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body is right up against the surface, spine to fingertips, straining to the

very borders of him in an attempt to get to Harry. It feels like the last

moment before a static shock, before the bolt arches across a gap, and

Louis can‟t let that happen. So he keeps his hands on his knees.

By the time Louis gets out of the car his legs are weak like he‟s run a

marathon. Harry climbs out after him, tugging the bear along by the

arm, and Louis can‟t help but grin at the sight of him.

“Sadly, I‟m afraid that‟s the end of the night for me,” Louis says,

making a try for casual now that the ground‟s back under his feet.

“All good things,” Harry says. He heaves the bear back up into his

arms, and they start wandering in the direction of the parking area.

Louis stares at his shoes and matches Harry‟s slow pace, pretending for

the sake of his own sanity that this was just a fun night with a good

friend and nothing more, that he doesn‟t want anything else. And it was

fun, really. Harry had been right.

“This was nice,” Louis says suddenly. He doesn‟t remember making

the decision to speak, but it‟s too late to go back now. “I‟m, um. I‟m

glad I came.” He elbows Harry, knocking him sideways a bit. “Even if

it was only because you forced me to.”

Harry laughs and gives him a light shove back. “You‟re welcome. For

the bear, too.”

He holds it out to Louis, shaking it a little so the stuffed legs flop

around, and Louis takes it from him haughtily. “No more than I

deserve.”

Harry laughs again. “Too right.”

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They walk in silence for another moment before Harry looks over and

says, “I‟m glad I met you.”

It hangs in the air between them, and Louis wants to grab onto that too,

wants to shove it inside his coat and keep it there. One day he will stop

being surprised by the things Harry is willing to say out loud.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Harry confirms, looking pleased with himself.

Louis can‟t do anything about the smile that creeps across his face as

they keep walking. “Good.” He notices then that they‟re reaching the

edge of the car park, and he pauses. “Where‟d you park, Hazza?”

Harry stops in his tracks. “Back there,” he says, gesturing over his

shoulder with his thumb. “I was following you.”

Louis lets out a weak little laugh. “I‟m that way.” He points in another

direction. “Thought I was following you.”

“Oh,” Harry says, laughing a little too, one hand reaching up to rub at

the back of his neck. “I guess this is where we part ways, then.” He

kicks at the gravel on the ground.

“Well, I‟ll, uh—” Louis searches for words that aren‟t going to give

him away. “I‟ll see you on Monday, I suppose.”

Harry nods. “Yeah, Monday.” He‟s looking at Louis with his brow

furrowed, like he‟s trying to sort something out in his own head.

“Well,” Louis says. “Bye.”

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“Bye,” Harry says back, but doesn‟t move, still watching Louis.

The lights of the car park cast long shadows on Harry‟s face, and from

this close Louis can count every one. He thinks of autumn and home

and being seventeen and believing in things that he hardly even

mentions by name in his own head anymore. He thinks of colored

lights and Harry‟s hands, and he feels like he‟s back up on the Ferris

wheel alone, something tiny hanging over something so much bigger

than himself. There‟s an edge, and there‟s him, and he can‟t seem to

stop himself from moving closer and closer. He takes a deep breath,

opens his mouth, closes it again, and then turns on his heel and walks

away.

He hurries to his car, afraid to look back, and the gravel crunches idiot

idiot idiot underfoot.

93

94

Zayn has this sort of image in his head of how it should happen when

he and Liam finally get together.

It‟s a fantasy, mostly, but when the man of your dreams is a fireman,

it‟s hard to not get carried away. He usually imagines some emergency,

some climactic moment where his life is in danger, and then Liam

swoops in, propelled by his confusing fascination with Zayn‟s sex

appeal and intelligence and brooding nature, and rescues him from

certain death. Driven mad by fear for Zayn, Liam has no choice but to

confess his undying love, perhaps even while his skin is still sooty from

the flames. Also he is shirtless.

Naturally, this scenario could play out in a variety of settings: his flat,

the school, a beautiful villa in the south of France. Zayn has a

contingency plan for each one. So when the fire alarm goes off

unexpectedly during second period, he‟s ready. This is the day Zayn

has trained for. His day of days. The day someone pulled the fire alarm.

He‟s in the middle of a spirited discussion of literary devices in

Wuthering Heights when it happens. He leaps out of his chair,

snatching up his jacket and checking his hair frantically in the mirror he

keeps in his desk drawer before rounding up his students and leading

them outside. It‟s been storming all morning—the perfect weather for a

dramatic confession of love, if you ask Zayn—so they all end up

huddled under an awning, waiting for the fire department to arrive.

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But the firefighters come streaming out of the truck and Zayn stands

there in the car park with his two dozen bedraggled teenagers and Liam

never comes. Attractive men pile out of the firetruck whose sirens were

supposed to sing the song of Zayn‟s destiny, and not one of them is

Liam.

One of his students tugs on his sleeve. “Mr. Malik? I think we‟re

allowed back inside now.”

“Go back in if you like,” he says, staring angrily at the firetruck. “It

doesn‟t matter. None of it matters.” He turns to look at the girl. “Hope

is a lie.” She stares back, and whatever she sees in his eyes makes her

quail and turn back around, shepherding the rest of the students back

inside.

Eventually he joins them, and no one mentions his absence as they

continue their discussion of Cathy and Heathcliff. Zayn could use a

wuthering moor of his own right now. This is the worst day of his life,

and he doesn‟t quite know how to express it without period costuming

and scenery.

The rest of the day passes in a haze of having to talk to people who

aren‟t Liam, and soon enough Zayn finds himself at home,

contemplating another dinner for one in front of the television. Or he

would be, if there were food in his flat. His cupboards are as empty as

his soul.

And so he‟s at Tesco now, trudging up and down the frozen food aisle.

If there‟s a modern equivalent to wandering a moor in an open

waistcoat, this is it.

There‟s a sale on frozen peas, apparently. That‟s what Zayn deserves to

eat: discount frozen peas. Zayn is the discount frozen peas of humanity.

He reaches for a bag, but his hand bumps into someone else‟s first.

He‟d been so engrossed in his own ennui that he hadn‟t even realised

someone else was in the aisle.

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“Sorry,” Zayn mumbles, withdrawing his hand just as the other person

does the same, and then his eyes flick upward and his mind goes

completely and utterly blank.

Liam. Right in front of him. In the frozen foods aisle. He‟s wearing a

plaid shirt and he‟s got a basket full of shopping in one hand and Zayn

is going into cardiac arrest right there next to the peas.

“Zayn!” Liam says, smiling at him as if every day is the best day of his

life. Zayn wants to kiss him on the mouth. “How‟ve you been, mate?”

“Yes,” Zayn says automatically, because the ability to comprehend

human speech has apparently been shocked out of him in the last five

seconds. “I mean, fine. Shopping. And, such. You know.” He holds up

his bag of vegetables helplessly. “Lettuce.”

He is identifying vegetables. Things are bleak.

“Good, good,” Liam says, still smiling. “Heard you lot had a bit of a

scare today, didn‟t you?”

For a moment, Zayn honestly hasn‟t the faintest clue what in God‟s

name Liam is talking about, but then it clicks. Right. The fire alarm.

That thing he was upset about all day.

“Oh, yeah, somebody pulled the alarm,” Zayn manages. “It was all

right, though. No blazing infernos to report.”

He doesn‟t know what‟s coming out of his mouth, but it makes Liam

laugh, so he considers it a small victory.

“Too bad I had the morning off, we might‟ve seen each other,” Liam

says. “Spent half the day on the sofa eating biscuits instead. That‟s why

I‟m here, actually. Restocking the cupboard. Funny how that worked

out, isn‟t it?”

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Destiny, Zayn wants to scream in his face. “Funny, yeah.”

“Eating alone, then?” Liam says.

Yes, so alone, oh God, couldn‟t be more alone if I tried, he thinks, but

he can‟t say that. He‟s already standing in the freezer section in his

sadness hoodie. He doesn‟t need to give Liam any more evidence that

he doesn‟t actually have a life.

“No,” he lies.

“Right,” Liam says, shaking his head. “I‟m sure you‟ve got plans.”

“No,” Zayn says quickly, panicking, “I haven‟t got plans with

anybody.”

Liam stares at him for a moment, furrowing his brow, and Zayn

wonders how hard he‟d have to smash his own head into the freezer

door to cause instant death.

The universe must have other plans for his demise, though, because

Liam just claps him on the shoulder. “That‟s really profound, mate. Not

having plans doesn‟t mean you‟re alone. No man is an island, I get it.”

He nods to himself, looking moved. “Well, I should probably get a

move on. Sounds like the rain‟s stopped for a while, might be able to

get out of here before it comes back.”

“Right,” Zayn says, nodding too hard. “Yeah.”

“Good to see you, Zayn,” Liam says with a smile, and then he turns and

heads off down the aisle.

“Wait, Liam,” Zayn blurts out at his retreating back.

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Liam pauses, turning around to look at Zayn. “Yeah?”

“I, um,” Zayn starts. What the fuck was he going to say? Think of

something, Malik, think. “I‟ve been worrying about my building lately.

Um, where I live. Not sure everything‟s, you know, up to code and all

that.” It‟s the best he can do when he‟s looking Liam in the face.

Maybe he‟ll come by later and check things out and then when he sees

Zayn leaning casually against his door he‟ll suddenly be struck by the

realisation that his soulmate has been standing right in front of him all

along and then they‟ll kiss and Zayn will throw a parade.

Liam frowns, and Zayn almost feels bad about lying to him. “That‟s no

good. Tell you what,” he says, coming back down the aisle. “Why

don‟t I give you my number, and you can keep an eye out and ring me

if you notice anything.”

It takes a moment for anything to penetrate the five million exclamation