Paint Me A Story ➳ Larry & Zouis

project vi.

Project vi. ❝paint me a story❞

The photograph trembled in Louis's hands.  He couldn't believe his eyes.  He re-read the note one, two, three more times.  Harry's favorite place was Louis, of all things.  Not a location, but rather a person.  He felt like he could barely breathe, air tightening in his chest, his lungs withering.

    Shocked silence filled the empty classroom.  The professor listened to the steady drip of the leaky faucet in the back of the room, a collection of messy paintbrushes gathered inside.  He didn't know whether he should try chasing after Harry or let him go.  He cared about that boy a lot, more than he probably should, but the feelings he felt were wrong.  He had a fiance.  He already had someone to love. 

Louis couldn't focus for the rest of the day.  He zoned out of his own lectures.  When the final bell of his last class rang, he sighed with sweet relief.

Carelessly, Mr. Tomlinson tossed the stack of photographs into his messenger bag, crumpling them up in the process.  He threw the leather strap over his shoulder.  His shoes clicked along the tiled floors as he left the classroom.  He remembered to lock it, his shaking hands struggling to hold the keys steadily.

He always thought his relationship with Zayn was like something out of a fairy tale.  They were perfect for one another— both passionate about art, family, and music.  They shared carefree attitudes and similar senses of humor.  When he met Zayn, everything in his life sort of fell into place.

But when he met Harry, everything fell apart in the best way possible.

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Louis arrived home that evening feeling guilty.  He didn't know why, because he didn't do anything wrong.  It was Harry who invited him to the art show, and it was Harry who took that damn photo to mess with Louis's head.  He was loyal to Zayn.  Maybe not emotionally, but physically.

Zayn sat on the living room couch with a cigarette hanging between his lips, ash building up at the tip.  He threw a glance at Louis as he toed off his shoes.

"Hey, sexy," Zayn greeted.  He exhaled slowly, smoke swirling through the air.

Louis smiled timidly as he took a seat next to him.  Wordlessly, he plucked the cigarette out of Zayn's fingers and took a quick puff.  Yeah, he needed to wind down.  He felt on the edge for some reason, as if any second he could tip off a cliff and fall to his destruction.

"I'm bloody exhausted," Louis huffed.  The taste of smoke lingered on his tongue.

"Long day at work?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that."

"Sorry to hear that," Zayn sympathized, carding his hands through Louis's feathery hair.  It was the prettiest shade of caramel brown.

Louis just shrugged.  " 's fine.  How was your day, Mr. Malik?" he asked, handing back the cigarette.

Zayn smirked.  "Soon to be Mr. Malik-Tomlinson," he corrected.

"I quite prefer Tomlinson-Malik, actually," Louis teased. 

Zayn chuckled.  "Yeah, whatever.  My day was fine, you dolt."

Louis giggled as Zayn wrapped his arm around his shoulder.  He leaned into Zayn's chest and breathed in his familiar scent of cologne.  Despite previous events, Louis always felt safe in Zayn's arms.  That would never change.

Louis glanced up lovingly, his blue eyes sparkling.  "You've got paint on your cheek," he laughed, rubbing his thumb over Zayn's stubble.  A streak of red paint stained his olive skin.