Heroes of the Orange Skies

Part 9

The next morning, when getting coffee at the place down the street from their apartment, Louis finds more words from the unknown person, same generically loopy writing, same symbol.

Louis’s note, written who knows when, says i have a foggy soul, and is framed by a halo of flowers, which Louis absolutely did not put there. Like he would ever draw flowers around his words.

Written underneath the words, there’s another note in blue Sharpie, i’m trying to find you in the fog.

When Louis walks out of the coffee shop, helplessness blues by the fleet foxes is playing and he doesn’t know what to think.

**

Zayn’s mouth gapes open when Louis tells him that he’s set up a blind date for him. Well, not exactly blind, since Liam did say that he and Zayn had interacted adequately enough for Zayn to feel comfortable commenting on Liam’s superhero apparel. But nonetheless, when he walks into the kitchen with his conciliatory coffee and alerts Zayn to the fact that he has a date, Zayn’s face drops and his morning cigarette droops out of his mouth like it can’t believe the words Louis is saying.

“A date?” Zayn grumbles, eyes wide. He pushes a hand through his hair, sticking up all over the place. He’s clearly just woken up.

Nodding, Louis hands one of the coffees to Zayn who accepts it with a grunt and a glare, sucking it down while holding the limp cigarette between two of his fingers, ash dropping to the floor, unnoticed by either of the two boys.

“Why?” Zayn sticks a piece of bread in the toaster, and Louis’s slightly offended because really, he’s standing right here and the least Zayn could do is toast some bread for him too.

“You need it.”

“I don’t need anything.”

Louis rolls his eyes. Zayn is so melodramatic, standing there with his wing-ding tattoos and his broody cigarettes and his pirate earrings and his determination to be aloof.

“You need this,” Louis says firmly, and puts his own bread in the toaster, glaring at Zayn while he does so.

Leaning against the counter, Zayn stares at Louis, eyebrows pulled down low on his face. He’s got a little bit of sleepy gunk in the corner of his eye and it’s oddly endearing and god, Louis loves Zayn so much.

“Is this like--” Zayn closes his eyes briefly and the toast pops up, but they both ignore it. “Is this some kind of subtle way of telling me that we have to stop this thing between us?”

And that, that’s just shit, and Louis’s stomach drops out onto the floor. “Zayn.” Louis pulls his toast out of the toaster and slathers raspberry jam on it. “Zayn, we haven’t been a thing in a long time.”

“I thought we were.”

Louis looks at him. “Sleeping together when we’re bored isn’t a thing, Zayn.”

Zayn flinches, but it’s true, so he nods. “Is this about Harry then?”

“Why in fuck’s name would this be about Harry?” Louis doesn’t look Zayn in the eye, and stoops to open the fridge, searching for his favorite blueberry pomegranate juice. Zayn hates it, he drinks strawberry mango and Louis thinks that’s just the grossest combination of fruits in the world.

Zayn bumps hips with him and reaches over his shoulder for his own juice, sitting on the shelf of the door next to his organic shit and his weird seed bread. Louis’s processed junk food is on the shelf below that. Everything in their fridge is very organized.

“You want him.”

Sputtering on his juice, Louis glares at Zayn and kicks the fridge door closed with the side of his foot. "No, I do not, and even if I did, that’s not why you have to go on this date.”

Zayn grins like he’s won some sort of contest and any loving feelings Louis was thinking towards him earlier are gone, zapped away by the cat-got-the-canary smile on Zayn’s face. He hates Zayn, really, he’s a horrible best friend.

“Lou, do you have a crush?” Zayn sticks a twirly straw in his juice cup and blows bubbles in it, looking at Louis with his eyes twinkling through his black fringe hanging in his eyes.

“No.” Louis stamps his foot for emphasis. “No, I don’t.”

“Why are you stamping your foot?”

“For emphasis!” Louis exclaims and jumps so both of his feet stamp on the yellowed tile floor.

“It’s okay if you have a crush you know.” Zayn smiles gently. He has a juice mustache.

 “I don’t have a crush.”

“Okay, Lou.”

       **

“I think I have a teeny crush on Harry.” Louis flops onto Zayn’s bed a couple hours later, as Zayn stands in front of his full length mirror, appearing to be contemplating between two absolutely identical pair of black jeans.

Zayn just nods. “I know.”

“Do you think he knows?”

Zayn turns around and gives him a sympathetic smile. His hair is tall, quiffed up with gel and he looks all suave and mysterious in a way that Louis couldn’t even dream of achieving.

“You think he knows,” Louis sighs heavily.

Zayn shrugs and pulls his shirt over his head, careful not to knock over his carefully constructed hair. “Dunno, Lou. I couldn’t tell for months that you liked me.”

Louis throws Zayn’s Lightning McQueen pillow at him and misses by a foot. He doesn’t even know why Zayn has a Lightning McQueen pillow. “I didn’t like you, I just wanted to fuck you.”

Zayn’s laugh is muffled when he pulls on a plain white tshirt, emerging from the collar with a pop and a laughing smile. “Same thing.”

Louis is quiet for a while, watching as Zayn putters around, picking through his huge collection of worn leather jackets. He sits on the bathroom counter while Zayn carefully shaves, leaving a small amount of scruff that Louis runs his finger along to feel the scrape of it. Zayn smells like aftershave when Louis is up this close, and he’s reminded of why he and Zayn were once absolutely breathtakingly in love.

Apparently, when flies fall in love, they do it so hard they never fall in love with any other flies ever again, because the synaptic coding in their brains is rewritten. Louis smiles and bangs his heels on the cupboard doors.

“What do you think I should do?”

Zayn meets his eyes in the mirror, foam sitting at the corner of his lips while he brushes his teeth with his light-up Batman toothbrush. Louis’s is Spiderman, they bought them together when they were insanely drunk one night.

Zayn leans over and spits into the sink, gargles with mouthwash and then turns to face Louis. “What do you want to do?”

“I kinda just want to hold his hand.”

Zayn smiles softly and thumbs across the dreadfully unshaven line of Louis’s jaw.  “Then you should tell him.”