So lets cross the lines we lost

Chapter 6

The rain outside pours down like a hurricane.

Louis watches it from the window of the neighbours house, where music pumps through the room, vibrating every surface, bodies tightly packed and laughing and loud, sitting on couches and chairs and filling the floors, the dim room lit up by coloured ceiling lights, drinks and cups and food on every surface, and Louis, leaning against the window frame where the rain trickles down the glass against the night sky.

It's Niall's birthday. Which apparently means that he can have the music as loud as he wants, of course, though Louis is fairly certain everyone on their street is already here anyway, and the weather didn't seem to put a damper on Niall's mood one bit when it started to bucket down this morning, while they were setting up, while Zayn and Liam were out getting last minute things and Harry was asking his and Niall's opinion on a head scarf to wear for the night, and Niall grinned and said "the blue one, you might as well pass out a notepad for people to give you their numbers, H," and Louis refused to let that sting as he focused on the artful array of bottles on the dining table.

He's barely seen Harry all night, so hey, maybe it worked. Louis isn't moping, because moping would happen if he cared about who Harry sleeps with, and Louis is as cool as a motherfucking cucumber. Completely. The music is filling the air, bass shaking his skin, laughter and voices echoing around him, and he isn't staring out of a rainy window like a scene in a bad movie, he really isn't.

His eyes catch on Zayn in the moonlight, running across the front yard with his leather jacket pulled over his head to shield him from the rain, and Louis hurries through the masses to open the door for him. "Hey. Get it done?"

Zayn nods, smiling softly at him, leaving his wet jacket on the coat rack and shaking off his hair. "Done."

"He'll love it, you know," Louis says, leaning against the door next to Zayn, where the music isn't so loud, where there aren't as many people.

"Yeah, maybe. Art is subjective though, like, my art especially. Conceptually, he might not get it." Zayn says, and there's something – he almost looks frustrated? Brows drawn together, his mouth in a hard line.

"Zayn." Louis says, making sure Zayn looks at him. "Niall thinks you're great, he knows its important to you, he's going to love it."

Zayn inhales slowly, and exhales just as slowly, nodding. "Yeah, okay."

"Tommo!"

Louis looks behind him, seeing Nick and a few others waving him over, he looks back at Zayn before moving. "He'll love it," he reassures again, picking up a balloon and hitting it Zayn's way, "and if you get nervous, just throw some balloons at him and run the other way, solid plan either way,"

Zayn snorts, brightening. "Okay. Maybe I will."

. . .

"Thank you, mate. This is brilliant!" Niall's voice fills Zayn's ears, and he turns to see him, in a blue button up pushed up at the elbows, and blue skin tight jeans, wrapping his arms around someone in a hug, unwrapped gifts on the table behind him. Zayn swallows deeply.

He mentally prepares himself to walk up to him. He's going to do it. Really. He is.

And –

And he turns around, and walks the other way.

"Zayn!"

Shit.

Walk faster.

"Zayn! Hey!" Again. And he spins at the voice this time, meeting Niall's face, his earnest smile, soft eyes, and he doesn't even look like he's been drinking yet. "Hey, there you are, I haven't seen you all night."