Me: *why did Zayn break Louis' heart like that? Did the rest of the band see his departure coming or were they blindsided? If they knew why were they so unprepared? Why does Harry hate Zayn? Is it because he hurt Louis? Did Zayn know for a long time that he wanted to leave but he kept it secret? Was he hanging out with Louis but thinking about leaving? Was he hanging out with Louis knowing he was leaving? Did Zayn tell Louis first? Or did he hear about it with the rest? Did Louis ask if it was a prank, a cruel joke? Did he misunderstand and think Zayn was just taking a break? Or did he know it was coming? Did he sadly accept that he had been lied to by the person he was closest to? That things would never be the same. Will they ever be friends again? Will Louis ever call him back? Or will their years of friendship turn to noting but dust and bittersweet memories, the pain too tangible and real that no matter how desperate the desire and need, neither can make the move to heal old wounds and rediscover the bond that once shone so bright?
• These Battle Scars Don’t Look Like They’re Fadin’ by bottledyarn
Zayn and Louis have issues with each other, they fight about it.
- Words: 483. Chapters: 1/1
• Tattoos by Odds_and_Ends
Louis and Zayn are attracted to each other. Louis is the one to make the first move by asking to see Zayn's tats. Idk. Enjoy.
- Words: 2,254. Chapters: 1/1
• Stops My Bones From Wondering by ingeneva
Louis wants to say something, but he can’t figure out how to do it casually. So you’ve been really affectionate lately, yeah? Remember that time you had your fingertips under the band of my pants? Not that I don’t enjoy a little nuzzle every now and then, but--
- Words: 3,032. Chapters: 1/1
• Public Place? Not With That Face by bottledyarn
Zayn gets mad because Louis won't go public with their relationship, so they 'have a row', but not for long.
- Words: 304. Chapters: 1/1
"The easiest thing in my life, suddenly the hardest," he mutters, flopping back down on the floor after popping up in shock when the fantasy had disintegrated.
And well, one thing is clear.
He's officially gone insane.
And the person another country away is both the cause and the remedy.
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A Zouis fic for my fellow angsty zouies
The fantasizing has gotten out of control, to say the least.
A quick show of spearing his pencil into his notebook and ripping the page out later, Louis buries his face in his hands and groans, loud enough for anyone within several miles to hear. If he wasn't so preoccupied with his frustrations of recalling fingers and hair and the smooth drawl of his voice, Louis might even get up long enough to eat. But it's useless when he hasn't even been able to sleep for the past week. Not with the chaos that's rampaging through his head.
"I've got NyQuil," Liam had kindly offered the other day, a poor attempt to help the situation, but Louis could only wave him off before feeling a new wave of sickness from sleep deprivation coming over him.
"This happened in the beginning. But it went away, it fucking poofed, into thin air, and then he wasn't always there. Bothering me. Now it's back and I just want to tear apart every little piece of—" he'd started, but not before Liam had politely shoved the last of the chips past his lips, effectively shutting him up.
"Well. One thing's clear."
Louis, with his mouth moving from side to side and chewing much like a camel, looked up with skepticism clear in his eyes and then a muffled, "What?"
"You've officially gone insane." And with those comforting words, he'd patted him on the back just hard enough that some chip went flying, and only served to worsen his growing headache.
Now that he's back in his flat, pencil gripped tightly in one hand and the only words coming to mind being a singular name playing over and over in his brain like a broken record, he really feels like pulling his hair out.
Before, if he was ever in the midst of a severe bout of writer's block, Zayn would lift his hand off the page, press his lips to his knuckles, the pulse of his wrist, and anywhere else he could without touching a single inch of fabric. Not that it much mattered; every stitch of clothing was gone not long after that anyway.
Now, with his nails buried in his scalp and notebook uselessly lying in a tattered heap on his floor, Louis doesn't have anyone to scratch the itch, to fix the short circuiting in the creative parts of his brain, and it's driving him insane. Maybe Liam was right. Maybe he's really mad. And the cause of all the insanity?
Zayn, of course.
Always the cause, really.
And when he closes his eyes, he's etched on the back of his eyelids, burning bright like some constellation, flashing lights, waves against the sand. Zayn is all of that and everything else. He'd gotten to forgetting about it since he'd left, but the craze was back, taking him by full force. He doesn't understand why his skin burns like he's right here, running warm fingers along the bare skin of his arm until they stop at the fabric of his sleeveless tee, arms slowly wrapping around his waist as they sit curled up on the floor.
It's torture.
"You're gonna cramp up just sitting here like this," the familiar voice whispers, an unseen smirk obviously playing on the speaker's lips. Louis sinks into the embrace, hums a bit like he's just found heaven, and maybe—if he keeps his eyes closed long enough—he has.
"Why should you care?" he mumbles back, senses flaring as the legs he remembers most wrap more definitely around his, a face pressing into his neck.
The voice moves with the face pressed into his neck, warm lips finding their way to the rush of blood just beneath his ear, kissing the spot like he's the most fragile thing to exist. "It's late, Lou. Just go to bed. Sleep."
He wishes he could listen.
But as long as that voice is telling him what to do, merely commanding him to complete the smallest of tasks, it's going to be impossible.
"I can't sleep. Not when you're here."
"Do you want me to leave?" Louis just shakes his head in quick reply, grasping the hands that have made their way to his stomach. He can't see his face, but he knows exactly who it is. He wouldn't even have to talk and Louis would know.
"You're the reason I can't sleep, you know," he breathes, sighing lightly when the lips find the edge of his collarbone. "You're everywhere I go."
"But I'm in LA. How could I be everywhere you go?" he hears him mutter as if to question Louis's sanity, hands roaming underneath the thin muscle tee. Louis laughs bitterly.
"Doesn't matter where you are. You're always here in the end. Can't catch a fucking break."
"It's not my fault that you're obsessed with me." Louis's ears are likely flushing a bright red.
"What, and you're not?" he asserts, far from calmly, and turns to see the face he's been picturing from the beginning. "Zayn. You really trying to tell me that you're not also completely obsessed with me? Don't think I didn't hear about your little trip. The same place we went when we were in LA together not too long ago. Before you became an asshole."
Zayn's deep laugh fills the room, but Louis doesn't get a chance to argue any further before he's pushed to the ground, wrists pinned on either side of his head and Zayn's face only inches away from his.
"Maybe. But I'm not the one that imagines me in your room every night, practically spoon feeding you new material for you next album. Seems a bit crazy to me," he jeers, his signature smile spidering across his face as he runs an apt hand from Louis's lips to his stomach. He shudders at the touch, squirms under Zayn's weight, but ignores the urge to have him right here, right now.
"You're the only one who I can put words to, it seems," Louis admits, sounding bored. "I have to make money somehow."
Ignoring the statement completely, Zayn sighs like some lovesick teenager. "How many miles away and we're both still crazy about each other, huh?" Louis wants to push this fleeting fanatasy away, out of his mind like he always tries to, but once again, it's all too real again. And he there's nothing he wants more than to hold onto that little part of Zayn's reality that he has left. It's almost like he's really saying it. Like he really still has feelings for him. He hardly even remembers what that feels like.
"Maybe I'm crazy about you, but…" Louis trails off, turning his head to the side to avoid Zayn's penetrating gaze.
He leans in close, breathing Louis's air and smirks as he swallows like he did when they were first alone in bed together. "What, and I'm not?" he mimics. "I don't think, no matter how many countries away, I could ever be over you. Over this."
And then Louis loses it.
Because right before he presses a showing, wanton kiss to his lips, the figment just as quickly disappears. Lights out. Gone.
And that's how Zayn had left, as he recalls it.
Pretty little kisses, fluttering pulses, pinky promises and idiotic banter like they were teenagers again. And then—gone. They said he took the first flight to LA that morning, didn't take a single thing apart from a few necessities, leaving Louis with countless memories in the form of material possessions and an uncomfortable sickness spreading through his stomach. He should've known they couldn't have fixed things after the first big bump. And he should've known that Zayn was the only one that fueled his creativity, because the first time he lost it, he was at loss. The second time, he was a mess.
They'd even had a successful comeback, their success naturally taking a turn for the better for a short while. And when they decided to try again, Louis had to admit that all the petty fighting was easily overlooked if Zayn was willing to fix things between them. They were worth it. Zayn was worth it, even after all the grief he'd given him. …Right?
"The easiest thing in my life, suddenly the hardest," he mutters, flopping back down on the floor after popping up in shock when the fantasy had disintegrated.
And well, one thing is clear.
He's officially gone insane.
And the person another country away is both the cause and the remedy. Funny, he thinks, sparing one last glance at his notebook before rolling over and really falling asleep for the first time in a week.
