✯ Zianourry ⏯ OneShots ✯

I don't need your pity. ⏯ L.T. Zouis

The venue was alive with a palpable energy, buzzing with excitement as fans filled every corner, eagerly awaiting the long-anticipated reunion of One Direction. It had been years since they last graced the stage together, and tonight marked the beginning of a new chapter. Backstage, nerves mingled with anticipation as the band prepared to take the stage once more.

Zayn stood in front of the mirror, adjusting his collar nervously. He hadn't seen his bandmates in what felt like a lifetime, and the weight of their reunion hung heavy in the air. As he smoothed down his shirt, memories flooded back—memories of laughter, of music, of brotherhood. But amidst the nostalgia, there was also a lingering sense of apprehension.

The door creaked open, and Liam stepped into the room, a warm smile lighting up his face. "You ready for this, mate?" he asked, clapping Zayn on the back.

Zayn returned the smile, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "As ready as I'll ever be," he replied, his voice tinged with uncertainty.

Liam nodded understandingly, knowing all too well the complexities that came with their reunion. "We're in this together, Zayn. Whatever happens out there, we've got each other's backs."

With a nod of gratitude, Zayn followed Liam out of the dressing room and into the hallway, where Harry and Niall were waiting. There was a tangible sense of camaraderie amongst them, a silent understanding that transcended words.

As they made their way towards the stage, the roar of the crowd grew louder, drowning out the nervous whispers that lingered in the air. With each step, Zayn felt the weight of the past lifting from his shoulders, replaced by a sense of anticipation for what lay ahead.

And then, as they stepped onto the stage together, the crowd erupted into cheers, their voices echoing off the walls in a deafening cacophony of sound. For a moment, Zayn was transported back in time—to a time when they were just five boys with a dream.

But amidst the cheers and applause, there was a palpable absence—a void that no amount of applause could fill. Zayn's gaze flickered to the empty space beside him, where Louis Tomlinson should have been standing.

As the night wore on, the energy onstage was electric, the crowd hanging onto every word, every note. For a fleeting moment, it felt as though nothing had changed—that they were still the same five boys who had taken the world by storm all those years ago.

But backstage, away from the bright lights and adoring fans, the reality of their reunion began to set in. The euphoria of being back together was overshadowed by the weight of what they had left behind—the years of silence, of missed opportunities, of fractured friendships.

Zayn watched as Harry, Niall, and Liam celebrated their performance with infectious enthusiasm, their laughter filling the room. But even amidst the joy, there was an unspoken tension—a lingering sense of unease that hung in the air like a thick fog.

And then there was Louis—a shadow of his former self, his eyes hollow and distant, his laughter forced. Zayn could see the cracks beginning to form, the facade of strength beginning to crumble under the weight of his demons.

"Hey, mate," Zayn said softly, approaching Louis as he sat alone in the corner, a half-empty bottle of whiskey clutched in his hand.

Louis looked up, his gaze bleary and unfocused. "Zayn," he slurred, a bitter edge to his voice. "Fancy seeing you here."

Zayn's heart ached at the sight of his friend in such a state—once vibrant and full of life, now reduced to this shell of a man. "You okay, Lou?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

Louis let out a bitter laugh, taking a swig from the bottle in his hand. "Do I look okay to you?" he snapped, his words dripping with venom. "Just leave me alone, Zayn. I don't need your pity."