Between the Lines

Chapter 18: Holy Desires

Sunday mornings in Zayn's quiet town were sacred—for all the wrong reasons, in his opinion. With the town's strict rules, bars were shut down, music was silenced, and the streets were eerily calm. Drinking on a Sunday? Absolutely not. Missing church? Unthinkable.

Zayn, however, had never been one for rules or traditions. Most Sundays, he'd sleep in, read a book, or nurse a hangover with his favorite greasy breakfast. But this particular Sunday, something was eating at him, and he couldn't shake the thought that perhaps a visit to church might help clear his mind. Or at least distract him.

He dressed sharply—tight black slacks, a crisp white shirt, and a fitted blazer that hugged his shoulders just right. He combed his hair back until every strand was perfectly in place, smirking at his reflection. Even in church, I'm gonna turn heads.

Zayn slipped into the back pew of the old stone church just as the preacher began his sermon. The congregation was mostly older folks, with a few young families scattered throughout. Zayn stood out like a sore thumb, and he knew it.

As the preacher spoke about temptation, sin, and redemption, Zayn's mind wandered. His thoughts didn't drift to holy matters, though—they veered straight to the four new students in his classroom.

Louis Tomlinson with his sharp tongue and sass, Harry Styles with his quiet charm and undeniable magnetism, Liam Payne with his grounded energy, and then... Niall Horan. That blonde, carefree Irish lad with a smile that could stop traffic.

Zayn groaned quietly, rubbing his temples. He could feel his pulse quicken at the mere thought of them. "God help me," he muttered under his breath, though he wasn't entirely sure if he wanted saving or something else entirely.

After the service, Zayn walked down the cobblestone streets, the tightness in his chest easing with every step. He wandered into a flower shop, letting the sweet scents wash over him.

"Morning, Mr. Malik," the shopkeeper greeted with a knowing smile. "Bit of a surprise seeing you in here. Trouble sleeping?"

Zayn smirked, running a hand through his hair. "Let's just say I needed a change of scenery."

He picked up a rose, inhaling its fragrance. "How much for this one?"

"For you? On the house," the shopkeeper teased.

"Cheers," Zayn replied, flashing a rare, genuine smile before leaving with the single rose in hand.

The pier was next, where the waves crashed against the rocks in a steady rhythm. Zayn found a quiet spot and sat down, letting the wind whip through his hair. The sea was his escape, a place where he could lose himself in the vastness of it all.

"Didn't expect to see you here, Mr. Malik."

Zayn turned, startled, to see Niall Horan standing a few feet away, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets.

"Horan," Zayn said, trying to keep his voice steady. "Shouldn't you be off with your family or something?"

"Not today," Niall replied, stepping closer. "Thought I'd take a walk. Guess I'm not the only one who likes the quiet."

They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of the waves filling the space between them. Zayn found himself stealing glances at Niall—his easy smile, the way his hair caught the sunlight, the way he stood with a kind of effortless confidence.

"You're different outside of school," Niall said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Zayn raised an eyebrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're... less scary. More... normal."

Zayn couldn't help but laugh, a deep, rich sound that made Niall's grin widen. "Guess I'll have to fix that when we're back in class."

What happened next, Zayn couldn't entirely explain. Maybe it was the pull of Niall's charm, or the way the moment seemed to stretch endlessly. Niall reached for his hand, pulling him into a secluded corner near the pier.

The world seemed to fall away as their lips met, the kiss heated and urgent. Zayn's mind screamed at him to stop—he's your student, this is insane—but his body betrayed him, leaning into the moment. When they finally broke apart, both breathing heavily, neither spoke.

Zayn cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair. "I'll walk you home."

Niall nodded, his usual confidence replaced with a shy smile.

By the time Zayn got back to his apartment, the sun was dipping below the horizon. He tossed his blazer onto the couch, poured himself a drink, and sat down at the kitchen table, replaying the day's events in his mind.

He cooked a simple dinner—chicken, rice, and vegetables—and ate in silence, the TV droning softly in the background. A hot shower followed, the steam filling the small bathroom as he scrubbed away the day.

As he stood under the spray, he closed his eyes, letting the water wash over him. His thoughts returned to Niall, unbidden, and he groaned. "Bloody hell."

Zayn didn't sleep much that night. Instead, he sat by the window, a cigarette in one hand and a drink in the other, staring out at the dark, quiet streets.

The town was asleep, but Zayn's mind was wide awake, replaying every moment, every glance, every word.

This is a problem, he thought, taking a long drag from his cigarette. A big fucking problem.