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Chapter Text

“Why are you even here?” Harry demanded, “It’s a social event and you’re not exactly…” Even as the words left his mouth he knew they were unkind, not the sort of thing he’d usually say and the type of casual cruelty he was known for challenging. But there was something about Zayn Malik that rubbed him up the wrong way, and this evening it felt like he couldn’t escape the man.

“A social event?” Even in the dimly lit corridor his withering expression was clear. “It’s the Year 9 disco Styles - I’m here because it’s part of my job.”

Technically he was correct, but still. “It’s voluntary though,” Harry argued, “so you chose to spend your evening here.” Probably because you don’t have anything better to do, being such an antisocial git, he thought vindictively. He had tried, more than once, to get to know Zayn when they arrived at Cowell College in the same term; being of a similar age and both promoted into new roles at a new school, he’d naively assumed that the other teacher would be equally keen to have a mate to figure things out with. It hadn’t gone well. His friendly (definitely just friendly, not flirty) advances had been met with monosyllables so he’d focussed on getting to know some of the other staff - acquiring a drama teacher for a best friend in the process - and then Mr Malik, Head of Art, had taken to avoiding the staffroom, presumably holed up in his office or the art studio on the far side of the main building.

These days Harry - Head of Year 7 and involved in as much co-curricular stuff as he could squeeze in - barely saw Zayn around the place, which was a bit of a blessing as somehow the whole quiet, mysterious thing had gradually morphed from irritating to fascinating. Combined with his face - God, his face - it was quite an attractive package. Not that it was a crush or anything. Fortunately, 'It’s beauty that captures your attention, personality which captures your heart', so assuming Wilde was right, his own heart was quite safe. Tonight he’d been everywhere though, which is why Harry had made his escape to the corridor, just for a brief respite.

“As did you,” Zayn replied, snapping Harry out of this thoughts and into the moment. Into the corridor, the very narrow, deserted corridor outside the main hall. Had Zayn stepped closer? “I try to do my bit,” he continued, making this officially the most words he’d ever said to Harry in one go, “but I don’t usually see you here.”

Come here often?  

The cheesy pick-up line popped into Harry’s head but he pushed the thought away. There was no way that Malik was flirting with him. As if on cue, the music drifting from inside the hall shifted, banging beat replaced with something more sultry. Clearly they’d reached the slow dance portion of the evening, which meant they should both be inside supervising the teenage couples.

Taking a step back to create some distance was a mistake Harry realised as his shoulder hit the wall and Zayn followed, crowding into his personal space and swaying to the song they could both barely hear - Why can’t I hold you in the street? Why can’t I kiss you on the dance floor? Distractedly, Harry thought about the kids in there, on the dance floor, hopefully much less afraid to show the world who they wanted to kiss than he’d been at their age. Not that there should be any kissing on school property… which brought him back to Zayn, whose hands were on the wall either side of Harry’s head and who looked very much like he was going to kiss him.

For some reason, rather than leaning in to meet him halfway, Harry chose to use his mouth for speaking instead. “I’ve been busy,” he said, attempting to explain his lack of attendance at previous discos, “helping Lou with the play.” Then, realising it really didn’t matter when this was about to happen, he let his eyes fall shut as he closed the gap between them. He felt the briefest press of soft lips on his and then… nothing.

Unnecessary and innocuous as the words were, they seemed to have a profound effect on Zayn, who backed away from Harry as if he were an unexploded landmine. “Of course… Louis,” he muttered, seemingly to himself, and then he whirled around and disappeared back into the hall before Harry could move.

Absently, he traced his thumb over his tingling lips as he tried to process what had happened, or nearly happened, initial confusion giving way to panic as he realised that maybe, just maybe, he did have a crush on Zayn Malik.

*****

Inside the hall, Zayn sent up a desperate prayer that some kid had managed to spike the punch, but no such luck. He was going to have to endure the rest of the evening sober - an evening when he’d almost given in to the temptation that had tortured him since almost the first day he’d set foot in this school, the temptation to kiss that lazy grin off Harry Styles’ stupid face.

At least the other one wasn’t here. The pixie-faced drama teacher who was quite clearly the light of Harry’s life and therefore the bane of Zayn’s - Louis Tomlinson. Sometimes Zayn wondered if things could have been different, if he could have befriended the unfathomably pretty English teacher who started at the same time as him before Louis had swooped in and snagged him. He had thought - still thought, for what it was worth - that they’d have made quite the pair, Harry’s way with words complimenting Zayn’s artistic eye. 

Foolish daydreams, given that he pretty much lost the ability to speak every time Harry so much as looked at him - tonight being the exception, exasperation fuelling eloquence when Styles ducked out just at the point in the evening that required them to do some actual supervising. He’d intended to say as much, remind him of his responsibilities - some of these Year 9s being far less innocent than the younger kids - but somehow they’d ended up bickering instead. Though it’d been dark in the corridor, he hadn’t imagined the frustrated flare in those hypnotic sea-green eyes, reflecting his own feelings perhaps. After that, he’d clearly lost his mind - that song and those lips tempting him to almost enact the fantasies he’d given up trying to deny, although in most of them, he was the one pressed up against the wall. Like a magic word, Harry had uttered the one syllable that could break the spell, Lou was all it took to bring reality crashing back.

WIth a sigh, Zayn made a circuit of the hall, conscious that he should do the job he’d righteously claimed to be here for. About halfway round, a girl from his class caught his eye, clearly begging for a rescue from the over-enthusiastic octopus she was dancing with. He stepped in, reminding them of school rules about respectable distance before pretending not to notice the pair of boys in a dark corner. They both seemed into the kiss, and fuck it, why not give them a break considering how much harder they were going to have it? Or maybe not, maybe the world had shifted enough that they’d never have to hide. 

Completing his initial patrol, he paused by the door, only to be almost knocked to the floor when it slammed open and Styles crashed through. Automatically Zayn’s hands came up and he steadied himself on the nearest solid surface, which happened to be Harry.

“Ohh”, he gasped, “you’re going to leave a mark if you hang on that tight.”

If only. 

“Sorry,” Zayn muttered, forcing himself to let go of Harry’s hips and retreating into professional duties. “I’ll go this way - you go round the other way, yeah?”

A tiny smile and a nod were his only answer, so he bit down on the urge to suggest they meet in the middle and started his second loop.

*****

After a brief hesitation, Harry moved away from the door and away from the very confusing, utterly beguiling Zayn Malik. Rather than walk laps, he found himself a decent vantage point where he could both watch the pupils and take a moment to pull himself together. He knew that the noise he’d made when Zayn grabbed him was embarrassing, but feeling those long elegant fingers gripping his hips was just a such an unexpected (and very lovely) shock - 'such stuff as dreams are made on' as Shakespeare put it, though he probably didn’t have the sort of dreams Harry tended to have about Zayn in mind.

Before he could continue too far down that line, raised voices on the dance floor provided a welcome distraction. “Sir, sir! Make them stop!” a girl he half-recognised demanded. It was hard keeping track of all their names once they were not longer his direct responsibility but he was pretty sure this one started with J, Jenny or Jessy maybe? Following her beckoning hand, he spotted the source of the problem - three boys bouncing around like bumper cars, despite the tempo of the music, and ploughing through the budding couples. Unsurprisingly, he knew all their names - the usual suspects.

As he reached the group one of the boys, apparently imagining himself to be speedy, sneaky and well-liked enough that nobody in the crowd would snitch, tried to make his escape, spinning on his heel and slamming straight into a solid figure of authority.

“Just a minute young man,” Zayn’s voice rang out over the crowd, “I think Mr Styles would like a word with you.”

Suppressing a smirk as their eyes met - someday he’d stop feeling like he was playing at being a grown-up, but evidently not today - Harry pasted on an austere expression. “Yes, thank you Mr Malik,” he said before switching his attention to the troublemakers. “Very disappointing gentlemen. It seems your night is ending early - back to your dorms please.”

Cutting through the grumbling and protests, Zayn backed him up. “We will be checking you’re there,” he said in a stern tone that brooked no arguments, and sent a tiny shiver through Harry. 

And that was before he realised that they’d be taking a late night stroll over to one of the sleeping blocks together.

*****

The school grounds really are lovely, Zayn thought as he walked beside Harry, keeping a carefully respectable distance between them because despite the flowers and the moonlight, there was nothing romantic going on. In fact, they were working. They’d shared a moment of camaraderie back in the hall though, which should mean that could at least speak to each other. Maybe if he didn’t look at Harry, he'd be able to think of something to say.

“I went to the…” Harry started to say just as Zayn blurted, “How’s the play…”

“Sorry,” Harry said. “You first?”

Zayn chanced a glance at him. He looked amused, but soft, eyes sparkling and a smile playing on his lips. “How’s the play’s going?” he managed before he got too distracted.

The question prompted a proper grin. “Really well,” Harry answered, “most of them know their lines already which makes rehearsal easier. Lou’s such a good director - they feel safe to explore, you know?”

Despite not knowing, Zayn forced himself to nod, ignoring the little pang at the mention of Harry’s other half, the two of them practically inseparable. He decided to change the subject. “What were you going to ask me?” 

“Oh,” Harry’s easy grin morphed into a more bashful smile, “I was going to say I went to the art show last week - it was really amazing. I guess you’re good at getting the kids to step out of their comfort zone too.”

Feeling his cheeks warm at the compliment - Harry having accidentally hit on a point of professional pride - Zayn gazed at the path. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “I guess.”

“You know,” Harry ventured after a pause, “we could use your talents for the play. Set design and props, maybe an eye on costume too?” Before Zayn could answer, they arrived at the outside door, not yet dead-bolted for the night. “Actually, I can just run up and check on them. I’ll let you get back,” Harry said, “but if you want to get involved, pop into the rehearsal after school tomorrow.”

It was only after he disappeared up the staircase on the other side of the door that Zayn realised there’d been no reason for him to accompany Harry, either of them could have done this errand alone. They’d walked and talked together just to walk and talk. And it’d been nice. Maybe he could go along to that rehearsal.

Chapter Text

To say Louis was surprised would be an understatement. “You did what?” he demanded, disbelief radiating off him even though his back was to Harry.

“I suggested that Zayn pop into the rehearsal today,” Harry replied quietly, knowing the worst was yet to come. “We could use his help.”

They were in Louis’ room, Harry perched on the unmade bed waiting as Louis rummaged through piles of discarded clothing looking for a tie. Not being Housemasters, they had rooms in an older building, away from the pupil dorms, which afforded a reasonable amount of privacy. By some stroke of luck, or manoeuvring on Louis’ part, they’d managed to snag a pair of rooms on the top floor, which meant it was rare that anyone else ventured up the stairs to their corridor, the only other doors leading to a shared bathroom and a tiny open space on the flat roof that was supposed to be out of bounds, even to staff. Of course they still had to do a couple of overnight duties in the dorms each half term, but it was a good deal.

Louis held a very bright, very ugly tie aloft triumphantly. “We need his help? Zayn Malik? The same Zayn Malik who avoids you like the plague and just glares at me?” Ignoring Harry’s intake of breath as he attempted to answer the first part of that question, Louis continued, “The one who stomped out of the room after the mistletoe incident and is almost certainly a homophobe?”

That’s what they’d assumed, but after last night Harry wasn’t so sure. “I don’t think it’s that,” he blurted, earning himself a raised eyebrow. Whoops - now he was going to have to explain.

“Well?” Louis said expectantly when Harry didn’t elaborate.

It wasn’t as if they had any secrets anyway. Louis could read him like a book, and vice-versa, as if they’d known each other forever. Soulmates almost, but strictly platonic. Well, apart from the aforementioned mistletoe incident at Harry’s first staff Christmas party. “Yesterday evening, while we were supervising the disco, I think he wanted to, or maybe kinda tried to…” he paused, focusing on Louis’ deft fingers knotting his tie. The last words came out in a rushed breath, “…he nearly kissed me.”

If Louis had looked curious before, his expression now was priceless. “Let me get this straight. Zayn Malik, Head of Art, kinda wanted to try to nearly kiss you in front of Year 9?”

Harry blushed, then nodded, then frowned. “Not in front of Year 9, in the corridor. He was going to kiss me Lou, I’m sure of it.”

“So you asked him to be set designer for my play?”

“Not exactly,” Harry replied carefully, knowing how important creative control was to his friend. “He could be useful though. Liam keeps saying he needs a better idea of what you want him and his team to build.” It was only the truth. Liam was a talented craftsman, which is how he ended up teaching more DT than PE, but he needed something more than Louis’ scribbled sketches to work with if they wanted a convincing set.

Louis regarded him thoughtfully, not willing to admit that Harry had a point. “Not cool Styles,” he grumbled, “and if that’s your idea of a first date, it’s no wonder you’re terminally single.”

*****

As usual, Zayn wandered into breakfast at the last possible moment and as usual his favourite member of the catering staff placed two slices of toast and a black coffee in front of him as he sat down. “Thanks Cheryl,” he murmured, earning himself a motherly smile from the older woman. 

Shy at the best of times, Zayn was particularly taciturn before caffeine, so eating alone suited him. Usually he paid little or no attention to the other teachers in the room, many of whom were enjoying their own solitary breakfasts for similar reasons - a quiet moment being a rare treat in a busy boarding school - but today he found himself glancing around as he sipped. The grimace on his face might have been down to the cheap bitter coffee, but it did coincide with the moment his gaze snagged on the far corner, where Styles and Tomlinson were engaged in earnest conversation over their empty plates, seemingly oblivious to those around them. Mentally, Zayn cursed himself for his moment (okay, moments, plural) of weakness the previous evening. There was no way he was going along to that rehearsal to watch them fawn all over each other. Then Liam Payne plonked himself down next to Harry, bursting their little bubble, and Zayn dragged his attention back to his toast.

He was just finishing up when the scrape of the chair opposite caught his attention, and he found himself looking at Liam’s friendly face. Over his shoulder, Zayn could see that the other two had vanished and Liam gave him a smile as he set his half-empty tea cup on the table between them. “Morning mate,” he began, which was a bit of an overstatement but not exactly untrue. Zayn liked Liam and they’d got on well when they collaborated over some of the more ambitious (meaning bigger) art projects. He was much nicer and more easy-going that the actual Head of DT, who made his disapproval of Zayn’s ‘modern' approach clear and really needed to retire as soon as possible.

“Morning,” Zayn offered in return, before letting the not uncomfortable silence linger.

After a final slurp of his tea, Liam was the one to break it. “So I hear you’re getting involved with the play?” he started, then continued before Zayn could correct him, “I’ve got to say, that’s a relief. Those sketches Louis makes for the set design - I’m not sure if I’m building a cityscape or a spaceship!”

Despite himself, Zayn chuckled. “It’s A View From the Bridge, right?” he asked after trawling through his memory, “so I’m pretty sure you’re aiming for New York.”

“See,” Liam said happily, “you’re helping already. It’ll be fun working together again.”

And how could Zayn refuse after that?

*****

“But sir, why is everyone so sure that Beatrice and Benedick like each other?” Kacey asked with a frustrated sigh. “He’s so rude to her!”

Suppressing a smile, Harry fixed his attention on the struggling sixth-former. “That’s why,” he explained, “the animosity is masking other feelings, feelings they don’t want to admit, even to themselves.” People do that, apparently.

She didn’t look convinced. “That’s stupid, especially at the end when he just kisses her to shut her up. I think he’s a sexist pig.”

Fair. “You’ve got a point there,” he conceded, wondering if this was the moment to mention that earlier versions of the text have other male characters saying the controversial line to encourage Benedick to keep ‘his’ woman under control. “Feminist criticism has shown us that ‘I will stop your mouth’ isn’t really a line any modern reader should be comfortable with. She gives as good as she gets in the rest of the play though.”

“Are you a feminist sir?”

“Of course.” Her satisfied nod was gratifying and Harry was pleased to notice other pupils agreeing, including most of the boys. One looked a little uncertain though. “Okay Shawn?” he enquired gently.

The boy took a moment to put his thoughts into words. “I agree with Kacey about Benedick, aptly named if you don’t mind me saying so sir?” Harry just grinned. “But I don’t think real people with a crush act like that, at least not these days. I think Mr Darcy is more accurate.”

Surprised that one of his students had read Pride and Prejudice unprompted, and carefully enough to reference the male protagonist in discussion, Harry considered the comment. “So instead of teasing-”

A loud snort interrupted him. “Bullying,” Kacey corrected firmly.

Harry held his hand up for silence. “Maybe, but let’s debate that later,” he placated, before switching his attention back to Shawn. “You think people are more likely to retreat into themselves, even if they come across as arrogant or disapproving?”

“Side-effect of being shy, I reckon,” Shawn agreed.

Huh. Well there was a literary precedent, but could it really be that simple?

*****

At the other end of the main building, Zayn’s lesson wasn’t going well. Half his Year 11 class seemed to be in the play, and it was all they could talk about, which made him far more uncomfortable than it should. They were meant to be practising sketching and shading - capturing the tangled assortment of junk on the table from different angles as accurately as possible - but it wasn’t the most exciting task, and left them plenty of opportunity to chat. Eventually one conversation became heated enough for him to justify intervening. “Luke and Ashton, what is all the fuss about?” he asked, fixing the culprits with something approaching a glare.

“Sorry sir,” Luke apologised immediately, “it’s just we’re both in the play, and we can’t quite agree on… directorial style.”

And just like that, Zayn was intrigued. “Well, it’s interrupted my lesson now, so you better explain.”

Ashton jumped in. “So, I’m playing Marco, right, and he’s quite mysterious. The only thing you really know is how protective he is of his brother, so it’s quite hard to make him real.” Zayn nodded, thinking he might have studied the play during his own schooldays. “So Mr Tomlinson, he made us do these role plays, as the brothers as kids. Marco sticking up for Rudolfo, rescuing him, so I can use that - like his memories I guess - when I’m playing him as an adult.”

“Sounds great,” Zayn commented, because much as he disliked Louis, it did sound like a good way to get the best out of his young actors. The rest of the class were either getting on with their own work or listening quietly, so he reckoned he could give the conversation a few more minutes. He turned to Luke, who looked so eager to speak he might explode. “So what’s the problem? You don’t agree?”

The boy shook his head. “No, Mr Tomlinson’s great, obviously,” Obviously, Zayn thought as Luke elaborated, “but I like the way Mr Styles does it.”

“He just talks,” Ashton complained, prompting disagreement from a few others in the room.

Luke waved a frustrated hand at his friend. “It’s not just talking though. We explore. Rudolfo’s so contradictory - he’s dating the girl, Catherine, but a lot of the other characters think he’s gay - Mr Styles helped me find ways to keep the ambiguity, so the audience can make up their own minds.”

Instantly, Zayn remembered the play, remembered Rudolfo, who gets labelled as a homosexual because he cooks and sings and sews, which the other male characters find so unsettling that the play ends in tragedy. Zayn, busy struggling with his own sexuality at the time, just thought he was a particularly sweet (and ahead of his time) example of non-toxic masculinity. If he’d thought anything, he have said the character was meant to be bi, but the less specific queer would probably be more accurate. Mostly, Zayn remembered an appealing lightness about him, an unabashed ambition and enjoyment of life, and the fact that the actors that played him were always pretty.

“What do you think of Mr Styles, sir?” asked another pupil, pulling Zayn out of his reflections and it was all he could do not to voice the two adjectives that lingered in thoughts - sweet and pretty.

I’m so fucked, he thought as he deflected the question, offering some redundant advice on perspective instead.

Chapter Text

The final bell of the afternoon cut through the silent classroom, startling Zayn out of the daydreams that had occupied most of his free period. He had achieved almost nothing, but couldn’t help but feel the time had been well-spent. In his imagination, he’d been back in the dark corridor with Harry, who this time had had the sense to keep his mouth shut - well, until Zayn had kissed him, and then his lips had parted with a soft sigh. He hadn’t allowed himself to think about what might have happened after that - not in a classroom - but the looped fantasy had done nothing to quell the urge to find out exactly how Harry’s mouth tasted. It was an ever-present longing that he’d learnt to live with and quietly ignore, but for some reason that was becoming more difficult.

Abandoning even the pretence of working, Zayn heaved himself off the stool and gathered his belongings. He knew had a crush, just like he knew that going to the rehearsal was a bad idea. Harry was just so lovely, both to look at and when he spoke, that spending more time with him made things worse. Even watching him with Louis, painful as that was, had no effect on his unwanted and ungovernable (and unrequited) feelings. On the other hand, Liam was expecting him to be there, and Zayn was understandably reluctant to disappoint the closest thing he had to a friend on the staff. It occurred to him that perhaps he was a little lonely - maybe if spent more time with people in general, he’d be less drawn to one person in particular.

Or maybe his stupid brain was inventing excuses to spend time with that person against his better judgement. Whatever, if he hurried, he’d have time for a shower before the rehearsal started.

*****

“Your hair’s wet,” Louis observed as they made their way across the quad towards the drama studio.

Automatically, Harry’s hand came up and he ran his fingers through the damp strands, reshaping his curls. “Oh yeah, I wasn’t teaching last period and I felt like I needed a shower.”

Louis didn’t look convinced. “Yes, because it was so hot today,” he murmured, “or is it because a certain someone is so hot?”

“Fuck off Lou,” Harry said mildly, no real bite in the words.

“Language, Mr Styles!” When Harry didn’t laugh, Louis grabbed his arm and peered closely at his face. “Are you okay? You look… oh my god - you look nervous.”

Harry felt the blush rising on his cheeks. “I’m fine,” he insisted, shrugging off Louis’ hand as they reached the heavy double doors. “Just drop it, please? Don’t scare him off by being so…” he paused, searching for the right word, “so you.”

“Who should I be then?”

“You know what I mean,” Harry replied. “You’re my best friend, but we both know subtlety is not one of your strengths.”

Louis had the cheek to look offended. “I can be subtle,” he groused, “the subtlest. I’m as stealthy as a really sneaky fox. A ninja fox - in disguise. I could help.”

“No!” Harry all but yelled, then moderated his voice. “No, thank you. Nothing’s going on so no help required.”

As he spoke, he became aware of approaching footsteps behind them and closed his eyes, dreading the possibility that Zayn had overheard them bickering - bickering about him. “Brilliant - can I have the evening off then?” said Liam brightly, much to Harry’s relief.

Louis replied first, “Definitely not Payno,” his habit of nicknaming everyone bringing a fond smile to Harry’s lips. “We have lots to work on today. Can you dance?”

Oh God. “Louis, please don’t help,” Harry groaned.

*****

When Zayn arrived, a few minutes late because he didn’t want to seem too keen and because his quiff wouldn’t co-operate after the world’s fastest shower, the rehearsal had already started. The cast of pupils were standing in pairs, close but not touching, except Luke from his Year 11 class, who had his hand on a Year 12 girl’s waist. Generally that would be deemed inappropriate in school, but presumably it was part of some kind of drama thing, because Louis was talking animatedly. “No, no, no,” he said, gesticulating to emphasise each word, “you can’t just do it. You have to do it in character.” Taking in their blank faces, he sighed wearily. “Mr Styles, can you and Mr Payne demonstrate again?”

“Who do you want us to be this time?” Liam asked as he stepped closer to Harry, dropping his left palm onto his shoulder. Belatedly, Zayn noticed they were already holding hands, Liam’s right clasped in Harry’s left. What on earth had he walked into?

The Year 12 girl piped up. “How about Beatrice and Benedick?” she suggested, earning a grin from Harry.

Liam stepped back, out of Harry’s loose grasp. “Sorry, don’t think I know that one,” he apologised.

Louis looked like he was about to stamp his foot in frustration, then his gaze landed on Zayn. “Mr Malik, brilliant timing!” he exclaimed excitedly, a wicked glint creeping into his eyes. “Can you waltz?”

“Erm, yes?” Zayn said, more question than answer.

“And have you read or seen Much Ado About Nothing?” 

He had, as it happened, so he nodded cautiously.

Clapping his hands delightedly, Louis waved towards Harry. “Come on then,” he chided. “Mr Horan, can we have some music?”

It was only then that Zayn noticed Niall Horan, one of the music teachers, sitting at the piano in the corner of the room, smirking at the whole bewildering situation. “But of course,” he replied, “I’ll give them a few bars to get familiar with the tune, then count them in.”

Zayn was still frozen to the spot, trying to work out what he was supposed to be doing when Harry approached. “Do you want to lead?” he asked softly. Then, apparently noticing Zayn’s bemusement, he answered his own question. “Maybe I should,” he decided, joining their hands as his right one settled just above Zayn’s hip. “Grab my shoulder and just follow. It’s easier to go along with these ideas when he has them.”

Cautiously, Zayn placed his free hand on Harry, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin grey t-shirt he’d obviously changed into after lessons had finished. This was a really terrible idea, even before Louis started talking over the opening notes. “Beatrice and Benedick pretend they hate each other,” he began, explaining the characters to some of the younger pupils, “which you can see in the stiff lines of their bodies and the awkwardness of the hold.”

Despite himself Zayn smiled - at least that was spot on - but then Niall was counting and Harry started to dance. All he could do was follow the confident movements, conscious of the increasingly firm grip on his waist as Harry guided him.

“But the thing is,” Louis continued, “they don’t really hate each other at all.”

Harry’s thumbed brushed over his soothingly, and then he was pulling Zayn a little closer. “It’ll be over soon,” he murmured, breath ghosting over Zayn’s ear before he leant back a little to maintain the frame. 

The problem was, Zayn didn’t want it be over - not yet anyway - so he decided to make the most of the unexpected opportunity to be in Harry’s arms. He let his hand slide over Harry’s shoulder, coming to rest on the nape of his neck, and he felt rather than saw Harry swallow hard in response.

Louis was still talking. “In fact, these two really like each other. All the animosity is just repressed attraction. If you look closely, you can see the spark.”

Pushing away the question of why Louis was basically encouraging him to feel up his boyfriend, Zayn threw himself into the role, caressing the silky strands of hair under his fingers and finally daring to meet Harry’s eyes. The obvious heat there had him biting his own lip to contain an inappropriate gasp, which prompted Harry’s gaze to drop to his mouth even as he tugged him closer still, the hand on Zayn’s waist creeping lower. It was all happening far too fast and not quickly enough. Any second now, Harry was going to kiss him. Reflexively Zayn wet his lips, forgetting about Louis, about Liam and Niall, about the pupils watching them.

A low cough from Liam yanked him out of his trance. “The music stopped guys,” he said as they sprang apart. 

The lust fog dispersed rapidly as Zayn glanced around the room. Liam’s expression was sympathetic while Niall, like most of the pupils, was clearly both surprised and amused. Louis, the bastard, looked gleeful - a Cheshire Cat grin on his face as he spoke, “Thank you very much. Great performance - just as Shakespeare intended.” 

Harry’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, most of his face obscured by wild curls, as a smattering of polite applause echoed around the room.

“I have to… Just remembered, a thing. Got to go,” Zayn managed to say before he darted out the door.

*****

Stalking across the quad, Harry put as much distance as he could between himself and Louis, who he had left to lock up after the last pupils had gone and who he had no intention of speaking to, possibly ever again.

“Harry! Slow down!” Louis called, scampering to catch up. In response, Harry lengthened his stride. “What’s up with you?”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Harry kept walking as he spoke, refusing to look at his so-called best friend.

Out of breath from almost running, Louis made a dismissive noise. “I thought it went rather well,” he mused, “and you were right, he definitely wants to kinda try to kiss you."  

Harry stopped so abruptly that Louis crashed into him, almost toppling them both onto the grass. “It went well?” he seethed, “which bit Lou? When you embarrassed us both in front of the entire cast or when he bolted like a terrified rabbit?”

“When you were staring at him like you wanted to eat him, and he was gazing back like he’d let you.”

“What?” Harry spluttered, “no I wasn’t, and he certainly wouldn’t now.” He knew the last words sounded petulant.

Louis looked thoughtful. “I particularly liked the bit when you were fixated on his mouth and he licked his lips.”

There was nothing Harry could say to that, because he had particularly liked that bit too. To the point where he was pretty sure he was going to dream about it. Hopefully. “You’re a dick,” he said anyway.

Totally ignoring the insult, Louis continued plotting. “I’ll get Liam to make sure he comes to Friday’s rehearsal. I’m sure I can think of a good ice-breaker.”

Knowing that when Louis set his mind to something, there was no stopping him, Harry sighed. Heaven help me, he thought forlornly as Louis strode ahead, reaching their building first. As usual, all he could do was follow, and hope for the best.

Chapter Text

Zayn didn’t go to the rehearsal on Friday.

Harry had seen him just once since he fled after their dance, at breakfast on Thursday. He’d been working up the nerve to go over and say something, to apologise for Louis’ existence perhaps, but when he looked up, Zayn had vanished. Presumably he was hiding in his office or one of the art rooms, because Harry hadn’t seen him anywhere else, not the staffroom or the dining hall where teachers ate lunch and dinner with the pupils or anywhere in the grounds. Not that he was looking.

Although he knew it was unlikely, he clung to the hope that Zayn would come back to the drama studio on Friday - Louis had a knack of getting his own way - but fifteen minutes in, it was clear that was not going to happen.

“Is Mr Malik not coming today?” Ashton asked nobody in particular after they finished Louis’ latest warm-up game, which involved saying their most important lines not in words but through a variety of nonsense sounds and animal noises. 

Luke chimed in, “I thought he was going to help Mr Payne with the set?”

Uncharacteristically, Harry felt a flare of irritation, and glared at the boys for a moment before taking in the genuine curiosity on their faces. Perhaps what happened in the Wednesday rehearsal was only a big deal to Harry. And hopefully Zayn. “I thought so too,” he murmured, more to himself than them.

“Mr Malik’s not very well,” Liam announced loudly. Then he turned to Harry and filled in the details quietly enough that the pupils didn’t overhear. “I saw Nicole, the nurse, earlier and she said he’s been sick in bed since Thursday lunchtime. She was worried enough to check on him this morning, but she says he’s just sleeping through it. Poor bloke.”

A new emotion prickled under Harry’s skin - concern. “Is he okay though?” he whispered. “Is anyone looking after him? Has he eaten?” The Friday rehearsals were always longer, so they started after dinner, as soon as possible, and ran into the evening. It was probably too late to get anything from the dining hall now.

Liam shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine Harry. He’s a big boy.”

Chewing his bottom lip, Harry wasn’t convinced. “Lou,” he called, then corrected himself, “ I mean, Mr Tomlinson!”

Surprised at being interrupted as he was discussing the best way to deliver a monologue with the boy playing Alfieri, the oddly omniscient narrator/lawyer, Louis frowned. “Everything okay?”

“No,” said Harry decisively, “I’m afraid I can’t stay tonight. Something’s come up. It’s important.” He strode towards the door, pushing it open before Louis could answer, or argue.

Outside, he started towards the building where most staff slept when not on dorm duty, the same place he and Louis lived, knowing Zayn’s room was somewhere on the bottom floor, before doubling back and heading for the kitchens.

*****

When he’d woken up on Thursday morning, alarm startling him out of a dream in which Harry had been about to kiss him only to be interrupted by Louis yelling ‘cut’ and banging a clapperboard like a movie director just before their lips met, Zayn had been sorely tempted to throw a sickie. If he stayed in bed, maybe he could avoid the inevitable gossip the scene in the drama studio must have provoked, and better still, maybe he’d get a version of that dream with a happy ending.

Reluctantly, he’d dragged himself out of bed and got dressed, assuming the pain in his temples was the result of fitful sleep. Breakfast had consisted of just coffee, thanks to the churning in his stomach - anxiety probably, given that Harry was on the other side of the room, with Louis as usual - and then he had a full day’s teaching ahead of him.

He’d made it to period 3 before one of his more responsible pupils had asked if she ought to fetch the school nurse, giving him a pitying look when he’d asked who was ill. “I think you are sir,” she’d said, and by the end of the lesson, he’d had to admit she was right. Period 4 was Year 13, working on their A-level portfolios, so he’d started them off and left them to it - they could be trusted to tidy up - before informing the school office that someone would have to cover his afternoon lessons and then dragging his aching body back to his room.

He slept the rest of Thursday away and on Friday morning the nurse popped in to check on him, bringing medicine and breakfast as well as making him tea with honey and lemon to sooth his throat before she left him to sleep.

Which got him to Friday afternoon, feeling better enough to be hungry but not well enough to go down for dinner. Deciding a shower might make him feel more human, Zayn made his way slowly down the corridor, legs rather wobbly. The shower did help, even if he ended up sitting under the spray for most of it, and he managed the walk back to his room with a little support from the wall. The dining hall seemed a very long way away though, if it was even still open. He’d lost track of time.

Checking the watch on his bedside table, he discovered it was 47 minutes past six so he was too late anyway, having missed the end of dinner by 17 minutes and the start of the rehearsal he’d had no intention of attending by half an hour more than that. At least he had a few energy bars in one of his drawers to keep him going until morning.

A knock on his door interrupted his search. “Gimme a minute,” he shouted, realising he was still wearing only a towel. Pulling on boxers and the nearest pair of jeans, he grabbed a black t shirt and was in the process of yanking it over his head as he opened the door. “Oh,” he breathed, as he realised who was waiting in the corridor, laden with tupperware boxes.

“Oh,” echoed a very flustered looking Harry Styles.

*****

If the glimpse of toned abs left Harry light-headed, it was nothing compared to the effect his sudden appearance apparently had on Zayn, who swayed and made a grab for the doorframe. He missed, and tupperware tumbled to the floor as Harry reached out for him instead. That was not the way he’d hoped to have Zayn in his arms for the second time in as many days, but he held on tight anyway, half-carrying him back into the room.

“Sorry,” Zayn mumbled once he was sitting on his bed, “think I moved too fast there.”

Harry looked at him critically, noting a sheen of sweat on his forehead even though his hair was still damp and the paler than usual complexion. He still looked lovely, but he didn’t look well. “Lie back, and stay still for a bit,” he said gently, hovering until Zayn did as he was told then going back to the door to gather up the boxes.

The obvious question came while his back was to the bed. “Why are you here?”

Turning, Harry made a show of rolling his eyes. “Because you’re ill - Liam told me.” And I panicked and had to check on you myself, he didn’t add, opting to stick to safer ground. “I brought you some dinner - it’s probably a bit shaken up, but still edible.” He selected the biggest box and pulled off the lid, nodding when he saw the fish pie inside didn’t look too bad. “You eat fish, right?” he checked as he handed it over.

Zayn nodded mutely, pushing himself more upright with one hand as he stared at the still warm contents of the box.

“Oh yeah, cutlery,” Harry exclaimed, producing a plastic knife and fork from his back pocket with a flourish. 

Zayn dug in like a starving man, or a Year 10 boy after rugby practice, which gave Harry time to look around the room. It was similar to his own, less tidy, but nothing like the (dis)organised chaos of Louis’ pigsty. He was wondering where he should sit when Zayn spoke again, seemingly reading his mind. “There’s a chair under that pile of clothes,” he joked, “or you can join me on the bed.” 

It wasn’t that sort of invitation, but Harry’s brain glitched at the unintended implication and he sat down heavily on the end of the bed. Smooth Styles, he berated himself when Zayn raised an eyebrow and smiled at him.

Scraping the last remnants of mashed potato from the plastic box, Zayn let out a contented moan that did something to Harry’s stomach. “That was great,” he sighed, licking his lips, “thank you.”

Harry blinked twice before forcing his gaze away from Zayn’s mouth - despite being unwell the man was clearly trying to kill him - and forming a coherent response. “There’s pudding too,” he offered, holding out two smaller boxes, “apple crumble and I brought the custard separately in case you didn’t want it.”

“Both please.”

While Zayn opened the boxes and tipped the custard onto the crumble, Harry resettled himself more comfortably on the end of the bed. It wasn’t that he planned to watch Zayn eat, but he was there to take care of a sick colleague, and making sure he was properly fed was part of that, surely?

*****

It should feel strange, Harry perched on the end of his bed not speaking to him as he ate, but somehow Zayn found his presence comforting. Despite practically ignoring each for years, Harry had bothered not only to check on him, but also to bring him food - the easy kindness being yet another reason he was perfect. “This was really amazing Harry,” he said earnestly, “and so nice of you to do it. How did you do it anyway?”

The adorably proud smile almost distracted Zayn from the answer. “James in the kitchen sorted me out,” he explained. “I learnt that it’s always smart to treat the support staff well.” Frowning, he paused, then elaborated, “Not that that’s the only reason I spend time with him - he’s a lovely guy.”

Zayn nodded. He couldn’t agree more, couldn’t stand those teachers who treated the other staff as second-tier, as if they were’t all part of the same team. “I did a sketch of Cheryl’s son for her at Christmas. Thought I knew most of the catering staff but I haven’t met James.”

“He rarely leaves the kitchen,” Harry confirmed with a grin, “but I like baking, especially when I’m stressed, so he lets me hang out there. Then Lou eats everything I make.”

And there it was, the reminder that Harry was perfect in all but one detail - he was taken. “Lucky Louis.” He hadn’t really meant to say it out loud, but the words escaped before he could censor them.

Harry laughed. “Well maybe, but how do you know what I bake is any good?”

“I’m sure it’s wonderful Harry. He’s definitely a lucky man.” In for a penny, in for a pound.

To Zayn’s surprise, Harry’s expression shifted to something more serious. “He’s also a little shit at times,” he said. “I’m really sorry about the rehearsal the other night - he shouldn’t have pushed it and I shouldn’t have gone along with it. You’d barely walked through the door!” Zayn tried to wave the apology away, but Harry continued. “He won’t do it again, I promise. I… we, we’d love you to come along again and actually get a chance to discuss the set. Please?”

Zayn should have said no, should have put his walls back up and kept his distance, but with Harry sitting on his bed - Harry, who had brought him dinner and apologised so sweetly, who was worrying his bottom lip with his teeth as he waited for Zayn’s answer, hope shining in his lovely eyes, who was practically begging - how could he? “I’ll be there,” he promised, instantly deciding the inevitable heartbreak was worth it when a beaming smile broke across Harry’s face.

“Brilliant!” he said as he got to his feet. “I should let you get some rest, but see you Sunday afternoon?” Zayn nodded and Harry started to walk away from the bed. After two steps, he turned back, retraced his steps, hesitated for a moment then leant down and pressed a gentle kiss to Zayn’s forehead. “Feel better,” he murmured, before straightening up and retreating with the empty boxes, leaving a shocked Zayn staring at the closed door.

Chapter Text

Something wasn’t right. The ground was unsteady beneath his feet and he could feel a rough wind tousling his hair - outside then - but he could barely see anything in the dim light. Minutes passed and the sky lightened, revealing an endless stretch of water between Zayn and the horizon. He was on a boat. On a fucking boat, in the middle of the ocean. Swallowing his fear, he clung more tightly to the flimsy railing. 

A flash of movement in the corner of his eye took him by surprise and then a blurred shape, a person, was hurtling towards him, arms out-stretched. “Can you waltz?” Louis yelled as he shoved Zayn over the bar and into the turbulent grey water below.

“I can’t swim,” he shrieked as he fell, screaming until water filled his mouth, choking him. I’m going to die, he thought, thrashing helplessly. Then an eerie calm rippled through him. I’m dreaming, I must be.

The burning in his lungs eased as he stopped struggling and moments later strong arms wrapped around his chest from behind. Harry, he thought, knowing without seeing. Turning in the embrace, he found himself staring into concerned eyes, much greener than the murky water around them. “I’ve got you,” he heard, no felt, Harry say, “breathe with me.”

So close their noses were already touching, it was only a tiny movement to bring their lips together. Zayn didn’t think he needed the oxygen, but he felt like he might die if Harry stopped kissing him so he clung tighter, hands sliding down Harry’s back to hold him closer. It was then that he felt the scales.

Surprisingly unsurprised, he reluctantly pulled away far enough to check. Yep, a fish tail. Harry was a merman. Of course he was - Zayn had always thought him too pretty to be human. They drifted in each others arms as Zayn processed, Harry watching, a shy but hopeful expression on his face. Okay, Louis had tried to drown him and Harry was a merman, but more importantly Harry had kissed him, so they should get back to that. This time, Zayn kissed Harry, and felt him smile against his mouth before his lips parted…

It was perfect, apart from the irritating tapping sound that was getting louder by the second. Zayn opened his eyes to find himself not in the ocean, not in Harry’s arms, but in his own bed in his own room, with someone knocking on the door. “Zayn, you okay in there? Are you alive?” Liam Payne shouted through the thin wood.

Groaning in frustration and disappointment, Zayn wrapped the duvet around himself and padded across the floor to open the door. “Still alive,” he croaked as Liam bustled into the room.

“Glad to hear it,” he said with a grin. “Harry’s supervising Saturday morning detention with the tough nuts of Year 7, but he made me promise to bring you breakfast.”

As he accepted the egg sandwich and mug of coffee, Zayn considered his dream. Maybe he wasn’t quite over the fever, or maybe he ought to set up a meeting with Ms Swift, the very insightful Head of Psychology. On reflection, he didn’t need an expert to tell him he was in love with somebody else’s boyfriend, who just happened to be too nice for his own good.

“Whose boyfriend?” Liam asked conversationally, indicating that Zayn had said at least some of that out loud.

Chewing slowly to buy time, Zayn thought about lying, or denying, but what was the point? “Louis Tomlinson’s,” he said.

Liam looked puzzled. “Louis has a boyfriend?”

Zayn gawked at him like he had two heads, or possibly just no eyes. “Pretty sure you know him,” he muttered, “tall, green eyes, curls.” When Liam continued to stare blankly, he felt irrationally irritated, but continued, “I believe he teaches English.”

“You mean Harry?”

“Got it in one.” Zayn took a large swig of his coffee. “They’re inseparable.”

Liam nodded slowly. “Yeah, but are they together?” he asked, seemingly unsure. “I mean, they’ve never said anything, and I’ve never seen them like, holding hands or kissing or anything.”

“That Christmas party?” The image of the two of them, lips locked in a movie-worthy snog on the very night Zayn had been planning to actually approach Harry and speak to him, properly, was burnt into his brain.

Brow wrinkled in thought, Liam was obviously trawling through memories. “I didn’t see it,” he admitted finally, “but I heard it was just a booze and mistletoe thing.”

Zayn shook his head, adamant. It’s not like he could be wrong about the most disappointing fact in his life - Harry was taken and he’d missed his chance. “They disappear up those stairs to bed together every night,” he said softly.

“But that’s because-” Liam’s answer was cut off by the courtyard clock chiming. “I have to go,” he apologised, “footy practice, but I think you should make sure before you rule anything out.”

*****

“So you kinda nearly almost actually kissed him?

“On the forehead Lou!” Harry explained for the umpteenth time. “It was like, motherly, or paternal, or something - I just wanted to take care of him, make him feel better.”

Sprawled across Harry’s neatly made bed, Louis sniggered. “I bet you could make him feel much better…” The withering look Harry sent his way did nothing to stop him as he launched into a scarily accurate impression of Zayn’s voice. “Oh Harry, that feels so good,” he moaned, running one hand down his own chest for effect. “Don’t stop-”

He was abruptly silenced by a pillow to the face. “It’s not funny,” Harry insisted, despite the small smile playing around his lips at Louis’ antics.

“It’s bloody hilarious is what it is,” Louis corrected. “You’ve got a massive crush on Malik. He’s apparently got a crush on you and neither of you are doing anything about it. I should bang your heads together,” he paused thoughtfully, “…lips first.”

Harry closed his eyes, a small part of him tempted to take the offer. Louis match-making would be a force to be reckoned with, but the potential for humiliation and disaster would be high. “I’m not going to jump his bones while he’s sick,” he pointed out, giving Louis a hard stare to let him know he was serious. “When he’s better, I’ll just follow his lead. If it’s meant to be, it’ll happen.”

“What are you now? Star-crossed lovers? We all know how well that turned out.” Louis said with a pout, clearly sulking because Harry didn’t want his ‘help’.

In lieu of an answer, Harry stuck out his hand to pull Louis off the bed. They had a free afternoon and had planned to spend it working on the set with Liam, but it made more sense to leave that if Zayn was going to help. Ignoring the muttered comments about being master of his own fate, Harry announced his alternative plan, “Let’s go into town, do some shopping. I need new shirts, and maybe a haircut.”

Louis allowed himself to be dragged to his feet. “Helping destiny along a little by looking your best?” When Harry’s only answer was a sheepish grin, he reached out and grabbed a stray curl, pulling it straight before letting it spring back. “Don’t cut much off - he loves your hair.”

“How can you tell?”

“Because I have eyes Harry.”

*****

By Sunday lunchtime, Zayn was feeling well enough that he had no excuse not to go to the rehearsal. As he was slightly early he meandered across the quad, dawdling among the flowers that ever since their impromptu late night stroll, had reminded him of Harry. Idly, he wondered if Harry liked flowers, and if so, what was his favourite? The delicate beauty of the roses maybe, inspiration to so many poets? Or perhaps something more vibrant, like dahlias or sunflowers? Suppressing a wistful sigh, he pushed the curiosity down; it wasn’t as if he’d ever be buying Harry a bouquet, but he would be a lovely person to have as a friend.

The butterflies in his stomach got more agitated as he approached the door - he wasn’t sure if they were due to excitement about seeing Harry, or dread of Louis, who had continued to murder and/or cockblock him in increasingly inventive ways in his dreams. Zayn had however learnt his lesson about being late and walking onto something he didn’t understand, so he arrived exactly on time, entering the room with a small group of pupils.

Harry noticed him first, waved in greeting and continued to lift his hand to push it through his hair before aborting the motion. It was then that Zayn saw his hair was tied up in a little bun, just a few strands escaping. Cute he thought, until his gaze caught on the sharp line of Harry’s jaw, usually obscured by his unruly curls. And hot.

“Mr Malik, glad you could join us,” Louis called from the far corner where he was perched on the piano stool, cosied up to Niall, “hope you’re feeling better?” He sounded sincere and the smile he sent Zayn’s way looked genuine enough. Then, to Zayn’s great surprise, he started to make his way across the room, collecting an unresisting Liam on the way, closing in until the three of them stood in a small circle. “I thought we could have a proper go at sorting out the set? Harry and Niall can run the singing and dancing scenes with the kids - they’re better at that stuff anyway.” Though he seemed to be on his best behaviour, Zayn didn’t miss the slight smirk at the mention of Harry and dancing.

Taking reassurance from Liam’s solid presence at his side, Zayn agreed. “Okay, what do you want me to do?”

Louis led them over to a round table under the window. “Just draw,” he said as he sat down, “please. Liam for some reason is unable to decipher my excellent sketches, so we thought if I describe my vision to you, you could get it down on paper.”

Nodding, Zayn took the chair opposite Louis, the one with the best light, and they got to work. His pencil flew over the paper as Louis talked, but once the first outline was done and approved his confidence grew and he started to pause to ask questions and make suggestions. Liam followed suit, advising on what was possible and what alternatives they could make work, and soon the three of them were thrashing out an elaborate shared vision of 1950s Brooklyn, symbolic features balanced by realistic details.

Zayn was so focused on the work that he forgot about the rest of the rehearsal, barely even noticing the music until the singing started. Niall was playing the piano, of course, and humming the melody but it was Harry up on stage, singing the words with Luke, leading him through it. Transfixed, he put his pencil down and listened, tuning out the debate Liam and Louis were having over the height of the lamppost that would be crucial to certain scenes. Harry’s voice was a little rough, gravelly, but somehow sweet and seductive at the same time. As he crooned a line about “flirty flirty guys with their flirty flirty eyes” he glanced up, and definitely caught Zayn staring before they both looked away.

“Okay, I’ve got it,” Luke interrupted, “thanks sir.”

Both relieved and disappointed when Harry stopped singing, Zayn forced his attention back to the set design.

*****

“Get off,” Harry hissed, swatting Louis’ hand away from his head. Rehearsal had finished and only the teachers were left in the drama studio, looking over the set designs. “These are great,” he said to Zayn, trying to keep the conversation on track.

Louis persisted, “Just show them.”

“Show us what?” asked Niall, more interested in their drama than the sketches.

Harry and Louis answered simultaneously.

“Nothing.”

“His hair.”

This time Liam asked the question. “What about his hair?”

“Nothing.”

“He thinks it’s too short.” As he spoke, Louis made another grab for the twist of elastic securing the bun, finally succeeding in stealing it and sending soft waves cascading around Harry’s face. “Well?” Louis demanded.

“It looks… the same,” said Liam diplomatically.

Niall peered closer. “No, it is shorter. The curly bits are bouncier.”

The one person whose opinion Harry was interested in hadn’t answered, but when he peeped at Zayn, he was met with an unreadable expression. “How do you think it looks?” he asked shyly.

Dark eyes wide and fixed on Harry, Zayn’s voice was lower than usual. “Soft, like silk,” he all but whispered, fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach out and feel for himself. “It’s lovely.”

“There you go,” Louis crowed, dispelling the tension, “Harry’s still gorgeous and my set is going to be brilliant. A great afternoon’s work gentlemen.”

Chapter Text

“He walks in beauty, like the night 

Of cloudless climes and starry skies; 

And all that’s best of dark and bright 

Meet in…”

“Sir, I’m confused!”

Surprised to be interrupted mid-recitation, especially by his lovely Year 12 class, Harry paused. “What’s the problem Shawn?”

“So, I know Byron liked men and women and well, pretty much anybody, including his own half-sister,” the boy explained, showing off his recently learnt contextual knowledge, “but I thought this one was about a woman? It’s pretty famous. She Walks in Beauty.”

“It is,” Harry nodded, not seeing the issue.

A ripple went around the classroom. “You said ‘he’ sir, ‘he walks in beauty’ - really clearly,” Shawn told him apologetically.

Had he? Clearly he had. Daydreaming of dark ‘eyes thus mellowed' and ‘waves in every raven tress’ and ‘smiles that win’, he’d somehow repurposed Byron’s most famous love poem and made it about a certain art teacher. “Sorry, slip of the tongue,” he said, not particularly convincingly, but nobody argued, “I must be a bit tired. Maybe one of you can do a better job. It’s on page 43.”

Picking up on his distraction, his students split the verses amongst themselves, reading aloud confidently, and finishing with a tender tribute to ‘A heart whose love is innocent!” Not an adjective Harry could claim for his own feelings, if the dream last night of hot skin and wet lips and fingers holding tight enough to bruise was anything to go on. He was trying very hard to be good and let Zayn make the first move though, and had got his hopes up considerably when he’d described Harry’s hair as lovely, but since then, nothing. They’d smiled and joked through rehearsals, and even progressed to eating dinner together more often than not, but it was always the five of them, and Zayn always seemed to keep someone else, usually Liam, occasionally Niall, between himself and Harry. In his more optimistic moments, Harry wondered if it was because he didn’t trust himself any closer, but then why was he holding back?

Wrenching his focus back to the lesson, he asked, “So, what do you think? Do you like the poem?” He was met mostly with nods, but nobody seemed keen to start the discussion. “Let’s break it down a bit,” he suggested, “in teams.” Giving them a moment to shuffle into the prearranged groups, he threw out suggestions. “One, why does she walk ‘in’ beauty rather just being described as beautiful? Two, how does this differ from other love poems we’ve looked at? Three, how does Byron create balance? Go.”

Listening to his favourite class unpick how the poem conveyed a depth of feeling beyond a superficial admiration of good looks, Harry was both proud of them and concerned for himself. The lines danced in his head along with Zayn’s face. I’m so gone for him, he realised.

*****

“I don’t think so,” Liam said stubbornly, waving his hand at Zayn, who was trying not to stare at Harry and Louis as they stood at the bar trying to attract the attention of someone, anyone, who might serve them. “They’d have told us - we’ll all friends.”

The last part was true. These days Zayn considered them all - Liam, Niall, Harry and even, somehow, Louis - his friends. Long rehearsals and late nights that the pupils would never know about, spent painting set, fixing costume and improvising props, had been as much fun as hard work. He was even confident the camaraderie would continue after the performance next week. But Liam was still wrong.

The five of them were making the most of a mutually free Saturday - the cast having a much needed break in preparation for next week - to go actually off campus and into town. Niall was sitting next to Zayn, paying more attention to the bickering than he had thought. “Told who what?” he asked.

“Zayn believes Louis and Harry are a couple,” Liam told him, far too loudly in Zayn’s opinion. In response to his glare, Liam lowered his voice, “but for some reason they’ve kept it from everyone.”

“No,” Niall said simply.

“Yes,” Zayn argued, “they must be. They spend all their time together, go up to bed together most nights and there was-”

Liam cut him off. “They spend time together because they’re best mates, and they go up together at night because they live on the same floor.” Exasperated, he turned to Niall. “Can you convince him? I’ve tried.”

“The kiss at Christmas,” Zayn insisted.

Niall shook his head. “No,” he repeated.

As he spoke. Louis arrived back with two pints, Harry hot on his heels clutching the other three in his larger hands. “No?” he echoed as he stretched past Liam to plonk them on the scuffed wooden table, “I’ll just keep these shall I?”

“Don’t say a word,” Zayn whispered to Niall, hoping the others wouldn’t notice.

He could almost see the lightbulb pop up over Niall’s head. “Okay, I’ll just have to show you then.” Standing up, he leant over the table and planted a kiss on Louis. A lingering kiss, possibly involving at least one tongue.

Liam and Zayn stared at them for a moment, then at each other, then at Harry, who carefully placed the three glasses beside the other two. He didn’t look jealous or heartbroken or vengeful, just mildly surprised. “What did I miss?” he asked.

For a long moment nobody spoke or moved. Louis, evidently rendered mute by the unexpected kiss, brought one hand up and touched his mouth, never shifting his gaze from Niall’s face. “The fact that Niall’s apparently gay,” Liam suggested.

“I’m undecided,” Niall murmured, eyes still fixed on the lips he’d just kissed.

Louis found his voice. “Since when?” he demanded.

“I think about 30 seconds ago.”

The smile on Louis’ face was not one Zayn recognised. Rather than his usual smirk, it was warm, fond almost. “Then maybe I can help you make up your mind,” he said gently, before cupping the back of Niall’s neck with one hand and pulling him in for a proper snog.

It must have been awkward, across the table like that, but neither of them seemed to mind, or notice when Zayn and Liam got to their feet, grabbed their beers and, along with Harry, sidled away.

“Told you,” Liam muttered, earning a glare from Zayn and a curious look from Harry.

Before any awkward questions could be asked, Zayn made a beeline for an empty table. “Well, who could have predicted that?” he asked as he sat down.

Harry looked thoughtful. “I knew he adored Niall - I mean, who doesn’t adore Niall?” he mused, “but I never thought there was a chance of anything actually happening there.”

Liam chucked. “Guess you should always make sure before you rule anything out,” he said, winking at Zayn. If he carried on like that Harry was definitely going to notice something was off, but when Zayn risked a peek, it became obvious from his defeated slump that Harry had other things on his mind. “You okay mate?” Liam asked, also picking up on the shift in posture. 

Oh god, Zayn thought, maybe he’d been right after all, maybe Harry was just putting on a brave face because he’d been very publicly cuckolded, or maybe he had an unrequited crush on Louis and now… He cautiously paced a comforting hand on Harry’s shoulder.

Raising his head from where it had been buried in his hands, Harry gave him an anguished look. “Please tell me one of you has a comfy chair in your room,” he begged, “because if that’s going to end the way I think it’s going to end,” he indicated the other table, where Louis had somehow ended up in Niall’s lap, the two of them still joined at the lip, “I cannot be trying to sleep in the next room.”

“His bed’s big enough for two.”

Zayn was going to kill Liam Payne.

*****

The horrified expression on Zayn’s face said it all.

“No, it’s fine,” Harry backtracked, inwardly cursing Liam, and Louis and Niall and everything else that kept making it harder for him to get close to Zayn without scaring him off. “I’m sure they won’t… not tonight anyway.”

Zayn nodded. “It’d be pretty fast. Niall’s only been gay for what, five minutes?”

“Or he’s only known it for five minutes,” Liam put in thoughtfully. “Sometimes people can want something for a long time and not admit it, even to themselves,” then, as if realising his comparison wasn’t quite apt, he added, “or to other relevant people.”

Harry stole another glance at the lovebirds, now talking earnestly, heads close together, fingers intertwined. It looked comfortable, intimate even. The pang he felt wasn’t jealousy - he’d never wanted Louis that way - but perhaps envy that his best friend had potentially stumbled on something he did want for himself. Pushing the ugly feeling aside, he announced, “We should celebrate for them!”

Liam nodded enthusiastically. “Plenty to celebrate tonight,” he said, giving Zayn another one of those odd looks that they both seemed to think Harry hadn’t noticed. “Let’s do shots!”

Several rounds later Harry had learnt a few things. Firstly, Liam had a penchant for tequila, which didn’t seem to affect him at all. Secondly, Louis had kept a secret crush on Niall from everyone, including Harry, for literally years, judging by the besotted expression currently on his face. Thirdly, Zayn was a lightweight when it came to spirits, and lastly, he was also a flirty drunk.

Harry was both of those things too but, strategically, he’d managed to ‘lose’ one shot at the bar, spill another and slide a third into Liam’s queue, so he was reasonably clear-headed. Well, at least he wasn’t the one humming something about “flirty flirty guys” and batting his eyelashes. Perhaps Zayn had been paying more attention than Harry thought when he had been singing in that rehearsal, and it had left an impression. Excellent - it’s not as if he’d gone for low and throaty by accident.

“I wanna dance,” Zayn declared, one hand landing on Harry’s thigh after he threw it up to emphasise his point. It stayed there.

Louis, who had rejoined them, along with Niall - they were only kissing about 65% of the time now - stared directly at Harry as he answered. “That’s an excellent idea. You should do that. Take Styles with you - he loves to dance.”

Looking around the table, Harry could see there was no chance of a rescue. Niall was kiss-drunk and happy to agree with everything Louis suggested, while Liam was nodding enthusiastically. Besides, the music was boppy, and there were worse things he could think of than strutting his stuff with a fit bloke. It wasn’t as if it’d be like that waltz, the one that had left him half-hard and wanting in a room full of pupils - thank god for loose trousers. Why not enjoy it? “C’mon then,” he said, holding out a hand to pull Zayn to his feet.

Zayn didn’t let go as they made their way to the corner of the bar that served as a dance floor. “So Louis definitely doesn’t have a boyfriend then?” he asked, nonsensically.

“Well, not yet,” Harry answered, “I don’t think.” Was Zayn interested in Louis? It would explain the some of weirdness, but he’d definitely seemed pleased by the earlier developments.

That was confirmed when Zayn giggled, actually giggled. “Soon though,” he said with great certainty, “good for them.” His genuine happiness for his friends was very endearing.

Time for a distraction. “Are we dancing?” Harry said, just as the music shifted to a ballad. Because of course it did.

“Are you asking?”

Not one to argue with fate, or look a gift horse in the mouth, Harry just offered his hand. Zayn took it, placing the other on Harry’s shoulder as Harry spayed his fingers on the small of Zayn’s back. They swayed together, finding the rhythm.

Baby, I'm dancing in the dark with you between my arms…

Harry let his hand slide a little lower as he pulled Zayn closer. He knew the other man was drunk, and it was on him to be responsible, but he was going to enjoy this for a few more minutes, tilting his head as Zayn nuzzled into his neck.

I don't deserve this, darling, you look perfect tonight…

Too soon the song ended, and Harry reluctantly pulled away, just far enough to see lust-blown eyes gazing back at him. Give me strength, he prayed to any god who was listening. “Time to get you home sweetheart,” he murmured. Zayn didn’t argue as he lead him back to the group. Weirdly, there was actually a gap between Louis and Niall, but investigating that wasn’t his priority. “I think we need to go - who’s coming?” he asked.

After a very brief discussion, they all left together, snagging one of the big Ubers. Liam sat in the front, directing the driver, while Louis and Niall took the first row, holding hands but still maintaining that respectable distance. Clearly Harry was not going to have to worry about noises through the wall quite yet. He ended up in the seat behind, with Zayn snuggled into his side. It would have been a strong man who could have resisted the urge to wrap an arm around him.

“You could you know,” Zayn slurred, head resting on Harry’s shoulder, “sleep in my bed. Anytime you need… or like, want to.”

Well fuck.

Chapter Text

Groaning, Zayn rolled over and immediately regretted the movement. His head was throbbing and his stomach somewhat unsteady, but he needed to pee and was terribly thirsty, which seemed both unfair and poor design. When he cracked an eye open, he saw water and what looked like painkillers sitting on his bedside table, but the pressure in his bladder took priority so he crawled out of bed, checked he was wearing enough clothes to leave the room - boxers and last night’s t-shirt - and headed to the bathroom.

On returning he propped himself up against the pillows, just vertical enough to gulp down the water and swallow two of the tablets, thanking the kind hangover fairy that had put them there.

Oh.

That was Harry.

Harry had placed the water and painkillers there. Harry had insisted on escorting him to his room. Harry had helped him pull off his boots and wriggle out of his jeans. Then Harry had tucked him into bed, possibly kissed him on the forehead - though he could be mixing in the other night - and left.

The memories flooded back, jumbled but mostly intact. He had basically invited Harry into his bed, once in the taxi and again when he was semi-naked in his room, but Harry had politely declined the offer both times. Shit, how embarrassing.

A short while later, a loud knock hauled him out of his swamp of self-pity. Hope flared, but the flame was quickly extinguished when Liam pushed open the unlocked door and walked in, a takeaway cup in each hand. “Thought you might need this,” he said by way of explanation as he handed one over.

At least coffee was some comfort.

“So,” Liam began, “Harry’s not with Louis.” He didn’t say I told you so, but he might as well have given the glint in his eye. Then he took in Zayn’s mournful expression. “That’s a good thing, no?”

Zayn could imagine how pitiful he looked, hungover, dishevelled and with unshed tears swimming in his eyes. “You were right,” he acknowledged, “but it doesn’t matter.”

Liam raised an eyebrow. “It doesn’t matter?” he echoed, plonking himself on the end of the bed, which was closer than Harry had got last night.

“It doesn’t matter, because he clearly doesn’t want me.” He indicated the other side of his bed, definitely empty and unslept-in. “Not as anything more than a friend.”

*****

“You left!” Louis screeched, then winced at his own volume. “He invited you into his bed - twice - and you just left?”

“He was only half-dressed the second time,” Harry elaborated, “and he kept touching me, my arms and my hair.” He shivered, reliving the feeling of Zayn’s fingers on his skin, tracing the tattoos on his forearm.

Louis made an exasperated noise. “And you left,” he said again, “everything you’ve been pining for, for months, offered on a silver platter and you turned him down. Are you mad Styles?”

“You know why I left.”

The sharp note in his voice must have made an impact, because Louis nodded, letting out a theatrical sigh as he did. “He was drunk.”

“Wasted,” Harry confirmed, “I couldn’t take advantage.”

“You could have stayed anyway - just cuddled him or something.”

Oh, he’d thought about it, thought about snuggling in and falling asleep with Zayn safe in his arms. “What if he’d kissed me?” Harry mused regretfully. “I’m not sure I’d have been able to just cuddle him, not when all I can think about when I look at him is-” he trailed off. Louis didn’t need to know the specifics of his Zayn-centric fantasies.

They were both sitting cross-legged on Louis’ bed, an oasis in the chaos of the room, drinking tea that Harry had made and brought with him because he was the one organised enough to have both a kettle and a fridge in his room. “That’s why Niall’s not here,” Louis said quietly, glancing at the other pillow as if double-checking. “I mean, he wasn’t that drunk, but it all happened so quickly. I had to slow things down.”

Harry smiled fondly. “You’re a good guy, Lou.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis grumbled, “you too - and look where that leaves us. Alone and frustrated.” He didn’t object when Harry reached out and ruffled his hair, still tousled from sleep.

It was Harry’s turn to sigh. “At least we’re alone and frustrated together,” he offered, ever the optimist, before chinking their mugs together, “and there’s definitely hope.”

*****

Zayn moped in his room after Liam left. He couldn’t avoid Harry forever, nor did he want to, but he could avoid him today, putting off the unavoidable awkwardness until he felt (and looked) better.

Liam had tried to cheer him up, coming up with wild theories about Harry being a gentleman, but Zayn knew that had the roles been reversed, he wouldn’t have been able to resist the temptation to crawl into Harry’s bed. Not that he’d have done anything - he was infatuated, not a bloody rapist - but the opportunity to be close to Harry, hold him, maybe even wake up with his face buried in that lovely hair, would have been too good to pass up. And maybe in the morning…

Mentally kicking himself - no point thinking about maybes and what ifs when it was crystal clear that they were not on the same page - Zayn considered the week ahead. He already had the perfect excuse for Monday, then Tuesday was tech and dress rehearsal, a hectic day. They couldn’t all be there the whole time - that would create far too many cover lessons - so they’d agreed a sort of rota. Louis, as director, would be there all day, as would Liam, to deal with any last minute set or technical glitches. It made sense for Zayn to be around to help with that, so he was attending the tech run-through in the morning while Harry, who could actually sew if needed, would be at the dress rehearsal in the afternoon. Niall had a light timetable that day so he was going to pop in and out. If all went to plan, there’d be moments when they were all there, but not so much overlap that he’d have to spend a lot of time with Harry. The day before, despite thinking Harry belonged to Louis, he’d been disappointed about that. Now it was something of a relief.

Harry was single, but Harry didn’t want Zayn. Effectively, nothing had changed, but somehow he knew he’d be more drawn to Harry now that he knew there was nobody else. He needed to keep his distance or risk humiliating himself again - just until he got it through his skull that there was no chance.

Wednesday was opening night - definitely far too busy for any awkward moments and the other shows would be the same - and by the final performance on Friday, he’d have himself under control. 

It was going to be fine.

*****

“Where’s Zayn?” Harry demanded, finally cornering Liam halfway through the final pre-tech rehearsal on Monday. It was a simple one, ironing out any stumbles, perfecting entrances and exits, so really only Louis and Harry were needed, but still… Liam was there. Niall was there, even if he and Louis were sending each other wistful glances over the piano rather than talking. Why wasn’t Zayn there?

Liam looked panicked. “He’s on duty - library supervision,” he said, the statement somehow sounding more like a question than an answer.

Harry scoffed. “Library duty, this week?” It was the easiest duty on the rota - there was no way Zayn couldn’t have found someone to cover for him. “He couldn’t get anyone to swap?”

“He was going to… but then he, I guess, he just didn’t,” Liam answered lamely.

The muscle in Harry’s jaw twitched. “He’s avoiding me,” he stated flatly, instantly regretting the dance. Zayn had been so embarrassed the first time, after Louis’ stupid stunt with the waltz, and then Harry had let it happen again. He’d just been so pleased to have Zayn in his arms - and he’d seemed very happy to be there - but, he reminded himself, Zayn had been drunk. “Should I apologise?”

Liam shook his head, protectiveness gleaming in his warm brown eyes. “Let him be. He’s embarrassed but he’ll get over it.”

Harry winced, hating that he’d caused Zayn’s discomfort. “There’s nothing for him to be embarrassed about,” he insisted, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “If anything, I should be the one-”

Gently, Liam grabbed his wrist, a calming but authoritative gesture. “You turned him down Harry. Just give him space, yeah?”

“I did what now?”

“It’s fine,” Liam said soothingly, “you can’t help it if you don’t feel the same.” Then he let go of Harry’s wrist, patting his hand twice before he turned back to the malfunctioning lamppost he’d been working on.

Lost in his own thoughts, Harry missed most of the rest of the rehearsal, only tuning back in as the pupils filtered out and Louis repeated his whispered question. “Do you reckon I should talk to him, or is it too soon?”

“Oh god, I don’t know Lou,” he answered, “I don’t think I’m very good at all this.”

He must have looked as wretched as he felt, because when Louis dragged his gaze away from Niall’s retreating form and met Harry’s eyes, his expression softened. “Drink,” he suggested firmly, “me and you, while we try to figure out what we’re doing wrong.”

*****

Zayn managed to dodge Harry until Thursday, which was no mean feat considering the man he was trying to avoid seemed to be everywhere. Luckily he had Liam to run interference and, on one occasion, to literally hide behind.

Opening night was easy enough - plenty of last minute panics and crises to use as an excuse, but he had breathed a sigh of relief once the play started and he took his seat next to Niall. Harry was on green room duty that night so he knew he’d be safe in the audience. “Louis’ backstage,” Niall whispered, “so I thought I’d watch from out here.” Apparently great minds think alike. “I’m not avoiding him, but I’m not not avoiding him - you know?” And fools seldom differ. Maybe they all needed to talk.

With that in mind, Zayn didn’t exactly seek Harry out on Thursday, but he didn’t deliberately hide from him either. As it turned out, Harry found him on his knees in the wings, repainting a small portion of the backdrop that had been scuffed the night before. It was only a touch up luckily, as the audience were already trickling in.

Zayn got to his feet, holding up a hand when Harry stepped towards him. “I’m sorry for avoiding you,” he said, “but I needed to get my head straight. And I’m sorry for making you dance with me when you didn’t really want to, and for everything I said that night. I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable because you didn’t… don’t want-”

“I wanted to,” Harry cut him off, moving closer still. “I wanted to dance with you, and I wanted to spend the night with you,” his voice was little more than a breathy whisper, laden with promise. “I wanted… want to, god I want to-” 

“Clear backstage. Five minutes until curtain.” Louis’ words rang out, only slightly hushed for the benefit of the audience. Zayn glared at him, instantly deciding this was not the Louis he had come to know and, well not love, but tolerate. No, this was the other Louis, the one from his dreams who constantly derailed every moment he had with Harry. At least he had the decency to look apologetic as he mouthed, “Harry - I need you with me.”

And I need you with me, Zayn thought but managed not to say. Instead, he put one hand on Harry’s chest, feeling the rapid heartbeat under his fingers. “Tomorrow,” he said, somewhere between a request and a promise, “after the final performance.”

Seemingly transfixed, Harry briefly pressed his own hand on top of Zayn’s, then nodded before Louis whisked him away.

Chapter Text

“I can’t Lou,” Harry insisted.

“You can! It was your idea.”

Appraising himself in the mirror of their shared bathroom, Harry shook his head. “Not at the school play though,” he argued weakly.

Louis was leaning against the doorframe, a determined expression on his face. “You chose that shirt to impress Malik, and he said tonight’s the night, so you’re wearing the shirt.”

“It’s practically see-through!”

“Good,” Louis said decisively, “because one of us really should get laid this weekend, and I don’t think it’s going to be me.” Noting the lack of conviction on Harry’s face, he added, “Just wear a jacket until we’re off-site and in the bar.”

Well, that would help a bit, but… “Louis,” he complained, “you can see my nipples - all of them - and it doesn’t button above the navel.”

Tutting like an exasperated mother, Louis leant pushed him aside and rummaged in the bathroom cabinet. “Perfect!” he announced, brandishing a safety pin. “Now you’re sorted - let’s go.”

*****

The pile of discarded t-shirts on Zayn’s floor continued to grow.

“I really think any of the last three, no the last four, would be okay,” said Liam encouragingly. He was sitting on the chair that had been uncovered when Zayn started searching through the pile of clothes, while Niall was watching from his spot on the bed, uncharacteristically quiet.

With a frustrated sound, Zayn yanked a black t-shirt adorned with some obscure logo over his head, only to replace it with a white t-shirt sporting a different obscure logo.

Niall beckoned to Liam, leaning in conspiratorially. “Should I be trying this hard?” he asked anxiously. "I just put on the first clean shirt I found. Is this a gay man thing I’m missing?”

“It’s a Zayn thing,” Liam answered firmly. “I mean, come on - could you see any difference between the last five he’s tried?”

“I can hear you, you know,” Zayn informed them through the fabric of the slightly smaller black t-shirt with an obscure logo that he was pulling on. 

When his head popped out, he saw Niall regarding him thoughtfully. “Liam’s right,” he decided, “any of the t-shirts will do, but you should wear your other jeans - the tight ones that show off your arse.

Stunned, Zayn dropped the t-shirt he was holding. Niall was right, absolutely spot on. Without a word, he unbuckled his belt and shucked the incorrect jeans.

Liam grinned. “I think you’re going to do just fine Niall. Clothes maketh the man and all that, but from what I hear, Louis likes you just the way you are.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with Harry,” Niall retorted, chucking one of Zayn’s discarded t-shirts (with an obscure logo) at him.

Why were they wasting time like that when Zayn was ready? Ready to go and ready as he was ever going to be to see Harry. “C’mon,” he chivvied, “let’s get the show on the road, the final performance awaits. And then…”

“And then,” Niall and Liam echoed, one nervous and the other gleeful.

*****

Normally Harry loved the atmosphere of the last show - the cast were more relaxed, having pulled it off a couple of times already, and one of them always made a speech thanking all the staff who had helped them, Louis always got flowers, and he always managed to look surprised. 

It all played out as expected and, despite his impatience, he couldn’t help but get choked up when Kacey, who’d played Catherine, presented Louis with an enormous bouquet of roses. He’d thought they were done when Ashton stopped talking, but then Luke stepped forward with four small bunches of sunflowers, excitedly handing them to Niall, Liam, Zayn (whose obvious surprise was adorable) and Harry himself.

Then of course Louis had to make a brief speech thanking both them and the pupils, which seemed to drag on for hours, though Harry enjoyed the bit where he gushed over the ‘wonderful and talented Mr Horan’, causing Niall to actually blush.

After that, they were free. The cast would be having their own after-party - an alcohol free semi-sanctioned one that would no doubt be continued somewhere after curfew - but the staff on duty were experts at knowing when to turn a blind eye and let them blow off steam, and when to intervene. It wasn’t Harry’s problem, and he had other things on his mind.

Other people, or more specifically, another person.

He’d managed to catch Zayn in the green room while Louis had the cast on stage for his rousing last-night-give-it-your-all speech. It lasted just under three minutes and Harry had intended to make the most of them, but the sight of Zayn in jeans that looked like they’d been painted on had derailed him. “Wow,” he'd managed to say, conscious that with his jacket demurely buttoned and the bloody safety pin holding his shirt together, he probably looked prudish in comparison, “you look hot… I mean good, great. You look great… and hot,” he rambled.

“Your hair’s up,” Zayn commented.

Harry’s hand flew to the bun on the top of his head. “Oh yeah,” he murmured. Earlier, his curls just wouldn’t sit right and eventually Louis had chucked a hair tie at him with the advice to put it up and let Zayn unravel it later like the sexy secretary in every 80s movie ever. “I can let it down if you-”

Zayn shook his head, reaching out to run two fingers along Harry’s jaw. “I like it up. Like seeing your face properly.” Instead of moving his hand away, he cupped Harry’s chin. “It suits you both ways. Gorgeous,” he said, then looked shocked at his own boldness.

Well, Harry was not going to let a comment like that go unrewarded. He stepped closer, so close they were almost touching. “We’ll talk and everything,” he purred, deliberately making the word sound filthy, “later, but for now…” Rather than finish the sentence he tilted his head slightly and pressed his lips to Zayn’s. It was meant to be a chaste kiss, a teaser of what was to come but when he felt the Oh that escaped before Zayn started to kiss him back, all his good intentions evaporated. Of their own volition, his hands found their way to Zayn’s bum - the jeans were actually denim not paint - while Zayn’s arms snaked around his neck, holding him there, in the kiss, not that he had any intention of pulling away any time soon.

He had been about to open his mouth and really go for it when a loud cough came from the doorway. “The kids will be back in about 10 seconds,” announced Liam. Reluctantly they pulled apart, but Harry was pleased to see that Zayn looked exactly as dazed and desperate as he felt himself. “Hands!” Liam hissed, and Harry realised he was still holding onto Zayn’s hips, letting go just as the first pupil bounded through the door, too hyped up from Louis’ speech to notice the tension in the air.

It was Zayn who found his voice first. “Everything,” he said, echoing Harry’s words from a few minutes earlier, “later.” 

Swallowing hard, Harry had tried to suppress the shudder that ran through him at the implication and the husky tone. And he’d reckoned he could do a sexy growl. Fuck me, he thought. Hopefully.

Sitting through the play after that had been agony, especially as he’d already watched from the front row the night before - but they had volunteers backstage tonight so they could all be part of the audience - and it didn’t help that Zayn was next to him, fidgeting enough that their legs kept brushing together. On his other side, Louis seemed to have a slightly different problem. Niall had chosen the seat next to him, practically leaping over Liam, but he was curled in on himself slightly, very deliberately not touching. As Harry watched, trying to distract himself from the hot press of a hard thigh against his, Niall dropped his hand onto the arm rest. Never one to miss an opportunity, Louis carefully placed his own hand next to Niall’s and, after giving him a long moment to pull away, he twined their pinky fingers together. 

Sweet, Harry thought before he was distracted by a hand landing on his knee. He turned his head sharply, but Zayn’s eyes were fixed on the stage, where Luke, as Rudolfo, was singing Paper Doll. When he got to the line about ‘flirty flirty guys’ the fingers on Harry’s leg twitched slightly, and then Zayn whispered in his ear, “Would you sing again for me sometime?”

The tickle of warm breath on his ear coupled with the tight grip on his leg short-circuited Harry’s brain. “I’ll do anything you like,” he managed to whisper back, meaning every word. 

He thought Zayn would chuckle, but the expression on his face when Harry peeked at him was far from amused. He looked like he wanted to put that offer to the test then and there, like he wanted Harry to kiss him and touch him and god knows what else. “Later?” he mouthed.

“Everything,” Harry had responded, before redirecting his attention to the stage in an attempt to avoid spontaneously combusting.

*****

After the kiss in the green room and the heated exchange during the play, Zayn wasn’t sure how he was going to get through the speeches without popping an embarrassing boner or climbing Harry like a tree. In fact, the sincerity of the heartfelt words, both from the cast and Louis, filled him with a different kind of warmth, allowing him to get his libido under control. He smiled affectionately at the sneaky compliment to Niall, and was moved to be given flowers in appreciation of his efforts. It was all eclipsed by the absolute delight on Harry’s face when Luke presented him with a bunch of bright yellow blooms, making Zayn swear then and there that if - when - he bought Harry flowers, sunflowers would feature heavily. They suited him.

Somehow he ended up in one taxi with Niall and Liam, while Harry and Louis were in the other. A few weeks ago he’d have been jealous, but unless they wanted to traumatise the driver for life, it was probably for the best. Had he been alone with Harry, he’d have struggled to keep his hands to himself, and that was before they arrived at the bar and he took off his jacket. 

When Zayn got out of the car, Liam and Niall scrambling out after him, the other two were waiting on the pavement, and Louis was fiddling with something around Harry’s collarbone. “Much better,” he said as he stepped back, and Zayn caught a flash of skin, inked with dark lines, before Harry crossed his arms shyly.

Once inside, that hesitation vanished and Zayn could only watch as he peeled off the jacket, hips swaying in time to the music as he did. It was like something out a porn movie, or one of Zayn’s more creative fantasies. The shirt, such as it was, was both translucent and open, revealing smooth skin and more of those tattoos Zayn had glimpsed outside. He could also clearly make out Harry’s nipples, and interestingly, he seemed to have more than two. Possibilities swirled through Zayn’s mind as he forced his mouth to work. He meant to say something complimentary, something along the lines of you look amazing, but what actually came out was a slightly strangled “Fuck!”

“Maybe not here,” Louis commented with a smirk, before turning to Harry. “Told you it was the right shirt.”

Ignoring his best friend, Harry’s hot gaze was fixed on Zayn. “Dance with me?” he asked holding out his hand, and Zayn could only nod and follow him.

Chapter Text

For a couple of upbeat tracks they shimmied around each other, the earlier desperation to touch mellowed by the knowledge that they now could, that they had all night ahead of them. Harry wanted to savour each moment, each first, and the electricity under his skin wherever Zayn’s fingers lingered told him that once they started, really started, things would escalate quickly.

When the music shifted and a familiar song began, Harry pulled Zayn into a dance hold. “I thought you were going to kiss me right there in the corridor,” he murmured, “at the Year 9 disco.”

“What would you have done if I’d tried?” Zayn asked, lips brushing the skin under Harry’s ear.

Tilting his head to allow better access, Harry answered honestly. “Let you. Kissed you back… oh,” he gasped as he felt Zayn’s tongue on his neck, “but I, mmmm, I thought you hated me.”

“Never hated you,” Zayn whispered before sucking Harry’s earlobe to prove the point. “Wanted to kiss you - almost did until you mentioned Louis.”

Distracted by everything else Zayn was doing with his mouth, Harry took a second to react to the words. “Louis?”

Zayn shrugged, a motion that Harry felt rather than saw, and he gathered a handful of soft black cotton, bringing their bodies closer still. “Thought you were together,” Zayn explained, “so I couldn’t kiss you.”

“And now?”

“Now I know you’re not.”

“Now you can kiss me on the dance fl-” He didn’t manage to get the last word out before Zayn obliged, stopping his mouth far more effectively than Benedick ever did to Beatrice. The kiss started soft, not tentative but languid, like Zayn was cataloguing each moment too. But Harry felt like he’d been waiting forever already and the noise that sprang from the back of his throat was half needy whine, half impatient growl. “Kiss me properly,” he begged against Zayn’s mouth, his own tongue out darting out, seeking more.

So Zayn did.

*****

Golden, he decided. 

Zayn had wondered how Harry tasted for years, idle curiosity morphing into something more ardent over recent weeks. Now with Harry clutching at his back like he was drowning, and their tongues twisting together, he finally knew. Harry tasted golden, like honey and sunshine and the sweetest sponge cake, all at once.

His hands drifted up as Harry’s slid lower. While he was keen to get a handful of Harry’s arse, there was something he wanted more. It was a wrench to break the kiss, but he managed to stop long enough to ask, “Can I?” fingers dancing over Harry’s hair to hook in the elastic holding it.

“Mmmm, yeah,” Harry mumbled, chasing after Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn pulled gently and the curls tumbled down. “Beautiful both ways,” he whispered so quietly that Harry wouldn’t have heard if they weren’t pressed so close together, then recaptured his lips, fingers twisted in the silky strands.

Eyes fluttering closed, Zayn thought the moment couldn’t get any more perfect, so of course that was when someone tapped him on the shoulder.

“We have to go,” the man with the worst timing in the world said, looking more apologetic than the Louis that tortured Zayn in his dreams, but no less infuriating, “back to school.”

The anguished look on Harry’s face as he reluctantly pulled back mirrored Zayn’s own feelings. “Lou?” he grated out, voice heavy with frustration, “what’s wrong.”

Clearly making a great effort to stay calm, Louis repeated himself. “We have to go back to school.” The words were laced with badly-concealed panic. “There’s been an accident - Ashton and… and Luke. He’s in the infirmary.”

*****

Nobody spoke during the journey back to school, even though they’d all piled into one car, Liam telling the driver that they’d pay him extra to just miscount and take them. He’d jumped in the front, while Harry was in the middle at the back, clutching Zayn’s hand like a lifeline. Niall sat on his left with Louis perched in his lap and despite his worry, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way Louis seemed calmer there that he had been in the bar. He leant into Zayn a little more, grateful for the grounding presence as Zayn stroked his knuckles soothingly.

“We shouldn’t have left,” he said as they clambered out of the car, “we should have kept an eye on them.”

Louis shook his head. “There were plenty of staff on duty. It wasn’t our job.”

“But it was our responsibility.” Harry argued stubbornly.

Zayn squeezed the hand he was still holding. “It’s nobody’s fault babe,” he muttered, the pet name warming Harry’s heart. “Let’s just find out what’s going on.”

Together the five of them made their way over to the infirmary, located in the furthest, most peaceful corner of the campus. In the main corridor they were met by Ashton and Kacey, both their faces stained with tears. Another boy, Michael, who had played Eddie, was sitting on the floor near them.

“It’s my fault,” Ashton said to Louis as soon as they were within hearing distance.

Disregarding protocol, Louis gathered the shaking boy up in a gentle hug. “I’m sure it’s not,” he murmured.

“Me and Michael were doing the chair thing from the play - you know, where Eddie and Marco try to lift it above their heads with one hand?”

Releasing Ashton, Louis nodded. “And?” he prompted.

Harry watched Ashton struggle to form the words, but Kacey got there first. “They did it with those old chairs in the common room though, the heavy ones.”

“Mine slipped, and it hit Luke on the head really hard,” Ashton confessed, more tears falling. “He passed out.”

“There was blood,” Kacey added.

Forcing himself to keep a neutral expression, Harry strove not to let the horror show on his face. “It was an accident,” he told Ashton, Zayn and Niall immediately backing him up, while Louis nodded.

Liam was more practical. Pushing open the double doors, he almost collided with Nicole, the school nurse, on her way to update them. “He’s going to be fine,” was the first thing out of her mouth, prompting a collective sigh of relief. “We’re keeping him overnight because he does have a concussion, and a nasty egg on his head, but no permanent damage.”

Kacey hugged Ashton, Michael getting to his feet to join them, and Harry instinctively wrapped Louis in a similar cuddle, the other three draping themselves over their backs. “Right,” he said authoritatively when they all separated, “time for everyone to get to bed.” 

Ashton looked like he wanted to argue, but Louis cut him off. “You can visit in the morning,” Nurse Nicole nodded in agreement, “nothing else you can do tonight.”

By unspoken agreement they walked the three pupils back to their dorm before heading to the building where four of them slept, Niall’s room being in the other staff building. He came with them anyway, taking Louis’ hand once the pupils had left.

“So everything’s fine,” Louis announced as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

The way he made it sound so easy, as if nothing had happened, as if Luke couldn’t have been seriously injured, made Harry suddenly furious. “We should have been here,” he shouted, making everyone jump. Then he burst into tears.

*****

Zayn froze, unsure what to do with the man weeping into his shoulder. In desperation he looked to Louis, Harry’s best friend, for guidance.

With a mumbled apology, Louis withdrew his hand from Niall’s and carefully wrapped his arms around Harry, much as he’d done earlier with Ashton. “It always hits him after,” he explained, “what might have happened. He shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

Harry seemed to be trying to object, but the words were incoherent.

Niall did a poor job of hiding his disappointment, but he rallied. “Yeah, of course,” he said, “I’ll just head back to-”

“No,” Zayn interrupted, catching Louis’ eye, “I’ve got him. You stay with Lou.”

The question - are you sure? - was written on Louis face, but Zayn nodded, coaxing Harry into his own arms. “Come on babe,” he whispered, “let’s get you to bed.” Then, noticing the disapproving expressions around him as well as Harry tensing, he clarified, “Just to sleep.”

It was obviously the right thing to say, as Louis allowed him to lead Harry upstairs, tucked into his side and clinging to his belt loops.

In Harry’s room, they both took off their jeans and Zayn cast a wistful glance at the sheer shirt as it landed on the floor. He kept his own t-shirt on. “Just to sleep love,” he repeated as they crawled under the covers and Harry curled up, snuggling into Zayn’s chest.

Chapter Text

Sleeping (just sleeping) with Harry was both the best and the worst thing that had ever happened to Zayn. Having Harry in his arms, warm and clingy, was lovely, but having Harry in his arms, warm and half-naked and wrapped around him like an octopus, was torture. And he smelled amazing - good enough to eat, or at least lick.

It had been easy to behave himself the night before, the drama and Harry’s need for comfort taking precedence, but ever since he’d woken up, face buried in soft curls and a hot thigh nestled between his legs, it’d been harder. Literally.

He now understood why Harry hadn’t spent the night with him when he’d drunkenly asked. Being there, pressed close but honour-bound not to do anything was maddening. As if on cue, Harry shifted in his sleep, making an adorable noise as he wriggled closer, arse rubbing against Zayn’s groin. Zayn bit his lip to suppress a moan. He needed to get out of the bed before he lost his mind.

Coffee. That would help.

Harry grumbled as Zayn slid out from under the duvet, but then he rolled into the newly vacated space, settling on his side with his face smooshed into the pillow. With a safe distance between them, Zayn allowed himself to look at Harry. He’d seen quite a bit through the shirt the night before, but that had just been a teaser, and it’d been pretty dark when they’d stripped off before bed. Now there was enough light leaking through the thin curtains that Zayn could see him properly. His torso was paler than the golden skin on his arms, which just emphasised the plethora of tattoos - birds on his chest, above a butterfly and leaves that peeked out of the bright pink boxer shorts he was wearing. Zayn couldn’t help but wonder if there was anything else below them as he admired the masterpiece in front of him. He really should stop looking.

Resisting the urge to trace the dark lines with his fingers, or his tongue, he turned away, determined to ignore the… appreciation of beauty in his pants. There was a kettle on top of a cupboard in the corner along with a collection of mismatched mugs. Coffee.

The box of tea was nestled behind the mugs, but surely there was coffee somewhere? Crouching down, Zayn opened the cupboard and began searching the shelves. If Harry didn’t have coffee, maybe he’d have to rethink this whole situation. 

At the very back, he found it, an ancient looking jar of supermarket own-brand instant - disappointing, but better than nothing. Making a mental note to have words with Harry about his appalling taste in hot beverages, Zayn straightened up, only to feel an arm snake around his waist. “Morning,” Harry rumbled against his neck, which he seemed to be exploring with his lips, “missed you.”

“I didn’t go far,” Zayn answered.

“Too far. Come back to bed.”

Zayn allowed himself to be tugged backwards, twisting as they tumbled onto the bed so he ended up on top of Harry. The kiss should have been gross - morning breath - but neither of them seemed to care.

“Dreamed of this,” Harry muttered when they broke apart, “you here, in my bed.”

“Yeah?” Zayn asked, “this is tame compared to the dreams I’ve been having recently.” Then he thought about how he’d ended up in Harry’s bed. “But we don’t have to… I know you were upset. We can just kiss and cuddle.”

Harry rolled them so he was on top. “Not upset anymore - I know Luke’ll be fine - but,” he ground his hips down, making them both gasp, “I might be upset if all you do is kiss me.”

Zayn let his hands roam. “I want to see you,” he said, sliding a finger under the waistband of Harry’s boxers, “all of you.”

Without a trace of self-consciousness, Harry raised himself so Zayn could peel the offending fabric away. “You appreciate the visuals, huh?”

He had no idea. Revelling in the feeling of Harry naked against him, hot and hard, Zayn kissed again him before he answered. “Not just the visuals. I want to touch you and taste you. I want to hear the noises you make when you come.”

*****

How had he ever believed Zayn Malik was shy?

Sure the man came across as sweet, bashful even, but then he said things like that. Things that made Harry’s brain melt and his cock throb. “Do it then,” he challenged, “all of it.” Then he noticed that he was the only one who was naked. “Too many clothes,” he complained, tugging petulantly at Zayn’s black t-shirt.

“Let me up,” Zayn said, stripping eagerly the moment Harry rolled off him. “Better?”

“Much,” Harry answered before pinning him back down for another kiss, hunger quickly overcoming finesse as they panted into each other’s mouths. True to his word, Zayn began to touch him in earnest, hands exploring every inch of skin he could reach. Harry couldn’t help but moan when those strong fingers squeezed his bum. Instinctively he rutted against Zayn, seeking friction even as heat rushed through his groin at the feeling of bare skin against his own. The sensation made him gasp.

The quiet sound that Zayn made in response was equal parts pleased and wanting. “That’s a start,” he whispered into Harry’s throat, tongue darting out to lick the sensitive skin between his collarbones, “now just let me…” As he spoke, he shifted them again, twisting until Harry was on his back, then he propped himself up on one elbow and stared. “Beautiful.”

Harry was sure he would have blushed, had all his blood not been otherwise engaged, but he smiled as he met Zayn’s gaze. “Thank you, but I thought you wanted to do more than look,” he prompted. The wolfish grin before Zayn kissed him again was both surprising and sexy. Then he was pulling away and Harry whined at the loss until he felt lips on his chest instead. “Oh, fuck… yeah,” he groaned as Zayn found a nipple, teasing the bud with his tongue as it hardened.

“So sensitive,” he said approvingly, “and you have more than your fair share.”

“Four,” Harry managed as Zayn latched onto the second one, “but they aren’t all as… oh-oh!”

“Sure about that?” Zayn stopped sucking long enough to say, fingers still dancing between the two lower nipples. “These seem pretty sensitive to me.”

Incapable of forming coherent words, Harry writhed on the bed. He wanted… no, he needed… something. More. With a superhuman effort, he forced the request out, “Please. I have to, god… please, I need to touch you.”

The predatory expression reappeared as Zayn’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?” he said, question and consent rolled into one, “so touch me babe.”

Harry didn’t need to be told twice. Gratefully he ran his hands over Zayn’s skin, adorned with as many tattoos as his own. “You’re a work of art,” he breathed as his fingers skimmed over the patterns, pausing briefly on some unfamiliar lettering. He’d have to investigate them all thoroughly later, but for now he was impatient. “I’m going to die if you keep teasing me,” he explained apologetically as he reached between them, wrapping his fingers around both their cocks, rock hard and leaking.

It was Zayn’s turn to moan as Harry found a rhythm, stroking fast and rough. “Oh god,” he panted, “oh god, Harry.” He was silenced by a bruising kiss as Harry’s hand moved more urgently, Zayn’s fingers tangling in his hair as if he were holding on for dear life. Keen to coax more breathless noises out of him, Harry twisted his wrist and adjusted his grip. He knew this wasn’t going to last much longer. “Just like that,” Zayn groaned, “don’t stop.”

“Fuck, oh fuck,” Harry was muttering when he felt Zayn shudder. The fingers in his hair tightened as wet warmth flooded between them, and that was enough to have him coming too.

*****

Once his heart rate returned to something resembling normal, Zayn reluctantly peeled himself away from Harry and sat up.

“Don’t go,” whined a sulky voice from somewhere beneath him, “I know that was a bit… frantic, but I’m just getting started. It gets better.” Harry reached out and encircled his wrist with long fingers, long rather sticky fingers.

“That was amazing, but we definitely need to get cleaned up,” Zayn told him firmly. “I’ll just be a minute.”

Pausing only to pull on the closest pair of pants, which happened to be Harry’s pink boxers, he left the room and made his way down the corridor towards the bathroom. As he approached the door opened - thank god he’d put some clothes on - and Niall appeared in front of him, wearing not much more.

“Alright?” Zayn asked, before clocking the amused expression on Niall’s face, “good night?”

“And a good morning,” Niall said agreeably, “though not as good as yours, judging by the noises we heard through the wall.”

Still floating in a post-orgasmic haze, Zayn was too content to even be embarrassed. “You sound a bit jealous mate,” he teased, “did you and Louis not…”

“Louis is being a perfect gentleman,” Niall informed him, then sighed, “a bit too much of a gentleman actually. Kissing’s great and everything, but I wouldn’t mind a little more,” he flapped a hand in Zayn’s general direction, “skin to skin.”

Zayn chuckled. “You’ll grind him down,” he said as Niall moved past and headed back towards Louis’ room. “In fact, if you straddle him and grind down, that might do the trick.”

Niall flashed him a grin and a thumbs up before disappearing through the door.

In the bathroom, Zayn made quick work of cleaning himself up before wetting a flannel to take back for Harry. He considered brushing his teeth, but wasn’t sure which toothbrush to steal, not wanting to use Louis’ by mistake.

“So I’m not the only one who now knows what you sound like when you come,” he announced as he climbed back onto the bed, dropping the damp flannel on Harry’s stomach.

Harry looked unperturbed. “Louis?” he asked as he wiped the last traces of the mess they’d made from his skin, wriggling so neither of them had to sit in the damp patch.

“And Niall, apparently listening to us is the only action he’s getting.”

“In that case,” Harry said slowly, voice husky, “we shouldn’t let him down.” He ran a hand over Zayn’s chest, pausing when he reached the pink waistband. “These are mine.”

“Do you want them back?”

“I want you to take them off.”

“Yes sir,” Zayn teased, not expecting the shiver than ran through Harry at his words. “That? That gets you hot… Mr Styles?”

Harry looked sheepish. “No?” he claimed, “well, it never did before. I think it’s just that everything you do gets me hot. Now will you please take my pants off so I can do something about it?”

*****

Several hours later, not nearly long enough in Harry’s opinion, he was startled by a loud and persistent knocking. “Don’t come in,” he squawked, yanking the duvet up to his neck when the door opened anyway.

Liam walked in, talking to someone over his shoulder. “I told you it’d be fine,” he declared as Harry caught a glimpse of Louis and Niall behind him, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Nobody could be going at it for as long as you two said. Look Zayn’s not even here…” He trailed off, noticing the very large lump under the covers, while Harry glared at him.

Zayn’s voice was muffled by the duvet over his head. “Well we could be,” he complained, “if we hadn’t just been so rudely interrupted.”

“Oh my god,” Liam said, taking a step back, away from the bed. He didn’t leave though, and Harry noticed that Louis and Niall had also wandered in from the corridor. “Were you just…? You were, oh my god.”

“We were going to ask if you wanted to come with us to see Luke, but it looks like you’ve got your hands full here,” Niall explained.

Popping out from under the duvet, Zayn corrected him. “Mouth full actually,” he said smugly.

“Really?” Louis asked with a raised eyebrow.

“More than,” Zayn informed him, and everyone else in the room, clearly enjoying embarrassing Harry further. At least if all the blood was now in his cheeks it was no longer elsewhere, that moment clearly having passed.

Harry relaxed his tight grip on the bedcovers. “No, we’ll come with you,” he said, deliberately ignoring the previous exchange. When nobody moved he sat up, bare chest on display, partially uncovering Zayn in the process too. “Are you going to watch us get dressed or wait outside?”

Liam was out the door before he finished speaking, but Niall seemed to be in less of a hurry. Eventually Louis dragged him out, muttering something about being the jealous type. Niall was defending his reluctance as they left. “But it might help me work out if I’m properly gay or just, you know, Louis-sexual.” 

“Let’s stick with that,” Louis said firmly, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Later?” Zayn asked, eyes flicking down to Harry’s crotch.

“Later,” Harry agreed, “everything.” Then he pressed a quick kiss to Zayn’s lips. “Just to keep us going.”

Hands on Harry’s cheeks, Zayn kissed him back, rather more thoroughly. “Now a soft kiss - Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss.”

“Keats?” Harry murmured in surprise, a little dizzy from the feeling of Zayn’s mouth on his. He’d lost count of the kisses, but each one seemed better than the last.

Zayn blushed. “When you fancy an English teacher, you end up reading a lot of soppy poetry,” he admitted. 

And how could Harry not kiss him again for that? “Endless bliss?” he echoed when they eventually separated, “I like the sound of that.”