Strings and Schemes

Chapter 7

I wake up in a haze, somehow under the sheets I don't remember pulling over me. Zayn is next to me. Louis is nowhere in sight. I reach for my phone, finding it neatly placed on top of my clothes and bag beside the bed. My battery is nearly dead, but it has just enough juice to check if Louis is okay.

"Hope you had fun last night, babe. I'm heading out early—whatever the fuck is happening with you two, lean into it. It's magnetic. xx"

The first time Louis has ever left me at someone else's house without checking in first. It feels kind of weird. I know Zayn is someone Louis trusts—years of poker games at Harry's and late-night escapades—but he's still new to me.

I slide my phone under the pillow and glance at Zayn, still asleep. Part of me wants to run—to leave before this turns into something I can't control. But another part, the part still tangled in Zayn's sheets, wants to stay wrapped in this cocoon forever. His stubble, flawless skin, tattoos making his body a living canvas, those abs.

I clench at the memory of him all over me last night. Curse myself for how quickly I drift back into thoughts of how he made me feel, how he looked into my eyes, how he somehow understood the parts of me that felt like I hadn't given him enough in return. Before I let myself spiral, I carefully slip out of bed, grabbing my bag on the way to the bathroom.

The loft's bathroom is exactly what I should have expected. Black tile with navy accents, a skylight, a shower big enough to fit a small village, and a copper soaking tub that looks pristine. Aesop products everywhere.

I wet my toothbrush and brush my teeth quietly, finger-combing my messy hair back with water before patting my face dry with one of the perfectly rolled face cloths on a tray—like he actually expects guests.

Tiptoeing back out, I slide under the warm, Zayn-scented sheets again. Now that I'm fully awake, I take in the room—the night sky on the ceiling, the dark academia-style decor that somehow feels both luxe and grungy at once, and then the view.

My breath hitches. It's the most breathtaking view of London I've ever seen, perfectly centered in the city yet hidden from it.

"Wow," I mutter.

Strong, warm arms wrap around me, pulling me into the rock-solid heat of Zayn's chest.

"Good morning to you," he rasps, his voice thick with sleep. It's unfair how hot that is. He kisses the corner of my mouth. "This is exactly what I was hoping to wake up to on a Saturday morning."

I smile guiltily. "That's the last time I leave early, even if it's just to get coffee."

He laughs. "My fridge is fully stocked. Next time, just go downstairs and take whatever you want—or wake me up, and I'll cook for you."

I kiss him softly. "How are you just so emotionally available?"

He grins. "Public mental breakdown, crapshoot into therapy, yeah?"

I chuckle. "If it makes you feel better, I didn't read any of the tabloids."

"It actually does," he says, smiling warmly. He pulls me in for another kiss, slower this time.

"Louis left last night?"

I nod. "He sent me a text about some 'magnetic energy' and leaning into it."

Zayn laughs. "For a guy who beats to his own drum, he really picks up on the little things."

"It's 'marches' to his own drum," I correct.

Zayn raises an eyebrow. "No, it's definitely 'beats' to his own drum."

"Agree to disagree?"

"Only losers say that."