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unreadable in the dark, and when he sees Louis is ready he starts

walking back towards the carpark.

They walk back together without speaking, not quite side-by-side,

passing in and out of the puddles of light cast by the streetlamps.

Finally, they reach Harry‟s car, and Louis speaks before he knows he‟s

made the decision.

“Do you want a ride tomorrow?” he asks. “To the station, I mean.”

Harry stares at him, driver‟s side door open, and then nods. “Sure.”

Louis nods back. “Okay. I‟ll pick you up at half one, then.” Harry nods

again and slides into his car without a word, slamming the door and

starting the engine.

437

Listening to the sound of Harry drive away, Louis walks over to his

own car and unlocks it clumsily. He doesn‟t bother opening the driver‟s

side. Instead, he opens the back and drags the spare blanket up off the

floorboards. He curls up in the back seat and waits for sleep to take

him, and he doesn‟t think about anything at all.

They don‟t speak during the drive to the train station.

Every time Louis looks in the rearview, he catches a glimpse of Harry‟s

duffle bag in the backseat.

The silence is suffocating. He thinks about turning on the radio, but

can‟t bear the idea of reaching toward the other side of the car. Harry‟s

personal space seems to have expanded to fill everything but the

driver‟s seat, and Louis can‟t bring himself to enter it. Even breathing

seems a violation. He‟s an arsehole. Jesus. He‟s such an arsehole.

Harry‟s an arsehole, too. Everyone is an arsehole. The world is a giant

arsehole.

They stop at a red light. Louis looks down at his hand on the gear shift,

looks to the left at Harry‟s empty hands. The impulse is strong, but then

the light is green and Louis‟ hands are busy again.

Louis‟ taking the long way, but Harry hasn‟t said anything. Maybe he

still doesn‟t know the town well enough to notice.

Keeping his eyes fixed on the road, Louis doesn‟t think he‟s ever

driven so safely in his life. As long as he just moves from one

immediate task to another—speed up, turn on the turn signal, brake

gently, take the turn—he won‟t think about where it is they‟re going.

He half expects the rules of the road to have changed today, because

there‟s no way things can be normal when this is happening, when

438

Louis‟ life is collapsing to a singular point in time that‟s about ten

minutes away. But everything works like it always has, stoplights

switching from red to green like clockwork and traffic flowing steadily

even while there‟s an eighty-vehicle pile-up in Louis‟ head.

Maybe it‟s like this all the time, he thinks idly. He wonders how many

people he walks by every day who are having the worst day of their

lives. He can‟t figure out if it‟s depressing or reassuring, that a person‟s

greatest despair barely makes a ripple in the world. That what feels like

the apocalypse doesn‟t really matter to anybody outside this car.

One more right turn, and then he can‟t pretend that all these small

actions didn‟t add up to anything, because they‟re at the station. Louis

doesn‟t feel like he‟s making conscious decisions to move his hands, to

press down on the pedals, but his car still glides into the carpark

without even a squeak of the brakes.

He parks the car, and Harry is opening the door before Louis can put

the parking brake on. Louis feels his legs moving before he‟s aware of

deciding to move them, feels himself get out too. He comes around to

the other side of the car as Harry reaches in the back and pulls out his

bag.

Harry closes the door, and Louis puts his hands in his pockets.

“Well,” Louis says. “Good luck, I suppose, not that you‟ll need it.” He

makes himself meet Harry‟s eyes. If he can‟t manage to say anything of

use, he can at least do that.

The late-afternoon sun has Harry‟s eyes glowing as they run frantically

over Louis‟ face.

Harry reaches out and grabs hold of Louis shirtfront, pulling him in

close and trapping himself between Louis and the car, and kisses him

hard.

439

Louis is off-balance but doesn‟t care, freeing his hands from his

pockets and bracing himself against the car, one arm on either side of

Harry. He hears the thump of the duffle hitting the ground, feels

Harry‟s arm curl around his waist to pull him that much closer. His

hands on the hot roof of the car, Louis kisses Harry like a drowning

man.

Harry smells like grass and Louis‟ fabric softener. He tastes like snow.

Harry pulls away abruptly, still fenced in by Louis‟ arms. He bends at

the knees to grab his bag, stands, and presses a rough kiss to Louis‟

cheek. Then he ducks under Louis‟ right arm and walks toward the

station, leaving Louis staring at his own reflection in the car‟s window.

Louis turns and watches him go, tries futilely in the last moments to

memorize Harry‟s walk, the line of his shoulders, the curve of his

waist. There‟s not enough time. There would never have been enough

time.

And then he‟s out of sight, slipping out of view as easily as any other

body. As if he were anyone else.

This is when I would go after him, Louis thinks, and turns to unlock the

car with shaking hands.

Louis goes back to his flat, locks the door, shuts the balcony, pulls

down the blinds, and doesn‟t talk to anyone for a week.

440

It‟s finally here. The day. The day of days.

Liam and Zayn are going to sleep together tonight.

Zayn had insisted on trying to take things slow, because Liam was new

to the whole sex with blokes thing, and he didn‟t want to rush him, and

he wanted to be a supportive boyfriend—boyfriend!!!!—and all of that

still stands, but they‟ve been waiting forever and the day is finally here.

He thinks Liam might be more eager than he is, honestly. It‟s not like

they haven‟t been fooling around, figuring each other out, and Liam‟s

always been the one to want to go further. He‟s been telling Zayn he

was ready for weeks now, but Zayn wanted to wait until he could do it

right, give it the time they deserved. The time that Liam deserved. Plus,

well, the idea of Liam being desperate for him is more than a little hot.

Zayn has unbelievable willpower when it comes to making things

perfect for Liam, but he‟s glad he doesn‟t have to wait anymore. This is

the day. They decided on it last week, and Zayn felt a bit silly

scheduling sex, but he has to admit it‟s the right time. It‟s a Friday,

they both have the whole weekend free, and Zayn even skived off a

little bit early so he could have enough time to fix up his flat before

Liam came over. He just knows it‟s going to be flawless.

So naturally, Zayn is half falling off a step ladder and attempting to pry

his screaming smoke detector off the wall with a screwdriver when

441

Liam walks in the door. Liam freezes in the doorway, taking in the

scene. There‟s half a bag of rose petals leading towards Zayn‟s room,

but the other half is still inside the bag, which is melted and smoking

from where a strategically-placed scented candle fell on it. Burnt rose

petals and plastic do not smell particularly good. The floor is wet from

where Zayn panicked and put out the fire not with a glass of water or a

fire extinguisher, but the closest liquid he had on hand: the bottle of red

wine he‟d just uncorked. There is faintly sickly-sweet smoke

everywhere.

“You know...” Liam says, hovering by the door, mouth twitching, “you

don‟t have to do all this anymore.”

“I swear to God, this wasn‟t on purpose,” Zayn tells him, resuming his

work on the smoke detector. “I was, I was nervous, about the whole

thing, and I was just trying to, to set the mood.” He manages to get the

cover off at last and pops the batteries out, and sweet silence fills the

room. Liam is biting back a smile. “There, there were rose petals, and

then I—candles, and I knocked one over, and then everything was on

fire—”

“Are you all right?” Liam asks, cutting him off.

Zayn exhales, stepping down off the ladder. “I‟m an idiot, aren‟t I?”

“No, you‟re not,” Liam says.

“Yes, I am,” Zayn says. He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I just

wanted everything to be perfect.”

Zayn will never understand what it is about the daft things he says

sometimes that makes Liam light up like the sun, like he does then. He

guesses that‟s how he knows this whole thing isn‟t just a fluke, because

they seem to be mutually amazed by each other and mutually

bewildered by this fact, which he thinks probably means they‟re meant

for each other.

442

Whatever it is, Liam‟s face dissolves into a fond smile and he leaves

his keys on the counter and crosses the room to where Zayn is standing.

“It is perfect,” Liam says, pulling Zayn in by the waist. “All I need is

you.”

From anyone else it would sound like a line, but from Liam it‟s all

earnest, and God, that never gets old.

“You‟re just saying that to get into my pants,” Zayn says. He reaches