zayn was pretty sure the term she was looking for was Elected Sweetheart, but she wasn't that either. As much as Zayn tried to ignore the happenings of Louis's frat, it was kind of impossible as Louis was his best friend. He'd explained the hierarchies and the fact that they elected a Sweetheart every year to be the female face of the house. It wasn't hard to recall that their Sweetheart this year was Kendall, as Louis complained extensively about having to go to dinners with her and his brothers when he just wanted to smoke weed with Zayn.

But he seemed to like Kendall, seeing as she was elected by the entire frat. Zayn had met her once or twice before; she was in a sorority and liked to model for the ego boost, despite not being very good at it. She was fun and entertaining, though, and Gigi kept her around sometimes. They ran in similar circles mostly due to family money rather than shared modeling experience and skill. Zayn had nothing against Kendall, except a desire to not work with her.

"You know Kendall, then?" Zayn asked Taylor, just for his own satisfaction.

Sure enough, her face dropped and she faltered. But the mask went back up as quick as it fell. "Yeah, I love Kenny! We're, like, super close. She comes by a ton but since I'm, like, literally always here, we see each other a lot." Attempting to smile politely in response, Zayn was pretty sure he just ended up grimacing. "Yeah, but we have fun- Niall!" Taylor cut herself off, glancing back over to Niall chugging more alcohol surrounded by more girls.

He looked up briefly at the call of his name, disgruntled. The neck of his wife-beater was stretched and the skin on his chest was pink.

"Drink some water, yeah? Drink some water!" She laughed even as he turned away from her and slid her eyes back to Zayn. "Ugh, you know Niall. Or, do you? He's, like, always drinking. I so don't want to have to deal with him when he's hungover tomorrow!"

As Taylor giggled, Zayn bit back his simple reply of then don't . "I’m familiar with Niall’s drinking habits," he said instead.

"Oh, you are? How did you two meet?" Her question seemed innocent and curious, but Zayn could tell she was judging him, hard. Her kind were toxic and fake and he'd usually shirk her right off, but he decided to have fun with it.

"He's a friend of a friend," Zayn said, looking away from Taylor as he said so with a bored ease, like he couldn't be bothered with her. "He's also a friend of a fuckbuddy."

"Who's your hook-up?" Taylor asked, fake grin growing as she purposefully dripped condescension into her tone. "Is it Cara? She's totally your type. Or someone from an art class, maybe?"

To be fair, Zayn was wearing a worn band t-shirt and tight skinny jeans with his dyed green hair up in a topknot. Though, from her level of apparent expertise with the frat brothers, Zayn was surprised she didn't recognize the shirt as Harry's. "Harry Styles." Zayn replied, cocking his head to the side as he stared her dead in the eyes. He didn't even bother to pretend she didn't know him.

Taylor blushed pink. "Oh, you're hooking up with Harry," she said like she was feigning interest, despite her eyes widening greatly in the dim lighting. "Haha, wow, that's crazy. 'Cause, like, I've never seen you here before. Like, ever."

"Probably because I don't ever come here. You said it yourself; this isn't my scene."

“Yeah, true. It’s just that I’ve also, like, never heard him mention you. Although that may be due to Harry’s ‘dates’ never sticking around for long,” Taylor said, laughing as if she were playfully ribbing Harry. “He goes through so many names in a week that I don’t remember if he’s ever mentioned yours. What did you say your name was again?”

“I didn’t,” Zayn replied, tone cooler than before. “I’m Zayn.”

Taylor’s eyes widened again. “Oh my God! You’re Zayn Zayn, like, Louis’s best friend! I didn’t even realize.”

”Yeah.” That much was evident.

"I didn't even realize you were seeing Harry. Does Louis know?"

"Yeah."

"Well, you know, that's great. About you and Harry, I mean. We, like, tried to get together once--he was all over me--but it was so awkward, you know? He's like my brother! So, yeah, I'm so happy for you and him, but, like, don't expect it to last. It never does with him."

As if she was sharing some funny secret, she leaned in and bumped Zayn's shoulder. Her grin fell slightly when Zayn didn't laugh.

"Oh! Speak of the devil," she said, looking over Zayn's shoulder. "Hi, Harry!"

Before Zayn could even turn his head, a hand found its way to Zayn's waist. Zayn kissed Harry, a bit more intense than he'd meant to, the moment they were side-by-side. Sure, it started as a way to spite Taylor, but as their lips moved together Zayn found himself sighing into it. The tension of being somewhere he wasn't supposed to be, of sticking out like a sore thumb, seeped out of Zayn's bones because Harry was there. Harry had him.

When they pulled apart, Taylor was still standing there, much to Zayn's annoyance. "It's nice to see you, too, Zee," Harry said, cocky smirk offset by the childish excitement in his eyes. "I had no fucking idea you were coming."

"That was kind of the point," Zayn replied, looking up at Harry as he leaned into his side. "I wanted to surprise you. I know I never come to these things, but I thought I could make an exception for Mr. I-Won-The-Whole-Damn-Thing-And-Beat-My-PR-Despite-Bitching-About-It-Two-Weeks-Ago."

Harry's nose crinkled as both dimples popped out. "You didn't have to. Just getting to see you at the meet was enough." He rubbed his thumbs over Zayn's hips and furrowed his eyebrows earnestly.

Admittedly, Zayn had already congratulated Harry. The president managed to fend off his own brothers long enough to get his arms around Zayn the moment results were announced at the meet. They were both immediately jumped on with celebratory shouts. Harry had checked that Zayn was okay after the mobbing from his friends and teammates, but Zayn had smiled and promised he was fine. 

Although Harry hadn't wanted to let go of Zayn, his brothers were practically shoving him back to the house so they could get drunk. Zayn had told him to go and have fun, promising to call Harry tomorrow. The impromptu party took all of an hour to set up and Zayn, in typical Zayn fashion, arrived over an hour later when it was in full-swing. He had honestly intended to let Harry have the night with his friends, to party stupidly and get drunk without consequences.

But when Zayn opened his fridge in his quiet apartment, nearly two hours after he'd gotten home from the meet, a niggling feeling in his chest appeared when he saw the almost-finished bottle of expensive champagne on the shelf. He'd drank most of what was left after he'd finished his paper, the night Harry fucked him for the first time and then had to leave. There was likely only enough for one, awfully flat, glass of champagne left in the bottle.

Zayn hadn't managed to dump it down the sink and toss the bottle into the recycling, though. Harry came over often, but never said anything about the now-wasted alcohol when he pulled out lettuce for a salad or put away his leftovers from the Italian place Zayn took them to.

When Zayn saw it, pausing to stare at the gold-lined label Harry must've seen a dozen times over the past week-and-a-half it had sat in his fridge, his stomach flipped and his jaw clenched. He swung the fridge door shut and promptly forgot his plans to eat dinner as he started getting ready to go out. Less than twenty minutes later, he was on the porch of Louis and Harry's frat house without any good reason to be there compared to the eighty he had to not be there.

But then he was kissing Harry and watching him smile and maybe he had at least two good reasons.

"I know. But I wanted to. You worked so fucking hard the past few weeks and I know you really wanted it."

"I'm happy you're here." The dumb, goofy grin was back and Harry's words burned down Zayn's spine. "And--um--hi, Taylor," Harry added as an afterthought, blushing slightly as he finally looked at her after ignoring her greeting. "You liking the party?"

"Yeah! I actually wanted to say congratulations on-"

"That's really sweet of you," Harry replied, already stepping back and tugging on Zayn's belt loop. "Thanks for coming! I'm sure I'll see you around."

Eagerly following Harry with one hand clasped in his, Zayn tried very hard to not find joy in Taylor letting out a dejected "Bye, then." 

Tugged up the stairs past make-out sessions and open groping, Zayn felt grateful he hadn't drank much yet.

Though having to let himself into the place and waiting in the living room for Louis before they went out, Zayn knew his way around the house enough. He’d smoked on the back steps with Louis too many times to count and definitely knew the most direct paths to any of the bathrooms. The main rooms and hallways were familiar so Zayn ignored most of his surroundings until Harry came to a stop. They were in front of a door Zayn hadn't paid much attention to when passing it on his way to Louis's room. 

Harry had wormed a key out of his pocket and was unlocking the door. Despite the lock adding time before he could jump Zayn's bones, it also meant when he finally swung the door open, no one else was on his bed. He stepped in first, holding the door open after him for Zayn to meander in. He flicked the lock shut again once they were both inside, for some privacy from the crowd of people just down the stairs. For the first time since he arrived, Zayn took the time to really look around, to observe Harry and his room.

They'd only ever been together in Zayn's apartment. Harry knew the combination to get into the building and had a spare key because Zayn ran late to everything and felt bad making Harry wait in the freezing cold hallway. Harry knew which vinyls Zayn had and how to work his shower and what food was in his fridge. But this was the first time Zayn had ever stepped foot inside of a space Harry called his own.

The hamper in the corner was mostly empty with a radius of dirty clothes strewn around it. The bed had an actual frame, unlike Zayn's, but was a twin size mattress instead of a queen. There were squat storage boxes shoved under it. A desk, pushed into one corner, sat beside the only window in the room. Textbooks balanced precariously on the desk, awkwardly placed so a computer and bathroom caddie could also fit. But the bookshelf by the door held most of Zayn's interest.

There were a few textbooks from previous years on it, but most of the shelves were filled with actual books, titles Harry had mentioned before or had nodded along when Zayn referenced them. Toward the middle, there was a stack of records on their side. Zayn thumbed down their sides, tilting his head so he could read the artists' names. Most of them were old, like he'd gotten them from his parents' collection or a used music store. They were the kind of albums that were originally recorded to be pressed into vinyl, released when record players were the way to listen to music.

They seemed to deviate from most of the room, furniture crammed in and the fraternity's flag above the bed. A few guitar cases were propped up against the bookshelf and Zayn decided he wanted to know what Harry's apartment or house would look like. He wanted to see how a place would look if the vinyls and guitars and cozy sweatshirts and the singular concert poster on the wall got to shine. Here was this expressive bundle of contradictions inside of a human being and he barely had any space to reflect his complex self.

The room was rather small. Smaller than Louis's, in fact, but Zayn wouldn't put it past Harry to give up a larger room for the good of his brothers, even if he deserved it as president. It, mostly, looked like an average dorm room. Harry deserved more than an average dorm room, Zayn thought, but it wasn't like he had the space or a fraction of the time needed to decorate.

When Zayn finally turned back to Harry, he was dropping one last armful of laundry into the hamper. "Sorry. I didn't expect you to come over," he admitted. Zayn tried not to put any weight on Harry's insinuation that no one else at the party would ever be invited up.

"It's fine. You've literally done my dishes," Zayn teased, voice soft now that he didn't need to scream over music. It was still thumping loudly downstairs, but the fast melody was muted. Zayn crossed the room slowly, moving toward Harry as he spoke.

Harry snorted, "I've cleaned your bathroom." His arms wrapped around Zayn so his palms rested on his ass.

"You have?!"

"Yeah. Remember when I blew you after that Calc test you had? You napped for a while after and I got bored. Did you not notice?"

"The sink did sparkle after. I thought I just, like, did it when I blacked out the night before."

"Do you often clean when you're drunk?" Harry asked, chuckling as he nosed Zayn's cheek.

Zayn hummed and raised his hands to cup Harry's jaw. "It was shrooms. I sometimes do, just because everything looks so much dirtier." Harry moved closer and closed his eyes. "I can't believe we're talking about cleaning, right now, when your tongue should be down my throat."

Harry's eyes opened briefly, catching Zayn's. He laughed brightly and kissed Zayn the moment he was done.

Zayn pressed into him, trying to get rid of any distance between them. He opened his mouth quickly, letting Harry lick his bottom lip softly. They both tasted like booze, but mint lingered vaguely on Harry's breath. He also smelled too much like his soap and cologne for someone who won a cross country race two hours ago.

"Did you shower?" Zayn asked as Harry walked him to the bed.

"Yeah, why?" Harry took the opportunity of their separated mouths to tug upward on his own t-shirt Zayn was wearing.

Zayn raised his arms as Harry stripped him. "You smell good," he answered, burying one hand in Harry's curls. He used his other to firmly grip Harry's bare bicep. "Fuck, I hate them so fucking much, but you should totally wear these more often," Zayn admitted, referencing the unofficial uniform most of the frat bros were wearing: white tank-tops. Granted, Liam's had been black. 

"Yeah?" Harry said, tone cocky as he pushed Zayn back over the bed.

Zayn forced down his inherent repulsion of anything and everything dude-bro. As much as he despised jock culture, Harry pulled it off painfully well. "You look really fucking hot in them." His arms were tan and muscled, the wings of his sparrows peeked out over the cotton.

Harry slipped the shirt over his head. Zayn would never get over the way his hard edges blended out into pleasant roundedness. His firm abs ended in a bit of pudge at the bottom of his tummy. The extra love handles on his hips dropped into a sharp, tight v-line. Said v-line quickly led into a dark patch of hair as Harry shucked off his sweat-shorts and boxers. 

In a fairly not-sexy way, Zayn wriggled out of his jeans as well, kicking off his bottoms before Harry practically laid on top of him. It was Zayn's first time being naked, or even slightly undressed, in a fraternity house. As strange as the concept seemed to him, he felt surprisingly comfortable. The door was locked and Harry, the reason he was there, wanted him there.

Kissing quickly devolved into Harry's fingers thread between green and black hair while Zayn sucked him off. Once Harry got close, it didn't take long for him to tug Zayn up and finger him open, dirty talking him almost off a ledge. Harry's mouth and vocabulary were both exceptionally talented.

With the final race of the season having only been a few hours ago, Harry's muscles were quite exhausted. Generously, as this was a celebratory fuck for Harry, Zayn threw a leg over Harry's lap so he was straddling his lap on the bed. It only took him a moment or two to get adjusted as he sat down on Harry's cock.

Harry's chest pressed close to Zayn, tongue lapping at his neck as he nipped over any skin he could reach. Zayn wrapped his fingers into Harry's curls and tugged hard, getting a moan from Harry. With hips circling in Harry's lap, Zayn scratched a hand down Harry's pec, intentionally scraping over his nipple. Harry gripped Zayn's ass, kneading and groaning softly as Zayn bounced.

"Shit. You feel so good, baby. You like fuckin' yourself on my cock?"

Zayn tipped his head back, slipped his eyes shut, and whined slightly. "Yeah, fuck. Want you to cum in me."

"You sure? I'm not wearing a condom; you'll get all messy."

Nodding quickly to the ceiling, Zayn furrowed his brows. He wanted Harry to push the condescension in his tone, wanted Harry to realize he wanted to feel all sticky the rest of the night so he wouldn't be able to forget what they did. "I want it, I want it," he repeated.

There was a momentary pause, both panting heavily as Zayn tried to keep up his rhythm. "Oh, fuck. Yeah. You want it all messy, wanna feel like such a slut."

The nerve in Zayn wasn't quite hit. The fire wasn't quite hot enough. There was something, just barely, lacking in Harry's words. It was the first time Zayn didn't believe his dirty-talking, aside from the shit he knew was ironic and cliché. Zayn tilted his chin back down, opening his eyes to watch Harry. He didn't stop moving, they didn't stop fucking, but Zayn made Harry hold his gaze for a few beats.

"I want it," he started, "because it's yours tonight, Haz. It's fuckin' yours."

That seemed to do it for Harry, his dirty-talk phasing out as he flipped them over to fuck into Zayn. The celebratory aspect of their sex was definitely being played up, but Zayn couldn't help but wonder how they would fuck if he was Harry's every time. All the time.

Shamefully, that was the thought in Zayn's mind as Harry came in him. Ever the gentlemen, Harry finished Zayn off with a few tugs. He couldn't collapse on the bed like he usually did, his twin mattress too small for them both to be laying on their backs, so Harry sat back on his knees instead. Zayn tried not to blush as Harry stared at the cum dripping out of his ass.

"Fuck, that's hot," Harry stated plainly.

Zayn rolled his eyes and fought back a grin, reaching over for a few tissues. "We gonna talk about it?" he finally asked once they'd both cleaned up a bit. Harry was pulling his shorts back on and he stilled momentarily, back facing Zayn.

"About what?"

"Harry," Zayn said, slightly amused but mostly expectant. "You didn't seem as... into parts of it tonight."

Turning back to face Zayn, Harry still avoided glancing at him. Instead, Harry bent down to pick his shirt off the floor. "It's not- It's not anything you did. Like, the part I'm definitely always into is you. No question," he explained, twisting the fabric in his hands as he looked down at it.

"Babe." With the gentle word, Harry raised his eyes. "You're gonna have to tell me if we're gonna continue to have sex we both enjoy."

Harry winced. "Yeah, I know."

With a sigh, he slipped his tank back on and sat down on the bed, by Zayn's legs. He placed a palm on Zayn's thigh. Arms raising above his head, Zayn's stomach tightened into a firm line as he stretched out. Harry carefully watched the motion.

"So, it's- This wasn't the case always," Harry restarted. "I didn't, like, agree to do something I didn't want to or anything. It's just- It's the whole.. 'slut' thing." Zayn's eyebrows raised. "Like, I get it. I've had people ask me before and shit; they think it's hot and I really don't mind for hook-ups. And that's what we were. Or, maybe, still are. I dunno. It just feels.. Like, we fuck casually, but you're also a really good friend of mine, you know?"

Zayn nodded to show he was paying attention. Slightly raising his leg, he pushed up into Harry's hand.

"I guess- It's just that as it came out it felt.. wrong. Like, it didn't feel like I was talking to you. I'd never say that to you in another situation. Although, it's sex so that's the case with most things. The connotation of that word, though.. that's not something I would, or could, ever believe about you. It's not that I don't care at all about other people I've fucked, but there's more.. anonymity? It's more removed? Yeah. It's more removed, emotionally. And I just feel, like, we can be casual or whatever but we're not necessarily emotionally removed from one another."

"I get that," Zayn promised quickly, comforting Harry. "It's- For me, it's kind of a two-in-one thing, you know? A lot of the people I've been with stick with either my name or 'baby' and it just gets kind of repetitive for me. Not that those can't be used, but you're really good at diversifying your dirty talk so it's not as much an issue with you. The other part of it is just that it gives that edge of control to my partner, which I like to give up.

"Like, humiliation and degradation are fine, or whatever, but for me it's about the fact that someone else has the ability to say whatever they want about me, you know? That's the shit that turns me on. Feeling like someone else is in control and, no matter how much they threaten, I know they've got me. I know I'm safe and shit. So, like, it gives a bit more flavor to dirty-talking but it also just makes me feel a bit more subby, which gets me off."

Harry nodded. "That makes sense. I didn't, like, genuinely believe you were a slut or anything when I used it before. It was just easier to kind of ignore the deeper meaning to it because I didn't know you super well and you enjoyed it. But, now, I dunno. It almost feels like the person I'm referring to when I use it is someone else. But I like having sex with you, and not just because you're a great lay, but also because of who you are. Our outside friendship doesn't, like, disappear for me when we fuck."

Zayn blushed. "You're such a fucking sap. You literally won't call me a slut because you think too highly of me."

Luckily, he added enough sarcasm that Harry took it, correctly, as a joke. "Of course I do, Versace model."

"It's fine. You don't have to use it," Zayn laughed. "Like I said, it's not as if that specific syllable is the hottest thing in the world to me. There's plenty of other shit you can call me. Just try shit out that you think would feel right and we'll go from there, okay?" He sat up off of the pillows and leaned forward, pressing a few kisses to Harry's lips.

"I can't believe how chill you are about this."

Laughing again, Zayn shrugged. "If it turns you off, how is it gonna turn me on? I want you to actually like fucking me, Harry."

"I guess. If I have to," Harry pretended, grinning wildly.

Flipping Harry off, Zayn stood and began to search for his clothes. It didn't take long, what with the small room giving him little to look at, before his mind began to wander. "So, what's up with Taylor? How do you know her?"

Harry shrugged as he grabbed a can of deodorant off of his dresser. In horror--and, disturbingly, slight attraction--Zayn watched as he lifted his arm and sprayed it on. "She's in a sorority with Kendall and she knows a few of my brothers from parties. She kinda just started showing up here, one day. I think it was a few years ago, back when she was dating one of the guys. Even after they broke up, she just hung around a lot. Pretty sure she thought she'd be elected Sweetheart, but a lot of the guys are bothered by the fact that she hangs around uninvited. Kendall's usually pretty good about that."

"Does Niall not like her, or something? Also, dear fuck, please stop spraying."

"What? I thought you liked how I smelled," Harry whined.

"I like your soap and your cologne, not the fucking AXE body spray. Fuckin' frat bros, I swear."

Pouting, Harry set the can back down on the dresser and leaned against it. He watched as Zayn pulled his jeans on. "Honestly, I don't even think Niall knows her name. She's not the best at, like, introducing herself, just assumes everyone already knows her."

Zayn hummed and nudged Harry away from the furniture he was leaning against. Pulling open the drawers one-by-one, Zayn continued his line of questioning. "Did you two ever, like, have a thing?"

"No."

Closing the drawer with Harry's workout clothes, Zayn turned toward him and raised an eyebrow. "She said you guys tried to, said you were all over her once."

It was Harry's turn to look skeptical. "Last spring it was looking pretty likely that I'd get elected, so I invited her to some events because she was always here. She danced with me once. It was never anything."

Genuinely, Zayn believed him. Besides, he had no right to be jealous of Taylor, anyway, even if there was something to be jealous about. But Zayn had finally found Harry's drawer of t-shirts, so he rooted around for something that would fit him. "'Hot N Hard?'" he quoted, incredulously. Harry shrugged with a grin. The shirt was actually Kiss tour merch, but the back had the implicative words in bold red block letters.

Zayn pulled it over his head and stuck his arms through the holes, flipping Harry off when he wiggled his eyebrows at Zayn wearing his clothes. “Fuck off. I’m fully intending to get beer spilled on this,” Zayn lectured.

With a tooth grin, Harry just looped an arm around Zayn’s back. “Fine by me, as long as I get to watch you take it off when you give it back.”

Despite being reminded at every sporting event in the last three years, Zayn still forgot how well a fraternity can hoot and holler. Figuring that he and Harry snuck away pretty easily, Zayn thought their reentry into the party would be just as smooth. He couldn’t have been more wrong.

As Zayn descended the staircase that separated the main room and the kitchen, crouched slightly so he could blend in with the shadows, a shout rang out across the room. Slowly but surely, more and more of Harry’s friends turned their heads and started yelling along, until most of the party was staring at Zayn, pink in the face, with a dazed and messy-haired Harry behind him.

A few of the other guests worked out what was happening and laughed lightly in Zayn’s direction, but most people were looking around, confused, or ignoring the pack-like howl. Zayn managed to catch Louis with his hands cupped around his lips, so Zayn flipped him off before turning back to Harry.

“Your friends are really weird,” Zayn muttered as he tugged Harry on the arm.

Harry ducked his head slightly to hear Zayn better as they stepped off of the staircase. “You’re telling me,” Harry laughed. 

The loud calls quieted down quickly once Zayn wasn’t in an elevated position anymore. Harry and Zayn squeezed themselves across the main room until they bumped into Louis, who promptly dug two fingers deep into the hickeys on Zayn’s neck. 

“Can’t believe you fucked my best friend in my own goddamn house, Styles,” he yelled, Eleanor giggling pleasantly at Louis’s drunken stupor.

“Did it in your bed, too, asswipe,” Zayn bit back, pinching Louis’s waist. 

“I’ll fucking kill you. I’ll do it.”

Harry waved off Louis’s overdramatic remarks and wrapped his arms around Zayn, attempting to steal him back. “You wanna play beer pong with me and we can wipe the floor with Liam and Bressie?”

The latter name was completely unrecognizable to Zayn and he only somewhat tolerated Liam. As comforting as Harry’s arms felt to fall back against, Louis was quite solid to lead forward into. After a blink or two to clear the pounding music out of his head, Zayn settled on a craving.

“Need a smoke. Go find Niall and play with him; I’m gonna take Louis outside with me.”

The sea of bodies parted a lot easier for Louis than it did for Zayn. They managed to make it to the back porch without anybody spilling drinks on them or throwing them dirty looks, which was better than Zayn could hope for. 

There were a few other people outside. A sophomore in the frat leaned sideways against the railing while a sweet looking girl, cheeks pink from the cold, spoke softly with him. Her hair fell in long strands down her back and the late fall wind caught it every now and again, brushing it onto her bare shoulders. A huddle of people were out on the lawn, laughter loud enough to float up to the porch. Most of them had a cup in hand and a few were wearing oversized sweatshirts or jackets with the fraternity’s letters.

Zayn leaned against the outside wall of the house and pulled a cigarette out of the carton Louis was holding out to him. His was somewhere on the floor of Harry’s room, probably. It wasn’t in his back pocket anymore, at least. Louis sat on the porch railing after lifting himself up. His legs dangled between the spokes as he breathed smoke aggressively in Zayn’s direction and smiled like the little shit he was. 

“It’s weird to see you at one of these,” Louis eventually said. His tone said conversational, but his eyes swept over his friend’s face. “Didn’t think I’d ever get you to come to another one.”

Zayn shrugged, gazing downward as he dragged on the cigarette. “Didn’t think I’d come. Figured I should.”

“And why’s that?”

“It’s important to him,” Zayn offered lamely, not bothering to clarify who the subject was.

“It was important to me, too.” At that, Zayn whipped his head up. “What, you think becoming president didn’t feel a little bittersweet when it wasn’t something I could properly share with my best friend? Of course I wanted you to come to our parties. As little as I say it, you matter to me.”

“‘M sorry?”

“Don’t be. I get it. I’m a shit host, honestly. I think every party I’ve ever taken you to I’ve dumped you like fifteen minutes in. The promise of getting to dance with your boyfriend and then go fuck is a lot better than standing in the corner for an hour while feeling uncomfortable because I didn’t bother to introduce anyone to you.”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

Louis snorted. “That’s what you got out of that. Sure, Z, whatever you say.”

“Seriously,” Zayn said, his back straightening indignantly. “We just.. fuck around, or whatever. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“It doesn’t have to, but it does for you. Both of you. He bought you champagne for your shoot and you went to his meets and, fuck’s sake, you’re exclusive.”

“We’re not exclusive.”

“You told me yourself that you had a conversation about not fucking either people!”

“That was just about him fucking me raw, Tommo,” Zayn shot back. His neck felt flushed and he didn’t understand why he was so angry to be having this conversation with his best friend. Why was he being so defensive? He didn't have anything to defend. Fuck Louis Tomlinson and his affinity for abrasive confrontation. “He- He could fuck other people if he wanted to. He just.. hasn’t, in a little while.”

“And why do you think that is?” Louis asked, skeptically.

The only response he got was a concise “Fuck you.” Zayn flicked his cigarette onto the porch and crushed the burning end under his shoe. Louis winced at the scorch mark it would undoubtedly leave. It was his house, after all. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you. I’m going back inside.”

“Since I know you’re going to binge drink your feelings away, will you at least promise me that you’ll stay the night?” Louis asked as Zayn pulled open the sliding glass door. Neither looked at the other, Louis staring straight ahead as he continued to smoke, but he could tell that Zayn had paused. “Don’t want to worry about getting your drunk ass home safely tonight.”

“It’d be rude of me to invite myself. Harry didn’t even know I was coming-”

“Just ask him. If it’s an inconvenience, he’ll tell you, and I’ll set you up in my room. I don’t want you stumbling back to your place in the cold.”

“I’ll ask.”

I know we’re fighting but I love you. You’re my brother.

I love you too.

Their fights were usually nasty, nastier than any Zayn ever dreamed of having with another person. They turned on each other, fast and violently, their mood swings horribly contagious. But the way they cared about each other ran so deep that when anything threatened that, when one of them was being a dumbass and would end up hurting themselves, they didn’t let anything get in the way of voicing their opinions.

It was surprisingly easy to binge drink once Zayn got over the fact that it would all burn going down tonight. The alcohol was cheap and tasted shitty, but it was strong as a motherfucker considering most people who went to frat parties were undiagnosed alcoholics. Zayn would know, considering he almost needed to check Louis into rehab last year. But dwelling on those memories was for another time, when Zayn wasn’t actively trying to get as fucked up as possible.

Finding Harry wasn’t hard, considering the energy of the party seemed to ripple off of him. Everyone wanted to talk to him, to dance with him, to drink with him. Even though the crowd was dense and the house was packed, there seemed to be a spotlight on him. Zayn couldn’t help but wonder how he would look up onstage. 

“Hey, you,” Zayn drawled out, his body stumbling into Harry. 

It didn’t seem that Harry was that far behind him. “Z! Hi babe, you come to play with me?” he asked, referencing the beer pong table set up in front of him.

Zayn wrinkled his nose. “No. ‘M surprised the game’s still going.”

“Nah,” Harry laughed, “Niall and Bressie ended up teaming up and kicked my ass. Payno let me down. But we set up a new one after; that’s Cal and that’s Ash,” he said, pointing to the boys on the other side of the table.

“You do smell an awful lot like beer,” Zayn quipped. “Must’uh lost big time.”

“Oh, Niall and I creamed them,” someone said, leaning over to interject into their conversation. Zayn didn’t recognize him, but he seemed.. big. Guessing from context, he figured this was the mysterious Bressie.

“Well, not like I don’t absolutely adore seeing you, but if you’re not gonna join, I’m gonna have to ask you to clear the playing field,” Harry said, his mock-referee voice booming over the music. 

Zayn giggled into his shoulder. “If I throw one ball, one , then can I sleep over?”

“Holy shit. I’m gonna see Zayn Malik play fucking beer pong and then a Versace model is gonna stay the night? Win-win, babe.” Harry winked as he passed Zayn a ping-pong ball. “I’m probably too drunk to fuck tonight, though.”

“Oh, I’m definitely too drunk to fuck tonight,” Zayn admitted, giggling again.

Since he had absolutely no idea what he was doing and refused to make a fool of himself, Zayn made Harry help him. This mainly consisted of Harry standing behind Zayn and Zayn trying not to get distracted by the broad expanse of muscle pressed to his back. Delicately, Harry held Zayn’s right wrist between his fingers and helped him move his hand to throw the ball, Zayn releasing when his gut told him to.

The ball went in.

The one Harry pointed out as Cal groaned miserably as he fished the ball out and started chugging. Zayn cheered and whirled around so Harry could hug him. He felt a bit like a blonde sorority girl, excited to have Harry’s attention on him. Worst of all, nobody called them out for how absolutely disgusting their affections were. Girlfriend privileges , he thought, remembering what Eleanor said when the entire frat seemed to wait on her hand and foot when she started dating Louis last year.

True to his word, though, Zayn was only participating once. Since he was successful in his throw, though, Bressie deemed him as a good luck charm and Harry played the rest of the game with one arm around Zayn and pressed up to his back. 

When he and Bressie won, they both claimed it was because of Zayn’s presence at the table, but it probably had more to do with Cal and Ash being younger than both of them and Bressie’s unnatural talent at anything related to drinking.

“Couldn’t-uh done it ‘thout ya, sugarcakes,” Harry slurred through a smile as he rubbed his face into Zayn’s hair. He had sort of lost track of the rules of beer pong and started drinking any time he or Bressie scored on top of the losing points.

“Lies,” Zayn replied brightly, clinging onto Harry’s arms that were wrapped around him.

“No, no,” Harry insisted. “‘S all you. You’re why I won the meet, too, babe. Saw you in th’ stands and had to run fast jus’ tuh ‘mpress you. Always help me win. Bet I’ll win a Grammy ‘cause uh ya.”

Starting to blush, Zayn moved them closer to the stairs. The crowd was starting to thin out and nearly everyone was at or past Harry’s level of intoxication. “I was a massive distraction and Bressie was the only reason you didn’t crash and burn, again.”

“Not m’fault your ass’s so distractin’,” he complained instead, changing tactics and pressing his crotch forward into Zayn. He wasn’t hard, but he definitely was not soft, either.

“C’mon big guy, think it’s time for bed,” Zayn laughed.

“Clean up,” Harry groaned, slowly untangling from Zayn. “I should help.”

“Pretty sure you’ll make everything worse,” Zayn teased. “You guys always clean up in the morning, anyway. Come to bed; the mess isn’t going anywhere.”

The alcohol was making Zayn warm and handsy and sleepy. He wanted to fall asleep in a bed that smelled like Harry, on top of a boy that felt like Harry, under blankets as soft as Harry, surrounded by everything Harry. Waiting for him to drunkenly throw dozens of bottles and Solo cups in trash bags was not even an option.

Harry was, evidently, not that hard to convince. The two of them managed to stumble up the stairs and into his room with minimal bruises. Wanting to maintain appearances, slightly, Zayn carefully peeled off his jeans and called that good enough. Harry haphazardly stripped to his drawers and lifelessly dropped onto his mattress.

He woke up a bit when Zayn climbed on top of him and managed to make it through a session of sloppy, lazy kisses before knocking out like a light. Zayn, with his head buried into Harry’s chest, was not far behind.

Early to bed meant early to rise, apparently, as Zayn regained consciousness to the sound of someone grunting. He was fully prepared to crack open an eye and find Harry creepily jerking off to his sleeping figure, effectively ruining any and all interest Zayn could possibly have in him. When Zayn finally talked himself into opening his eyes, it was so much worse.

Harry was doing push ups .

At.. nine in the morning? Yep, Zayn’s phone confirmed that one. “Wha’th’fuck,” Zayn groaned, hands rubbing over his face. Harry paused momentarily, looking up at Zayn in a plank position above the floor, before he went back to his exercise. Zayn listened to him pant before he put together that Harry was counting under his breath.

“Did- Did you just do two-hundred ‘fore I woke up?!”

“And a ten-mile run, lazy slug,” Harry said with a smile as he caught his breath. “Kidding. About the push-ups, not the run. I only do fifty in the morning.”

“I’m pretty sure I could do about five throughout an entire day before I broke in half,” Zayn muttered. “Isn’t your season over? Aren’t you supposed to be hungover?” he interrogated.

Harry laughed brightly and took a swig from the water bottle on his nightstand. “As soon as championship’s are over, training for the spring begins. And I’ve told you before; I can outdrink you any night and still beat you in the hangover department.”

“I thought running was only about your legs.” Zayn was groveling, but he finally sat up. The sheets pooled in his lap and he noticed that Harry was only wearing joggers. The air felt cold.

“Oh, the push-ups are just so I look fucking hot.”

“Mmm, guess it’s working then,” Zayn hummed as Harry kissed him.

“I’m surprised you don’t train more, Mr. Versace.”

“Oh, this? It’s all natural.” Zayn’s smile was smug but in actuality it was the nicotine, insomnia, and lack of money to buy significant amounts of food that kept him so twink-like. And maybe he liked biking around the city when the weather was nice to stay somewhat active. “Plus, sex is great cardio.”

“Of course. I fuck you so hard solely for your health. Want you to stay fit,” Harry confirmed, a conspiratorial smile creeping onto his face.

The bantering didn’t last long because as Zayn’s brain caught up with being awake, his mouth caught up with the myriad of complaints he had. Harry rolled his eyes good-naturedly and procured Advil, a glass of water, a sweatshirt and another pair of joggers. He was planning to make himself a smoothie and, seeing as Zayn would rather vomit than drink something green, Harry instead offered to make him eggs. “I think we have hashbrowns in the freezer, too.”

Zayn moaned wantonly. “If you make me disgusting, greasy potatoes, I will literally let you fuck me on the counter in front of your house-mates.”

Harry did not stay in the room much longer after that.

Chapter Text

Despite a bit of whining from Harry, Zayn didn’t actually end up bent over the frat house’s kitchen.

He did, however, end up in just his underwear and a gray crewneck sweatshirt with the frat's letters on the front of it while he sat atop the island counter. Happily, Zayn munched on hashbrowns while Harry stood over the stove and made a massive pile of scrambled eggs, presumably for more than just the two of them. He did live in a house full of people, after all. He was humming as he cooked, something that sounded suspiciously like Mamma Mia, but Zayn couldn't make it out clearly over the crackling and sizzling sounds from the pan.

"Why the fuck is it freezing?" Zayn questioned, drawing Harry's sweatshirt closer to his body as he shivered slightly. His bare legs pressed to the granite countertop surely didn't help, but Zayn was nothing if not a complainer.

"Because it's the middle of November, babe," Harry said, his tone sweet but also slightly teasing.

"Maybe if you put some fucking pants on, you wouldn't be so cold," someone said as they walked into the kitchen with two others trailing behind him.

If it were Louis, Harry probably would've laughed along and nudged Zayn as he pouted. But instead, it was some random guy Zayn had never met. He looked a little younger than Harry, maybe a sophomore, but his confidence with poking fun at somebody the president of the frat had spent the night with implied he was a junior. Or maybe just a really fucking dumb sophomore.

Harry seemed to share some of Zayn's sentiment. "Knock it off, Beales," he commanded, turning away from the stove for a moment to frown at him.

"What? I'm just sayin'. Maybe if your playthings learned how to wear clothes, they wouldn't be whining so fucking much. Although, I guess you like the slutty ones, don't ya, Harold?"

Before Zayn could decide whether he wanted to point out that he was right there, that 'playthings' was disgusting, or just generally curse the guy out, there was a loud clatter by the stove as Harry slammed the pan off the burner. "Pretty sure I told you to fucking quit it." He wasn't frowning anymore, he was full on glowering.

"Hey, man, I was just-"

"You were just fucking running your mouth is what you were doing, Sandy. Get the fuck out," Harry demanded. "Stop being a dick."

One of the two guys that came in with Sandy put his hand on Sandy's shoulder, gripping firmly but not painfully. "Sorry, Haz. You know how cranky he is in the morning. We got him."

The other nodded along and jerked his head at Sandy to leave, the group of three not staying long after Harry replied with a short, "Thanks, Josh."

The kitchen stayed quiet as Harry pulled out too many plates for too many eggs. Zayn swung his legs nervously, his heels causing a light thud sound every time they hit the cabinets beneath the counter. "Well, he was pleasant," Zayn eventually said, trying to break the awkward silence.

Harry let out a shaky laugh. "Yeah. Sorry."

"Not your fault."

"He is a little shitty in the mornings, especially after drinking. Not usually like that, though, really. He's generally a sweet guy. I'm just sorry you had to hear that. And about how ticked off I got."

Zayn slipped off the counter and walked the few feet to where Harry was. "I get it. You don't like the s-word," Zayn joked lightly, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist.

"You're never gonna let me live that down, are you?" Harry groaned, as his head fell back slightly. Zayn laughed (giggled, but he won't tell you that), and shook his head.

Harry practically force-fed him scrambled eggs after that, making sure Zayn got his fill and settled his stomach. He shouted in the direction of the ceiling about the leftover eggs and then pulled Zayn back upstairs, saying if the others didn't find the food left out then it was their fault when it got cold.

Speaking of cold, Harry made sure to sufficiently bundle Zayn before he left the house. He had his jeans that he came to the party in, but didn't have a shirt of his own, so Harry let him keep the fraternity crewneck he had put on. In addition, Harry had also provided his cross-country varsity jacket, which Zayn had attempted multiple times to refuse, until Harry pointed out that it was wool and leather and the warmest, most comfortable thing he owned, and Zayn eventually caved. He ended up walking out with hickeys, one of Harry's beanies to cover his messy hair, and covered in his letters and sport team.

His goal was to make it back to his apartment without seeing anybody he knew, which was going well as Louis was still asleep by the time he left the frat house. Unfortunately, there was a surprise guest waiting on the steps of his apartment building.

"Damn. Don't you look like somebody's bitch?"

"Good morning to you too, Gigi," Zayn grumbled as he punched in the code for the door. Gigi knew it herself and could've just waited inside by his apartment door, but she was stubbing something out on the concrete steps when he walked up. Judging by the smell, it was weed. Definitely weed. "We getting high before noon?" Zayn asked, not the least bit bothered as they made their way up the stairs to his floor.

"Nah, sorry, babes. I've just got a waxing appointment later and it doesn't hurt as bad if I go in a bit buzzed."

Zayn hissed through his teeth. "Hate those. Can't believe I let you drag me to one."

"Your legs looked so good, though," she insisted as Zayn unlocked his front door.

"They did," he said, pushing it open and allowing Gigi into his apartment, "but never again. Why you stopping by this early, then?"

Gigi shrugged and made her way over to his couch, the scent of her joint trailing after her. Maybe Zayn would light up after she left. "Oh, nothing big. Just that I showed someone your mock-ups from last year and Versace wants you back, as a collaborator for a capsule collection they want out at the end of next year."

Zayn dropped the varsity jacket he'd been in the process of taking off. "What?"

"I was talking to Donatella on the phone today. She called me just to talk about you, I swear. As soon as I picked up she was raving about the reviews now that the collection has been out for awhile, but she kept saying there wasn't enough of you in it. She said she loved your look but there weren't enough photos of you around, that she wanted more of your energy because it was just so great working with you. So I sent her a couple of the designs you made for Bella that one time she was complaining about needing more street clothes."

"I was- I was so fucking drunk when I drew those, Gi-"

"Yeah, but they were good. I sent them to her while we were on the phone and she practically begged me to get you to come in to talk about a collab and possibly signing on to walk in the next show."

"I don't- what? I mean, Versus was great but it's the- it's not, like, the highest of fashion and I've never walked in anything aside from, like, underground designers who are friends and- what the fuck?"

"Yeah."

"When is it?"

"Mid February. Bella's gonna be in London but I'm booked for it. You could come with me. I'm flying out at the end of January because she wants me to help oversee some of the preparation."

"I can't."

The realization hit Zayn hard, the words tumbling out before he even processed them. He picked Harry's jacket off the ground slowly, delicately hanging it on a hook before letting his arms sag to the sides. Gigi was frowning at him.

"I can't," he repeated.

"Why not?"

"I'll have class. I'm not done with school 'til I graduate in May."

Gigi inhaled sharply. Zayn knew the argument coming, the one they'd had countless times during their relationship. "Zee, listen. I get that you really want to get your degree, but this is walking for Versace . It's Milan City Fashion Week . You could walk. In Milan. This is- this is huge. This is Donatella Versace trying to hand you a career because she likes your look and you're worried about missing a few classes."

"We both know it'd be at least three weeks' worth, not a few," Zayn snapped.

"Not the point," Gigi shot back.

"It's important to me."

"So is your career!"

"It's not- There's countless reasons I can't go."

"Name three," Gigi challenged.

Zayn floundered. "My degree-"

"Obsolete as a professional model."

"I can't afford the flight-"

"They'll cover it. Hell, I'll cover it."

"I'll miss Harry's birthday," Zayn added angrily.

Gigi's face turned stone cold. She stared at the Greek letter across Zayn's chest. "I see."

There was a nasty knot deep inside Zayn's stomach. "This isn't about that." But the Freudian slip was too great for even Zayn to ignore.

"Of course it isn't."

"I can't spend nearly a month with you in Italy, Gi. Not this year. Not while I'm finishing up school."

"Not when it's the last year you'll be at the same university as Harry, right?"

Zayn wanted to angrily point out that he'd only started talking to Harry a few months ago, meanwhile he'd been friends with Louis going on four years. This was their last year in college together, too. "I told you, this isn't about that."

"It's just that he makes time for you."

"He's a fuckbuddy ," Zayn replied venomously, but Gigi always knew when he was lying.

"Whatever," she said, and it was a lost cause. She was shutting it down and nothing would open it back up again. Her walls were back and they were higher than ever. This was the only way she knew how to end an argument, something that only sped up the inevitable end to their relationship.

Zayn rubbed his hand against his face. "I'll do the Versus collab. Tell her I will. But until May, I have other commitments in terms of anything that requires travel. I told them when I did the last campaign that I was only available for shoots that fit my schedule, anyway."

"Fine."

There wasn't a point to Gigi staying, not when she was this bitter and had an appointment to get to, so Zayn walked her to the door. Despite the animosity, she still gave him a hug. She always did.

"This is what you've always talked about wanting and I don't want to see you fuck it up," she said quietly, against Harry's sweatshirt that Zayn was wearing.

"I know what I'm doing, Gi," Zayn promised, running a hand down the back of her head and long, soft hair. "I promise."

When she pulled back from the hug, Gigi had tears in the corners of her eyes. She sighed tiredly. "You have to stop throwing away the good things in your life."

"I'm not throwing them away," Zayn said, a sad smile on his face. "I'm holding onto them, very tightly." He squeezed her again for show and a wet laugh escaped her throat. "Really, Gi. Once I finish this goddamn degree, you can whisk me off to every fashion week in every city if you want to. But I'm happy right now, the happiest I've been in a long time, and I want to do things right."

When Zayn got the invite, he wasn't exactly sure who it was coming for. Harry said he was asking for Louis, which meant that Louis was requesting a favor, but he was also pretty sure that Louis was asking the favor for Harry, because Louis still owed Harry for that time he walked Eleanor back to her place after Louis blacked out a few weeks ago at one of the frat's parties. 

Which meant Zayn was inclined to say 'no.' Because Zayn didn't do messy, or someone else's I-owe-you's, or indirect, and Harry knew that. So Harry rephrased when Zayn gave him that pointed say what you mean expression.

"Let me rephrase. Louis and I were both wondering if you'd consider coming to the Friendsgiving we always throw at the house. Obviously, you'd be my plus-one, considering.. But Louis would also really like to have you and after you came to the party last week he was thinking there might actually be a shot at getting you to come. And he told me to remind you that it's his last year. And I want to remind you that you look really fucking hot in clothes that are fall colors."

"You think I look hot in clothes that are any color," Zayn retorted, blowing smoke from the joint they'd been sharing into Harry's face.

"I also think you look hot in no clothes," Harry slyly replied, hands already dipping under the gray crewneck Zayn was wearing. He'd held it hostage over the past week, refusing to give it back after he left the frat house that morning. Harry stopped asking for it back and instead took to complimenting how much he loved Zayn in his letters.

"Whore," Zayn said, deadpanned, even as he put out the joint on the ashtray he left on the coffee table. He turned and straddled Harry's lap. "Your dick literally never goes down."

"Not when I'm around you." Harry actually winked, so Zayn made a gagging noise. "Was that really necessary?"

"Completely." His face was still blank, but his tone was getting more amused by the second. And, when Harry pushed the sweatshirt up under his armpits, Zayn raised his arms so it could be pulled off. "I fucking hate when it starts to get cold," Zayn hissed, tucking his bare torso close against Harry.

To be fair, Harry wasn't really wearing much, taking to his comfortable state of lounging around Zayn's apartment in only sweatpants, at most. But, he was a giant radiator, and his skin was always warm when Zayn pressed against it. "You literally love wearing leather jackets. How do you manage that in the summer?"

"Air conditioning," Zayn grumbled.

Harry laughed. He leaned over Zayn and blew out the candle burning on the coffee table and grabbed the back of Zayn's thighs through the boxers he was wearing. Harry's boxers. They really were a disgusting pair.

Once he had a comfortable and sturdy grip on Zayn, Harry stood up, walking the two of them over to Zayn's mattress. Harry had teased him and told him to buy a bed frame with the check he got from doing Versus, but then Zayn spent seventeen minutes lecturing Harry on aesthetic , so he gave it up.

"Babe, my ass hurts. I don't think I can physically do round two right now."

"Technically, it'd be round five, but I'm trying to get you under the blankets so you can warm up, dork."

"Or I could put on clothing."

Harry gasped like Zayn had insulted his mother. " Never . Not when I have you all to myself," Harry insisted, tucking them in with Zayn still clinging onto him. Zayn's face found its rightful spot against Harry's neck. "I missed you, you know."

"I've seen you every day this past week."

"I know, but still. With midterms and shit, I've barely seen you outside the library. I missed you. Missed this."

"Fucking me four times in a row?" Zayn asked drily, but he didn't move his head, so his voice was all muffled.

Harry giggled. "Yeah. But also, like, this. Hanging out at yours without having to do work. Listening to your vinyls and shit." The B-side of John Coltrane's Giant Steps was currently playing. "And I love the way your apartment always smells, like you and weed and cigs and paint and leather and that cardamom candle. Oh, and that rub you made for the chicken earlier? Fucking amazing. You always feed me so well."

"Harry," Zayn mumbled, feeling himself starting to drift off. "Shut up."

A kiss pressed into his hair. "So, you coming to Thanksgiving, or what?"

"I'll think about it."

"The guys are really excited to have you. Whenever you leave, there's at least, like, three people who come up to me after and say you're really cool and they want you around more. Pretty sure Lou's gonna lose it when he hears you're coming."

"Pretty sure I told you to shut up, Styles."

Zayn fell asleep with his smile pressing against Harry's collarbone.

Friendsgiving at the frat was definitely the busiest one Zayn had ever been to. His family usually just celebrated the holiday with each other. Even Gigi and Bella's Friendsgiving was close friends only, consisting mainly of Zayn, Anwar and his girlfriend, maybe Kendall and her sister, and a few other people like their assistants and managers. Their dining table only sat twelve, after all.

But the fraternity house was over three times that in residents alone. Everyone had a plus one, but a plus one only. Aside from the frat members and their guests, the only other person invited was Kendall, their Sweetheart, and her guest. Taylor was, unfortunately, there. As it was an exclusive event, she'd managed to rope one of the younger members into inviting her. Zayn would've been happy to never see her again.

When Zayn arrived, he noticed the amount of cars parked along the road and even squeezed onto the lawn. As he walked up the front porch steps, he was just glad to see a familiar face.

"Cal, right? And Ash?"

"Hey, dude!"

"Sorry you guys got stuck with door duty," Zayn said apologetically.

They shrugged their shoulders in sync. "Just earning our keep," Cal replied cheerily.

"Harry invited you, right?" Ashton asked, pencil running down a piece of paper he was holding against the door frame. "'Cause Tommo brought Eleanor."

"Yeah. Damn, that's, like, a real guest-list."

"Quite a popular event, what can I say? People always try to sneak in or crash it," Cal said, doing a fairly good job of entertaining their guest while Ash searched for Zayn's name.

Before the blond managed to locate the correct box to tick off and step aside to let Zayn inside the house, Louis spotted him between their heads. "Malik! There you are. Thanks for coming a bit early, man." He pushed his way between the two sophomores manning the door and put his hand on Zayn's shoulder, quickly guiding him back into the room he'd just come from. When the other two squawked at the rule-breaking, he flipped them off.

"No worries, Lou," Zayn replied, "although, doesn't feel like I came that early."

The main room was already filled with people, as was the kitchen and dining room. Many of them were members of the frat, sure, but there were quite a few guests. After all, nobody had to drive to a party at their own house.

The amount of maroon knit sweater dresses that cut off just beneath the swell of an ass and pale blue button-downs that hugged bulging shoulders made Zayn a little nauseous. The amount of heeled boots and "fancy" sneakers also made him want to turn around and walk around.

"What the fuck are you wearing?"

Louis was definitely used to hearing such a phrase. "Shut up. El told me I looked nice."

He didn't look bad, but Zayn wouldn't say nice . The navy Vineyard Vines cable sweater was a bit much to stomach, but the beige chinos were somewhat decent, for Louis, at least. The white Adidas did make Zayn want to retract his previous thought, but what did he expect? Not everyone could expertly pair brown leather boots, light gray slacks, a cashmere turtleneck in baby pink and a custom Bode jacket.

"Nice hair, by the way," Louis mentioned.

Zayn ran a self-conscious hand through it. He also cleaned up his beard so it was barely scruff and added an eyebrow notch to match. "Too much? D'ya think Harry will mind?"

"Nah, you look good. I mean, you look good no matter what," Louis added, moving them into the kitchen. "You should ask him yourself, though," Louis said, nodding toward the oven where Harry was standing and smiling big as he talked to Liam and Bressie.

Louis gave Zayn a pat on the back and went off in search of Eleanor, leaving Zayn to flounder at the sight of Harry in a black apron and a patchwork oven mitt. It seemed Harry was responsible for the turkey which, in all honesty, was probably the best for everyone.

His un-mitted hand was holding a bottle of beer and the curls on the sides of his head were forever messy, drooping slightly in the heat of the kitchen. Behind the apron was a black long-sleeve button-down that was, as usual, unbuttoned quite a ways down. His pants were bright red and covered in dusty pink, purple, and white flowers with bright green stems. His black, heeled leather boots were shiny and it was undeniable the look was probably custom made for him. Zayn couldn't help a fluttering in his heart at the way his frat president cleaned up.

"Hey, sexy," he said, slipping an arm around Harry's back as he inserted himself into the conversation.

"I think that's my line," Harry said, almost breathless. He set his beer down on the counter and instantly started tugging the oven mitt off. "Seriously. Zayn, wow."

"I think this is the most covered-up I've ever been around you."

"I know, but like. Fuck. You look so good. Hang on, let me take this off so I don't get anything on you," he added, pulling on the strings at the back of his apron.

Zayn stepped to the side and gave him some room, briefly greeting Liam and Bressie while Harry threw his apron on top of the oven mitt. "Shouldn't you, like, watch the turkey?" Zayn asked, laughing slightly as Harry kissed him deeply. 

"It'll be fine. It's got another half hour, anyway. Fuck, Z, you look so fucking good."

"You mentioned." There was a smirk on Zayn's face, but there was also a blush to match his sweater.

"Wanna come upstairs for a minute? I can put your jacket up there so it doesn't get lost. It's fucking cool."

Zayn nodded and Harry began to lead them through the kitchen and up the stairs. "Thanks. It's custom. Gigi got it for me when my album came out."

Zayn ran into a very solid wall made of Harry Styles in front of him on the stairs. Slowly, the wall turned around. “You have an album?”

“Yeah. Three. It was for the third one.”

“You have three albums ?!”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Louis tell me?”

Zayn shrugged. “Wasn’t a big deal. Just did them with some friends in my spare time. ‘Sides, most of them are, like, R&B or somethin’ and I know that’s not really your vibe.”

“Babe. You’re my vibe. If you have music out, of course I want to hear it and talk to you about it. What the fuck?”

“Uh, sorry?” Zayn offered, a shy smile sneaking up.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Come on, idiot.”

His bedroom door was unlocked this time, seeing as it wasn’t so much of a house party and more of a holiday one. The drinking would happen mostly in chairs and the music was staying quieter than the chatter, walls blessedly not pounding with bass.

Harry’s room looked a bit different in the fall dusk, trees outside bare but the ground not quite frozen or snowy yet. It was the cleanest Zayn had seen it, too, seeing as most times he visited in the past week since he first went to the party, it was rather impromptu. His bed was made and his desk was neat, books shelved properly and laptop tucked away.

“Here,” he said, arms reaching out for Zayn. He helped Zayn slip it off his shoulders and slid the leather down his arms. “I’ll hang it in my closet so it doesn’t get squished or anything. I can grab it when you leave, but if you need, you know where it is.” Once the hanger was placed back up on the wooden pole running horizontally along the top of the closet, Harry nudged the door shut.

“Thanks, Haz.” Zayn’s words were genuine, a warmth spreading through his chest at Harry’s consideration and gentlemanly actions.

“‘Course,” he replied, stepping up to Zayn. His hand rose and cupped Zayn’s jaw, pulling him in a bit, while his other arm snaked around his waist.

Zayn’s lips were a little chapped from the cold wind he was exposed to on the walk over, but Harry’s soft ones soothed their roughness. The kiss was not short, nor was it deep. Warm and sweet, it seemed to say hello, I missed you. Zayn ignored the niggling part in that back of his brain that was desperate to add welcome home .

Harry pulled away with a sigh, not going far as he gave Zayn a fully-bodied hug and rested his head on the top of Zayn’s. “I love your hair.”

Zayn hummed. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Looks good. Don’t get me wrong, the green was amazing and you look sexy with long hair, but it’s a nice change, too. I like how short the sides are,” he said, a few fingers rubbing against the buzzed sides. It was what Zayn had started with for the last style, too, but they’d long since grown out. “And it’s fluffy on the top,” he added, ruffling the same fingers through the top.

“Stop,” Zayn whined, “I’m gonna have to fix it. I spent so long figuring out how to style it.”

Harry laughed and when he stepped away from Zayn, both of them were smiling. “I like how it shows off your piercings, too. Always really liked your industrial.”

“You wanna come with me next time I get one? We could put some barbells through all four nips of yours,” Zayn teased, rubbing his thumbs across the top two which were easily accessible with Harry’s wide open shirt.

“I hate you,” Harry replied, smile never slipping. “Come on. I hate to leave the oven on and my brothers completely unsupervised.”

“Tommo’s down there.”

“Like I said: completely unsupervised.”

Dinner--or, late lunch as Niall kept complaining--was absolutely a success. Sat between Harry and Louis, Zayn ate his fair share of turkey and gravy and mashed potatoes and green beans and stuffing. Everything that was good was made by Harry, so Zayn was all set as long as he steered clear of the jarred cranberry sauce.

There were copious amounts of fall-flavored beers and definitely too much vodka, but Zayn was happy to avoid most of it and just enjoy the company. The younger members had been tasked with decorating the house, so paper leaves kept falling down all around the place, but people joked it was like mistletoe and if one hit you, you had to kiss your date. They never landed on Zayn, but he still got plenty of kisses.

When Harry finished his potatoes, he kissed Zayn. When he went up to get another beer, he kissed Zayn. When he made it back to the table, he kissed Zayn. When his belly was full of food and he was sleepy and he stretched his arms out, he leaned over and kissed Zayn. When Zayn offered to stay after and help clean up, he got a kiss. When Zayn passed Harry the last washed dish for Harry to dry, he got a kiss. When Zayn agreed to stay for the 8:20pm football game, he got a kiss.

It was, in all honesty, almost strange. The only times they kissed this much were in Zayn’s apartment, when they were alone and likely to have sex soon. Here, they were in front of most, if not all, of Harry’s friends and definitely not going to have sex. Zayn had told Harry a few days ago that he had a test the next morning and wouldn’t be staying over. 

Sure, they didn’t have sex every single time they saw each other. Sometimes they just grabbed lunch and they had those study sessions in the library. But that was when they were hanging out as friends, not fuckbuddies, or whatever they were. Zayn had never been kissed so many times by Harry, cuddled through the entirety of a football game even when everyone around him was yelling for teams he’d never heard of before, only to sleep in his bed alone at the end of the night.

After the game ended, Harry ran upstairs and grabbed Zayn’s jacket, as well as his own, and walked him out of the fraternity house. They held hands and teased each other lightly until they made it to Zayn’s apartment building. Harry kissed him on the steps and said goodnight.

Zayn didn’t bother turning on any of his lights before going right to bed.

The next month passed in the regular way for Harry and Zayn. Busy schedule, lots of classes, early morning gym sessions (Harry), cramming in shoots during every possible moment of free time (Zayn), drinking excessively, a good amount of meals and joints shared, and copious amounts of sex. Not enough, though. Never enough.

Before they knew it, they were packing their bags after midterms and flying back to their parents for the holidays. Christmas was fairly silent in Zayn’s household, considering Eid-al-Fitr happened in the summer last year. He still texted Harry and Louis merry xmas! , separately, of course. In response, he received an adorable picture of Harry, his sister, mom, stepdad and step-siblings in matching ugly Christmas sweaters in front of a decorated tree. Zayn may or may not have made it his background wallpaper photo for a week until his youngest sister asked who that family was, so Zayn changed it back to the picture of him and Bella behind the scenes at the Versus shoot.

As much as he loved his family and missed his sisters during the school year, he wasn’t staying home long. He spent the latter part of December with his family, then flew back to Bella and Gigi’s for a few days while they threw their massive annual New Year’s party.

It was always kind of incredible, with copious amounts of sparkling champagne and top-tier whiskey to quench Zayn’s thirst after a couple weeks in a sober household. Yes, his dad would skin him alive if Zayn drank a drop in his house, but Zayn was free and unsupervised when he was back at school. To more than make up for it, Zayn walked in the door, dropped his bags in the guest room, and immediately made his way to Anwar.

The next eight or so hours were spent getting absolutely destroyed surrounded by people in gold and silver and black leather. The ceiling was swirling while he got a tattoo of a skull in a tophat with a ribbon, smoking a cigarette. (The next morning he’d realize it’s resemblance to Harry’s skull tat.) Gigi was absolutely shimmering in body glitter and highlighter and gold eyeshadow and he made her dance on the counter with him. A girl took his shirt off and then he took off hers and then they hugged and said goodbye. Confetti and sequins littered the floor streamers draped in every corner and doorway. The bathrooms were forever occupied but the only ones who threw up were the ones making themselves, because these people knew how to hold their goddamn liquor.

When it neared midnight, they all crammed into the living room and chanted down with the T.V. Zayn ended up bumped against Bella, who was in completely sheer black pants with vertical strips of sparkly fabric and a matching top, along with black panties and strappy heels.

“Your tits are absolutely fantastic,” Zayn shouted into her ear, leaning on her slightly and giggling. Aside from the sheer long-sleeve, they were completely exposed.

She giggled back, breath smelling strongly of martinis and nicotine. “Thanks, Z! You wanna be my New Year’s kiss?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely,” Zayn replied, grinning widely. “Fair warning, though, I’ll be thinking about Harry.”

“That’s okay,” she decided. “I’ll think of him, too.”

As the room got down to “One!” Zayn and Bella both leaned in, grinning stupidly and bumping noses. The kiss was a little messy and exactly what Zayn needed to calm the fierce thrumming in his veins. He definitely did think of Harry.

When they pulled away, Zayn gave his thanks and said his goodbye, heading to the backyard as he plopped a cigarette between his lips. Bella smacked his ass as he went and he shot her a wink over his shoulder.

Once outside the sliding glass doors, Zayn lit his cigarette and leaned against the outside wall of the building. He fished his phone out of his pocket.

haryyyyyyyy

hapyp newy ears!!! Mis syouuuuu

hey cutie, happy new years! i miss u too ;D

didya hav fun???? driknin lots???

still with the fam, so it’s just a few glasses of champagne for me. Liam’s family lives nearby so we might go out to a bar on our own after, tho!

u sound like ur having enough fun for the two of us

so mcuh. tripppin nd its graet bt i miss uuuuu

miss wehn we didds hrooms

that was so much fun. i had such a great time with you

how’s your new year been so far?

mazin. all ive dnoe is smokke, txt u, nd lsitened to banginm usic

oh, nd kissed bells

for nw years tho!!!! nd we boht thoguhtt of u!!!! promisse!!!

Haha no worries babe. im glad ur having so much fun! ill have to tell bella that i appreciate her taking care of u when i get back

u tkae suchg ood care f me

sgood hazza

alwyas makin surew i cum so goodd

fuckk im iss ur cokc

hey, i think ur a little too gone to be doing this rn

;(((((

yea, i know, but not tonight. maybe later, okay? 

whne r u cominb ack?

i fly back on the 10th with a couple others, but the house is mostly empty til the 13th

;))))))

haha thats better. ill come to urs as soon as im back, yea? we can spend time at mine after

okieeee

cant wiat tos ee uuuuu

same babe! text me in the mornin when ur feelin better :)

u just mean soberr :((

that i do haha

Zayn didn’t remember, not for the first seven hours of his day. Granted, those seven hours were mostly spent with the curtains drawn in Bella’s room, both of them buried deep under the covers and trying not to worsen their pounding headaches. By four in the afternoon, the day was still barging on ahead so Gigi padded into their room in her fuzzy white robe and dropped herself on top of them.

“I feel like shit.”

“Same,” Zayn croaked.

“Anwar won’t make me latkes but I want latkes.”

“Does he even know how to make them?” Bella grumbled, pulling the covers down just over her face, hair frizzy and mascara smudged as she barely blinked her eyes open at her sister.

“Probably not,” Zayn replied, poking his head out as well but not having as much difficulty with his shorter hair. It was smushed to one side and a little crusty with gel, but not too bad otherwise. “He doesn’t know how to make anything aside from weed brownies and shroom tea.”

“S’proud of him,” Gigi said wistfully. “Now, come on. We’re going for waffles and then we’re cleaning.”

It was in the bathroom of the diner where Zayn remembered Harry.

hey! sorry about last night lol. was quite trashed

haha no worries. im sure ur nursin a hangover to make up for it ;D

ur not wrong ugh

gigis makin us clean once we get back

ur not home?

nah, went to get waffles. apparently anwar doesnt know how to make latkes

the bastard. ill teach him.

also, good to know ur not home. wouldnt wanna send u a dick pic in public ;)

cannot for the life of me think of why not. absolutely no reason and, therefore, nothing stopping u. pls do

lmao babe, when ur home

miss u :((((

last night it was ‘fuck i miss ur cock’ so

hell yea i do

but ur not allowed to tease me about it so im not gonna text u until u send that pic >:(

(unless like u dont wanna and thats totally fine!!)

nah if u want a cock pic ill send u one

text me when ur home

“You guys ready to go?” Zayn asked, the second he got back to the table.

“Uh, yeah. Gigi’s just put down her card, so-”

“I’ll pay cash. Let’s go.”

The taxi ride back to Gigi and Bella’s was too slow, but Bella sat on her sister’s lap and occupied her with all the photos she took the night before, so neither seemed to notice. As soon as they were home, Zayn tried to slink off until Gigi yelled at him to start cleaning. He complained he was a guest. Bella pointed out he was a freeloader. He threatened to go back to his apartment. Bella threatened to bring the garbage bags they’d inevitably fill and dump them on his bed while he was in class.

“Don’t understand why you don’t just call the cleaners,” Zayn grumbled under his breath as he tore down streamers and swept up confetti.

The last few bottles were thrown in the dumpster out back and Zayn was turning down the girls’ offer of Real Housewives and firmly locking the door to the guest room.

sneaky lil bitches

wouldnt let me go until the whole fucking place was clean

tell me why i scrubbed their toilets for them

anyway, no longer in public ;)

nothing gets me in the mood like scrubbing toilets

is that why u cleaned my bathroom that one time?

oh for sure

and then u didnt even notice :,(

guess u just did a shitty job

haha shitty

styles for the love of fuck pls get ur cock out

u only want me for my meat :(

yep 

thats kind of the point babe

why else would i keep u around if not that u kno how to dick me right

fuck its so big

always feel it

i like the stretch tho

always burns in the good way, specially when u fuck me into the mattress

love ur cock haz

fuck here it is then

*attached photo*

it’s missing something

????

my mouth

i hate you

fucking love ur tongue tho

and i love how u can just take it and take it, when im in ur throat and u gag around me but u keep going

wanna taste u so bad

wanna taste u too babe

wanna hear the lil gasps and whines u make when i suck ur dick

can i call u?? need both hands

only if u fuck ur fingers for me

*incoming call*

“Hey,” Harry breathed. There was a wet popping noise from his side of the line.

Zayn just moaned, high and in the back of his throat, as he pushed two fingers inside of himself. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I got you. Right here, Z.”

“But you’re not,” he panted, “want it to be you. Your fingers and your cock. Not your voice on speaker.”

“It will be. Soon as I’m home. Fuck, I’m gonna fuck that tight little hole of yours until you’re leaking. Look so good when I’m dripping out of you.”

“Tell- Tell me something I don’t- one of your kinks I don’t know yet. Please?”

“You know most of them,” Harry replied, gruffly.

“ Most . Please? Just wanna, wanna feel close to you, Hazza. Miss you, want you, fuck. Please? Need more,” Zayn whined, hitting his prostate and grinding against the mattress. He’d have to wash the sheets before he left Gigi and Bella’s.

“Fuck. Fine. Just- Just don’t tell anyone, yeah? Like, not even Louis? Had an ex who gave me shit and it kinda put a damper on it for a while.”

“‘Course not, babe. Never. Just wanna know what’ll make you feel good, yeah? Wanna make you feel good always, Haz,” Zayn insisted, hands slowing slightly at the seriousness of Harry’s tone, but not pulling out completely as the sounds on Harry’s end stayed steady.

“Okay. Fuck. It’s just- Fuck. Fucking hell.”

Zayn could tell Harry was getting a little mad at himself, and considering Zayn was now three fingers deep, that wasn’t really the mood he was going for. “Don’t havtuh, Haz. Only wanna make you feel good.”

“You do. I really want to, though.”

“What do you want me to do, babe?”

The sound of Harry beating his cock was the only thing Zayn heard for a moment. It wasn’t uninvited, of course, but Zayn found himself holding his breath. “I- Fuck, I really want you to call me ‘Daddy.’”

Zayn clenched down on his fingers and his cock twitched violently. He moaned loudly and he heard Harry inhale sharply in response. “Fucking- Oh, fuck, I’m gonna cum, Daddy.”

“Shit, me too,” Harry bit out, groaning. “That’s so fucking hot.”

“Can’t believe- Been wanting to call you ‘Daddy’ since you first started fucking me.”

“Really?” Harry was past breathless.

“Yeah. Shit. The way you take care of me? Cookin’ me dinner and doin’ the dishes and makin’ sure I’m all cleaned up after you fuck me? And you- you can just pick me up , Daddy. Love sittin’ in your lap, too. Almost got hard again that time you flipped the record. The way your hands feel on my ass when you carry me? And, holy fuck, your hands. They’re so big, feel so good wrapped around my throat.”

“Zayn, shit, I’m gonna cum.”

“Please.”

“Yeah? Cum with Daddy, baby.”

If his fingers and Harry’s voice weren’t enough, hearing Harry refer to himself as ‘Daddy’ for the first time absolutely fucking was. Zayn blew his load against the sheets, whimpering as he rutted through his orgasm.

Harry’s voice cracked when he spoke again, putting a smile on Zayn’s face. “And I didn’t even get to ask about your fantasy.”

“Next time,” Zayn said, thinking about white and pink lace.

“All right then. I’ll text you when I’m in the area, yeah?”

“Sure. I’m heading back to my place in a couple days. Haven’t got much on the calendar aside from day drinking and painting, so I’ll probably be home when you land.”

“M’kay. And, uh, we’re doing the cover shoot when I get back, too, right?”

“Yeah, definitely.” Zayn pried himself off of his sheets and sat up, ass-naked. “Not sure when, but definitely before February. Workload will hopefully be kind of light, what with the new semester and everything.”

“Only you can go from calling me ‘Daddy’ to talking about homework in less than two minutes.”

“It’s a talent of mine. Just like my tongue.”

“Pretty sure ‘tongue’ isn’t a talent.”

“Mine is.”

“Fair point.”

“I should go. I’ve got a date with two super hot models. They’re sisters.”

“Oooo, I’m jealous,” Harry replied, laughing.

“Good. You should be.”

“I should probably go, too. I’ve got cum drying on my stomach.”

“Shit, send me a picture, babe. I miss those abs.”

“Will do. Have fun, cutie.”

“You too! But not too much.”

“Not too much,” Harry agreed.

Zayn was not misguided at all in his assumption of passing his days drinking and painting. By the time Harry unlocked Zayn’s front door after his flight, the plastic tarp covering Zayn’s floor (so he wouldn’t lose the safety deposit) was covered in splatters of pigment. He’d been hotboxing his apartment, windows closed and the pungent smell of weed thick in the air. His eyes were red as they glanced up at the door opening.

“Hey,” he said, suddenly fuzzy and warm and a bit breathless at the sight of Harry. The wet canvas in front of him was immediately forgotten.

“Hey,” Harry replied, coughing slightly and waving in front of his face. “Fuck, you mind if I open a window?” he asked, crossing the room toward the back windows.

“Feel free,” Zayn said, waving him along, “it’s just cold as fuck outside.”

Harry coughed a few more times into his elbow and slid the window open, a freezing January breeze already seeping into the warm, hazy apartment. Zayn watched, his arms limp at his sides and his hands smudged, as Harry moved toward him.

Finally within arms’ reach, Harry wrapped an arm around Zayn and pulled him close, pressing a kiss to his shaved head. “Missed you, baldy.”

Zayn blushed. “Missed you, too.”

“When’d you do this?” Harry asked, stepping back slightly and running a palm up the back of Zayn’s head.

He shrugged. “At my parents’. Was going a bit insane in a sober household, I think. They don’t even like it when I smoke cigarettes. Was just itching for a change, so I buzzed it over the sink.”

“And the bleach?” Harry asked politely, moving back to the front hallway to shrug off his jacket. He tossed it over a suitcase. Harry had come straight from the airport, Zayn realized.

“Gi and Bell’s. Gi said ‘new beginnings’ and Bella said it would show off the head tat I got the second I was home.” True to his word, there was a massive mandala tattoo covering the left side of Zayn’s skull, centered around the top of his ear. “It’s grown out a bit, though,” Zayn said, distractedly running a hand over it. He hadn’t touched the top since he cut the whole thing off, not wanting to start completely from square one, but he’d kept fading the sides. It meant the top had a quarter inch of blond atop incredibly short darker hair on the edges. Anwar had notched his eyebrow and given him a second lobe piercing. Zayn truly loved his parents, but there was something about visiting that always made him itch to get body mods the moment he came home.

“Looks good. You look good, filled out a bit. Your mom feed you well?”

“Yeah, must’ve,” Zayn replied, not even thinking about it as his body found Harry’s. A few weeks off from classes, a shit ton of home cooking, and Zayn’s dark circles were starting to fade. His shoulders and neck filled out a little, face looking more fit than that thin and mysterious, gaunt way he pulled off so well. His beard was a bit fuller than usual, keeping him warm during the winter, but still neatly styled. “How about you?”

“Yeah, good. Christmas was nice. Went to my Dad’s, too, saw his side of the family for the first time in a little bit. It was nice.”

There was something in Harry’s eyes, and something in his tone, that seemed to say not enough, though . Zayn couldn’t help but think he was the one missing from Harry’s holiday celebrations. Him, a casual hook-up, absent from family time. Maybe it was selfish, but Harry kept looking at him, taking in his new appearance, trying to undress Zayn with his eyes.

“God, I just wanna fucking wreck you,” Harry admitted, sighing it out like he’d been holding it in since he stepped off the plane.

“And here I was, Daddy, about to offer to get on my knees.”

Harry groaned, swallowed deep in the back of his throat, and stalked toward Zayn. When he reached him, he threw Zayn over his shoulder and marched toward the mattress on the floor. Zayn yelped and tucked his face into Harry’s back, fingers pinching his sides.

Harry flipped Zayn back over his shoulder and he bounced on the mattress “You’re fucking ridiculous,” Zayn said in monotone as Harry pulled off his own shirt. 

Zayn did not follow far behind on the stripping action, though. Barely having finished kicking off paint-smudged jeans, Harry was grabbing his wrist and dragging him, backwards, down the length of the bed. He stood by the edge of the mattress, looking down at Zayn lying on his back.

“C’mere,” Harry mumbled. “Let your head hang off,” he instructed. Zayn pushed himself down further, his shoulders on the edge of the mattress so his neck bent backward off of it. “This okay?” Harry’s left hand splayed over the side of Zayn’s face, pointer and middle tapping along his cheekbone while his pinky tucked under his jaw. A thumb came up and rubbed against Zayn’s bottom lip.

“Yeah,” Zayn breathed. He stared at Harry’s eyes to watch them darken as opened his mouth.

Harry cursed and took himself in his hand, moving to stand closer to Zayn. He gently fed the head of his cock into Zayn’s open mouth. Zayn, dutifully, closed his lips and sucked.

Breath hitching slightly, Harry’s hand slipped down to the back of Zayn’s head, holding him lightly while keeping his other hand at the base of his dick. “Feel so good, Zee.”

The praise helped Zayn relax, exhaling cleanly through his nose and dropping his shoulder a bit.

“There you go. Breathe, babe,” Harry reminded, hips starting to move shallowly. “So fucking good for me, sweetheart. Nice and wet.” Zayn whined and reached an arm up to grab at the back of Harry’s thigh. “Want more, yeah? You can take it, can’t you? Two taps, darlin’. Right? Two taps and I’ll stop. Show me you remember.”

Zayn squeezed sharply twice, impatient.

Chuckling drily, Harry moved both hands to the back of Zayn’s skull. “I guess that works,” he uttered, voice rough and gritty with arousal.

Slowly and steadily, Harry began to push in deeper. He didn’t hold it for long, at first, just sliding a bit farther each time. His presses were long, forcing Zayn to relax his throat as Harry’s cock pushed its way in.

Barely getting enough air through his nose, Zayn was doing a good job. His eyes were watering and his nails were digging sharply into Harry’s leg, but his tongue stayed down and he hadn’t gagged yet.

Every time Harry pulled out, clinging drips of saliva came with him. They built up and began to drip down from the tight ring of Zayn’s lips and onto his high cheekbones. As the spit followed the tear tracks Zayn knew he definitely had, his rock hard cock twitched valiantly, like it wasn’t going to continue to be ignored until Harry finished. Zayn loved being used.

Adjusting his grip slightly, Harry’s thumbs slipped over the hollows of Zayn’s cheeks to feel himself moving inside. “Fucking-- I can see myself in your throat, bulging to take me. Lips all wet--shit, just--wish you could see yourself. All messy, said I was gonna wreck you and your eyelashes are all wet. Perfect, so perfect just for me, princess.”

Groaning, throat suddenly tightening, Zayn’s thighs rubbed together to try and give himself something as his hands seemed to pull Harry off slightly. He didn’t tap or squeeze, though, so Harry pushed deeper, just for a moment, before pulling out of Zayn’s mouth.

He coughed, upside down and wet, spit flying as he did so. “Say it again,” he dragged out, eyes and cock head both leaking. His throat was raw and his voice sounded like the depths of hell, but Harry nodded nonetheless.

With his dick back down Zayn’s throat, it didn’t take long for Harry to finish. “Fuck-fuck-fu-fu-fffff-” Harry managed shot his load, curteously, all over Zayn’s face. It smeared over his chin and dripped down to his forehead. “Shitting- Did so good, princess,” he panted, chest heaving.

Zayn, without the come down Harry was currently experiencing, was even worse. His lungs scratched every time he took a shallow breath and he kept squirming.

A few of Harry’s fingers, thoroughly dragged through the mess of spit and cum on Zayn’s cheeks, crooked just right inside Zayn had him spurting over his stomach not even five minutes later.

Three minutes--and a random makeup wipe for the cum and spit, a shared bottle of water for the exertion, and Zayn’s comforter pulled up to their chins for the January weather--after that , the pair were passed out comfortably with Harry’s arms securely around Zayn.

Chapter Text

 When Zayn woke up, the shower was running. The oven was on.

It hummed quietly and warmed the room, as if it had been on for a little while, but the window Harry vented smoke out of last night was still open. The cool air a few feet from Zayn’s bed made him burrow a bit further into the covers. The tip of his nose felt cold to the touch but he could smell something sweet coming from the oven.

The water turned off. “Hey,” Harry said, stepping out of the bathroom a few moments later while shaking a towel over his hair. The shades were up, letting in the late morning light, so he was wearing underwear for modesty.

Zayn pouted. “I was gonna come join you.”

“Nah,” Harry said, joyfully. “You can shower after - have to eat first.”

“What did you make?” Zayn tried to look suspicious but he also had a massive fuzzy gray blanket tugged up to his chin.

Instead of answering the question, Harry dropped the dirty towel in his hands onto the floor. Like a good houseguest. He then moved to the kitchen, grabbing a smaller dish towel from the counter and pulling the oven door open. He bent in front of it, the metal racks creaking as he dragged a baking sheet across them. When Harry stood up to turn off the oven, he turned around with a wide smile and showed Zayn what was in his hands: the baking sheet, stacked high with french toast.

“Where did you even get the bread for that?” Zayn asked, pushing the blankets down to his lap.

“I stopped by the bakery a few blocks down after my run. You slept in kinda late,” Harry answered casually, plopping pieces of the french toast onto a plate and drowning them in syrup. “So after I got back I made these and put them in the oven to stay warm while I showered. Was gonna make whipped cream,” he added, carrying the plate and two forks over to the mattress, “but the mixer would’ve been too loud. Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

“You were gonna- I didn’t even know I owned a mixer,” Zayn replied, sitting up so Harry could fit on the mattress.

Harry laughed. He was so easy to read sometimes, especially to Zayn who trained his own expression for a living. Zayn couldn’t help but think that laugh meant Harry was happy, truly happy, like there wasn’t anywhere else in the world he’d rather be than sitting sideways on a bed with no frame and sharing homemade french toast with a naked and bald Zayn.

“These are ridiculously fucking good,” Zayn said, cutting off his own thoughts as the sugar and cinnamon hit his tongue. “Oh my fucking god, is there crack in these?”

Harry laughed again. This time, even Zayn’s toes went warm. “I was gonna give you some berries, too, but nothing’s in season.”

“And you couldn’t have, like, gone to the grocery store.”

With an affronted look, Harry shook his head. “Absolutely not. I only buy fruit from the local farmers markets.”

Zayn tried to jokingly gag, but the fluffy bread in front of him was too enticing. Harry grabbed an entire one with his fork and started gnawing at it while Zayn cut another bite-sized piece. “You’re disgusting.”

“You had my cock down your throat literally twelve hours ago.”

“And you’re disgusting.”

After breakfast and a shower for Zayn, the pair bundled up to brave the freezing temperatures outside and headed toward the frat house. Harry asked Zayn numerous times if he was sure he wanted to come over, but Zayn insisted. He’d barely left his apartment since New Year’s and was sick with cabin fever. He packed an overnight bag, left Harry’s towel in a pile on the floor, and locked the door on their way out.

“It’s weird to see this place so.. empty,” Zayn admitted once he’d put his bag up in Harry’s room and came back to the kitchen for coffee.

Harry nodded. “Yeah. Pretty much just me. Liam was supposed to fly back with me but he’s got a girl back home so he’s staying a couple extra days.”

“A girl, huh?”

“Yeah,” Harry said, cracking a grin. “Brought her ‘round to New Year’s and stuff. His parents love her.”

Zayn cleared his throat. “And Louis’s back in the city.”

“Flew in this morning so he’s probably still with El. Did you see his shit upstairs?”

“Didn’t look,” Zayn replied. Harry nodded, mostly to himself, and swirled the coffee in his mug. He shifted his weight to the left, standing behind the counter as Zayn sat on a tall stool in front of it. 

Zayn tilted his head as he watched Harry. “What are you thinkin’ about?”

“Nothing,” Harry answered, shaking his head. Then, he furrowed his brows, still staring down at his mug. “Is the- Are you actually, like, cool with the whole ‘Daddy’ thing?”

Zayn snorted. “Haz-”

“It’s a fair question!” Harry protested, his gaze shooting up to find Zayn’s.

“I told you I was into it too,” Zayn reminded, an easy smile on his face as he answered. “I think it’s hot,” he added, shrugging.

“What else do you think is hot?”

“What do you mean?”

“You asked on the phone what I was into but I never got to hear about your dirty little fantasies,” Harry replied, his eyebrows wiggling as he grin widened.

“Another time.”

“Come on,” Harry whined, dragging out the last syllable. “You can tell me.”

“I usually just, er, save it for when I’m in a relationship.” Zayn winced at his own awkwardness. 

“Oh.” Zayn’s stomach dropped as he watched Harry’s face do the same.

“It’s just- It’s easier that way.”

“Lotta clean-up?” Harry ribbed, but he didn’t have that teasing glint in his eyes. Zayn wouldn’t know, though, considering that Harry wouldn’t look at him.

“No, it’s-” Zayn cut himself off with a huff, realizing he would always give Harry whatever he wanted. “It’s lingerie.”

“On- on me?”

“No, on me ,” Zayn elaborated. “It’s- it’s kind of a weird thing to talk about and some people aren’t into the idea of a guy wearing something so.. feminine, so I’ve only really explored it when I was dating someone.” He’d only ever done it with Gigi. Dressed up for Rocky Horror with her and when they got home she didn’t bother taking the panties off of him before getting on her knees. Or the fishnets. “Like I said - it’s just easier that way.”

“What kind of stuff? Is it, like, a full strappy thing or babydolls or something?” Harry asked, leaning down to rest his forearms on the counter and resolutely ignoring Zayn’s dismissal attempts. At least he was looking at Zayn again.

Zayn shrugged. “I don’t- I don’t wanna wear, like, bras or anything. And I’m sure a whole get-up would be fun for some people but it feels like too much work, you know? I mean, I kind of avoid uncomfortable or, like, labor-intensive shit when I’m not working because when I am, I spend so much fucking time in dressing rooms and having people pull at the clothes.”

Carefully, like he’d been actually listening to Zayn’s embarrassed rambles, Harry nodded. “So, what, something a bit more convenient?”

“Yeah. The- Um, I like panties, mostly,” Zayn answered quietly. He glanced down at his hands. “All lacy and shit. Pretty and- and delicate.”

There was a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the counter. When Zayn looked up, Harry’s face was pink and his jaw was clenched. 

Zayn cocked an eyebrow. “I like how they look, but I also like how they feel. Like just wearing them under my clothes sometimes, even if nobody else knows. The kind that’ll barely fit my cock.”

“You could-” Harry cleared his throat, “yeah, you could wear them around me if you want.”

Zayn blinked at him. “Do you wanna go fuck?”

“Right now?”

“Yeah.”

“Yes, please.”

Zayn grinned and slipped off the stool, attempting to dart back to Harry’s room. Harry caught him before he got far, though, abandoning his coffee on the countertop and wrapping his stupidly large paws around Zayn’s waist. Zayn did not giggle.

Harry let him go, after tasting his tongue, long enough for them both to make it up the stairs. By the time they crashed onto the bed, Harry was back on top of Zayn only with fewer clothes. Without breaking their kiss, Harry’s hand fumbled through his nightstand drawer and procured a bottle of lube.

“What do you want, Princess? Do you want fingers or Daddy’s cock?”

“Fuck, want your cock, Daddy, please,” Zayn groaned.

Harry grinned at him, like he couldn’t believe Zayn was real, but Zayn didn’t think it was a particularly great time to get sappy, seeing as he was squirming . Harry could smile all dopey later as long as he stuck something in Zayn’s hole within the next twenty seconds.

Ever the people-pleaser, Harry obliged. He got three fingers deep before Zayn was whining at Harry to just dick him down. Harry pulled out, slicked himself and then wiped his hand on his bedsheets, pushing the blunt head of his cock past Zayn’s rim in the next moment.

“Holy fuck,” Harry grunted. He hung his head, dropping down close enough for his breath to hit Zayn’s earlobe and neck. “So fucking tight, Princess, so fucking tight. Can’t believe I went without this for weeks.”

Zayn made a breathy little noise, thighs squeezing around Harry’s sides and head tilting back. “Oh shit, Daddy,” he said, when Harry’s hips came flush to his and grinded deeper.

Harry moved to sit upright on his knees, no longer hovering over Zayn. He grabbed Zayn’s thighs, though, as his legs began to fall away from Harry’s sides, and tugged him closer. Zayn reached above his own head to grab an extra pillow and shoved it under his lower back, helping lift his hips. Harry smiled in thanks and slipped his hands up Zayn’s thighs and onto his waist, holding him in place as he fucked into him.

Then, something buzzed on Harry’s nightstand. Repeatedly.

Harry cursed as he reached for his phone with one hand, not letting go of Zayn with the other. “Who is it?” Zayn panted out.

Harry stared him dead in the eyes and held the phone up to his ear. “Hey, Payno.”

Zayn clenched his jaw to silence his moan.

“I’m good, yeah. How are you?” Harry replied, tilting his phone away from his lips when he wasn’t speaking, and continued to fuck Zayn into the mattress. “What? Oh, I’m running. Trails are buried in snow; I’m taking advantage of the empty track before everyone gets back,” Harry explained, chest falling rapidly.

Zayn wished Harry looked like this when he ran. Or, maybe he didn’t, because then Harry would never get very far on account of Zayn jumping his bones almost immediately.

“Yeah, bro, sounds like a good time.” Zayn was adding ‘saying bro’ to his list of hard no’s during sex. Absolutely unacceptable. He vaguely remembered telling Harry not to use it before--they clearly needed a refresher. Harry gave Zayn a few quick thrusts, either in apology or just to gloat, Zayn couldn’t tell. “Yeah,” he said again, rolling his eyes at Liam to Zayn, “send me a list of what you want and Tommo and I can cover the alc. Niall could probably help with invites and-”

Harry was planning a party. Harry was planning a fucking party and Zayn was turning bright red at the mortification but fuck . “Daddy,” Zayn whined quietly. Pitifully. 

The hand not holding his phone instantly shot up to cover Zayn’s mouth and Zayn moaned behind it. “-can have Sandy play bouncer, at least for the first few hours. He owes me.”

Zayn reached down and wrapped a hand over his cock, just stroking the top half or so in time with Harry’s hips.

“I gotta go, Li. Zayn’s calling me. Yeah, probably has his hand around his dick and needs me to talk him through it. You know how he is. Anyway, send me that list when you have it. Alright. Bye, man.”

Harry tossed his phone to the side and uncovered Zayn’s mouth. “You’re a fucking asshole.”

“No, I’m fucking your asshole, Princess,” Harry answered with a shit-eating grin.

He fit his hand over Zayn’s throat, where it belonged, and Zayn focused on cumming.

A cowboy hat sat atop Harry’s curls and a lollipop stick poked out of his lips when a knock sounded on the door, 30 hours and multiple rounds later. “You fuckers decent?”

“Not really,” Zayn deadpanned, even as the door pushed open. He was sitting in the middle of the bed wearing only his black boxer-briefs but he was more concerned about the mardis gras beads bouncing off of Harry’s topless chest. “That’s what I meant,” Zayn sighed when Louis grimaced at Harry’s spontaneous solo costume party. He’d begun digging through his closet under the guise of Zayn helping him pick out something to wear but got sidetracked very quickly as he uncovered the pile of random party shit he’d pushed to the back.

Louis shook his head at his president, a shit-eating grin slipping onto his face. He turned it onto Zayn, who rolled his eyes and opened his arms, and took a few steps to cross the room. “Missed you, fucker,” Louis said into Zayn’s ear as Zayn squeezed him tighter.

“I missed you, too.”

Louis pulled back and rubbed his hand over Zayn’s short hair. “I see you went home for a bit.” Zayn snorted and pointed to his new piercing and then tattoo, Louis laughing brightly when he saw them. “They kill you, don’t they?”

“They’re not that bad,” Zayn joked back. “Wasn’t eight of us, at least.”

“Ugh, I know. Somehow, I clean up less human shit with the two babies than I do with the guys here, though.”

“I’d believe it,” Zayn replied with a shrug as Louis flopped backward on the bed and groaned, his eyes already closed. He pushed a hand through Louis’s hair, playing with the textured mess. Louis dropped his hand off of his stomach and nudged it against Zayn’s thigh in quiet thanks as he hummed at the pleasant sensation.

“Nice to see you too,” Harry teased around his lollipop, arms crossed and hip cocked. To be fair, it was his room and his boyfriend fuckbuddy that Louis had stolen.

Louis returned the sentiment with a certain finger and Harry laughed, shaking his head but moving to sit next to Zayn anyway. He pulled his legs up so one knee was in the air and his opposite ankle laid sideways under it. Zayn leaned against him so Harry pressed a kiss to his temple and draped an arm over his shoulders.

“You alright, Harold?” Louis said into the silence. Zayn grinned to himself, knowing Louis’s stunted way of expressing emotions well enough that he could translate how much Louis actually cared about Harry’s answer.

“Yeah,” he breathed out. His arm tugged against Zayn for a moment. “I’m alright. You cunts are really fucking boring, though.”

Zayn laughed and pushed his weight onto Harry as Louis groaned loudly and pulled himself upright. “I’m just so fucking drained. It was good to see El but, like, all I wanted to do was put my bags down and settle in for a bit.”

For a moment, just a moment, Zayn thought back to Harry’s luggage next to his front door. Then he remembered Harry had, technically, invited himself over. Harry had landed at the airport and gone straight to Zayn’s, even though Zayn figured he would’ve gone to the house first. “Nah, it’s a good thing you weren’t here,” Harry said, breezily. “Would not have helped you settle in, that’s for sure,” he added, shooting Zayn a dirty grin.

“You’re disgusting,” Zayn and Louis said at the same time. Louis, however, didn’t kiss Harry after.

“Put on music or something, then, if I bore you so badly.” Louis yawned and stood from the bed, stretching his arms over his head. 

The glint in Harry’s eye would’ve been scarier if it wasn’t anything but pure, puppy-like excitement. Zayn could practically see a tail wagging as Harry got up to connect his phone to a speaker and pull up a playlist.

It made sense as soon as the way too familiar beat started playing. A sound from the back of Zayn’s throat expressed his protest as he slumped back against the wall. Louis smiled with lips pressed together and raised his eyebrows when he glanced at Zayn.

“I can’t fucking believe you.”

“I can’t fucking believe you did a song with PARTYNEXTDOOR and you never told me ,” Harry shot back. The slow, dancehall-influenced club track built up to Zayn’s vocals and filled the small room. Louis leaned against Harry’s bookshelf with his arms folded as he watched the two of them continue.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“You’ve got seven million listeners on Spotify, babe.”

“It’s not, like, a crazy number-”

“That’s seven million more than I have!”

“Your album isn’t even out yet.” Zayn rolled his eyes. “I’d know, sorry, we should get on that.”

Harry waved him off. “We’ll get to it. This song, though. Fuck, dude, it’s probably my favorite. I put it on my workout playlist, this one, just because I wanted to hear it more. It, like, doesn’t even really fit the vibe, but it's too good.”

“What is your workout playlist vibe, trackstar?” Zayn snorted.

“Uptempo, bubblegum-sex pop. Put this early enough that it works for the warm-up, though. You really need to get more sexy songs.”

“I have plenty of sexy songs!” Zayn objected.

“Slow sexy songs, sure. They’re all, like, songs that you actually fuck to, not- Holy shit we should fuck to one of your albums.” Harry was perched on his desk, but his slack-jawed expression looked more like he’d just discovered the gates of heaven.

“We are not fucking to my music,” Zayn replied, instantly. “Absolutely not.”

“Come on-”

“No. That’s like- Imagine fucking to your demos,” Zayn pointed out. “Actually, you have no shame. Imagine Louis fucking to your demos.”

“I mean, ‘Pillowtalk’ is on El’s sex playlist,” Louis said, shrugging casually like he hadn’t fucked to the sound of his best friend’s voice.

Zayn blinked at him. “What?”

“It is a good fucking song,” Harry mumbled absentmindedly, like he was taking notes.

Swinging around, Zayn pointed a finger at him. “You, no. You,” he turned back to Louis, “need to delete my music off your sex playlists. The thought of, like, you and El- No, I can’t do it. You’re an awful friend.”

“You can’t honestly tell me you wrote those albums with no inkling that somebody might fuck to it,” Louis laughed.

“I figured somebody might, it’s R&B, yeah, but not you .”

Louis shrugged. “Make worse music, then.”

“‘Bordersz’ would go so well with-”

“I am not letting you fuck me to a song I wrote about Gigi.” Zayn resolutely did not think about how he wrote it during the in-between period when they were mad for each other but hadn’t started dating.

Harry’s face soured. “Yeah, maybe not. ‘Sweat,’ though-”

“If I hear my voice during sex you will not be cumming for at least a week.”

“Kinky,” Louis chirped, even as Harry pouted.

“You’re a menace. Putting ‘Pillowtalk’ on-” Zayn cut himself off with a large sigh. “We should not be having this conversation. We’re moving on.”

The song had finished, anyway, and the playlist progressed moving closer and closer to Harry’s description. Louis talked about what his sisters were up to as it continued, Zayn recognizing melodies from social media and smiling to himself at Harry singing along to lesbian sex anthems.

He stayed quiet enough to hear Louis, adding into the conversation a bit when a verse was finished or the songs switched, but even Louis couldn’t help but bop his head at Doja Cat.

“SZA’s verse had no right going that hard,” Zayn commented, watching Harry as he basically gave Zayn and Louis a free concert. Considering it was his workout playlist and Harry was a D1 athlete, it made sense that he knew all the words to the songs. What didn’t make sense was a frat president rapping every line to a song that sounded the way pink looked.

Zayn’s eyes hadn’t left Harry since he pushed off the desk. His dance moves were horribly awkward and dorky but his hips were surprisingly loose as he swung them and flexed his abs. Louis laughed at Harry and Zayn didn’t hold back a chuckle, but all he could think about was Harry at an actual concert. Even with his horrible dance moves, Harry was performing. In his tiny frat bedroom to two people, he was performing and he was captivating. 

He just drew attention without asking and Zayn wasn’t surprised by his notoriety on their campus.  Zayn figured it was his president status that made him so popular at that party, but he was starting to think it might’ve been the other way around. He made it impossible not to look. Harry liked dramatics, sure, but he didn’t beg for it. It was just given to him. There was this energy around him that dragged everyone’s gaze over. Everyone wanted to talk to him, everyone wanted to stand next to him, everyone wanted him to smile at them.

Get this boy on a stage.

And they would, Zayn remembered, as soon as they shot the album cover and Harry finished recording. Until then, Zayn would just have to watch Harry turning every room he entered into his stage. Which, Zayn could live with, considering Harry was walking into his apartment more often than not. He was probably too mean to his sisters, considering how horrible he was at sharing.

Speaking of. “Alright,” Zayn grunted as the playlist started to loop over, “I should head out. You comin’ over, Tommo?”

“Yeah, sure.”

Harry spluttered. “Excuse me?”

Zayn shot him a disapproving look. “I’ve been with you every second that you’ve been back, babe. Two and a half days, like. Haven’t seen Louis in ages.”

“But the party’s tomorrow night and I know if you aren’t already here you won’t go. And I want you to go.”

Closing his eyes and breathing in slowly, Zayn came to the terms that he was dealing with a child. Who pouted. “Whenever Lou wants to leave, I’ll come back with him and stay with you, alright?”

Easily satisfied, Harry grinned and started locating all of Zayn’s clothes that he’d thrown all over the room. Zayn stood, muscles whining at him as he did, and pulled a pair of jeans up his legs.

“I do need to put my shit in my room. Meet you downstairs?”

“Yeah.” Zayn nodded as he grabbed one of Harry’s t-shirts off the floor, one he didn’t remember either of them wiping jizz onto so he was fairly sure it was safe. He figured Louis was letting him know because Louis was going to leave, now, as Zayn finished getting ready.

But Louis didn’t move. Zayn raised an eyebrow at him when hit with an expectant look. “Need a second,” Louis said, gesturing between himself and Harry before dropping his hand. “... Party stuff. Frat shit. You wouldn’t get it,” he teased.

Zayn made a mocking face, muttering Louis’s words. When Zayn cracked, he grinned and played along and ignored the fact that Louis was lying to him, so horribly that he wasn’t even trying to hide it. Zayn tucked his arms into the leather varsity jacket Harry held up behind him. It was the same jacket from when Gigi visited him before break, nearly a month earlier, and the same jacket he’d worn walking to the house with Harry. The crewneck with Harry’s letters was splayed on the floor of Zayn’s apartment by the clothing rack he had tossed it toward when he pulled it off to paint a week ago.

Once the jacket was on, Zayn unplugged his phone from Harry’s charger and slipped it into his pocket. He picked his bag up from where he’d been packing it on the bed and stepped right up to Harry, giving him a quick kiss.

“I’ll see you later, babe.”

“Bye,” Harry replied, patting Zayn’s ass.

Zayn grinned at him and turned around, winking at Louis. “I’m gonna be outside having a smoke.”

“Okay, I’ll be down in a bit.”

When Zayn stepped out of the room, Louis closed the door behind him.

“You’re in love with him.”

Harry let out air like a popped balloon, whining and crumpling onto his mattress. “Yes,” he said from behind his palms. They mushed against his face and dragged down until they fell into his lap. “Hopelessly.”

“Fucking hell,” Louis said, dazed. He knew Harry was enamored with Zayn--everyone was--and he knew Zayn was entertaining him--which, not everyone was typically gifted with. But, fuck, Louis did not realize how far gone he was for Zayn. And, even more shockingly, how far Zayn was for Harry. It was gluttonous, really, how much love they were ruining for everyone else.

Louis and Zayn spoke the boring language of everyone else around them. They also spoke a strange language to each other. And then, they each had their own language that the other learned, but would never speak so as not to alert its creator that it existed. 

He had equivalent languages with Harry, too.

So, it had taken Louis all of about twelve minutes of watching them together, sober, to finally come to what was actually going on. And- “Holy fuck.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled lamely, “‘holy’ and ‘hell’ both describe it pretty well.”

Louis fish-mouthed for a few seconds before wrenching his vision into focus and dragging it over to Harry. “Like-” Louis said, shrilly, and immediately lost any and all words again.

“Yeah,” Harry repeated. “I don’t even- I have no idea when it even happened. It was just, like, ‘wow he’s really fucking hot and I get to tap that’ to ‘I would drop out and move across the world with him if he asked me to literally right this second’ and I have no recollection of anything in between. I just woke up one day and was like dear fucking God. He wasn’t even there, Lou.”

“You- Wow.” As Louis shook his head, he didn’t stop grinning. “You have to tell him.”

“Don’t start,” Harry groaned, his neck drooping pitifully.

“You have to. There’s no world in which you don’t, even if he found you repulsive. There’s no way around it.”

“You keep reminding me,” Harry said to his feet.

“You’ll just end up blurting it out stoned and balls-deep.”

That got an honest chuckle out of Harry. Sad, nonetheless, but a true chuckle. “I just have to figure out when to. ‘Cause, like, it’s gotta be after we finish the cover. That sounds- It’s not for, like, free work or something. It’s just… He became so much of the music and I- I need to be able to look at it and think back on the memories of making it with him.”

“Oh, Harry.” Louis took a deep breath. “Okay. Are- Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I mean, I will.. fucking.. shatter. I might, like, need to take a term off, depending on how this goes. And that’s terrifying, don’t get me wrong, but I’m oddly.. okay with it? Like, if it was gonna be anyone that would ruin me I would always want it to be him. That’s- That’s probably why I’m okay handing over that much to him, but, yeah.”

“Okay,” Louis strained.

Harry laughed again, no more sadness in it. “Sorry,” he added.

“Don’t be. I just haven’t seen you like this since..”

Harry shook his head. “I know. Don’t remind me. It’s so much more, though, and I can’t tell if it’s the best or worst thing to ever happen to me.”

“But, like, he’s not gonna pull that shit on you. Okay? Even if he isn’t into you--which I really don’t even want to entertain the possibility of, because he is--he’s not her. He won’t do that to you.”

A bit teary-eyed, Harry nodded. He stared at the wall for a moment, then sniffed. “Sorry,” he said again, bashfully.

“Nah, this is exactly why I’m here, Haz. If anything- If you ever need- Anytime you wanna talk about this, you’ll come find me.” Harry nodded. “Okay. I’m gonna go, but, text me? When Liam gets back, at least, I don’t know how long I’m gonna stay.”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll text you if he does.”

Louis nodded one last time, mostly to himself, and then dumped his bag in his room. Zayn would not be handling the news as well as Harry. He would at least let them get to the warm apartment before he tore out Zayn’s innards, Louis decided, as he picked Zayn up from the front stoop and started walking toward his building.

Louis steeled himself for the inevitable blowout as concrete passed beneath his feet and Zayn punched in the door code. He gave himself a pep talk as they walked into the apartment and hung up their coats. He remembered every single happy memory they had together as Zayn busied himself with pouring some cider into a pot on the stove and then into two mugs once it was warm. Louis reminded himself how many times Zayn had done this for him as Zayn brought both mugs over to the coffee table and placed one atop it while settling onto the couch with the other. Zayn tucked a foot under himself.

“He’s in love with you,” Louis blurted out. It wasn’t the smoothest landing, necessarily, but there were far worse ones with Zayn, so Louis figured he’d make it out okay. Bruised, but okay.

Zayn lowered the mug in his hands down to his lap. Between Louis lying to him earlier and the length of, admittedly comfortable, silence while he quite clearly worked through something hefty, Zayn had known this was coming. Zayn and Louis had to do it, even more so than Zayn and Harry needed to. “I’m aware.”

“You’re in love with him. You’re gone .”

Zayn scoffed. “I wouldn’t say go-”

“Zayn, I have never seen you like this. Not even with- Not once.” When Zayn gritted his teeth and ruffled his feathers, Louis got a bit closer to narrowing in on what the casualty value was going to be. At least he wasn’t completely denying the fact that he was in love, he just didn’t want to admit how badly.

“Enough.”

“No,” Louis replied, sharply. “No, Zayn, not ‘enough.’ You need to fucking get it through your head.”

“I got it,” he snipped right back.

“We both know I’d be doing you one hell of a disservice if I walked away from this.” Louis needed the reminder as much as Zayn did.

“Yeah, well, step off.”

Louis snorted. “Oh, is that what we’re doing, now? Stepping out of each other’s shit? Thanks for letting me know.” Seriously, he added, “You’re being a fuckhead about this.”

“You do not want to bring last year into this conversation, Tomlinson,” Zayn warned, sneering over at Louis.

“I’m bringing fuck-all into this conversation!”

“Really? ‘Oh is that what we’re doing?’” Zayn mocked. “You do not get to be an ungrateful bastard about that.”

Aaaaand Louis should not be rising to the bait--he genuinely was over this--but, oh look, a worm on a hook was right- “Oh, sorry I’m ungrateful about you inserting yourself into shit that wasn’t your concern.” 

Louis should’ve seen Zayn blowing on the sails to steer the ship as far away from himself as he could but Louis, stupidly, did not think he’d blow that hard. He responded as blatantly as he had because he, correctly, expected that Zayn would need to argue and might as well get through it as directly as possible. Only after Louis spoke did he piece together just how deep he had dug his own grave.

This was going to be brutal. Possibly more broken bones than bruises.

Sure enough, Zayn slammed his mug onto the coffee table and stood up, jabbing a finger at him. “You got a whore pregnant, you fucking moron, and then almost needed goddamn rehab.”

“I didn’t almost-”

“You were blackout,” Zayn crossed his arms, “every fucking night of the week.”

“I was president of a frat.”

“You missed tests in three of your four classes. I had to clean out a few trash bags’ worth of bottles from your room alone. Day drinking is one thing but you started bingeing the minute you woke up.”

“Then she got the abortion and I was fine!”

“Are you fucking kidding me?! That all happened after it! She was upset for a few days but you, you were an absolute mess for weeks. For over two months. Niall of all fucking people had to call me because he was worried.”

Louis’s retort died on his tongue and his face dropped.

“You didn’t know that, did you?”

Zayn took a step closer. He had cracked the first bone and wound up to slam a hammer through it. 

“He didn’t even have my phone number. Somebody had dropped you onto your bed and when he heard he went straight upstairs and rolled you onto your side. You were throwing up when he used your thumb to unlock your phone so he could call me.”

Louis swallowed and barely felt air pass through his nose. His mind was starting to get fuzzy. At least if he jumped out of a window he’d have some adrenaline pumping. 

“Didn’t want to call an ambulance, no, could never risk the cops showing up to the house in the middle of a party. God, I- I remember feeling so relieved when you kept going back to events for a chapter that didn’t haze to the point of needing crutches or intense therapy, or both. I was so relieved because I thought you’d make it out okay, that all the rumors about frats were outdated, that you’d get to have a family at school. That you’d be safe.”

Louis couldn’t feel his skin but from the way Zayn was looking at him, they were both crying.

“I didn’t- I couldn’t- I stood on the porch, in line, for almost thirty minutes before I stepped out of it and used your names at the door. After championships.” Zayn’s hands were shaking. “I stood there for half an hour because the thought of the last time I’d walked into a party in that house--fuck, that last time I’d been in that house at all--I was covered in your vomit hoping you weren’t going to die while your brothers partied downstairs and fucked girls they’d met an hour ago in the room next door.”

His lungs would never fill again, all of his tendons were torn and, yes, every bone in his body was broken, but Louis finally saw what Zayn needed to get at.

“And, Harry,” he mumbled, weakly.

“He’s- He’s going to- I can’t do it, I can’t do it with him, Lou, I love him too much. Not again, not- I can’t- Fuck-” Zayn’s sob shuttered through him and shook the windows. Louis moved to his side by the next breath and guided him onto the couch.

“I know. I know, Z, it’s okay,” Louis coaxed, Zayn disassembled in his lap. “It’s alright,” he soothed into Zayn’s ear. Zayn tangled his hands in Louis’s shirt and pressed his dripping face against Louis’s neck so he could scream into it.

And Louis held him. Louis rubbed his back and kept speaking to him gently and made his breaths real big so Zayn could follow them. Louis did exactly what Zayn had done for him when a girl sent him a picture of a positive test and then when she texted him that she got out of the clinic so they were all set and, again, when he forced Louis to stay in his apartment until he drained dry.

And when Zayn finally breathed steady, Louis squeezed him even closer. “Harry’s not gonna end up like me.”

Zayn’s grip tightened and he shoved himself deeper into Louis.

“Hey,” Louis hummed, “he’s not. He’s- He’s a good kid. He actually- Just today he actually told me if he needed to take a term off, he would. He’s not like me, really, Z. He knows he can step back, can let Liam or Niall take over and even put a pause on running and that it’d be okay. Fuck, could you imagine?”

Zayn laughed wetly and Louis’s heart tugged for his boys.

“I think I would’ve died before I figured out that the world wouldn’t end if I didn’t compete that season.”

“You almost did,” Zayn pointed out, muffled against Louis’s skin.

Louis took a deep breath. “Yeah. I am so--so--lucky that I had you.” Dropping his head, Louis nuzzled his face into Zayn’s slowly-getting-fluffier-every-day hair. “I love you. A lot.”

“I love you too, man.”

Louis lifted his head and then lifted Zayn’s, too, with his hands. Looking him dead in the eye, Louis spoke. “You’re not gonna have to go through that shit with Harry. He’s smart and he’s emotional and he’s disturbingly in love with you. He’s okay. You’re okay.”

Zayn nodded.

“I’m so proud of you for coming to that party and to Thanksgiving and maybe tomorrow night, too. It makes me so happy that he makes you happy enough to have new memories there.”

Along with his gaze, Zayn dropped his hands. He played with his fingers and bumped them against Louis’s stomach. 

“Besides, as long as you keep fucking him, he can’t impregnate anybody.”

Laughing, Zayn looked up again. Louis’s lungs filled and his tendons reattached and his bones mended. Zayn didn’t fade away after, and he ducked down to press a kiss against Louis’s chest before pulling out of his lap. “Let’s get stoned.”

“Let’s get absolutely trashed while you tell me about your new boy,” Louis agreed.

Zayn grinned.

Whoever (Zayn) said that Zayn didn’t kiss and tell was dead wrong. To Louis, at least. A few blunts shared between the two of them loosened Zayn’s lips until he was practically moaning about how fantastic of a fuck Harry was.

Louis, to his credit, followed along by nodding and interjecting at all the right points. His hand was scratching through Zayn’s hair as the model rested his head in Louis’s lap.

After Zayn had properly scarred Louis with an in-depth analysis of how well their kinks matched up, (and how well Harry’s hands matched up with Zayn’s throat,) the conversation took an.. interesting turn.

“And then, after he fucks the absolute shit outta me, Tommo, he fucking cleans my apartment.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! I’ve, like, woken up from naps and he’s let himself into my apartment organizing the vinyls or cooking dinner or some shit. He loves cooking. Makes me breakfast sometimes, too, if he stays over.”

“That boy can cook.”

“Fuck, you’re telling me. Sucks dick like a god then feeds you pancakes equally as orgasmic. Unbelievable.”

“You sure know how to pick ‘em,” Louis teased.

Zayn blushed and turned to push his face into Louis’s stomach. “I know,” he whined. 

“Come on, tell me all the nitty gritty shit, all the stuff he does to get on your nerves. He can’t be perfect. Otherwise, I might need to apologize to El.”

“You definitely need to apologize to your girlfriend,” Zayn snorted. Harry wasn’t even his boyfriend and he was already a better one than Louis ever had been. “The only complaint I have is how messy he is with laundry. Like, he’ll scrub my bathroom clean then just dump his towels on the floor.”

“Ah,” Louis began, “so that’s why you’re always wearing his clothes.”

“I am not.”

“I’m not even gonna dignify that blatant lie with a response. ‘Sides, it seems like he’s always coming back from yours with a bag full of clean laundry.”

“I do it for him,” Zayn mumbled. “If he leaves stuff here, I’ll just throw it in with mine when I do a load. Usually have something cleaned by the next time I see him.”

Louis clicked his tongue. “Disgustingly domestic.”

“Is it bad I wanna talk to him right now?”

“You literally think I’m dogshit, don’t you?”

“No!” Zayn insisted, finally sitting upright for the first time in a few hours. It had always been easy for Zayn, no matter how adverse to touch he’d been when they met, to fall into Louis. Time often slipped by without Zayn noticing when they cuddled. “No,” he repeated, “I just miss him. You got me talking about him, it’s your fault.”

Shaking his head, Louis grinned good-naturedly. “Call him, you dope.”

Beaming, Zayn had his phone ringing in a scarily short amount of time. Harry seemed to top all the lists on Zayn’s phone of favorites, bookmarks, and recents. When the ringing stopped, but before Harry’s voice had a chance to be heard, Zayn was already all over him.

“Hazzaaaaa,” he cooed, leaning sideways until he was back in Louis’s lap.

A low-pitched chuckle came through as Zayn put his phone on speaker. “Somebody’s toasted.”

“So gone,” Zayn confirmed, humming pleasantly as Louis went back to scratching his head.

“Think he’s got magic weed or something,” Louis offered. “Did you get it from the Hadids? Is it, like, rare rich people shit?” Louis asked as an afterthought.

Zayn answered by shaking his head, which was completely useless for Harry but he didn’t seem to care much about the answer.

“Oh, hey Tommo. Didn’t realize I was on speaker.”

“Yeah, careful. Don’t go whipping your cock out.”

“I’d rub one out to you,” Zayn murmured to Louis, absentmindedly and soft, like he didn’t even realize he was saying it to himself.

It must have picked up over the phone, though, because suddenly Harry cackled. “What are you calling me for, then?” he joked.

Zayn turned his head quickly back to his phone. “Because I miss you!”

“It’s been less than five hours, sweetheart.”

And if Zayn wanted to bathe in the warm, dizzying feeling that flooded his veins as the last word tumbled from Harry’s lips, then that was his business and no one else’s. “I know. But I miss you.”

“You were the one who chose to leave.”

Zayn groaned. “Stop being difficult, Styles.”

“Then come over,” Harry reasoned. “You won’t have to miss me if you’re with me,” he said in a sing-song voice.

“I see the album’s getting on well,” Louis grumbled. 

Zayn giggled at the bad joke, high-pitched and infectious, continuous until he was gasping for breath. It really wasn’t that funny, but then Zayn started laughing at how much he was laughing at such a bad joke and then he started laughing at how high he was to be laughing so hard and then--

“On second thought, how ‘bout I come pick you guys up and walk you back to the house, yeah?”

“Probably a good idea, Harold,” Louis yawned. “Pick up ice cream.”

“I’m not picking up-“

“Mint chip please and thank you okay byyyyye see you soon,” Zayn rambled quickly before jamming his finger onto the ‘end call’ button on his screen.

And as infuriating as Louis’s smirk at Harry’s subservience was, the bright smile Zayn gave him at the sight of the grocery bag was worth it. Plus, melting ice cream worked as a motivator to get them out the door quickly. Only after Zayn had pulled Harry into a long, lazy kiss until Louis coughed dramatically, of course.

The walk back to the house, Harry kept Zayn’s hand in his. And Louis was attached to Zayn’s other hand. It was more of a ‘don’t wander off and get lost’ thing, but also the fact that they both had a soft spot for spoiling Zayn.

When they made it back to the house, Harry helped Zayn take his--their?-- varsity jacket off and let him and Louis plop down onto the couch. Disappearing only for a moment, Harry came back quickly with two spoons. Louis cheered and cracked the lid on the tub of ice cream, letting Zayn have the first scrape while he found football reruns on T.V.

There was a moment of confusion when Zayn realized Harry didn’t have a spoon and therefore wouldn’t be having any ice cream. But Harry laughed at Zayn’s expression and hauled him into his lap on the couch, Zayn’s back pressed to Harry’s chest. Every now and then, as Zayn brought the spoon up to his mouth, Harry would sneak a hand under his arm and grab his wrist just in time to direct it to his own mouth. Zayn would pout and whine and Harry would kiss him until he felt better.

This lasted about as long as it took for Liam to get home, late enough that Zayn wasn’t stoned enough to justify his pouts and late enough that Louis wasn’t stoned enough to not get dragged away. By Harry. Out. 

Like, left the house, gone to buy copious amounts of shitty alcohol, be back in a few. Hours. Probably.

Zayn felt like his pouts, stoned or sober, were now justified as he was stranded in a frat house with Liam Payne. Years of muscle memory of ignoring or brushing off Liam offered to take over on autopilot, but a tiny voice in the back of his head pointed out he wasn’t just Louis’s brother anymore, he was Harry’s VP. Not that Zayn cared or it mattered or anything, but. 

He could try to play nice.

Without Harry or Louis, the football game on the screen on the opposite wall no longer kept Zayn’s attention. Liam had said his hellos, touched base about some logistics briefly, and then Harry and Louis said their goodbyes. A few heavy thuds followed by quiet footsteps alerted Zayn to the fact that Liam had moved upstairs. It sounded like he was dumping his bags in his room. And it wasn’t like Zayn was doing anything, sitting in front of a football game he didn’t care about.

So, Zayn grabbed the duffle Harry had packed for him at his apartment and carried it up the stairs. He set it down on Harry’s bed, not bothering to unpack for the moment, and then stood in Harry’s doorway. Liam’s room seemed to be across the hall and one to the left. With his door open, Zayn could see the corner of a desk, half of the fraternity’s flag, and a pile of shoes. 

Zayn took a deep breath and moved slowly across the hall and one to the left. He leaned against Liam’s door frame with his arms crossed. He uncrossed them.

“Hey.”

Liam turned his head from where he stood over his bag with a stack of shirts in his hands. “Oh, hey,” he replied, surprisingly kind. Admittedly, Zayn had been somewhat of a dick to Liam before, but he had been to all of Louis and Harry’s friends. Yet, Liam only met him with an open smile, like he wasn’t exactly surprised but also hadn’t expected Zayn to pop up.

“Just dropped my stuff in Harry’s,” Zayn said, uselessly, and jammed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of Harry’s bedroom.

Liam nodded. “Good, yeah. I’m just unpacking now. How was your holiday?”

His body turned away from Zayn, as did his hands, when he went to drop some jeans in one of his drawers. It didn’t eradicate the fact that he’d asked Zayn a question, though. Actually, as he was stuffing the denim in, he glanced over at Zayn to prompt him.

“Uh, good. Saw some family, got home and hung out with friends. Went to this sick party. You?”

“‘Bout the same,” Liam laughed, reaching for the last stack of clothes in his suitcase. “Although, I’m about to throw the sick party.”

“Do you need any help with it?” Zayn asked, anxiously rubbing above his elbow. Part of him wanted Liam to say no, but the other part of him wanted Liam to say yes so Zayn would have a reason to leave and not be in his company.

“Nah, we’re good. We’ve got the whole set-up planned and everything. We’re, uh, pretty used to throwing parties.”

Finally, Zayn laughed. Genuinely, too, because it wasn’t the best joke he’d ever heard but it wasn’t awful. “The understatement of a century.”

“Probably,” Liam forfeited graciously with a laugh. “You coming?”

“Tomorrow night? Yeah, I think so. I’m probably gonna crash here with Harry for a few days. If that’s okay with you guys, of course.”

Liam waved him off. “Go ahead, ‘s not like you’re taking up any of our rooms. ‘Sides, it’ll be nice to have you around. You keep the young ones in line.”

“Really?”

“I think they wanna show off. The sophomores did it with Eleanor last year, back when they were new to the chapter.”

Girlfriend privileges. Zayn’s stomach swirled. He couldn’t tell which direction.

“Sorry,” Liam said quickly.

“What? Why?”

Liam shrugged. “You made a weird face and I wasn’t- I sometimes say the wrong things. Wasn’t sure if I said something I wasn’t supposed to.”

“Oh,” Zayn said. “No, it’s just-- I dunno. Kind of weird to have, like, an entire fraternity looking at me like I’m Harry’s special toy they can’t break.” And I think I might like it, but we’re not even together, so I don’t know what to do with that, either.

Liam shrugged again. “Guess it is a bit weird. But it’s not like you’re some toy, you’re just someone that’s really important to him. And we respect him, so we respect you. Probably wouldn’t be as bad, or not even a thing at all, if it was a different brother. But, you know,” Liam continued, pushing his last drawer shut and kicking the lid closed on his now empty suitcase, “you’re dating the president. Important shit, that.”

“We’re not dating,” Zayn blurted out. Like a dumbass, because that being the first thing he wanted to say after Liam’s ramble definitely didn’t imply anything.

Sure enough, Liam raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re not?”

“No. We- We’re just fucking around.”

“You came to Thanksgiving,” Liam pointed out. It was Zayn’s turn to shrug. And, wow, what a cop-out answer. “That isn’t, like-- Okay, sure, some guys bring random dates or hook-ups just to score after, but that wasn’t what it was. Like, he was super sweet on you. That’s not- That’s not Harry doing ‘casual.’”

The memory of Taylor’s words rose in Zayn’s throat. Don’t expect it to last. It never does with him. Should he believe that? Should he go back to having one foot out the door because, hell, he doesn’t even remember when he stopped? Nothing in him wanted to believe it, but the only other alternative was what Liam was saying. It wasn’t casual. It was something. Not unlabeled and easy but.. important and commitment and all that shit and maybe Louis hadn’t yelled at him enough.

“I mean, that’s what we are.”

“No,” Liam laughed, like it was an inside joke between the two of them. Zayn wanted to cross his arms defensively, but he settled for a vague frown. Liam jammed, repeatedly, his suitcase into his closet as he spoke. “You’re not. If you were, Harry would’ve ditched you, night of. Two weeks, max. Never seen him with anyone for longer than two weeks since Camille.”

Zayn didn’t care. He really didn’t, couldn’t be bothered, wasn’t even a thought in his mind-- “Who’s Camille?”

Liam looked up at Zayn as he finally closed his closet door. “You don’t know about her?”

The urge to clench his fists was overwhelming. Why else would he have asked? And, jeez, why did he always feel so out of his depth in this goddamn house? It was like the rug kept suddenly pulling out from beneath him.

“Huh. His freshman year? Rowe, a French professor. He never took French or anything, wasn’t like she was his professor. They started out casual, think he picked her up at a bar off-campus or something. Whatever. He had boasted how he did the whole, ‘no more than two weeks’ thing all through high school and then, bam, middle of fall semester he’d been fucking around with her for over a month. Followed her around like a dog on a chain, I swear. We all teased him about it but he never stopped complaining about how distant she was in public or around other people. Harry’s an affectionate guy. You’d know.”

Camille, Harry’s freshman year ex. The one other person he’d been with for longer than a couple weeks in the past three years. No, longer--through high school, too. Zayn didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t like the taste of a professor getting with a college freshman, practically a kid for fuck’s sake, that had seared itself into his tongue. “How’d it end?”

Liam, kindly, ignored the slight wobble in Zayn’s voice. “Uh, badly,” he replied, sitting down on his bed. He put his hands behind himself on the mattress and leaned back. “She had a boyfriend who taught in a different city. When Harry finally got sick of waiting around on the sidelines and tried to get close, she dropped that bombshell on him. There was a ton of screaming. Actually, I’m pretty sure it was all her.”

“You heard it?”

Liam nodded. “It happened after one of the nights Harry snuck her in. Not that we didn’t know; everyone, including the both of them, was well aware of what was going on. But she went off on him, poor guy. Absolutely tore into him. We couldn’t make out most of it, but when she opened his door to leave she was saying some nasty shit to him. He didn’t deserve any of it.”

Blinking, Zayn had to remind himself he hadn’t done coke in the past twenty minutes, despite his face feeling completely numb. 

He stared off blankly into space for a few moments before Liam stood up. “Come on. I’m starving, gonna eat. I’ll make you some eggs. You like ‘em, yeah?”

Zayn nodded. He trailed after Liam into the kitchen. Liam, who didn’t say anything as he made them food, nor while they ate, nor while they sat in silence after. He was perfectly content to sit next to Zayn and scroll through his phone if Zayn needed someone around. Zayn was his president’s entire heart, after all, so of course Liam would look out for him.

Because Zayn was clearly working through a lot. He stared at his fork, twirling over his plate, with his eyebrows furrowed. Eighteen-year-old Harry, sleeping with a professor. Probably the first person he’d ever gotten close to, the only one he’d wanted to actually maybe be with up until a few months ago. And she had lied to him, kept him at arms-length, and then belittled and humiliated him in front of all of his brothers.

Had an ex who gave me shit and it kinda put a damper on it for awhile.

Harry had told him something he’d last done in an almost-relationship. If Camille could yell at him in front of the whole house, she absolutely could shame him for his kinks. Considering the age difference, maybe she wouldn’t even do it, straight-up denied him the first time he asked.

And the lingerie. I usually just save it for when I’m in a relationship. They’d both already told the other their most vulnerable desires, the ones reserved for people they lov- they were closest to.

“What happened after?” Zayn finally asked. He turned to look at Liam sitting next to him at the counter.

“Hmm?” Liam hummed, turning to face Zayn and then dragging his gaze away from his phone a second later. “After she left?”

“Yeah.”

“We all stayed out of it. Let him lick his wounds for a bit. Louis went into his room a few days after, think he talked to him. Musta worked, or something, ‘cause he was back to hook-ups about a week after she walked out. And that was it ‘til this past October.”

Zayn nodded in quiet thanks.

Liam checked his phone again. “Tommo says they’ll be back in ten. Horan and Bressie are both getting back tonight, some others too,” he read off. “Gonna go shower the plane off me, you good ‘til they get back?” Liam asked, clicking his phone off and pocketing it.

“Yeah, ‘course,” Zayn said, blushing slightly at the implication that Liam would hold off showering just to sit next to him for the next ten minutes. “Might run back to mine for a bit once they get back. I was too stoned to pack an overnight earlier and Harry did a shit job.”

At the teasing, Liam laughed brightly. Zayn found it to be a pleasant sound.

“All right, bro. I’ll see you later, then.” He clapped Zayn on the back before leaving the kitchen.

For the next ten minutes, Zayn easily entertained himself by cleaning up after himself and Liam. He didn’t get as much joy out of washing dishes as Harry seemed to, but he didn’t mind it. Finishing up with scraping egg residue off the pan--Liam had really fed him, and the only thing he’d seen Harry give him, too--Zayn heard the front door bang shut.

“We’re hooooome,” Louis called out in harmony with the sounds of plastic bags rustling and bottles clinking.

“In the kitchen,” Zayn replied as he put the pan to the side to dry.

“Just where I like my bitches-- ow,” rang out Louis’s voice.

Chuckling to himself, Zayn had turned around to face the entrance to the kitchen, leaning against the sink, by the time Harry and Louis made their way to him. Sure enough, they were both carrying a concerning amount of alcohol. “Hi, darlin’,” Harry greeted, giving Zayn a quick peck to the forehead.

He moved over to the counter with Harry, pressing into his side and wrapping an arm around his waist. “Is this all for tomorrow night?” Zayn asked concernedly as Harry set his bags down on the granite and began to pull bottle after bottle from the plastic. Louis was doing the same on the opposite side of the counter.

“Nah, we’re stocking up. We’ll need to place an order probably before too long, but before we get to it, this should tide us over. Where’s Payno?”

“Upstairs. He’s in the shower,” Zayn replied.

Harry tensed for a moment. “Did he leave you by yourse-”

“No, shit, relax. We hung out for a while and then he got Lou’s text about you two heading back after he made food. He, like, just hopped in.”

Louis grinned madly at Harry and Zayn rolled his eyes. Eleanor, in the same conversation she’d mentioned girlfriend privileges, had said she’d never felt safer in a frat as she did in Louis’s once they got together. The others still had her on alert at their parties, but at Louis’s house she knew he could leave her alone with the entire house and she’d be safe. It wasn’t just errand runs and preferential treatment, it was an unspoken bond of ‘we look after our own.’

As the two unpacked from their shopping trip, Zayn headed home for a bit. He showered and changed, repacked his back with some clothes for a few days and a party, and threw in anything else he wanted that Harry missed. Poking around his apartment, he checked for anything he might’ve forgotten or needed to take care of before he was gone for a few days. He went to the fridge to check if there were any wilting leftovers that would soon go bad.

Instead, Zayn was met with that white label and gold trim and dark glass. Making a split-second decision, Zayn grabbed it. He dumped the contents down the drain, then ran the water to swirl any residue out from the inside of the bottle. Once it was clean enough, he picked up a decorative, wide candle from the wall shelf between the bathroom and kitchen. Replacing it with the empty bottle, he bounced the heavy candle in his hand absentmindedly as he looked at the champagne bottle sitting next to the picture frame with a photo of his sisters and him with Louis at the top of a mountain. His dad had taken it during the summer the Maliks hosted Louis for a week. Zayn’s eyes trailed over to the polaroid wall above his bed.

He couldn’t make any of them out from where he stood, but he knew every single one of them by heart. His youngest sister wearing their mom’s heels and lipstick as a toddler. Louis with a lopsided grin, blocking half of the picture with his palm and a cigarette in his other hand. Zayn’s first gallery showing. Gigi and Bella pressing their lips to his cheeks on either side of him. Behind the scenes pictures of photoshoots and runways. Louis flipping him off while riding his skateboard. Harry’s hair splayed out over his pillow, mismatched blankets around him. His oldest sister in her wedding dress. Harry blowing smoke at the camera. His mom choosing a jar from her spice cabinet. Harry with a soft smile and a bare back, looking over his shoulder with a frying pan in one hand. Harry curled up on Zayn’s couch, distracted by the computer in his lap. Harry grinning loosely with Zayn, asleep, pressing his face into Harry’s neck. One with skin covering the entire small frame, a tiny scrawl of might as well… standing out starkly in dark ink, a purple bruise off center just beneath it. 

They ordered pizza when the Nialls made it home. A good handful of others had also returned, but they weren’t going to even entertain the idea of eating before Horan appeared. Zayn had walked through the door hours before, now with his feet tucked under him and Harry’s arm around him on the couch, the president’s legs spread wide. He was snorting at something Bressie had said, around a slice of sausage and garlic that had already spilled onto his stretched-out gray tank, so worn the cotton was thin and soft. 

Zayn didn’t know how he’d ever tell Harry.

Louis caught his gaze, eyes shining in curiosity. Zayn gave him a weak smile and a slight shrug. Louis tilted his head. Zayn let his legs slip back down, putting one over the top of Harry’s nearest thigh, and Harry squeezed him while gesturing wildly with his pizza at Liam. Louis nodded twice. Zayn held eye contact for a few more moments, then broke it as he turned back to the raucous conversation. 

Harry put a large hand on Zayn’s thigh over his, fanning his fingers out and curling them over and over to scratch lightly at Zayn’s inseam. He glanced down at Zayn, but Zayn raised his own hand to the back of Harry’s necks and toyed with the curls starting to grow out.

Being the only two who had been at the house for more than twenty-four hours, Zayn and Harry offered to tidy up so the others could get settled. The hours crept into early morning when they weren’t looking and eyes were starting to droop above beer bottles. So, the other members of the house thanked the pair and dragged themselves up the stairs toward twin beds and half-unpacked suitcases.

In his natural habitat of post-get-together clean-up, Harry grabbed a trash bag and started filling it with cups and bottles. Zayn handled all of the real dishware from the few of them that had actually used plates (not Harry. Admittedly, not Zayn either, but at least he’d had a napkin,) by dropping it off in the kitchen for now. He helped pile pizza boxes by the back door for Harry to take out in a bit. When they finished with the clutter, Harry propped open the door to the trash bins and began his few trips while Zayn wiped down the living room table.

Getting started on the dishes, Zayn could hear Harry humming to himself in the other room while he rearranged the furniture. It was a bit strange to him, the fact that he knew the layout of the house well enough to put it back together, but he’d spent the final month of last term hanging around the house, not to mention the past few days. He carried a few chairs back to the dining room and shoved a recliner up against the wall. After pulling the coffee table out and tossing the throw pillows back to their respective homes, Zayn headed to the kitchen.

Harry had all the dishes soaking and sudsy, going in to scrub them before eventually rinsing them off and leaving them to dry. “Finished with the living room, unless you want me to vacuum,” Zayn told him, leaning against the island behind Harry.

“Nah, that’s fine,” Harry answered. “Too loud and everyone’s probably asleep by now.”

Zayn shrugged. “Anything else you want help with?”

“Would you mind just passing me those last few glasses?” Harry asked, turning his head over his shoulder and nodding at the few dishes on the far side of the counter. Almost the entire surface of the island had been covered so Harry had made good time. Then again, Zayn wasn’t surprised considering he knew just how much practice Harry had.

Answering with a smile, Zayn turned around and reached for the glassware. He had to lean over the granite, stretching out to wrap a hand around one. Sliding it into his other palm, down by his torso, Zayn had just grabbed the second glass when a large wet palm pressed between his shoulder blades.

“Haz--”

“Shhh,” Harry replied softly. It was Zayn’s turn to glance over his shoulder. He found Harry’s eyes glued to the skin exposed by Zayn’s shirt that had ridden up when he leaned over the counter. It was the same skin that a similarly wet, and probably soapy, thumb brushed over.

And then, Harry’s thumb passed over a thin strip of lace. Oh.

It wasn’t like Zayn had decided to wear a see-through bright red thong to sit on the couch and eat pizza with Harry’s friends. The majority of the panties he currently wore were a soft blue cotton but the waistband was white lace, now just peeking out from his sweatpants.

Harry’s hands moved off him but Zayn didn’t try to prop himself up. In a moment, they had grabbed the dishes in Zayn’s hands, dropped them into the sink, and toweled off his hands before returning to press against Zayn’s thighs. Fingers danced their way around his hips until they were at the front, slowly tugging loose the tied drawstring.

“This okay?”

Mind rumbling from the way his limbs seemed to buzz, Zayn breathed out “Yeah,” before he could bite his tongue. It was probably a quarter past two in the morning, and they were in the kitchen, where anyone could walk in, but Zayn couldn’t imagine moving. Not even the hard, cold stone beneath him was enough of a motivator to separate from Harry long enough for them to make it to his bed.

“Fuck,” Harry grunted, when he slipped the sweatpants over Zayn’s hips and down his legs. “Your ass looks so good in these, Princess.”

Ignoring the heat seeping into his bones, Zayn turned his head again. “I know,” he answered. It was why he’d bought them, afterall, but Harry found his eyes and brought a hand down on Zayn’s skin.

He twitched forward. Harry gripped one of his hips to hold him still. Letting the sting settle, Harry waited a few moments before he hit Zayn again, watching the skin pinken. It took a few more slaps before Harry was suddenly tugging Zayn back a bit more, pulling his ass out farther and causing Zayn to slip lower down the counter.

“I remember someone promising to get fucked over the counter,” Harry mused, tugging the fabric aside slightly to brush a dry thumb over Zayn’s thumb.

Zayn inhaled sharply. “Don’t have any lube down here,” he answered. Somewhere in his brain  he told himself to be concerned that that was the problem he had with Harry fucking him over the fraternity’s kitchen counter.

“Oh, no, not tonight, Princess,” Harry said. “No, tonight you’re gonna get Daddy’s tongue.”

Zayn pushed his face into his own bicep and groaned. He could hear Harry kneeling a moment before a soft puff of breath hit the back of his thighs. Just as carefully as he had lowered Zayn’s sweatpants, Harry pulled the panties down Zayn’s legs.

Hands spread Zayn open and lips trailed up his thighs. Then, Harry kissed right over Zayn.

Somewhere, somehow, in some unknown length of time, Harry had progressed from soft kisses and light licks to spit running down his chin and the inside of Zayn’s legs. Three fingers were accompanying his tongue, tracing over the ring of muscle that was, frankly, abused from the past few days.

Perhaps the extra sting, burn, the overstimulation, was why Zayn was whining and rocking into Harry’s face, begging to cum as he leaked over himself. They definitely needed to do this again with Zayn riding Harry’s face because, fuck, Harry needed this so bad he didn’t even want to breathe.

“Please, Daddy, I need it,” Zayn pleaded.

Without pulling back, Harry wrapped the fingers that weren’t inside of Zayn around his cock. His wrist was loose as he jacked Zayn quickly. Harry nipped at Zayn’s rim before leaning away for a moment. “You gonna cum, Princess? You gonna cum on Daddy’s tongue?”

Zayn moaned, hips beginning to stutter.

“Careful, darling. Any louder and the guys might hear you. That is, if they haven’t already.”

The pressure built in Zayn’s head and he wished Harry had an extra hand, and ridiculously long arm, just to wrap around his throat.

“Look at that, made you louder. You’d like it, wouldn’t you, huh? Liam coming down to check what that noise is just to see my pretty little slut split open on my tongue?”

Zayn keened--high and much, much too loud for a house he didn’t live in--and Harry dove back in as Zayn came. He forced his tongue into Zayn again, fingers crooking just right while his other hand pulled at Zayn’s head, working him through his orgasm.

And if the ‘my’ of ‘my pretty little slut’ tipped Zayn over the brink quicker than Harry springing the derogatory term on him suddenly, then nobody needed to know.

By the time Zayn’s ears stopped ringing, the fluids on his skin had begun to cool and he wrinkled his nose at the sensation as he reentered his body. Thankful for the counter to support his weight, Zayn finally turned his head back and looked at Harry again. The president, with tomato sauce and sweat and spit on his tank, was resting back on his heels, panting.

“You wanna come on my ass?” Zayn asked, volume much quieter now that his desperation had dissipated. He would have offered something more.. participatory, but he was pretty sure every bone in his body had disappeared. 

Harry shook his head. When Zayn furrowed his brows, pink flushed high up Harry’s cheekbones.

“Did you- Did you cum from eating me out?”

Mouth open, Harry said nothing, so he closed it again. A grin grew on his face. “The fucking noises you were making, honey. I really can’t say that nobody heard us. They were so loud, but they were so hot.”

Zayn rolled his eyes. If somebody heard, well. That was a problem for the morning. “Come on, clean up your mess.”

Standing up from his knees with a slight pop and rough groan, Harry grabbed a dish towel and run it under the warm tap for a moment. He wiped Zayn down first, helping him back into his panties and sweats, before shoving the towel down the front of his jeans. Zayn gave him a disgusted look and Harry laughed. “I’ll wash it, I’ll wash it,” he promised.

True to his word, Harry gave Zayn a quick closed-lip kiss before moving to the laundry room for a minute. By the time he got back, Zayn’s breathing had settled. They moved upstairs--Harry was usually the first one up in the morning, anyways, so he’d finish the dishes then--and took turns in the bathroom down the hall, just a bit too small for them to share. Harry stripped and Zayn changed and then they tucked in under the covers. 

“You called me a slut tonight.”

“I did,” Harry agreed, his voice low in its quietness, rumbling under Zayn’s touch. “Did you like it?”

“I did. Did you?”

Harry thought for a moment. “I did. I don’t like saying mean nasty stuff to you, but.. sometimes you are nasty. The good kind.”

He smiled to himself. “Okay, dork.” 

Zyn fell asleep to Harry’s limbs entangled with his.

Zayn woke up, however, to no limbs around him at all. Not even any limbs pressing a body up and down off the floor or anything, Harry wasn’t in the room. In spite, Zayn grumbled as he tugged on Harry’s softest hoodie, faded light blue with the name of Harry’s hometown printed on the front, over Harry’s shirt, which he was already wearing along with a pair of Harry’s boxers. He really couldn’t tell if it was disgusting that  his morning looks at the house always seemed to be Harry’s sweatshirts and underwear because as much as his brain told him it was, he felt way too comfortable to change into anything else.

Still, Zayn was ticked off, so he pouted and wrapped his arms around himself and moved towards the land of the conscious. There were voices coming from the living room. It must have been about half of the frat, Zayn figured, as he came down the stairs and saw the furniture he’d just organized last night already positioned in weird angles and piled full of people again. He couldn’t quite see Harry yet, but Zayn moved toward what seemed to be the center of the socialization and--yep--there he was.

Harry grinned when he caught sight of Zayn, opening his arms wide for Zayn to climb into his lap. He pressed a kiss to Zayn’s nose as he got settled. “Morning, sweets.”

“Hi,” Zayn replied, clipped.

A few whistles and a handful of pained or teasing calls rang through the room. “Looks like Styles is in the doghouse,” Niall jested, raising his eyebrows when Zayn glared at him.

“What’s wrong, babe, did I do something?” Harry asked quietly. The room was only partially paying attention to them, but still. It wasn’t a show for them, it was a share of genuine concern between him and Zayn.

Zayn, who felt his resolve melt away at Harry’s worried tone and warm palms on his stomach and kisses on his nose. “I woke up alone,” he finally sighed out. He was being dramatic, fully aware that he was fluttering his eyes up at Harry. But if Harry was going to spoil him, why shouldn’t he be?

“Oh, I’m sorry, baby. You were still asleep when I got back from my run and I know when I work out in the room sometimes it wakes you up. Just wanted to see the guys who got in this morning, I didn’t wanna--”

“Haz, it’s okay,” Zayn relented. “I’m just teasing you, I was just a bit chilly without my personal furnace.”

Harry beamed, brighter than he had when he won Champs, and kissed Zayn’s nose again. “I’m sorry,” he said, still meaning it but with much less groveling. “I can wake you up next time if you want?”

Shaking his head, Zayn played with one of Harry’s hands with both of his own. “It’s fine, really.”

“Alright. You do look hot in my clothes, though. Just thought you should know,” Harry added, the cheeky fucker.

“Yeah, yeah. Feed me, bitch.”

“Oh, of course,” Harry replied instantly. He leaned forward, one hand on Zayn’s hip to keep him steady in Harry’s lap and the other reaching out toward the table in front of him full of bagels and eggs and sausages. “Always take care of my Princess,” he murmured softly.

Nobody had ever said Zayn Malik didn’t rise to a challenge, even with pink cheeks. “You’re so good to me, Daddy.”

But the blush down Harry’s neck and behind his ears didn’t come. He didn’t squeeze Zayn a bit closer and give him a plate of breakfast foods and sheepishly avoid eye contact for a few minutes. No, Harry went stock still.

Zayn’s heart jumped into his throat. “Haz--”

“Don’t.” His tone wasn’t harsh, not even unkind, but it was firm in its softness. 

Zayn didn’t try to say anything else. Even if he wanted to, his brain was preoccupied with telling himself stupid, stupid, stupid. Harry had told him he didn’t want Zayn to tell anyone. Liam had told him the story of Camille, the professor and ‘ex’ that shamed Harry for it, possibly in front of the very same people in the room with them now. And Zayn had carelessly said it, like it meant nothing.

Well, not exactly true, he reasoned with himself. He shouldn’t have said it, but he said it low, just above a whisper, and everyone else was engaged in conversation. He was just trying to banter with Harry, dish back out what he was given. Still, Zayn could admit when he fucked up. And he had.

Harry gently passed him a paper plate with half a bagel slathered in cream cheese, a healthy helping of eggs, and some latkes tucked in on the side. Belatedly, Zayn realized he must have made the spread for everyone, considering Harry was usually the first one up in the mornings and they wouldn’t typically make this much food. He probably stopped at the store after his run to celebrate everyone being back in the same house.

Once Zayn took the plate, Harry carefully placed his other hand on Zayn’s hip and lifted him slightly, just enough to slip himself out from under him and stand up. The sight of Harry’s back made Zayn’s stomach tumble. “Harry,” he tried again, but when Harry looked back at him, his eyes were guarded. 

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” 

We all stayed out of it. Let him lick his wounds for a bit.

With the heat of shame and sharp sting of rejection, Zayn looked at his paper plate and tried not to cry in front of half of his best friend’s fraternity. He knew he’d get over it, they both would with just a bit of time and space to breathe, but the immediacy of such a negative response hurt. Nevermind Harry leaving Zayn to handle himself, without reassurance or a conversation about what just happened.

They couldn’t have a serious conversation, though. Not in this room. Harry probably needed to calm himself down, too. That didn’t stop Zayn’s eyes from blurring.

“Hey, you okay?”

Zayn’s head snapped up at the kind voice. Liam was leaning in from his seat on the arm of the couch next to him. Zayn hadn’t even noticed him. But his eyes were watery and Liam surely just watched Harry get up and walk away, so Zayn tried to blink the tears down. One slipped off an eyelash, splatting firmly onto the cotton on Zayn’s thighs. “Fine,” Zayn strained out.

Frustratingly, Liam didn’t look away like Zayn was hoping he would. No, in fact, he looked closer at Zayn, his lips twitching as he tried not to frown. “You smoke, right?”

“What?” Zayn’s mind was still too occupied to keep up with the sudden topic change.

“Do you smoke?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go outside.”

Liam stood up. But instead of turning his back and walking away with guarded eyes, Liam held out a hand to Zayn. He unfolded himself from the chair and set his plate down on the very edge of the table, the only space on it, really, and allowed himself to take Liam’s hand.

Once he was standing, too, Liam moved his hand to Zayn’s shoulder, guiding him through the crowded room and into the kitchen and onto the back porch. His grip was firm, yet benevolent and platonic. Zayn felt an odd sense of safety radiate off of the spot where Liam was touching him.

It didn’t disappear when Liam dropped his hand.

He fished out a carton and a light from his pockets, holding both out to Zayn. He plucked a cigarette out and lit it, passing the lighter back to Liam as soon as he was done. “You okay?” Liam asked again as he held the flame up to the end of his own cigarette.

“Um,” Zayn began eloquently, “dunno.”

Liam nodded, then breathed out a cloud as he squinted across the backyard. “He will be.”

“What?” Zayn said, not for the first, nor probably the last, time around Liam.

“Harry. He’ll be okay. Clearly, you’re both upset about whatever happened, but he’ll come around. Probably fairly quickly, too. That wasn’t his angry walk or his face when something irredeemable, in his book, happens. That was, like, the face he makes when Niall spends some of our budget without asking first. Like, ‘you did fuck up but we’ll talk through it and be fine, I just need to go cool off for a second.’”

The implication that Liam knew it was Zayn that had done something wrong made him want to cringe, but he managed to keep it inside at the last second. Zayn flicked the ashes over the railing. “I was a fucking idiot. Said something I knew he was sensitive about in front of other people when I should’ve kept my mouth shut. I just- I forgot, because he’s so comfortable about it with me, not that that’s an excuse. He told me not to, like, tell anyone or bring it up like that.”

“Well,” Liam took a deep breath, “is it something he should be uncomfortable about in front of people?”

“What, like, objectively or subjectively?”

Glancing at Zayn, Liam raised his eyebrows.

“‘Cause objectively, I guess not. It’s something people can talk about with their friends, ‘s why I didn’t realize. But, subjectively, like with context and shit, it’s not unfounded or anything. He has a right to be sensitive about things, especially when.. he’s had stuff happen to him before.” Zayn finished lamely with a pitiful shrug. Camille happened. In this house.

Liam sniffed. “Not saying you should’ve said whatever you did, or that you should back him into a corner when you talk about it, but maybe the opportunity could arise to tell him that. Ya know, let him know that it’s okay to share with us, if he wants to. You’re right, he does have a right to be sensitive about whatever he wants to be, but sometimes people have been sensitive for so long they forget that the people around them aren’t.”

Zayn hummed and took a drag from his cigarette. He and Liam stood there, barefoot in the freezing January air, mostly in silence while they finished smoking. But Liam didn’t leave when he finished, just scrolled through his phone again as he leaned on the railing and waited for Zayn to need or not need him.

Before Zayn could form words again, the door behind them slid open. They both looked over just as Harry raised his gaze from, probably, staring at the ground to find the odd pair in front of him. “Uh, sorry, I didn’t realize you guys were out here.”

But he didn’t move or close the door. So, Liam pocketed his cellphone and pushed himself off the railing. He clapped Harry’s shoulder as he passed him in the doorway. “No worries, bro.”

Liam slid the door shut behind himself. Harry buried his hands in his pockets. 

“I wish I hated that you smoke,” he blurted. 

Zayn quirked a single brow. 

“It’s just-- I dunno. It’s bad for you and it’s so much litter, but.. I don’t really mind the smell anymore. Actually, now anytime I smell it, I think of you. It just.. fits you, the whole look of having a cigarette between your fingers. Aesthetic, whatever. Just wish it wasn’t so you because it’ll probably, like, end up killing you down the line.”

Tracking the twitches in Harry’s mouth and the way he twisted the ball of his foot into the porch flooring, it took Zayn a second to find a response. “We’re all gonna end up dying of cancer eventually, anyway.”

“Not me. It’ll be Parkinson’s.” Harry wasn’t looking at Zayn anymore. “Grandfather had it. Not that it’s a guarantee I’ll have it or anything, but.” He shrugged. “Ever since he was diagnosed I just had this feeling that’s how I’ll go.”

Again, Zayn let silence sit for a moment. “Morbid.”

That wrenched a small laugh from Harry. “Yeah, I guess.”

“We’ve got prostate cancer in the family. Figure I’d rather lose my lungs before my prostate,” Zayn joked. Harry looked back at him and his eyes were shining again. Zayn held himself back from moving closer.

“Um, I’m sorry, by the way. I kind of overreacted, I know I--”

“No,” Zayn interrupted. “Do not apologize. I’m sorry. You told me you didn’t want anyone knowing and I just said it in front of a room full of your closest friends.”

“You practically whispered it, though, it’s not like--”

“Harry. I shouldn’t have said it. It’s my fault.”

Harry shrugged helplessly. His eyes weren’t glittering anymore, instead drooping into sadness. He looked like he was stuck.

Maybe Liam Payne would be good for something. “I, uh, I know about Camille.”

And Zayn almost wanted to take it back the moment he saw Harry’s eyes flare and jaw tighten. If he was guarded before, now he was made of stone. Untouchable, despite the short distance between them. Unreachable, perhaps.

“I’m not- I’m gonna guess she was the, uh, ex you mentioned. Who gave you shit about it.”

“Yeah,” Harry answered, tight.

Zayn wanted to unfurl his fists for him. “And with the whole..” Zayn waved his hands around vaguely, “freak out, at the house, I can imagine.. All I’m saying is, I get it.”

“Yeah, you don’t.”

And, really, what could Zayn do with that aside from waiting for Harry to say whatever he needed to?

“You can’t- You don’t get it. And if you hate when people lie, then I hate when people throw around words they don’t fucking mean. Because what people say.. that shit means something and they just toss shit around like it doesn’t matter. And I thought you were different. You were so good at saying what you mean and meaning what you say but you just fucking don’t. ”

It kind of felt like the wind had gotten knocked out of him. Zayn tucked his hands into the ends of Harry’s sweatshirt’s sleeves.

“You don’t get being.. being fucking eighteen, less than five months out of your parents’ house, falling for an adult who knows they’re emotionally unavailable yet uses you whenever she wants. And then decides to use you as a punching bag, too, in front of your entire goddamn friend group in your own fucking house because hers is occupied with her older, smarter, wealthier boyfriend who also, apparently, is a better fuck than you because she won’t stop yelling that at you.”

The anger wasn’t directed at Zayn, not really, but it had Harry’s body shaking. Zayn, in turn, was crying. Probably. He couldn’t say for sure.

“You don’t know what it’s like to never, never be enough, torn down at every turn for the things you barely work up the courage to ask for, and then have them thrown back at you to shame you into.. I don’t even fucking know. For no fucking reason. To have the one person say the one thing you wanted to hear from their lips and have it be full of.. vitriol and mock and in front of the people who’ve become your family when you’re away from your own for the first fucking time. To rip out your heart and then your dick, too, basically smear your bedroom life on the walls.”

“And then to do it again..”

“Yeah,” Harry’s voice broke. He was still shaking. “I know- Fuck, I know you aren’t her and you won’t do it but it’s so fucking terrifying to do this shit in this house. And I hate that, because I want to. I want to have you stay with me and show you off to my friends and- and fuck you over the counter,” he gave a wet laugh, “but I’m so fucking scared it’s gonna blow up in my face. And I know it won’t, but to hear you say.. to hear you say that word in front of everyone again, even if it wasn’t really in front of everyone, it just. I didn’t know what to do.”

“Did she call you a slut, too, when she left?”

The overwhelming desire to give him anything to stop looking like that crashed into Zayn as Harry nodded pitifully was going to drown him. “Yeah.”

“So just last night, and then first thing this morning..”

“I’m sorry,” Harry whispered. “I’m just so fucking scared.”

“I’m terrified you’re gonna turn into Louis,” Zayn said, deciding it was his turn to blurt shit out.

“What?”

At least Harry seemed confused enough to not be so sad, even if only for a moment. “Louis from last year. Frat president who knocked up some chick and almost drank himself to death. I’m so fucking scared I’m gonna have to roll you onto your side and clean vomit off of you and try not to let you die without calling an ambulance because you and none of your friends want one showing up in the middle of a party.”

“Zee-”

“It’s why I hated stepping foot in this fucking house for so long. Because that was my last memory, the only thing I had to look forward to. But you won your race so of course I had to show up and you were there and it felt so much better. It felt okay. It feels like you have a family and one that wants to look after me, too, but I can’t stop remembering the fact that the same fucking ‘family’ almost let my best friend kill himself.”

Harry breathed in. Harry breathed out. He was part of that family. He’d watched Louis circle the drain last year.

“And I know that you can’t do anything about it. I know that telling you doesn’t do anything, doesn’t even really make me feel better, to be honest. So, no, I don’t get it. What she did was awful and disgusting and I won’t ever know what that feels like. But I want to let you know that I’m so fucking scared, too.”

At the touch of Harry’s arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, Zayn realized they hadn’t stopped shaking out of anger, but from the cold. They were shivering, pretty violently, too. 

“And I also want to let you know that you don’t have to be okay with it, but they would be. I could tell my best friend about my sex life and Louis wouldn’t belittle you for it. They would joke and tease, and if you’re not comfortable with that then they don’t need to know, but they would never, ever, say the shit she did.”

“I know,” Harry whispered, pressing a kiss into the side of Zayn’s forehead. And it wasn’t the kind of ‘I know’ that said I’m ready to tell them , but this ‘I know’ was maybe a bit truer than the others.

The stupid, stupid, in Zayn’s head had quieted. It had been replaced by three words. 

Harry and Zayn, they really were inevitable, weren’t they?

But Zayn swallowed it down and held Harry for a few more moments before he thought he might lose his feet to hypothermia soon, and moved them back inside. Which, ultimately, meant back into bed, too, because Zayn was drained and Harry had been up early. Zayn retrieved his plate from the living room which was still full of Harry’s brothers, flipped Louis off just because, and went upstairs.

Zayn forked cold eggs into his mouth as he sat in bed with his back against Harry’s chest. He let Harry steal potatoes off his plate and thought about how fuckbuddies didn’t have those kinds of conversations. Fuckbuddies did, however, sometimes eat in bed, Zayn decided. 

That was enough. For now.

Chapter Text

Breathing in, the smell of sweaty bodies stuck in the back of Zayn’s throat. Breathing out, his lungs burned from the cigarettes and his esophagus from the body shots he’d licked off of Harry. Skin pressed against Zayn on all sides but he closed his eyes and tried to fall back into only Harry’s, letting strong arms wrap around his waist and a broad chest pillow his head. A hot breath blew across his ear as Harry angled his chin down.

“There’s a flip cup tournament starting and I have to keep my title. Come with me?”

Zayn opened his eyes as Harry carefully circled fingers around his wrist and gently tugged him in the direction of the porch.

“Gonna stay here,” Zayn decided, letting Harry’s grasp slip away. “Wanna keep dancing. You go on, though.”

“You hate dancing,” Harry said with a grin, momentarily stepping closer to Zayn, if only to keep his hands on him for a moment longer.

Zayn glanced to where Louis and Eleanor were, dancing and entertaining a crowd of a few of Harry’s brothers he recognized. “I’ll manage,” he assured with a crooked grin as he watched Harry follow his gaze.

“You little shit.”

“Don’t be jealous. I thought you had a throne to protect.”

Harry groaned, hands tightening around Zayn’s waist as he tilted his head back. “Fine. I’ll be back once I win, though, so don’t go anywhere.”

Zayn allowed his eyes to flick back over to the group. They lingered, just for a moment, on Liam. “Not making any promises,” he goaded.

With not quite enough force to make Zayn stumble, but near enough, Harry tugged Zayn in for a kiss. It wasn’t their softest, nor their kindest, but there was a promise in the way Zayn nipped Harry’s top lip. 

Surprisingly, it was the first game of flip cup Harry played with his lip stinging. He selfishly hoped it wouldn’t be the last.

“Mind if I crash the party?” Zayn asked, shouting over the music as he approached Louis’s group. Louis laughed and handed Zayn his cup so he could publicly fondle his girlfriend with not one, but two hands. She giggled and leaned in to kiss him, so Zayn figured he’d leave them be.

At his entrance to the small circle, Niall and Liam had broken apart from the conversation they seemed to be having. They were as good an option as any, so Zayn naturally gravitated towards them. 

“Wanna dance?”

Liam raised an eyebrow challengingly. “What are you trying, Malik?” Despite his suspicions, he didn’t back away. When Zayn turned, Liam had no problem plastering himself to his back, even as his hands barely rested on Zayn’s hips.

Leaning back against the firm body behind him, Zayn reached out for Niall. As Niall stepped closer, he shared a look with Liam, over Zayn’s shoulder. Admittedly, Zayn didn’t know him well enough to decipher it, but then Niall’s hands cautiously found their way onto his hips as well, sliding over Liam’s.

Zayn reveled in it, the push and pull of two bodies. Pressed tightly between them, Zayn almost felt like he was on his own turf. He remembered all the nights, dancing with Bella and Gigi, and all the festivals he spent, obliterated, with strangers’ skin on his from every side. The music might have been much worse, but Zayn could almost see the appeal of a frat party like this. If nothing else, it was a wonderful excuse to get stupid drunk and off your shit. Other people’s excuses weren’t accompanied by multi-million dollar models, was all. Zayn was spoiled.

Trying not to pay attention to the outfits or the shitty electro beats surrounding him, Zayn didn’t know how many songs it took. All he knew was that, outside on the lawn with a pingpong table and beer dripping down the neck of his shirt, Harry couldn’t see what Zayn was doing.

Which meant someone must have told him. Someone must’ve seen Zayn, his head tipped back on Liam’s shoulder and his eyes closed, shared between two guys and soaking in the attention. They must’ve known he was Harry’s kept boy, maybe even broke away from their conversation after glancing across the crowd and doing a double-take, just to dart out onto the back lawn. 

The thought of Harry’s face as somebody told him nearly made Zayn moan.

“I’m going to need to borrow him,” Harry yelled over the volume of the crowd around them. Savoring the image he had painted, Zayn kept eyes shut for a moment longer.

“You can wait your turn.”

“That wasn’t a question,” Harry clarified. 

Niall and Liam’s bodies fell away without question as Harry reached for Zayn’s arm. He didn’t squeeze too tightly or yank him in, Harry just held onto him as he moved in close enough to kiss him.

“I barely get through two rounds,” Harry murmured against Zayn’s lips, “and then I hear you’re whoring yourself out, Princess.”

Zayn’s breath shook. He wrapped his arms around Harry’s neck, absurdly mirroring how he’d danced with Niall only moments prior. “Jealousy isn’t a good look on you, Styles.”

As much as Zayn wanted to play, he’d learned enough from that morning to not do something as stupid as say it in the middle of a party. He hoped the use of Harry’s last name got the point across. From the way Harry clenched his jaw, it seemed to do the trick. “Dunno what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie. You’re jealous.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” Zayn retorted.

A smile crept onto Harry’s face. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are.”

“Nope.”

“You so are.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No,” Harry drawled out, leering as he leaned closer. 

Zayn pulled back just before Harry’s mouth touched his. When he moved in again, Zayn went straight for Harry’s ear. “Admit that you’re jealous,” he began, “and tonight I’ll cuff your hands to the bed while I ride you in the pretty panties I’m wearing right now, the ones I found in a gift box at the back of your closet.”

Zayn leaned back. Harry’s eyes flashed dark. “I’m jealous.”

With glee, Zayn grinned and kissed him. “Told you.”

“I’m so terribly jealous and I also have a tournament to win and you clearly cannot be left on your own, Princess. But you’ve made a decent good luck charm in the past,” Harry said, volume rising again as he stepped away. He slung an arm over Zayn’s shoulders to bring him along.

“Fine,” Zayn lamented, “but if you lose, I’m not staying over.”

Harry snorted. “Like you’ll be able to walk home after riding me.”

“Rude,” Zayn muttered. Harry wasn’t wrong.

Before guiding them outside, Harry made a quick stop at the coat hooks by the sliding door to the porch. The familiarity of holding out his varsity jacket for Zayn to slip his arms into sent a warm flush up his cheeks, but Harry wrapped him up nonetheless.

Claiming the necessity for full range of motion, Harry braved the cold without an extra layer and led Zayn outside. The plastic folding table was set up in the middle of the backyard as usual, this time with a row of beer-filled cups lining each side. Zayn eyed them nervously. “How many rounds are you playing tonight?” he asked, thinking about his earlier promise.

“Just one more, babe. They’re not that full. There’s, like, two beers max on each side.”

“Six beers back to back?”

“You know me,” Harry laughed, “I’m not gonna feel it. ‘Sides, I had a bottle of water on my way to find you and I’ll have another when I’m finished, yeah?”

Zayn scratched the back of his hand.

“C’mon,” Harry said, then pressed a kiss to the top of Zayn’s shoulder. “Go stand over there and look pretty, doll. I need you in my corner.” 

With a pat on the ass, Harry sent Zayn down to the far end of the table. Zayn stood and watched as Harry bantered loudly with another junior he didn’t recognize. 

“How long have you guys been together?”

“What?” Zayn turned his head and found one of the younger members, Ashton, had followed his gaze.

“I asked how long you guys have been dating,” he repeated. “You and Harry.”

Four months. “Oh, we’re not together,” Zayn answered.

“No?” The poor guy looked genuinely confused. As if it were out of the realm of possibility for them to not be in a relationship. “But you were at Thanksgiving. And you’re still here.”

“No, just fuckin’ around,” Zayn confirmed. Why is Thanksgiving so fucking monumental for these people?

“Right. Sorry, bro. Didn’t mean to intrude.”

“No worries, man.” 

Zayn nodded at Ash as he walked away, a somewhat nervous look on his face. Absently, Zayn wondered if it was Ash who told Harry when he was dancing inside. Or maybe his friend, the dark-haired one. They were young enough to care and loyal enough to say something. Maybe.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Jesus fuck,” Zayn bit out, as Louis spoke practically into his ear. He rubbed at his chest as his heart pounded. “You trying to scare the living shit out of me?”

“Why are you telling people you’re not together?” Louis muttered, practically whispered, his interrogation.

Zayn rolled his eyes, not interested in reliving the conversation they’d had all those weeks ago, up on that same porch. “Because we’re not.”

“And how do you think he’d feel if he heard you say that?”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re not fucking dating, Lou,” Zayn reiterated. He reached into the pocket of his jacket curiously and, sure enough, pulled out a cigarette packet and a lighter. Something about Louis Tomlinson always made Zayn need a smoke break.

“Really? ‘S that why you’re standing here, about to watch him binge drink? After last year?”

Maybe it wasn’t always Louis that made Zayn need a smoke break. Maybe not this time. “It’s fine. He’s fine,” Zayn insisted, holding the lighter up to the cigarette he’d stuck in his mouth. “And either way, I don’t have any say in the matter because he’s not my fucking boyfriend,” he gritted out, before taking a long drag.

“Yeah, how would you feel if you heard him saying that?”

The word ‘fine’ was halfway out of Zayn’s mouth when he coughed. It was halfway out of his mouth when Louis’s words caught up to him, when Zayn imagined Harry standing next to Ash, or Cal or any of his friends, and telling him they were just fucking around. 

There really wasn’t anything ‘just’ about their situation.

“Ready boys?” Bressie shouted, Harry and his opponent quickly bending down toward the table.

“Fuck.” Zayn wasn’t nearly far enough through his cigarette, or the next few that were supposed to follow it, to handle this.

“Three! Two!” And of course the crowd chanted along, “One!”

Zayn gripped Louis’s shoulder and held his breath. The cups aren’t full , he reminded himself. They aren’t full . Harry’s Adam's apple bobbed as he chugged the few sips down and Zayn had watched Louis do the same thing at 9 a.m. on a Tuesday. The countless cans Louis shotgunned, the cups and bottles strewn about his room, they all ended up empty, too. A few rounds with some friends at a party. That’s the difference. They aren’t full.

As Harry downed the last cup and balanced it on the edge of the table, not looking up but smirking at his opponent fumbling with the cup behind him, Louis pried Zayn’s hand off his shoulder. But he didn’t let go.

Louis squeezed his hand and they shouted out with the crowd as Harry’s cup wobbled around the rim before settling, flat on the table. Throwing his arms up in the air, Harry yelled along as Bressie announced his victory. He turned, catching Zayn’s eye, and marched right up to him.

Harry’s smile tasted like beer. His nose wrinkled as he pulled away. “You taste like cigarettes.”

“Hey! Styles! You bailing already? Don’t think you can keep your streak going?”

Harry called out to answer, his hand quickly finding Zayn’s back pocket. “My boy’s with me tonight, Sandy, I can’t.”

“Aw man, really? You’re leaving it at three-for-three? It’s tournament season. You’re usually twice that on a slow night!”

Twice?

Another guy chimed in. “Yeah, what do you say? Double or nothing?”

Harry was already in the process of shaking his head. “Nah, I can’t.” He felt Zayn tug on the belt loop of his jeans.

“Haz,” he said, with more urgency than Harry had ever heard in his voice. “We’re going.”

“Yeah, babe, ‘course,” Harry agreed, trying not to panic at the franticness of Zayn’s movements or the look in his eyes.

“No, now ,” Zayn insisted.

Not bothering to point out the fact that he was already moving with him, Harry acknowledged his request again. “I’m coming, honey, okay? We’re going.”

“Zayn,” Louis started, taking a couple quick steps to catch up to them.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Zayn dismissed immediately.

In his wake, Harry shot Louis an apologetic look and allowed himself to be pulled up the porch steps and back inside. The wall of heat slammed into them full force, barely allowing a few breaths before they fought through the sea of bodies. The humid air smelled like sweat and Tito’s, but Zayn didn’t slow down. He dragged them up the stairs, down the hall, to right in front of Harry’s bedroom door.

Harry fumbled with his keys.

“Twelve beers?” Harry barely managed to get the lock open before Zayn was hissing his accusations. “On a slow night? You’re drinking twelve a night?” Zayn followed up, pointing Harry to his own bed as soon as the door closed behind them.

It wasn’t antagonistic. Truly, Harry said it only because he couldn’t lie to Zayn, though maybe honesty wasn’t always the best course of action. “Just in the games.”

“Just in the- You drink before that, too? After?!”

Harry shrugged. “Sometimes.”

“How many?”

“What?”

“How many? On average, how many drinks a night? When I’m not here?” Zayn clarified, cuttingly.

Harry looked down at his hands. “Fifteen to twenty.”

“Fif- Are you fucking kidding me?! And the high end of that is, what, twenty-five? Thirty?” Zayn may have been quite involved in his own party scene, but he’d only scratched double digits a few times. He was a lightweight; he preferred drugs to alcohol; he refused to throw up for anything besides a stomach bug while modeling. He hadn’t done it since forcing Louis to detox in his apartment, though, sticking safely to shrooms and a fuckton of weed if he needed a break, but not as regularly as every weekend .

“It’s just beer,” Harry promised. “No liquor, nothing hard, it’s easily half that if I’m drinking wine.”

“Yeah, cool, just casually downing three or four bottles of wine every fucking night.”

Standing up, Harry took Zayn’s hands out of his hair. “Hey. It’s not every night, yeah? That’s- that’s weekends and parties and shit. I don’t drink that heavily if it’s not at the house. There’s- you know I’ve got a full liter water bottle. I down three of those a night, easy. I swear, I’m pissing every few drinks, it’s ridiculous,” he insisted, relief washing over him as Zayn cracked. If he didn’t know better, Harry would’ve just thought it was a nervous, hysterical laugh. But he did know better.

“They must forfeit you every other round, then.”

“Eh, I piss quick,” Harry offered with a smile. He took another breath. “Zee, am I drunk the majority of the time I spend with you?”

Pausing painstakingly long, Zayn slowly shook his head.

“Do we drink every time we hang out?”

Zayn shook his head.

“Do I have a drink in my hand every time I’m at the house?”

Slightly quicker, Zayn shook his head again.

“Do I cure my hangovers with more alcohol?”

And again.

“What about shitty emotions? Do I deal with them with alcohol?” And again. “Have you ever seen a can or a bottle in my room?” And again. “Have I ever thrown up in front of you?” And again. “Have I ever missed any commitments, aside from the occasional class that doesn’t take attendance, because I was drinking or hungover?” And again. “Have I ever stood you up because I was drinking or hungover?” And again.

“Could you answer any of those questions the same way about Louis last year?”

Zayn swallowed. “No.”

“It’s dumb, I’ll give you that, but it’s not anything more.” 

Harry carefully let go of Zayn’s wrists and opened his arms. Zayn nestled into them on his own accord. His face was damp when he pressed it against Harry’s neck. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Harry responded, instantly.

“Okay.”

They stood like that for a few moments, just wrapped up in each other. When Harry felt their heartbeats calm down to a similar pace, he lifted his head. Zayn did the same, moving only a few inches, until the side of Harry’s bent finger pressed up lightly on the underside of Zayn’s chin. Then, he leaned in to close the gap.

Unfortunately, Harry never made it, because they jumped apart at a loud bang followed by shouts. 

“You should probably-”

“I should probably go handle that,” Harry finished, exasperated.

They both giggled, Harry quickly moving to the door. Zayn followed him down the hallway, searching for the source of the hollering. Harry guided them through a familiar open doorway.

There was a crowd of boys, most either leaning out of an open window or straining to look out of it. A few other party goers with drinks in hand milled about the room. The people leaning out of the window kept shouting to someone outside. Piles of books sat on the foot of the bed and a plastic pink keyboard was shoved onto the desk. Clothes spilled out of the chest of drawers and a jacket hung half-off of its hanger behind the open closet door.

But all Zayn could think about was kneeling on the bed, throwing the window open to air out the smell of vomit, holding Louis on his side and frantically sorting through cigarette packets and beer cans and pencils and beer cans and a baggie of white powder and beer cans for a water bottle.

“You okay?” Harry asked, turning around after taking a few steps into the room and noticing Zayn wasn’t with him.

Zayn took two deep breaths. He blinked the memory away and cleared the blockage from his throat. “I’m fine,” he assured Harry with a smile.

Harry held out his hand and Zayn took it, intertwining their fingers as they walked up to the crowd.

“Hey! The fuck’s going on?” Harry asked. 

To Zayn’s surprise, the crowd actually parted. Louis was leaning lazily with one hip against the windowsill and Liam was talking to Calum, who was standing on the roof just below the window.

“They’re jumping off the roof,” Louis said, sounding nearly bored. Zayn knew him too well, though, to miss the raw excitement in his tone.

“Why?” Harry asked, walking up to the window, Zayn’s hand still in his. When they came to a stop, the crowd returned, filling in behind them.

“The plows came through and built up a huge bank on the edge of the road.”

The house sat on the corner of two streets, which meant the snow had piled in the side of their backyard, the rest gratefully empty enough for the flip cup and beer pong table. The small roof outside of Louis’s window shielded the porch and if someone climbed out of the window, they could walk over to the edge of the roof and jump off into the snow.

“What was that loud noise earlier?”

“Oh, that? Niall didn’t jump out far enough and hit the porch stairs,” Liam answered. “No broken bones or anything. The bruise on his back is gnarly, though. You should ask him to show it to you.”

Zayn wrinkled his nose and glanced at Louis. He sent him a silent what the fuck plea. Louis winked at him.

“..I think I should check it out, to see how safe it is, of course.”

“Yeah, to see how safe it is,” Liam agreed with Harry, smirking with wild eyes.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Zayn muttered. “If you crack your skull open I am never sucking your dick again.”

“Babe, come on. I’m not going to crack my skull open. I’m just gonna see how safe it is for the boys.”

Harry was already halfway out of the window so Zayn let go of him, planning to never step foot on the overhang. He watched as Harry took a few careful steps over to the edge where Calum was and peered down.

“Besides,” Harry began, looking back up at Zayn, “I’m way less drunk than Cal.”

Without looking away from Zayn, Harry shoved a poor, unsuspecting, inebriated Calum off the roof. He screeched as he went flying, then crumpled into the massive pile of snow. Considering it had been plowed from the road, there were dirty brown spots in the bank and it did not look fluffy. There was a loud crunching noise when Calum landed and, once he peeled himself into an upright position, imprints of his back and head were left behind.

“Give me a good luck kiss,” Harry said, moving back to the window.

“I don’t want you jumping from like thirty feet above that shitty snow.”

“One quick kiss?”

Zayn crossed his arms, but Liam and Louis were already nudging him with shit-eating grins to match Harry’s. There probably was some test during rush season to see if pledges could make that signature dumb fucking face. The crowd behind Zayn cheered him on.

Rolling his eyes, Zayn leaned out of the window. Harry kissed him, closed-lipped but lingering.

“Don’t die,” Zayn whispered, when he pulled back.

Harry sent him a thumbs up and clambored to the edge. He whooped loudly as he jumped, twisting mid-air so he didn’t land face-first.

Once Harry had slid his way down to the ground and brushed off the snow, loudly pointing out that his imprint was larger than anyone else’s, Zayn stepped back from the window. “I don’t know how you’re okay with this,” he said, amused, as Liam ushered another member of the frat onto the roof.

“It’s all harmless fun,” Liam answered. “As long as only a couple people are on the roof at the same time, it’s fine.”

Zayn shook his head but smiled to himself as he heard another person yell as they jumped. He turned and left the room in search of Harry. 

With a freezing cold, and slightly damp, back and ass, Harry drank water out of a metal water bottle in the kitchen. He was talking to a few guys who wore shirts for a fraternity a few houses down the street. At the first sight of Zayn, Harry lit up.

“Told you I wouldn’t die!”

“You never actually told me that,” Zayn corrected, but laughed easily nonetheless.

Harry introduced Zayn to the rest of the group, mentioning a party he’d been to before the end of the semester at their house. Zayn didn’t have much in common nor really get along with the guys, but he smiled and nodded at all the right parts of the conversation and nobody asked him any questions. Leaning farther into Harry’s side, Zayn wondered if Harry ever felt like this, patiently waiting and politely ignored. 

Then again, Zayn didn’t have long enough conversations with, never mind bother to introduce Harry to, anyone he wasn’t actually friends with. And Zayn’s friends were all lovely. Well, they all asked Harry lots of questions and welcomed him warmly, at least. ‘Friends’ being mostly Gigi and Bella, though there was the occasional designer friend at a party, or an artist whose gallery opening they would attend together. Everyone else they bumped into was worth less than five minutes of Zayn’s time. Normally, he wouldn’t entertain any attention from guys like these, but, then again, Zayn didn’t really have their attention currently, either.

Someone told a joke Zayn didn’t listen to and he laughed along with the group. “Hey, man, listen,” Harry said, clapping the comedian’s shoulder with his arm that wasn’t around Zayn, “it was great to catch up with you guys. Let me know when you’re throwing next, yeah?”

With some carefully constructed goodbyes, Harry and Zayn extracted themselves from the group. Before they left the kitchen, Harry chugged the rest of his water and set it down in the sink. “How ‘bout a dance?”

Unsurprisingly, the main rooms had hardly emptied since Zayn was last there with Niall and Liam. A small crowd was beginning to form in the backyard to watch the sky divers, though, and Zayn pretended the music choice drove them out.

That said, the beat was heavy and quick, thumping physically through their chests. It was impossible not to move to the rhythm, as the floor shaking would do it for you. Zayn let Harry half-dance, half-push their way into the crowd, looking to join it for once instead of pass through it.

Pressed against Zayn’s back, Harry mimicked Liam’s position from early that night, though that was as far as the similarities went. While Liam had been more focused on actually moving to the music, Harry let his hips do the majority of the work. His grip on Zayn’s hips was anything but light or careful, fingertips digging into bone and bruising the skin. Zayn tilted his head back onto Harry’s shoulder and he leaned down to mouth along Zayn’s neck.

Glancing around the crowd, Zayn spotted Niall, with his shirt rucked up, showing off a sprawling bruise on his back. Liam leaned down to press a smooch into it, the guys around them laughing. Niall said something, and it must’ve been quick and clever because Niall smirked and Liam went a bit pink.

Zayn raised his eyebrows as he watched Liam step closer and kiss Niall. And, like, keep kissing him.

Determined to not let them have all the fun, Zayn reached around to the back of Harry’s head, twisting his fingers into his curls and pulling. Harry’s head followed the tug, lifting away from Zayn’s neck with a groan. When Zayn stopped pulling, Harry tipped back down to be met with Zayn’s lips. 

Harry licked into Zayn’s mouth and he tightened his fist in Harry’s hair again. Harry slid one hand up so he could cup Zayn’s jaw, but at the angle, he was mostly just wrapping it around Zayn’s neck. So, he did. Fingers flexing just slightly, Zayn whined. Then, he felt Harry’s other hand glide down, over his thigh. Harry slid his palm over to the inside of Zayn’s thigh, then rubbed against his inseam his whole way back up. He stopped just as his thumb began to press into the crotch of Zayn’s jeans.

“Someone’s a bit handsy tonight,” Zayn murmured against Harry’s lips.

“Someone promised to cuff me to the bed tonight,” Harry replied. “Just trying to get my fill while I still can.”

Zayn inhaled sharply and kissed him again, sliding their tongues together and scraping at lips with their teeth. “Bedroom,” Zayn panted, when they momentarily broke apart.

“Yeah,” Harry said, dazed and just as out of breath.

The long-familiar bubble of excitement in Zayn’s stomach grew as they climbed the stairs. Carefully dodging spilled drinks and slobbering PDA, they fled down the upstairs hallway to Harry’s room.

Breathing into Zayn’s mouth, Harry reached behind him and grabbed the door handle. He twisted and pushed it open, stopping only once the sounds of heaving breathing turned to a sharp “Oh fuck!”

Zayn looked around Harry into the dark room to find a woman frantically pulling a shirt back over her head and a dude clutching his jeans to his chest. Harry sighed heavily and pinched the bridge of his nose. He’d forgotten to re-lock the door when they went hunting down the roof jumpers earlier.

“Get the fuck out,” Harry said flatly.

Zayn at least stared at the wall but Harry offered the couple no privacy, considering they had been fucking on his bed. He waited until they got dressed, the girl somehow succeeding much faster despite needing to button up her skirt. She rushed out quickly, a tight grip on her purse, while her partner for the evening hopped into his pants. He had barely pulled a shirt over his head by the time Harry crossed the room, grabbed him firmly by the shoulder, and steered him out of the room.

“Go sit, I’ll be back in a minute,” Harry told Zayn. He then guided the stranger down the hallway and Zayn slipped the door shut.

He flicked on the lights again and meandered into the room. The lingerie box he’d found earlier that day was sitting empty on the top of the dresser. Zayn ran his fingers along the tissue paper inside. He thought for a moment, then pulled his shirt off, shoes and socks quickly following. He was in the middle of unbuttoning his pants when Harry returned.

“Just thought it’d be polite to see them out,” Harry said, and Zayn knew immediately that the guy they saw was never being allowed back in the house. “What are these, huh?” Harry crossed the room slowly and rubbed his thumb over the lace on Zayn’s hip, peeking through as he shimmied his pants off.

“Must be your girlfriend’s, since I found them in your room,” Zayn teased. A smile flashed across Harry’s face. The tags were still on when Zayn put them on initially. He’d ripped them off after checking himself out in Harry’s mirror.

“My girl looks damn good in them,” Harry murmured. Zayn sucked in a breath before being kissed.

Large palms warmed Zayn’s sides, pressing against his skin. Zayn cupped the back of Harry’s neck while not-so-subtly squeezing his bicep. Parting his knees easily, his thighs were more than comfortable with the exact distance Harry needed to slip between them while Zayn could still squeeze him close. Wrapped around Zayn’s perfect, delicate finger, Harry immediately moved into the position as Zayn beckoned him. Hovering over Zayn, between his legs with his hands pushing off Harry’s t-shirt, was one of Harry’s favorite spots in the world. He still couldn’t get over how simple it was, that they fit so well without any squirming or futzing.

“Happy birthday, Princess,” Harry murmured, dipping down to nibble at Zayn’s ear.

Beneath him, Zayn tipped his head backwards into the pillow and his hands tightened over Harry’s shoulders. “Why the fuck are you still wearing clothes?”

Harry laughed as he sucked a bruise into the side of Zayn’s neck. As if it took all the effort in the world, Harry slowly pulled away, lips scrambling to stay on Zayn’s skin as long as possible. Once they were disconnected, though, Harry grabbed the back of his shirt between his shoulder blades with one hand and whipped it off. He helped Zayn with his clothes next before returning to the drawstring of his own shorts.

All clothes finally discarded across the floor, Zayn grabbed the bottle of lube, jamming it into Harry’s chest impatiently. “Yeah? What do you want, Princess?”

“Hurry up and stick your dick in me, Styles,” Zayn grumbled, even as he sunk down lower on the pillows and stretched his arms above himself.

With a smile, Harry swatted the inside of Zayn’s thigh. “Bitchy. I remember you moaning ‘Daddy’ with my tongue in your ass last night,” Harry commented, tilting his head slightly as he watched two of his slicked up fingers press into Zayn. “Maybe I should make you wait for that attitude. Stretch you for ages, fuck you slow and deep, might even pull out a cockring.”

A high-pitched whine, pleading and embarrassed, ripped out of Zayn’s throat. “Please, just-”

“What do you want, honey?” Harry asked again, sliding in a third finger. Despite his threats, they really did need to go back down soon and Zayn was already somewhat loose from the past few days.

“Want you, Daddy.”

“There we go,” Harry coaxed. Zayn’s legs fell open wider and Harry leaned between them to kiss him. Just as he did so, Harry curled his fingers inside of Zayn, spread them one more time, and then twisted out. Reaching up, Harry grabbed a pair of unlocked handcuffs from over his headboard. “Think you still want to-”

Harry didn’t get to finish his question before Zayn flipped him over. Lifting his arms over his head, Harry tilted his head up to watch as Zayn fed the cuffs through the wooden posts behind Harry’s bed and then clicked the cuffs shut around his wrists. Harry tugged on them slightly to test them out.

“Comfy?” Zayn asked.

“No. It’s perfect,” Harry confirmed. His arms lifted up made his biceps bulge and Zayn bent down to sink his teeth into one and hear Harry hum.

Zayn planted his hands beside Harry’s ribcage and tipped up on his knees, his other hand carefully guiding Harry’s cock in as he sunk down onto it. They both groaned at the feeling, warm and slick and smooth. Once Harry was fully in, Zayn ground in just a bit deeper to hear Harry’s mewls as he nodded for Zayn to keep going.

Given the go-ahead, Zayn sat up on his knees until Harry’s cock was almost all the way out, then dropped back down quickly. Throwing his head back, Harry exposed the long, thin line of his throat, which Zayn quickly bit into, before bouncing on Harry again.

“Holy- Fuuucccck .”

Zayn’s head snapped up, because Harry didn’t make that noise when he was warming up to fuck Zayn. No, Harry made that noise, rough and deep in the back of his throat, when--

Stomach twitching, Harry’s hips jutted into Zayn’s minutely as a new warmth filled him. Harry panted through his open mouth, eyes rolled back and barely closed. His chest rose and fell rapidly as Harry stopped moving, head tilted back onto the pillow and his arms completely loose by the bedpost.

“Holy shit,” Zayn whispered.

Harry didn’t open his eyes, instead choosing to turn and press his face into the pillow. He groaned, and not in the fun way. “Don’t.”

“Holy shit,” Zayn repeated, an astonished laugh creeping in at the end of his breath.

“Can we please not?” Harry whined. He turned his head slightly, the side of his mouth peeking out toward Zayn. “I will pay you actual money if we can not.”

Zayn awkwardly clambered off Harry’s lap to slip him out. Zayn reached his fingers down, and, yep. “Harry, are you-”

“Literally do not speak.”

Laughter catching up with him, Zayn pushed back a few strands of Harry’s hair to see a bit more of his face. “My little two-pump chump.”

“ Zayn ,” Harry shot out, aghast, and lifted his face off the pillow.

“I mean, you literally did not get more than-”

“I will actually strangle you,” Harry said with a guffaw. “On your sort-of-birthday, no less.” With Zayn spiraling into giggles, Harry was helpless but to follow. “You dick,” he said, still laughing, as Zayn hit him on the chest.

“Haz, baby.” Zayn tried to draw in a breath, but couldn’t manage to. “I- I promise I’m not- It’s not at you, I just-”

“No, you’re just laughing at my pain, I get it,” Harry whined.

Zayn laughed harder. “Definitely not pain, we know that, at least.”

“You totally suck. I hate you. You weren’t even that tight!”

That sent a full-body cackle through Zayn. “I know!”

“It feels like a lie to say this in a frat house but that genuinely has never happened. Not even once, I swear. You- You of all people should know, my endurance is fucking killer. I’m a long-distance runner, for fuck’s sake.”

Zayn unlocked the cuffs so Harry propped himself on one elbow next to Zayn, talking as earnestly as he could through a few chuckles, trying to catch Zayn’s hands as he did nothing but laugh harder and punch Harry in the arm.

“I’m actually kind of concerned, I’ll have you know. Could be a medical issue. Loose hole, fairly quick foreplay, minimal drinking, frequent draining of the balls.. I can’t think of anything, Z, really.”

“Don’t drag me into this,” Zayn protested. “My hole is perfect and I’m unbelievably hot. Your poor dick probably just gave up, knowing it didn’t stand a chance.”

‘Uh-huh’ing, Harry dipped down and stuck his face into the notch where Zayn’s neck met his shoulder. He nibbled at the skin there.

“‘S okay, baby,” Zayn said, once he finally managed to calm himself down a bit. He stroked up and down Harry’s spine and let him get his fill of Zayn’s neck. “You’re the host, we couldn’t be away for long.”

When Zayn started laughing at his own joke again, Harry groaned loudly and smushed himself against Zayn. “You’re actually the worst.”

To make it up to Zayn, and somewhat prove himself after the dreaming-that-you’re-naked-in-front-of-the-whole-class level of embarrassment, Harry happily used Zayn’s thighs as earmuffs. He had kissed his way down Zayn’s torso, after he settled down for good, and dipped low to clean his own mess out of Zayn.

“Fuck,” Zayn whined, lower back arching as he tried to shove himself down on Harry’s tongue.

“Makin’ the prettiest sounds, Princess,” Harry hummed, voice wrecked, and moved instead to swallow Zayn’s dick as his fingers took over.

With the pads of his fingertips rubbing that perfect spot over and over, and his tongue coaxing Zayn deeper down his throat, Zayn didn’t last long. Longer than Harry, though.

Digging his hands into Harry’s hair and gripping on tight, Zayn pushed just a bit farther in and came. He moaned as Harry worked him through it, hand slipping away from Zayn’s hole as pulled steadily off. With his lips around just the head of Zayn’s cock, Harry sucked the last bit of Zayn’s cum from the tip, causing him to whimper and shiver.

“So beautiful, Princess,” Harry promised as he crawled his way back up the mattress to kiss Zayn.

He reveled in Harry’s lips, the feeling of Harry’s hair brushing his cheeks, the smell of Harry’s cologne stronger now that his skin was warm and tacky. 

“Oh!” Harry said, pulling back suddenly. Zayn quirked a brow at him. “I have another present for you.”

Zayn groaned and sat up as Harry climbed off the bed “Babe, seriously, you did more than enough already.”

“I know, but I wanted to give you this anyway, so now it’s for your birthday,” he explained, sitting back down on the mattress. Passing the bag to Zayn, Harry pressed a kiss to his forehead. Zayn dug through the tissue paper and pulled out a small, clear plastic case with a plain CD inside. Scrawled in messy, handwritten Sharpie was HS1 .

“It’s done?” Zayn asked.

“It’s done,” Harry confirmed. “Unless you listen to it and you hate it. I can always go back and delete everything you hate so please be honest,” Harry half-joked. He grinned but scratched the back of his neck.

“I can’t wait to listen,” Zayn replied, earnestly. “I’m sure I’ll love every second of it.”

Hungover Zayn meant a late morning spent in the kitchen. Louis had also meandered his way down finally, along with a few others. The last arrivals had made it in as well, bags propped up by the staircase as they ate for the first time after stepping off planes and buses.

Perhaps it was a little silly, considering the reason they started hooking up was because Zayn was friends with Louis, but Harry always felt a sense of warm pride at Louis and Zayn getting along. It was when Zayn most frequently made this ugly snorting noise, whenever Louis did or said something incredibly dumb (which was constantly). They also had a weird affinity for licking each other? It wasn’t exactly threatening, per say, but Harry’s brain didn’t know how to sort that piece of information.

The pride was less ‘I brought these two together, look at how great they are together,’ and more ‘I can’t believe I’m lucky enough that my best friend and the boy I’ve fallen for love each other, too.’ And, if anything else, a tiny part of Harry was thankful Zayn had Louis so tightly wound around him. Harry knew how wonderful Louis could be, how much his support meant. Were anything to happen.. it was nice to know Zayn would always have Louis, if he didn’t have Harry.

“Careful,” Harry called out wisely as Louis decided to balance a tall, heavy drinking glass--made of glass --in his eye socket. His head tilted back so his face was parallel with the ground and his neck squirmed as he tried to keep the glass from wobbling. “I’m not taking you to the ER later if you step on broken glass.”

Sure enough, it took Louis all of ten seconds to lose control of the glass and he fumbled frantically, just barely catching it before it slipped through his fingers. Zayn made his weird nasally snorting sound. In retaliation, Louis stuck a middle finger into his face and Zayn’s tongue poked out to lick his knuckle.

“Fuckin’ weirdo,” Louis muttered, as if Harry hadn’t watched him lean over and lick the side of Zayn’s face five minutes ago.

Rolling his eyes, Harry moved to stand in the open doorway of the fridge, scanning over the horribly packed, haphazardly labeled containers of food. What appeared to be soup, he hoped it was soup, filled the bottom two inches of a wide bowl with plastic wrap over it. 

“Will you grab me something? I’m hungry,” Zayn complained, swinging his legs into the cabinet as he sat on the counter. His heels thumbed against the wood panels. 

Avoiding the strange sticky substance on the shelf, Harry reached for a tub of yogurt with his name neatly written on the lid, three times on the tub itself, and on the bottom of it. To his pleasant surprise, it was just as full as the last time he ate from it.

“Get your own fucking food,” Louis shot back, chewing on a breadstick. A pile of crumbs was forming on the floor by his feet. “God, you’re so lazy.”

“‘M not lazy,” Zayn shot back viciously. They were like prepubescent siblings bickering. “Just no point in moving if Haz’ll do it for me.”

Harry chuckled to himself, sure enough grabbing two small bowls from the cupboard above his head. He set them down on the counter and cracked the lid of the yogurt container. Louis’s voice rose over the sound.

“You’re lazy and spoiled, princess.”

A strange tightening sensation clenched in the back of Harry’s skull. He drew in a sharp breath but his diaphragm stuttered. The air got caught in his throat, so he swallowed, trying to push the knot away so he could inhale.

With one hand on the counter to stop himself from swaying, Harry’s other hand dug into his chest, right above his heart. It felt pinched. He blinked his eyes to clear his vision as fuzzy, bursting stars filled it.

A slender hand rested against his bicep. “Harry?”

Zayn’s voice cut above a loud scraping noise. It took Harry a few more half-breaths to realize it came from his lungs.

“Haz?” Louis called out, but the word sounded from far away. More voices swam together behind Louis, and Harry vaguely remembered some of his other brothers were in the kitchen.

Zayn’s fingers squeezed gently. “Harry, what’s goin’ on?”

“Can- Can’t breathe,” Harry wheezed, but it came out almost as a question. “I can’t-” Why can’t I breathe?

Zayn’s hand slid down to Harry’s wrist, pulling it away from trying to burrow into Harry’s chest. Using his grip on Harry’s wrist, Zayn guided him through the kitchen and into the living room, carefully helping him sit down on the couch.

His skin buzzed like a mosquito flying right next to his ear. Where Zayn touched him seemed to be the only part of him grounded in reality, the only part of him that existed.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” Zayn asked, despite his grip never loosening from Harry.

He needed more of it, though. “ Please .” Harry’s breath had started to speed up, but he still couldn’t get enough goddamn air. His blood pumped thick behind his ears and his arms felt too heavy to lift.

A solid, unyielding but familiar weight settled across Harry’s thighs. Arms wound their way over his shoulders and even if Harry went blind he’d always know they were Zayn’s. The top of Zayn’s shortly cropped hair brushed Harry’s cheek as he tucked his face into Harry’s neck, letting his breath fall onto Harry’s skin. 

Zayn breathed in deeply, letting his chest fill up until it pressed into Harry’s, then slowly exhaled. “Count your breaths with me,” Zayn mumbled into his neck.

Harry nodded, panting raggedly even as he tried to slow down to match Zayn. He managed to for a few breaths, but the fear of too slow, need more caused him to speed up again. Zayn petted the back of his hair and kept counting, low and quiet, keeping his own breath steady despite how badly he wanted to shake and cry.

Even though he was still wheezing, Harry managed to match up with Zayn again and maintain the pace. Having some semblance of control over his body’s basic functions again, Harry’s hands found Zayn’s hips and tugged his body closer, impossibly closer, to press them together as much as he could. Zayn moved willingly into Harry’s chest and continued to play with his hair.

“You okay?” Zayn asked patiently. 

“I think so,” Harry managed, his voice painfully hoarse.

Zayn waited and let Harry continue to settle. “What happened, bambi?”

“Dunno.” But Harry’s hands gripped tighter.

Zayn hummed and scratched the back of his neck lightly. “Was it because Louis called me princess?”

He really, really didn’t want to, but the moment the word left Zayn’s lips, Harry glanced around the room. They were alone, even the kitchen sounded empty, but Harry’s heart still raced. Especially after the house breakfast and his reaction, Harry just wanted to be able to brush it off. He had told himself over and over ever since that it was fine, that he wouldn’t react like that again, that it was the first time so it surprised him but he didn’t care anymore.

Zayn caught him looking, though, because of course he did. Zayn always saw through him. “Oh, honey.”

“I’m sorry,” Harry said, squeezing his eyes shut as his voice cracked.

“Don’t apologize,” Zayn said softly. “You had a panic attack, Haz, that’s not even close to being something within your control. It’s not your fault.”

“‘S that what that was?”

Nodding, Zayn brushed some hair off of Harry’s forehead. “Yeah. Kind of surprised you didn’t cry at all, though. I’m usually sobbing.”

“You get these?” He rubbed a hand up and down Zayn’s back.

“Used to get them a lot more often but I got anxiety medication to take if I feel like I might have one. They still sneak up on me occasionally.”

“I don’t like the thought of you having to handle this shit on your own.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it by now.”

“That makes it worse, I think,” Harry said with a wry laugh.

Zayn smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple before pulling back to talk face-to-face. “You know Louis only said it because he thought I was being a brat, right?”

“No, I- I know.” Harry cleared his throat. “Dunno why it set me off like that.”

“Because you have trauma,” Zayn said, plain and simple, as if it could ever be. Still, someone else using that term to refer to.. whatever the fuck happened with Camille made Harry want to cry and sigh with relief at the same time. As if Zayn had confirmed it was real , which made the pain so much more real, but also that it had actually happened and was as severe as Harry felt it was. It meant he wasn’t going crazy or being illogically sensitive. It meant it was real and it wasn’t his fault. “Haz, I want you to know that Louis knows that I like being called it in bed. It’s something we’ve talked about, before I even met you. He was teasing, which is why I think you reacted so strongly and so suddenly, but he was teasing me . Not you. Louis doesn’t know you call me that or that you like to. I haven’t told him anything like that.”

Harry mustered up a measly smile. “Other people called you princess before me?”

Zayn laughed, bright and sweet. “Of course that’s your takeaway. No, Hazza. Nobody ever guessed before and I never said anything. Or it never came up. Or I was with women who weren’t particularly dominant. I complained about it all the time to Louis but I was too stubborn to listen when he said I had to tell people what I wanted in bed. Figured that one out eventually.”

“Kind of,” Harry teased.

“Shut up,” Zayn said, instead of saying ‘you’re right.’

“So, you’re just my princess, then.”

A pretty pink flush spread over Zayn’s cheeks. “Only your princess,” he agreed, just before Harry kissed him.

It was light and warm. Zayn soothed Harry and Harry promised the same back.

And then classes began the next day. And then Zayn stopped seeing Harry.

Tue - 5:47 pm

finally got out of fucking econ

u free?

Wed - 2:53 am

fuck im sorry i had a shoot

Wed - 7:32 am

no worries babe, i figured u were workin or some shit

u around at all for dinner? Ill be pretty quick tho, pretty much in back to back classes til 6:30 so ive gotta train after

Wed - 2:26 pm

i mean dunno if it makes sense if we’re both rushing

i absolutely need to finish this p a per tn or im gonna be wayyy too fuckin stressed on my call tomorrow

Thu - 9:03 am

shit soz i got swept up in classes

but!!!!! ur call is tn!! cant believe ur gonna be talking to the literal versace of versace 

???? like???

ur so fuckin cool??

u absolutely need to tell me how it goes

Zayn Malik has notifications silenced

Thu - 4:29 pm

im at the gym rn but ik ur hopping on ur call soonish so good luck!! im sure u dont need it at all bc ur gonna totally kick ass

Zayn Malik has notifications silenced

lol fair

Zayn Malik has notifications silenced

Thu - 6:02 pm

literally that was the most terrifying and incredible thing ever

im so fucking happy 

u free rn?? wya

Thu - 7:16 pm

hi!!! so fucking glad it went well!!

im grabbing dinner rn, u wanna come with?

Thu - 11:53 pm

lmao tommo took me dinner to celebrate

i was out with him when u texted

i dont have an early morning tmrw tho, u wanna come over??

Fri - 5:21 am

lol i did have an early morning

obviously

Fri - 1:58 pm

and i just woke up

Fri - 2:07 pm

i hate u

tn?

Fri - 4:13 pm

hahaha

also sorryyyy, ive got a casting call in like an hour

kinda last minute, gi got me in

idk what this weekend looks like for u but u could come stay over after if u want?

“Bro, I swear to fuck, it’s just sex at this point.”

“You’re being a pussy,” Liam pointed out, so kindly, and folded a t-shirt as Harry groaned into Liam’s pillow.

“I literally have not seen him since Monday afternoon. In case you forgot, it’s Saturday morning.”

“It’s not like your responses are any quicker than his.”

Harry lifted his face up just enough to give Liam a rumpled frown. “Fuck off.”

“I’m just saying.”

“And I’m just saying, the only times he’s wanted to see me are when he wants me to come over so we can fuck.”

“Or maybe he’s just busy and misses you and wants to hang out one-on-one and not be distracted with excuses like studying in the library or having to leave dinner after, like, fifteen minutes.”

“No, that’s not it.”

“Of course it isn’t,” Liam scoffed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’m just sick of getting excited to see him and then feeling bummed when he can’t make it.”

“‘My name’s Harry Styles and I hate vulnerability and telling people I care about them.’ You sound dumb. He’s just busy.”

“So am I! Except he doesn’t make time for me. I can’t keep turning down offers to grab dinner with people just in case he’s free and then he isn’t. I’m, like, trying to plan my day around getting to see him and he’s not putting in any effort. I feel stupid going to the gym so early just to sit in my room the entire afternoon because he’s in a shoot or writing a paper or talking to Donatella Versace .”

“First of all, he’s not too cool for you.”

“I never said that.”

“Shut up, you totally did. Stop fishing for compliments. He’s not more impressive or jackshit, he’s just busy. And if you are, too, then you’re busy. Stop feeling bad when you’re genuinely doing other things and definitely stop trying to schedule around him without his input. If he’s not your boyfriend, you don’t owe him your presence. He doesn’t get any sway over your schedule.”

“So I shouldn’t go over this weekend,” Harry surmised, slumping in on himself.

Liam shrugged. “Depends. Are you busy?”

“I’ve got a bunch of problem sets due Monday that I was gonna do today. And then I told Kendall I’d grab brunch with her tomorrow and we’ve got a Council meeting that night. And I need to squeeze in twenty miles plus recovery.”

“So you are busy.”

“But we keep missing each other, and if this is the only time he has-”

“It’s not time that you have, though.”

“Fine,” Harry mumbled, pulling out his phone.

Sat - 9:47 am

hey, sorry, ive got a really packed weekend. i could maybe do tomorrow afternoon?

Sat - 11:25 am

oh

i mean i dont want u to have to cram me in if ur busy lol

it’s fine. ill text you this week once i figure out my schedule

Sat - 11:41 am

sounds good lmk! maybe we could fit in the album shoot :)

Tue - 2:17 pm

hey just wanted to check in bc i never heard back from u about this week

u available at all?

Tue - 3:51 pm

shit sorry i shouldve let you know. thats super unprofessional on my end.

“Unprofessional?! Liam, hold me, I’m gonna start crying.”

Tue - 3:51 pm

makes sense u wanna get the album out now that it’s done! ill look over my calendar and see what i’ve got in the next few weeks? how much time should we block out for the shoot? i was thinking maybe 3 hours.. doubt u wanna do a 7 hour ordeal like i have to deal with haha

Tue - 3:51

ah

Tue - 3:58

i was thinking more like grabbing dinner/laying eyes on u lol 

but yea, 3 hours is fine if u dont wanna go for too long. i doubt ill have that kind of time this week, i gotta switch a class and theres so much fucking hassle

u can send me ur calendar for next week tho and i can tell u if there are any 3 hour windows that line up

itll be nice to be done with the album

Tue - 4:02

yea, been months since we started talking about the cover

im sure ur itching to finish up. wont have it hanging over ur head anymore

“I mean, I get it. It was easy and convenient-- I was easy and convenient--but it’s kind of a dick move to just brush it all off onto the fucking album after four months. But, no, it’s fine. We’ll just do the fucking shoot and he doesn’t have to see me again,” Zayn vented bitterly, using a mocking tone for the latter two sentences, to Liam. Because apparently that was something they did, now - grab lunch together between classes and catch up on each other’s lives and listen to the other complain and give romantic advice.

“Okay, cocksucker. Tell yourself whatever to help you sleep at night,” Liam said, snorting around a sub.

“What?”

“You really think I’m gonna believe that Harry Styles just wanted sex from you and when it got inconvenient he wants free artistic work from you so he can cut ties?”

“There’s nothing to believe. That’s what’s happening. So I got an extension on his two-week rule, it doesn’t matter. Evidently, he wants to move on.”

“Aside from the past week, when in the last four months has he ever once given you any clue that he was the kind of guy to do that?”

“He’s a fucking frat president,” Zayn spit back. 

Liam glared at him, unamused. “Okay, this past week and your filthy prejudice aside.”

Stabbing angrily at his pasta, Zayn mumbled to himself. “He hasn’t.”

“Exactly.”

“That gives me jackshit to work with, Payne.”

Liam set down his sub and leaned forward. He thumped Zayn on the forehead, Zayn too baffled by the action to seem annoyed. “That’s because you’re being an idiot. Harry’s not the kind of guy to do that, so, clearly, wires got crossed. You hate that shit. Just talk to him. Say what you mean and ask him to say what he means and then, boom, you’re happily getting plowed seven times a week. At least.”

“We did not have sex every day,” Zayn shot out.

“Yeah, like you didn’t make up for the days you missed. Randy motherfuckers, I know you two don’t settle for one round if you don’t have to.”

“Not my fault he likes licking his cum out of my ass.”

“ Zayn .”

“I didn’t tell you that. But he totally does.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Go text your boy and be nasty with him so I don’t have to hear it. I need to get to ‘Operations Management’ because I’m a ‘dumb fucking business major that wants to put a bullet between his eyes,’” Liam said, in exaggerated, feigned happiness. He shoved his laptop back into his bag. “Time to go get fucked in supply chain configuration!”

“Bye,” Zayn said, already looking down at his phone as he waved Liam off. “You might have more luck as a model with a useless English degree.”

“Fuck off, Malik, not all of us can be pretty.”

Glancing up from his phone before Liam left, Zayn flashed him a camera-ready smile. Liam flashed him a certain finger.

Wed - 12:56

aight cards on the table rn. lay em out. u know i hate this shit 

i miss u

and like yea i wanna shoot the cover with you but i wanna see u for more than that and it kinda sucks thinking that u only wanted to see me to finish ur album

which if thats true then it is and i guess thats it and we should just do it and be done with this

Wed - 1:03

oh thank fuck

i miss u too and no i dont just want to see u for a fucking album

i have genuinely been so fucking busy since the term started and i hate it bc all i wanna do is see u but ur never free

also, bc cards are being laid on the table, ngl i kinda thought like u only wanted to fuck for the past few weeks bc u kept asking me to stay over and it felt kinda shitty

and like i think i stopped trying to make time to see u bc i thought it was about the sex for u

which if it is no hard feelings, i get it, i just kinda missed like hanging out with u too?? i mean we do.. just fuck, but i wanted to also like spend time with u bc we’re friends

Wed - 1:04

bc we’re friends

Wed - 1:04

yea

Wed - 1:05

i mean im not gonna pretend i wasnt hoping we’d fuck whenever i texted yea but i totally missed u like more than that too

Wed - 1:06

:D

Wed - 1:06

u busy rn?? u wanna come over???

Wed - 1:06

lol in the gym rn. im biking

Wed - 1:06

sweaty nd panting, just how i like u ;D

its fine tho, we can figure out another time

Wed - 1:07

nah fuck that i can be at urs in 15

as long as u help me stretch out ;D

and u have food

and are chill with me showering bc yes i am indeed a sweaty boy

Wed - 1:08

lmao yes u can shower and im coming from lunch with liam so i can grab u something if ur okay to let yourself in??

Wed - 1:08

bet

Wed - 1:33

fuckkkkkkk i forgot about the sexi sexi conditioner u have

Reading the last message Harry sent, Zayn laughed to himself as he pushed open his door. Harry had left it unlocked for him.

“Honey, I’m home!”

“I’m nakey,” Harry replied, the bathroom door open and shower curtain closed.

“I brought food with me,” Zayn called out, setting a plastic bag down on his counter. He’d grabbed a post-workout meal for Harry and possibly enough food for them to have dinner, too. Or not. He could always eat them as leftovers tomorrow.

It only took Harry another minute or two to finish up in the bathroom. He stepped out with a towel around his waist. “Smells good,” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around Zayn from behind. “What’d you get?”

“Li and I went to that shitty pizza place.”

“You mean the marvelous Mario’s,” Harry corrected, resting his chin on Zayn’s shoulder.

“Yeah, whatever. I grabbed you a pizza but I didn’t want to wait for them to make it so it’s actually just eight individual slices.”

Harry laughed. He kissed Zayn’s neck. “Thanks babe.”

“I also got us a couple of those frozen pre-made dinners they have? Wasn’t sure if you had plans later today or anything, but I figured we could have dinner if you wanted to.”

Harry stood up, taking his weight off of Zayn and stepping next to him so he could reach for the takeout container. “I did have dinner plans with a few people, but nothing urgent that can’t be moved. One person already canceled anyway.”

“You sure? I don’t wanna keep you from your friends.”

Smiling, Harry popped the end of a piece of pizza into his mouth. “You’re not,” he promised around the bite of food. “We can reschedule. I wanna spend time with you tonight.”

Zayn let himself be kissed.

Once Harry finished his pizza, which Zayn watched the entirety of with morbid curiosity as the boy in front of him swallowed slice after slice, he tugged on a pair of his boxers he’d left behind at Zayn’s and they settled onto the couch. It was easy, from there, to pull up the ever-growing list in Harry’s notes app of movies they wanted to watch together. They started one, then Zayn’s computer nearly died, so they moved to his bed for the charger and finished it. With Zayn curled into his side and end credits rolling over the screen, Harry checked the time and cursed.

“Fuck, I’ve got a draft due at 6.”

“Oh,” Zayn said, sitting up. Harry only had a couple hours to turn in his assignment. “I mean, dinner’s still thawing on the counter..”

Chewing on his lip, Harry asked if Zayn would let him borrow the computer. Not bothering to answer, Zayn slid it into Harry’s lap with a smile. While Harry signed into his accounts and pulled up his research, Zayn leaned over the side of his bed and grabbed a book off the floor and a pen from his desk. He settled back onto his bed, arm brushing against Harry’s but otherwise not touching.

Harry glanced down at him. “C’mere,” he said, lifting the computer off his lap with one hand. He patted his thigh and then spread his legs into a ‘V.’ A hand on his waist, Harry helped Zayn climb into his lap, then sink down so his head was resting against Harry’s chest while Harry stayed propped up by his pillows. Once Zayn balanced his book in one arm and started scribbling in the margins with his other hand, Harry moved back to rest the laptop on their thighs, just past Zayn’s book. Harry’s long limbs meant his arms fit around Zayn while he typed. Zayn peered over the top of his book to see Harry typing up an annotated bibliography.

“First draft?”

Harry shook his head. “Just research and the sources for now. First draft isn’t due for another couple weeks.”

Zayn tilted his head backward to stare at the underside of Harry’s chin. “Is this actually comfortable for you?”

“Perfectly. You?”

Letting his chin fall back down, Zayn smiled to himself. “Yeah.”

They worked quietly, the sound of Zayn’s pen scratching and Harry’s typing their only other company. When Harry submitted his work, about a half hour ahead of his deadline, he gently closed the lid of the laptop and put it on the mattress beside them. He pressed a kiss into Zayn’s hair.

Sliding his pen between the pages, Zayn closed his book and dropped it over the side of his mattress. “You hungry?” Harry asked, before tilting Zayn’s chin to kiss him.

After they broke apart, Zayn nodded, so Harry let him climb out of bed first, stretching his arms above his head as he followed. Zayn poked at the tattoo on his hip. Harry caught his wrist as his hand pulled away, instead using his grip to tug Zayn in for another kiss. “Did you preheat the oven?”

“I thought you were making dinner.”

“I have to do everything around here,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

“Yep!”

“Come on, Princess,” he sighed, grabbing Zayn’s waist and lifting him up so he could wrap his legs around Harry’s torso, “time for dinner.”

Harry deposited Zayn at the counter and instructed him to DJ for the evening, so Zayn flipped through some of his records and called out a few options as Harry popped the aluminum pans into the oven. They ate at the counter, because Zayn didn’t have a dining table. He sat up on one of the stools as Harry leaned against the opposite side, choosing to stand in the kitchen square.

It wasn’t long into their meal that Harry, the professional Italian chef, found a half-full bottle of red in Zayn’s fridge. He pulled down two full-sized drinking glasses and split the remainder of the wine between the two.

“To Mario,” he said, as they clinked their glasses together.

Zayn rolled his eyes. “The plumber, not the restaurant owner. I’m pretty sure I found a hair.”

“Might’ve been mine.”

They got to talking about their past few weeks, going over all the other had missed. The conversation moved them from dinner at the counter to back on the couch. Zayn’s legs were in Harry’s lap as he gestured with his wine glass and spoke about his classes.

Classes and friends and shoots and workouts moved into any and everything they thought of, slowly sipping at their wine until it was long gone and so were the evening hours.

“I should probably head out,” Harry said, once he checked the time on his phone. They’d finished dinner over three hours ago. “I’ve got an earlyish morning.”

“Oh, okay,” Zayn replied. He nodded, mostly to himself.

Harry didn’t move, instead choosing to watch Zayn.

“What?”

“You’ve got this look on your face. It’s your ‘I want something’ look.”

“I do not have an ‘I want something’ look.”

“So do you not want something?” Harry teased.

Zayn grinned and scratched the back of his neck. “I was wondering.. I mean, if you’ve got an early morning and you don’t sleep as well when you share a bed, I totally get it if you want to head home, but I was thinking, maybe, you could sleep over? If you wanted? I don’t really mind if you get up early or set an alarm, I can just go back to sleep after you leave.”

“Yeah.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

“Okay. Good.”

Harry pulled on a pair of his own sweatpants, knowing it’d get colder at night. Zayn blew out one of the scented candles and turned off the lights. Harry plugged in his phone with the extra charger he left at the apartment. Zayn tugged up the blankets and curled into him.

True to his word, Zayn barely stirred when Harry’s alarm went off. Carefully extracting himself from being Zayn’s pillow, Harry climbed out of bed and pulled on a long sleeve and a sweatshirt. And when he made his way to the bathroom, Harry used the spare toothbrush, the one that wasn’t really a spare anymore, the one that he’d pulled out from Zayn’s bathroom drawer four months ago and hadn’t moved back since, the one that sat in the toothbrush holder next to Zayn’s.

Before he left, Harry slung his bag over his shoulder, tied his sneakers, and crouched down next to Zayn’s mattress.

“Princess,” he whispered. “I’m heading out. Gotta get to class. I left you some oatmeal in a pot on the stove, okay, baby? The toppings are out on the counter.” He pressed his lips to Zayn’s forehead. “Go back to sleep.”

“Mmm, I will,” Zayn mumbled, barely prying his eyes open. “Want a kiss, though. ‘Fore you leave.”

With a chuckle, Harry leaned in to kiss Zayn. Then, he smoothed a hand over Zayn’s cheek and said goodbye. The latch barely clicked as Harry slowly locked the door behind himself.

Things went back to normal. Harry and Zayn grabbed dinner most nights. Harry texted Zayn after he finished a workout and they studied in the library together and Zayn blew him in the bathrooms. Zayn sat on the frat’s kitchen counter and told Harry about upcoming photoshoots and Harry made him eggs and asked which outfit from the fittings was his favorite. Zayn dragged Harry to parties that Gigi and Bella hosted and they did shrooms. Harry convinced Zayn to come to frat parties and taught him not how to be good at beer pong, but how to win everytime: choose your partner wisely.

Except, this time around, Harry didn’t leave when he had a run at 5:00 am or a morning class. If he was in Zayn’s apartment at night, he stayed over, every time without fail. He no longer showed up out of the blue when Zayn was napping or painting or doing work, now Harry went to the apartment even when he knew Zayn was in class. He stopped by because he left most of his books at Zayn’s, along with his gym bag. Zayn got home from late night shoots and crawled into bed next to Harry who had made himself dinner and put the leftovers in the fridge. Zayn no longer avoided the house like the plague, either. He went in quickly to grab something of Harry’s if he needed it later but was on the other side of campus. On nights where Harry had dinner with friends and then went home to study, Zayn stopped by the next morning to drop off chia bowls or smoothies or other weird health foods from Harry’s favorite vegan café. Zayn hung out with Louis, in Louis’s room, and they blasted music and talked shit. Then, Harry would knock on the door to collect Zayn for a friend’s art gallery opening.

And they fucked. A lot. Of course they did. They didn’t take their hands off each other. But, Zayn also started biking with Harry in the gym and Harry happily thing-ed prettily on Zayn’s arm at model parties and aforementioned gallery openings. So, Harry and Zayn went back to normal. They just happened to see a hell of a lot more of each other. And they did finally get to that album shoot.

“Just like that,” Zayn said from behind the viewfinder. He had his camera held up to his face, one eye closed as he snapped photos of Harry in his bathtub.

“Do you want me to waterboard myself?” Harry asked, nasally from the amount of water he’d snorted in the past twenty minutes.

He was a talented athlete, but nobody claimed he was a good swimmer. Here he was, practically drowning in Zayn’s tub. The water was pink and sparkly from a bathbomb Zayn had picked up from some skincare place. Harry had gone to an herbal store and picked up some dried flower petals and mushrooms, random woodsy things he liked the color of. They had sprinkled the contents of the biodegradable paper bags into the bathtub and then Harry had slipped in, the most graceful he had been so far.

Zayn was trying to get a shot of the back of his head but insisted the proportions looked best when Harry’s face was half in the water. Zayn needed to pull back a little farther but didn’t have enough room in the tiny bathroom.

He climbed onto the lip of the tub, legs spread carefully so his feet didn’t slip on the wet porcelain, and stretched back into the corner above Harry. He took a few shots of Harry, his head partially in the water, then kept capturing as Harry ran out of air and lifted his head, wiping water away from his eyes.

“Look at these,” Zayn said, climbing down from the tub. He held his camera carefully over the water so Harry could see. It took a couple moment for Harry to blink the water away but he eventually looked at the images on the small screen and a grin spread across his face.

“I think we got it,” he said, Zayn clicking through the last set of photos. “That one.” He pointed at the camera and stopped Zayn on an image taken right as his face was coming out of the water.

“And that’s a wrap,” Zayn announced as he marked the photo on his camera to come back to. He turned the device off and set it on the sink counter. 

When he turned around, Zayn held up a towel spread open between his arms. Harry was already gingerly standing up, petals sticking to his wet skin. He gratefully allowed Zayn to wrap him up, then watched as Zayn got on his knees to swipe up most of the debris and plop it on the lip of the tub before draining it. He turned the water on to wash the pink grit left down the drain, then let his hand drift under the spray.

“Wanna rinse off?” He asked, turning slightly to Harry who was still attempting to dry his hair.

“Sure,” Harry answered with a shrug and a dopey grin.

Harry peeled off his soaking wet black boxers and Zayn stripped down too. They hopped into the shower together, awkwardly avoiding elbows in the small space and laughing when someone managed to catch a nipple between two fingers.

The next logical course of action was, obviously, to light up. So Harry flopped into bed, his wet hair dampening the pillow beneath him, while Zayn rolled the joint and cracked open a window. 

Harry blew out smoke as he watched Zayn crawl up his body. The weed was just starting to make his head spin when their lips connected, wet and soft and hot. But just as slowly as he’d made his way up to Harry’s lips, Zayn began sliding down his body, kissing and nipping as he went. His tongue found Harry’s v-line and licked a strip upwards before kissing under his belly button and then back down.

Face to face with Harry’s cock, Zayn let out a soft breath. Gingerly, Zayn sucked the tip into his mouth without using his hands. He felt more than heard the sigh that came out of Harry as he did so. The air was thick and warm, Zayn felt sticky from the shower, still. His tongue worked along the ridge under Harry’s tip and his lips puffed out as he slid lower and lower. Waiting until he got far enough down, Zayn breathed through his nose and then pushed until he felt resistance. He held himself still until he gagged and then pulled off Harry’s cock to spit on it.

“Shit,” Harry whispered, watching as Zayn worked his hand over himself.

Zayn’s mouth returned and he repeated the cycle of suckling at the head and then sliding farther down, managing to get a little more length into his throat each time he pressed against the barrier. By then, tears were streaming down his cheeks and spit was bubbling along Harry’s cock, but still Zayn pushed further until he could stick his tongue out and nudge against Harry’s balls.

Hands tangled in his hair, Harry squeezed and tried not to shove his hips upwards into Zayn’s throat. He groaned as he held himself back. Zayn bobbed slightly, then slipped all the way off. He took a second to breathe, working his hand over Harry to keep him warm, and ducked his head down to lick at just below Harry’s shaft. Harry shifted his legs farther apart. So Zayn moved lower, tonguing his perineum. And from there, it only felt natural to-

“Mother- fuck , Zee,” Harry spit out, almost involuntarily.

Having just showered, Harry tasted like skin and water, smelled like the lavender castile soap Zayn swore by. Still jacking him off with one hand, Zayn used his other hand to lift Harry’s balls out of the way and provide better access to his hole, He lapped at it, tongue flat, then pointed slightly as he experimented with nudging inside.

Hearing more sharp breaths, Zayn explored. He stopped cupping Harry to instead pet at his hole with the pads of his fingertips. With enough slick form his spit, it was easy to slide a digit in. Harry groaned again and his legs fell apart wider.

Zayn sat up slightly and took Harry’s cock back into his mouth, now focusing on twisting another digit into him. And as Zayn finally got a full finger inside, Harry’s mouth had fallen open and he’d started making these beautiful, perfect mewling noises.

“Wanna try two?” Zayn asked, barely recognizing his own voice.

“Please,” Harry sighed. 

His eyes screwed up as Zayn began to push a second finger in, but he eventually managed to push through the tight ring and slide in. It took all of two minutes for Zayn to realize the natural progression of things.

“Haz,” he said gravely, “please let me fuck you.”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Harry replied. “Need to feel you.”

“Fuck, thank God,” Zayn groaned. 

Harry scrambled for the lube bottle on the floor next to the bed while Zayn did a cursory cheek that three fingers did in fact fit. Once handed the bottle, Zayn pulled his fingers out, Harry whining, and poured some over his own cock and rubbed the excess on Harry’s hole.

“Ready?” Zayn asked, lining the head of his cock up with Harry’s entrance. Had Harry done anything but nodded, Zayn might have internally combusted on the spot.

But he was given the go ahead. So, slowly, Zayn began to push his tip against Harry’s tight ring. It felt like it wouldn’t go in, like it would never possibly fit, and then the tip slipped inside all at once. Harry clenched down slightly at the intrusion, wincing, and Zayn stopped himself from shoving in.

“You okay?” Zayn asked instead, rubbing the outside of Harry’s thigh.

“Yeah, just took a sec,” Harry breathed back.

Continuing at a snail’s pace, Zayn began to push in more. Surprisingly, Harry took him much better, even reaching down to tug at himself while Zayn began to change directions and pull back out.

“Flip over,” Zayn requested, immediately happy with his decision when faced with Harry’s runner’s ass. Working himself back in was a slight hassle but once he was in, Zayn wasn’t leaving this time.

He began to work up to a slightly faster rhythm, feeling the way Harry gripped his cock perfectly. “I’m not gonna last much longer, Haz,” he warned, but Harry just nodded into the pillow and pushed his hips back a little faster.

And before Zayn knew it, he was emptying himself inside of Harry.

Pulling out slowly, Zayn thumbed at the messy ring of muscle when it was finally empty. He could sort of understand now why Harry had such a fascination with eating his own cum out of Zayn’s hole. It was pretty tempting to dive back down there, but Harry had already tugged himself off and he seemed sleepy and sensitive from the weed.

So Zayn exercised the last bit of restraint he had and instead flopped down onto the bed next to Harry, pulling him into his arms.

“Thanks for that,” Zayn said.

“I think I should be thanking you,” Harry replied. “You did all the work.”

Zayn just snorted and closed his eyes. He rubbed Harry’s arm where his hand rested and breathed in the smell of his own conditioner in Harry’s hair.

“You know I’ve never had anything other than my own fingers or toys up there before, right?”

Zayn opened his eyes and lifted his head off the pillow. “Really?”

“Really,” Harry insisted.

Dropping his head back down and settling back in, Zayn got himself ready to fall asleep next to his favorite boy. “Then I guess I really should be thanking you. For your anal virginity and all that.”