Together (Larry Stylinson) ✅

Tension

Louis'. POV

"Hey."

Zayn standing in my doorway felt sort of surreal. So much had changed about him since I last saw him — his hair color, his style, his demeanor. Even his voice was a tiny bit different than I had been. The only familiar thing about him was his eyes, the soft brown orbs that always made the girls swoon in university.

"Hey," I replied, wondering if my own voice sounded different since the last time we talked. It probably did, especially after all the damage I'd done to my throat this past week. Who was I to judge Zayn for changing? Everything about me was changed too — and not in a good way.

"Thanks for coming," I continued, motioning for Zayn to come inside. Our eyes locked and I felt some of my anxiety begin to fade, memories of late nights out at the bars and duet practices filling my head and replacing the ever present calorie and exercise obsessions.

"Dude, you look..." Zayn said, cocking an eyebrow as he followed me inside. He didn't have to say it. I knew I looked awful. I wasn't even trying to hide it — I was wearing a baggy tank top that exposed my skeletal arms and collar bones, and sweats that hung off my frail frame. Dark circles lined the area beneath my eyes and my stubble was nearly a beard after weeks of not having the energy to shave.

"I know," I said, laughing nervously. "I've been better. I was in the hospital for the past week." Zayn nodded, deciding not to question it. Instead, he walked towards me with his arms extended and hugged me. But not in the fun-loving, passionate way used to — where he squeezed me as if he were trying to turn me to putty. This hug was simply polite. Cold, lifeless. Kind of like me.

After our short embarace, I took a seat at the table and Zayn followed after me. We used to sit here for hours, talking about music and sex and love or writing song lyrics into the wee hours of the morning. I felt nauseous as I realized that now we had hardly anything to talk about.

"How have you been?" I asked. I was trying to be friendly, trying to pretend all those months hadn't gone by. That we could just pick up where we left off. Zayn shrugged. "Got a new job. Moved to Brooklyn. Got engaged...." he said, a huge smile spreading across his face.

"Engaged. By god, that's great!" I said, leaning forward and slapping him on the back excitedly. Zayn giggled, and I recognized his goofy smile, the one he used to make when we messed up lyrics or showed up late to the lecture hall. Maybe we weren't total strangers after all...

"What's she like?" I asked, curious to know what lucky gal was worthy of becoming Mrs. Malik.

Zayn blushed, probably unprepared to talk about this with me. But he had offered. "Well, her name is Gina. She's from New Jersey. Very Italian. She's a makeup artist— we met on set when I was shooting a music video. Super sweet and funny. And she just gets me. We moved in together after only 6 months and it's been amazing. She's the most amazing cook, and I do the dishes pretty well, so it works out," Zayn said. The entire time he described her, his eyes were shining and he couldn't stop beaming. She must have truly been special.

I nodded, trying not to let sadness take over as I realized the last time I felt that way about anyone was Harry... about how I truly thought if I married anyone it would be Harry. Those days were over now.

"That's awesome. She sounds amazing," I said. "So happy for you!" Zayn nodded in response. "Thanks, mate," he replied, still beaming. "So how have you been? Why were you in the hospital?"

Not prepared to disclose my full story with Zayn, I started to turn red. What was I going to tell him? That I drank myself silly and ended up in the hospital? That was so embarrassing.