Into the Blue

6

"Anything you want to tell me?" Zayn asks, just as Louis is about to step off the boat and onto the  wooden pier, Harry's jacket and tank dangling off one shoulder and bumping against Louis’ back with each step. A note of intrigue colours Zayn's tone, and for all that he always claims that he isn’t the nosy type, he really, really is. Also, he’s the worst kind of gossip, meaning that he comes along with good intentions and an attentive expression.

The last time Louis had fallen for it, he’d found half the staff laughing about his latest sexual exploit the next day. Well, then again, they hadn’t been laughing so much at him, and really more at the resort guest who had tripped on his way out of Louis' room, caught by a sudden gay panic attack. The guy had made quite the picture, sprawled on the floor with his pants and trousers still tangled around the ankles.

To be fair, Louis had been snickering when he'd recounted the experience to Zayn, so it's not like he’d sworn him to secrecy.

"Anything I want to tell you?” Louis repeats slowly. He smirks. “Well, darling. Now that you asked, red is definitely, definitely your colour. You look positively dashing in it."

Zayn leans against the cockpit and crosses his arms. "You’re carrying Harry’s tank."

Well, well. And one brownie point goes to Captain Obvious.

"Yes. Because he’s seasick." Shrugging, Louis slides his other arm into the jacket. It's a little too big on him, and briefly, he wonders what it would look like if he stole a t-shirt from Harry, how it would seem as if Louis were swimming in it, fabric billowing around him. It's just a randomly scattered thought, though. Doesn't mean anything.

"Harry said he was fine," Zayn says, and yes, of course Harry had said that, still rather pale around the nose and looking so openly relieved to be standing on the pier, on ground that doesn't roll beneath his feet. Louis may have known Harry for only a handful of days, but it’s enough that he hadn’t been surprised by Harry’s initial protest at Louis telling him to go ahead to the dive centre, grab a coke from the fridge and lie down for a bit. Harry had given in, though.

"Well." Louis smiles. "Yes, Harry is very fine, I'd have to agree."

Zayn flashes him a mild frown, then nods. "Fine, alright. Have it your way. But if you do want to talk, you know where to find me."

There is nothing to talk about, Louis decides. Really, he doesn't even know what Zayn means; maybe Zayn had brought out his weed while everyone else had been underwater. Not that Zayn would be quite that unprofessional, but...

Anyway, whatever.

With a two-fingered salute, Louis sets off for the dive centre. He finds Harry where he'd left him, stretched out on a bench that is partially shaded by the passion vines that arch overhead, bright spots from a timidly recovering sun flitting over his face and chest. A can of coke is balanced on his flat stomach, and that, now that is just showing off, isn't it?

After depositing Harry's gear inside the hut, Louis hops onto the table and dangles his legs, lightly kicking one of Harry's feet.

Harry cracks one eye open before he smiles, and God, Louis wants to wreck him. Wants to leave dark marks scattered along the length of Harry's torso, wants to see Harry’s face open and his breath coming out in hiccuping gasps, voice weak as he begs Louis to let him come, and---and where the hell did that come from?

The thing is, this isn't normal. Louis doesn't obsess; he spots someone he finds attractive, and then he either fucks them or, if they're not interested, he moves on. He's rational about these things because there's really no need to get hung up on someone who'll be gone within a couple of weeks.