925 miles | z.m. au

xix.

Los Angeles is the kind of city that makes you want to reinvent yourself. It’s the kind of place that makes you want to change your name to something utterly ridiculous and hold hands with strangers and smoke cigarettes that aren’t your brand. Zayn likes the feeling—likes the way the ground feels like it’s constantly on the verge of floating away and his weight is the only thing keeping it and him on earth where they belong.

He can tell that Harry feels the same way. The curly-haired boy is positively radiant—flannel tied around his waist, white t-shirt low and tanned skin peeking out around the edges. His smile is bright enough to rival the sun, which is absolutely ridiculous and the older boy is rather stunned.

Niall, on Zayn’s other side, is ecstatic, to say the least. His smile is as wide as it always is only his eyes are twice as shiny. It’s like watching a child see Disneyland for the first time and come to the conclusion that it’s just as wonderful as they’d imagined. It’s nice, and Zayn feels a strange sense of satisfaction seeing them happy. At this point, the two boys have fit themselves between his ribs and he’s a bit too terrified to think about the implications of it all.

Suddenly, Harry is right beside him, swinging a heavy arm around his shoulders and smiling, “You happy, Zayn?”

The boy in question nods, fighting the urge to smile only briefly before giving in, “Yeah, mate, very happy.”

“Good,” and the fondness in the curly-haired boy’s eyes is positively show-stopping. Zayn swallows and Harry’s hand tightens around his shoulder.

“Guys,” a small whine comes from behind them, “I’m fucking hungry.”

…

It takes two burgers and a large side of fries to appease Niall’s appetite, which is a phenomenon all on its own considering the other two are still a bit queasy from the previous night. The blonde boy has no trouble shoveling down the entire plate, however, and all Zayn can do is watch and try not to remember what it feels like to have a full stomach.

Harry giggles at the way Niall eats like a fucking animal and the waitress presses her lips together to keep from doing same.

Once they’ve finished and Zayn has splashed water on his face in the grimy bathroom a total of five times, they pool their money together to pay the bill. The waitress smiles appreciatively at Niall, who pulls a crumpled five dollar bill out of his pocket to offer as a tip. He grins at her and Zayn figures he’s the kind of guy people fall in love with the moment they see him. It’s something he envies, if he’s being honest.

They’re barely five steps out the door when the blonde is waving something in their faces—small pieces of paper with tiny print that neither of them get a chance to read. “Look what I picked up!”

“What are they?”

“Numbers.”

“For?”

“Gigs,” Niall says as if it’s obvious, shrugging as he shuffles through the small white slips, “There were posters on the bulletin board in there for a few gigs so I took the numbers—figured I might as well. I mean, as long as I’m here I’d like to play as many shows as I can, yeah?”

“Yeah, for sure,” Harry says, full blown enthusiasm as he grabs one of the slips to inspect it. Zayn looks over his shoulder to read the name of a suspiciously sleazy sounding bar when the curly-haired boy turns to him, “Your girl, she’s a singer, right?”

“Mary—um yeah, she is.” Something inside Zayn stirs when he talks about her—almost like the incongruity between his rough accent and the beautiful girl causes his bones to slip and shift in the wrong places. And he knows he’s not worthy of her—he’s aware that boys like him do not get to touch girls like her and he’s not sure if he should be thanking whatever higher power allowed him to break this rule or apologize for doing the unthinkable. Either way, he has a feeling deep in his gut that he’s done something god-awful but fuck, she’s so beautiful.