These Inconvenient Fireworks (original story on ao3 by complemtattoos)

eight

Zayn was with his arms crossed occasionally pouring beer into the glass, distressed to see much of what was left. Beer is not really his drink, not for a real night, but Niall had bought a round and it would be rude not to finish. Anyway, he wasn't in the mood to leave an unfinished drink for New Year.

He turns the glass back and drinks the beer with a grimace, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and looking around the bar. It's a good turnout, but if he's honest, most of these people are friends with Niall, not him. He's not complaining, though. He could have gone to another friend's party, but from what he remembers from previous years' parties, they always turn into beautiful people looking for a date, and he's not really looking for it this year. Being silently drunk in the corner of a bar full of people who don't actively bother him, in fact, sounds pretty good.

Of course, in a perfect world, he would be wherever Liam is, but after his ridiculous Christmas performance, Zayn isn't sure he can face Liam for a few weeks. God, how obvious had he been with the mistletoe? Did Liam notice? There was no way he hadn't noticed. Why is he still not drunk?

Zayn goes to the bar and orders a tonic vodka, ignoring the upside-down look he got from the bartender. God bless Niall's friends and his open bar. Liam is probably busy, anyway. He's probably somewhere doing something fun and not thinking about Zayn. The bartender slides his drink at him, and Zayn immediately lifts it to his lips as he walks back to his table, ignoring the napkin with the phone number. Liam is probably at a party with his hot firefighter friends, being hot.

They are probably dancing in a large group of sweaty, shirtless fire-fighting hotties, which is inaccessible to people who have been hit ineffectively at Christmas parties. Maybe they're wearing the fireman's hat. Wow, this drink is strong.

Back at his permanent malaise table, Zayn pulls out his phone and chooses Louis's name from his contact list. Louis is his mother at home, as he always was in the New Year. God bless Louis. No one else makes him feel comparatively better about being a miserable bastard.

Without you, what will be my kiss of comfort at midnight ?? aha :) xx

It only takes a few minutes for Louis to respond, reassuring Zayn that he is not the saddest idiot in the greater Manchester area.

I'll give you ten pounds if you kiss Niall. I'm not kidding.

Zayn throws his head back and laughs, typing in his answer.

give me twenty and you will see: P xoxo

L

It is difficult to keep in touch with Harry when he is trapped inside a small house with his mother and four nosy sisters, who are determined to find out what - or who - Louis is hiding from them. He sticks to messages in the early days, before being forced to admit to himself that seeing Harry's bad jokes in pixelated letters only makes him miss the sound of Harry's stupid voice saying sweet things slowly in his ear. He can only turn it on in the middle of the night or at odd times of the day, when the girls are busy and their mom is at work, unless he actually gets in his car and drives somewhere, and Louis refuses to do that.

He's trying to keep that thing for sure, and peeking through parking lots to talk to Harry on the phone doesn't exactly fall under the heading of rational behavior.

The snow hasn't arrived in Doncaster for a few weeks, so the grass is dry enough that Louis can call Harry at night in the back garden without waking anyone. He packs up and drags his comforter under the stairs and is lying on his back on the floor, listening to Harry wander and talk about football, his family and which Rolling Stones album is the best.

- What are you going to do when you get back? Louis asks one night, his coat tight around him as he looks at the stars.

"Wait for you to come back so I can kiss you again," Harry says on the other end of the phone, and Louis rolls over on his stomach and buries his face in the grass.