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me heart palpitations, and I‟m going to die. And he‟s so lovely, and

good with his hands, and building things, and oh my god

whatthefuckisthat.”

Zayn‟s voice ascends into a pitch audible only to some dogs, and Louis

looks over his shoulder to find Liam fastening a tool belt around his

hips after apparently digging it out of his bag. The belt matches the

boots. Oh, Louis is going to mock Zayn about this for weeks.

“I,” Zayn says, and then all that comes out is an incoherent series of

wheezing noises. Louis plucks up the the spray bottle full of water

amidst all the painting supplies and shoots him full in the face.

“Pull yourself together,” Louis says while Zayn sputters and wipes his

face on his sleeves.

“Hey, Zayn,” Liam calls over to them, and Zayn freezes. “Wanna show

me where that part you need sanded is?”

“Yes!” Zayn says, scrambling to his feet.

“Yeah, I bet you do,” Louis mutters as Zayn scurries off to lead Liam

onto the stage, shooting a slightly homicidal look back at him. Louis

sticks his tongue out at him and considers telling him that he‟s got a

streak of paint across his face, but decides against it. Because it‟s

funny. And because he‟s distracted by Harry‟s hands on his waist and

his chin hooking over his shoulder.

“This is the best,” Harry says, snickering. “This is even better than the

car wash, and we didn‟t even have to do anything. Did you see Zayn‟s

face? Dibs on best man at the wedding.”

“Bullshit,” Louis laughs, turning around and leaning up onto the balls

of his feet to get right up in Harry‟s face, Harry‟s hands still at his

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waist. “That spot‟s mine, you interloper. I‟ve known Zayn way longer

than you. You can‟t just swoop in and displace me. We have history.”

Harry grins wickedly. “True, but I‟m clearly more supportive of their

epic romance. Plus,” he adds, leaning in close to Louis‟ ear, “you‟d

look way better than me in a bridesmaid‟s dress.” He dances away from

Louis‟ playful slap, hopping down from the stage and bouncing off

toward the utility closet.

“Where are you going?” Louis asks, unable to wipe the smile off his

face. He does have the legs to pull off a dress, it‟s true. Then again,

he‟s not the one with a history of skirt-wearing.

“I‟m going to go turn up the heat,” Harry whispers. “See if we can‟t get

that flannel off.”

Louis throws his head back and laughs. “You‟re a bad man, Harry

Styles.” Harry just winks and jogs away.

As always, Louis takes a moment to admire the view, and then turns

back towards the stage to observe the wreckage. Zayn is pointing out

the areas of a prop door that need to be sanded down so that none of the

actors impale their hands on splinters. Liam nods seriously, taking

some sandpaper out of his toolbelt and goes to work. Louis can see the

appeal, he really can, with Liam‟s shoulders and rolled up sleeves and

adorable scrunched up face, but he can‟t say he understands Zayn‟s

reaction to it, the way he hasn‟t moved from Liam‟s side and is staring

unblinkingly at his hands. He appears to remember himself after about

fifteen seconds of mouth-breathing and snaps out of it, retreating back

to painting backdrops on the other side of the stage. It‟s not much of an

improvement, as he doesn‟t seem to be able to go a full minute without

looking back up at Liam.

Liam, for what it‟s worth, seems to be entirely focused on fixing the

prop door, showing not even a hint of awareness of Zayn‟s eyes on

him. They‟re well-matched in obliviousness, then, as Zayn appears to

have no idea that his left knee has been sitting in a tray of paint for the

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past minute and a half. He‟s going to have absolute kittens when he

realises he‟s ruined those jeans, Louis thinks, but right now he probably

wouldn‟t notice if he actually had actual kittens. Liam shrugs off his

plaid shirt—Harry will be so pleased—and Zayn makes a sound like a

cat being put through a garbage disposal. Louis can hear it from

halfway from across the theatre, but Liam doesn‟t even look up,

apparently too focused on the task at hand. Louis wants to donate him

to science.

There‟s only so much time he can waste on observing Zayn‟s complete

hopelessness, though, so soon he‟s back to stitching together curtains

and making sure that the steering wheels on the prop cars can actually

turn properly. Harry finishes running through lighting cues and comes

back to join them onstage, nudging Louis excitedly and pointing out

Liam‟s decrease in clothing with nothing even approximating subtlety.

Zayn breaks out of his reverie long enough to notice it, and throws a

rag that catches Harry right in the face, leaving streaks of blue paint

across his cheek. Harry just throws it back and goes to work on the

platforms for Beauty School Dropout.

After another hour or so of frantic work, Louis can feel his energy

flagging and cracks open another Red Bull. Zayn seems to be crashing

as well, as he flops onto his back in the middle of stage and starts

moaning. “There‟s too much,” he says, staring up at the stage lights.

“Death would be kinder.”

“Death, Zayn, really? That can be arranged,” Louis says, taking a gulp

of Red Bull. Murder would require more energy than he has right now.

“Is that what you want? Is that what you really want?”

“Yo,” Zayn says, and a smile starts creeping up his face. “I‟ll tell you

what I want. What I really, really want.”

Out of nowhere, Harry‟s upper half flops down over the edge of the

piece of set he‟s working on and he fixes Zayn with an upside-down

look. “So tell me what you want, what you really, really want.”

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“I‟ll tell you want I want, what I really, really want,” Zayn shoots back,

scrambling up to his feet.

Niall throws down his paintbrush dramatically. “So tell me what you

want, what you really, really want.”

“I wanna ha,” Zayn says, thrusting his hips, “I wanna ha, I wanna ha, I

wanna ha, I wanna really really really wanna zigga-zig ahhhh.”

Before Louis even knows it‟s happening, all of them have launched

into a chorus of, “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my

friends,” and then Zayn is jumping up to falsetto to echo, “gotta get

with my frieeeends,” and they‟re in five part harmony as if by natural

instinct. Harry jumps up to his feet to gyrate his hips and Niall sashays

over to Liam and Louis sings along as loud as he can, “Takin‟ is too

easy but that‟s the way it is!”

Suddenly one voice rises up on top of the other four and Louis stops

dancing when he realises it‟s Liam, one foot propped up on a crate of

paint, singing his heart out to, “Whatcha think about that, now you

know how I feeeeel, say you can handle my love, are you for reeeeal...”

Louis eyes find Zayn, who has dropped his can of paintbrushes all over

the floor.

“Holy shit, man,” Niall says. “You can sing.”

Liam blushes pink, and Louis feels a sympathetic pang for Zayn at how

darling it is. “Thanks, mate.”

“No, like, you can proper sing,” Niall says. “That‟s impressive.”

“I‟m not as good as Zayn or anything,” Liam says. Zayn sort of stands

there, staring at Liam and wordlessly moving his mouth like a dying

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fish, until Harry has the mercy to drop one the old bedsheets they‟ve

been using as a drop cloth over his head.

After that it‟s singalongs for the rest of the night, all five of them

falling into harmony with each other on everything from The Beatles to

Kanye to Bieber. Louis had been on board with having Liam around

ever since Christmas, but it feels more like he really belongs now, with

Niall goading him into a Buble duet and Harry clapping excitedly when

he reveals he can beatbox. He‟s always thought of Zayn‟s fixation as an

amusing pastime, but he finds himself actively hoping it works out. It‟s

a nice thought, the idea of Liam and Zayn and him and Harry, with

Niall the madness holding them all together. It feels like it could work.

Then again, he‟s imbibed enough chemicals to fell a small horse, so

who knows what he‟s thinking.

Still, time goes much faster with all five of them working together, and

they don‟t quite finish everything, but they finish enough. So when

Harry tells Louis he needs to go home so he can get a couple hours of

sleep before he‟s supposed to go make prints of a project, Louis doesn‟t

even panic about how much still needs to be done and just ruffles

Harry‟s hair instead. Liam needs to go too, as it happens, and Louis

pretends not to hear Zayn‟s quiet whimper when he takes his toolbelt

off and puts it back in his bag. He‟ll save that particular bit of

humiliation for when he really needs it.

“Right then,” Harry says, smiling as he leans down to peck Louis on

his paint-streaked forehead. “Good luck with the rest of it, babe.”

He joins Liam and sets off up the aisle toward the main exit, and Louis

watches him and the way his hips swing and the way the lights of the

theatre fall on him, and it‟s just. It‟s just.

It‟s just that sometimes he looks at Harry and he feels like Harry‟s so

much more than a boy. Like he goes on forever and ever. It‟s just that

sometimes he wants to take every stupid love song he‟s ever heard and

rewrite them all so that they‟re all about curly-haired boys that smell

like grass and then sing them until his lungs give out. It‟s just that

sometimes when he wakes up in the morning with Harry‟s arm around

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his waist and Harry‟s nose buried in the nape of his neck he thinks he‟s

closer to the person he wants to be. It‟s just that he‟s delirious and

happy and it‟s four in the morning and sometimes it feels like Harry‟s

the best thing in the entire fucking universe.

Sometimes he just has to do something about it.

“Hey, Styles!” Louis calls after him, hopping down off the stage.

Harry turns around and stops between rows I and J. He smiles when he

sees Louis coming, and that‟s pretty much it, Louis abandons all

dignity and breaks into a run halfway up the aisle, until he gets to Harry

and grabs his face in both hands and kisses the living hell out of him.

It‟s a perfect kiss, a movie star kiss, Harry‟s bag falling to the floor as

he wraps his arms around Louis‟s waist and Louis on the tips of his

toes. Louis kisses him like a hero home from war, like the big fermata

at the end of a grand finale, like everything warm and huge pent up

inside his chest.

He didn‟t think kisses like this ever actually happened in real life, at

least not in his real life, and maybe it‟s just the energy drinks or the

delirium, but it feels like the best kiss anybody in the world has ever

had. Normally this would be the part where Harry would pick his feet

up off the ground and spin him around or something, but Harry seems a

bit too dumbstruck for that and Louis is in complete control, bending

Harry over him and arching his back up into it. It‟s an absolute

showstopper.

When he pulls back and opens his eyes, Harry is speechless, looking

down at him with a dazed sort of smile and lidded eyes and paint in his

dimples. Louis smiles back and gives him a little slap on the bum for

good measure, feeling very pleased with himself indeed.

“Now you‟re allowed to leave,” Louis tells him.

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“Okay,” Harry says slowly, still staring at Louis like he can‟t quite

believe his fucking luck. He picks up his bag and sort of toddles off up

the rest of the aisle, smiling back over his shoulder at Louis and then

bashing his knee against an armrest in the process.

Behind him, Niall and Zayn have started up a slow clap, and he can

hear Zayn wolf whistling. Liam intercepts Harry at the back of the

theatre where he‟s been watching the show, looking amused and fond,

and Louis mentally sends him a thousand blessings for being the type

of lad who can appreciate that kind of thing. He pats Harry on the back,

and Harry just sort of shakes his head and smiles down at his feet and

lets himself be led out.

When Louis turns back around, Niall and Zayn are still cheering from

the stage. He takes an elaborate bow and makes his way back down to

the front of the theatre, grinning and grinning and grinning.

“You‟ve got to teach me how to do that one, Tomlinson,” Niall says.

“Get yourself a tall gentleman suitor to snog first,” Louis tells him,

popping his bottom up on the edge of the stage.

“Fair enough,” Niall says.