#acelets

Louis pushes away, thefirst time, leaves without so much of a nice night or good morning, much less a your eyelashes are golden and your skin could be home.

Liam looks at him funny at breakfast, butLouis took three showers and slathered on aftershave so he knows Liam isn’tpicking up anything aside from his own eccentricities, even with enhancedolfactory senses and an annoyingly uncanny intuition for when Louis is gettingin too far over his head. Louis’ tested it, but it’s not a genome, it’s justLiam.

“How’d the secret date with the secret ladywho’s name definitely isn’t Sophia go, Leemster, hm?” he asks. 

The pancakes make a sad flopping sound as hedrags them onto his plate. 

Liam flushes and mumbles something under hisbreath as his ears flicker and curl in. 

“Sorry, Liam? Didn’t catch that.”

“I love fruit loops,” Liam says, expressioncarefully blank and ears still flickering.

“Uhuh.”

Louis escapes detection. 

The problem is, thatZayn still isn’t back the next week and the professors are getting tired ofLouis sending out tendrils of influence about the benefits of naptime for allages and it’s fucking Spring so everyone’s walking around with their auraturned up to 11, glowing neon cutouts of Get In, Get off, Get Some blurring the edges of Louis’ vision andhe just wants to hold someone’s hand and fall asleep.

Someone’s.

The second time is an accident. Heswears. 

Niall brews the latestbatch of PBR with a few too many chemicals even for mutated metabolism and it’snot like Louis could just not finish the cup when Niall had given it to him,that would be rude.

Also Harry and Nick and Pixie had like 4 ofthem, so Louis had to have five. That’s just logical.

It’s also logical that Louis and Niall share abed for a short nap. Space conservation, being green, something. 

“Just a quick kip, yeah?”

Niall giggles and lists sideways intohim. “Say that five times fast.”

“Just a -” Louis starts.

Niall is all freckled skin and bone, except,except where he isn’t.

The third time is anaccident, too. Because Louis like, tripped, and Niall tripped and it’scompletely reasonable and they had to like, drop onto something, it’s only reasonable.

The afternoon sun is soft across the couch,long relief from the floor to ceiling windows and Louis could probably counttime by the pace of Niall’s breathing. 

“You’re inexplicable,” Louis tells him.

Niall mumbles something in his sleep.

Harry watches him with huge speckled eyes inGenetics History on Tuesday. Is ze an owl mutant? Is it rude to ask.Probably. 

Louis opens with, “Fuck off,” then continueswith, “Are you owl?”

Harry blinks once at him for a second and thensmiles in a way that sends a roll of unpleasantness down Louis’ spine. 

“You’ll be,” Harry rolls two sets of zir eyesto the front screen where there’s a diagram on blood types, “Careful.”

It isn’t a question.

Harry always knows, always sees more thananyone gives ze credit for. 

Heat crawls up Louis’ neck and he almost turnsaround to check if Niall is standing there - bites his own tongue against thethought.

“I have no notion,” he says to Harry, “towhat you are referring.”

“Then, you’ll be even more careful, won’t you.”Harry sounds smug and knowing and so much like Zayn that Louis shoves away fromhis desk. The professor’s frustrated tenor trails after him out the door.

“Let’s do something dangerous,” Louis tellsLiam and Sandy and the lads. 

There’s a round of shouting agreement andsomeone pulls out a homemade, dodgy flamethrower. 

“Shiiiit, bro.”

“Wicked.”

Sometimes, being at a mutant school has it’sgoddamn perks. Louis takes first shot at the poor melonman target.

“Death to the cantaloupe!”

He pointedly ignores the way that Liamsays, “Okay,” watches him softly, like Louis’ already done somethingdangerous and he’s just waiting for Louis to admit it.

His fingers curl around the trigger.

The fourth time isn’t an accident.

The fourth time is Niall, and Niall shaking inthe shriekingly bright hallway of the bottom floor, and Louis tracing thesplotches on Niall’s skin with his eyes, over and over again like he can erasethem through memorization. He’d carry this until the end, if it meant leavingNiall a fraction lighter. 

Simon and the team hascleared out because if Niall can bury anything under bursts of laughter, it’sthe tang of unhappiness and they would never know, would never think that atouch, a toocloseness, a proposition from someone unfamilar, someone not mutant,could feel like a vaccuum against your safety.

The fourth time is Louis asking and Niallsaying please and Louis shunting open every single blind in the school tryingto give Niall a spark of afternoon.

“Here, here, right here,” Louis is saying,letting Niall’s body take the lead, cower against him, reach at the tendrils ofLouis’ aura like gasping. 

And Niall is whispering “I hate them,”over and over again, like he’s in church and if he just says it enough,something horrible will burn out of him and Louis - Louis knows that tremble sogood, knows it like a pet snake slung over his shoulder, teeth kissing thecorner of his jaw. 

Neither of them chose the apple, but they bothfucking paid for the bite they took anyway. 

If there’s anything Louis hates more thansomeone pretending to be a god, it’s a god that gave the both of them the powerto level cities and then strung them up for using it to build walls aroundtheir own hearts.

“It’s not your fault,” Louis says.

“No, it’s just me,” Niall says back. 

“Bugs are always attracted to big lights,babe,” Louis presses a hand to Niall’s shaking, doesn’t fight the loss ofenergy. His arm goes numb.

Niall hiccups and stills for a moment.

Louis switches arms. 

Niall takes.

Louis gives.

“Did you just call me a bug light?” Niall asksLouis’ collar. His voice sounds stopped up.

“A very fancy one,” Louis assures, “lots ofsettings, big surface area, great for all environments.” 

“Lou?”

“Yeah?”

“Shut up.” 

Niall laughs.

Louis kisses the top of his head gently, lipsgoing numb and holds Niall as well as the earth can hold a tsunami - letting theforce roll over him. Natural. Overwhelming.

The fourth time flows into the fifth time,quiet hours later when Niall wakes up and presses his lips barely to the smallcup of Louis’ throat.

He swallows, asks, “Please?”

Louis whispers nonsense at him and wraps hisarms tight.

The sixth time is simple.

Zayn passes by the green lounge on his wayback from getting checked out by the doc. He’s got bandages over half his handsand a fleck of injury over his cheek.

Louis sinks further into the couch with a longsigh.

His aura stretches for Zayn, wraps around his ankleslike an unabashed puppy, pinioned by the force of Niall close and the boldnessof Zayn just out of reach. Louis settles into it, allows his bones to fade fromdark.

Zayn’s lips twitch as he looks over them onthe couch.

Niall’s bum knee is slung over Louis’ legs.Every tenth word on the soap opera blaring from the t.v., Louis is making rhymewith bobble. His laughter is burning Louis’ throat, like their stomachs are oneshared molten pool.

“So that’s it?” Zayn asks, easily, leaninginto the door jam.

Niall hums.

Louis tilts his cheek to rub against thetangle of Niall’s hair, nods down at the end of the couch. “Room for you, too,bumblezee.”

A smile stretches Zayn’s face.

Niall lights another candle for them.

Louis’ fingers scratch through his hair, rub almost toofirm circles into Niall’s aching skull.

Niall makes a quiet sound. The black behind his eyelids shifts in waves as Louis’ hands press at him, skipping down the slope of his ear, drawing a shiver out of Niall by going against the grain of his temples. 

The set of the shower wall is making his shoulder ache. Louis has a careful balance worked out, massage and then card, from the base of Niall’s skull to the top of his crown. He can imagine Louis on his toes to reach without putting pressure on Niall’s back, without touching the steady flow of color that has to be trailing down Niall’s spine. 

Niall stays still.

“You don’t have to -” Louis says, almost hidden under the thrum of the shower. “You don’t have to lie.”

Fingers rub comfort, a lack of judgement, a plea, into the sides of Niall’s neck. 

Niall wonders if Louis’ hands are stained yet. 

Four hours ago and Louis’ hands were pushing into torn up crystals, the skin healing as fast as it could break, Louis grinning through it. Three days ago and Niall was sitting in the center of metaphysical energy in the isles and tryingtryingtrying to come up with an spell that didn’t sound out equivalency like sacrifice. Two years ago and Zayn was pressing his hands where Louis’ are, the water of the bay splashing foam and grit, whispering, “It’s not permanent, Nialler. New magic isn’t made to last.”

One decade ago and Niall was standing on a post in the middle of a field, watching the August stars kiss an incantation to the cheek of a figure in darkness, thinking Me, me next.

An ankle brushes his.

“Ni -” Louis starts.

Niall pulls away from his hands, lets the water blind him for a moment and resurfaces on the other side, skin tender. It pulls as he smiles widely at Louis. 

Louis’ chest is all black lines, languages too old to remember the sounds of themselves, and bright speckles, colors too young to stay locked into their roots. Niall’s stomach rolls, focusing on it.

Louis’ mouth twists. His eyes are too dark.

“I’m losing my magic,” Niall says, and turns to step out of the shower.

Behind him, Louis makes a sound like a car crumpling into a ditch.

Head first, Niall thinks, and clamps down on the hysteria that crowds his veins. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, quieter, more still.

Frowning, Liam tucks his head over Harry’s shoulder, getting a glimpse of the poetry anthology Harry has been thumbing through, propped up on the round curve of his stomach. It’s so big now. Something delighted and terrified and ecstatic swings in his stomach like always when he looks at Harry and Harry doing this incredible thing. 

“You okay, babes?” Liam asks. He nuzzles a kiss to Harry’s cheek for good measure.

Harry sighs and wiggles again, “Hurts.”

Liam’s head pops up, “What. What hurts? H? Are you in pain?”

Fingers pinch at his side inelegantly and he twists his torso away from the sting.

“Heyyy.”

“Don’t be dramatic, Leeyum,” Harry says, “That’s my job.”

“Well.” That’s true and he giggles a little with Harry, but - “What hurts, though?”

Curls slide against Liam’s ear, tickling, as Harry leans his head more firmly into Liam’s. Liam tucks himself as close as he can, with the way Harry is sitting on the couch and Liam is half crouched behind him. The bus isn’t the best place for a scratch session, necessarily. But when you’re pregnant, you do what you do, time and space be damned. 

“Just,” Harry whispers, “All of it. Everything is sore and bloated or drying out or too greasy and -” Harry cuts himself off, breath a little sharp. 

“I think you look gorgeous,” Liam says, honestly, but his chest pangs for Harry uncomfortable through this in any way, when he’s worked so hard for it and tried so much and been so so patient and determined to get here. “And anyways,” Liam kisses at his neck, gets a nose full of curls for it, “You amazing, no matter.”

“Don’t feel amazing.” Harry sinks down further on Liam’s knees. 

Liam leans his head back into Harry’s and listens to the sound of the road for a moment, the distant low chatter of the driver and the other staff. Everyone’s left them alone back here, the red-black circle of the chill bus like a ring of warmth against the cold Arizona night. 

“Can I do anything?” he asks eventually, because sometimes Harry needs a little looking after, more, a little time to be spent making his body happy and his nerves overwhelmed with pleasure. The endorphins are good to him and it’s been moreso lately, with the pregnancy. 

And Liam, Liam’s not into that, or into sex really at all but he loves being what Harry needs, being there for Harry. 

“We could have s -”

“No,” Harry says, harsh, shuddering a bit where he’s touching Liam.

There’s a heavy pause, filled only with the rhythmic rolling of the tires against tired asphalt. 

“You like having sex, generally,” Liam checks, because there’s never a thing as too sure. 

“Yes,” Harry kisses sloppily at his shoulder, “But right now it’s like a compulsion, not something to enjoy. Feels like just something like a scratch, only it keeps itching even after. 

Ah. Liam knows a bit of what that’s like. 

His own sexuality is usually limited to almost a shore-like feeling. where it can sometimes be filled with accomplishment and relief and satisfaction for a job well done, but usually is something he puts off and puts off until he sees it sitting on the counter out of the corner of his eye and just has to do something about it or he’ll go spare. 

“That’s really, really okay,” Liam says, into Harry’s neck. “Really.”

Harry hums back at him, clinging only a little. And if his arms tremble a bit, well. Liam’s not going to tell.

There’s probably more than one reason Harry is on the chill bus tonight, with Liam. His stomach warms. If giving understanding to one of his partners through what he doesn’t like is something he can do, well - That sounds pretty perfect, actually.

They sway for a moment and Liam’s knees remind him with a low cramp that getting up is going to be help. Too bad, Liam thinks at them, suck it up.

“Does it help when we do this?” Liam asks, eventually. 

The streetlamps look like christmas lights, running music across Harry’s greasy, dry, sore skin. He looks like something out of a storybook. Liam is so proud of him.

Harry’s eyes slip shut. “Yeah.”

“Okay,” Liam says, fluttering his eyelashes against Harry’s eyebrow to get him to giggle into Liam’s chin. 

He presses a smug kiss to Harry’s spongey nose and the gently guides him up far enough that Liam can get his hands under his back. He works his nails slowly, slowly down his sides, small wavey movements as he goes. Then, he draws his hands up and inwards and pulls them down and out. Occasionally, Harry makes low sounds of approvalhurt and Liam will linger, rubbing back and forth for a moment. 

“Do you not wanna do it?” Niall asks, calm, unjudging.

It being Niall, being the dance, being this furtive thing on Thursday nights Liam isn’t sure how to name. 

“No,” Liam says, and watches pain flicker across Niall’s face, “No I, no I don’t wanna not do it. I just don’t know if I really know how, to do it.” Liam finishes, messing with the worn strap on his shoulder.

Niall’s mouth curls into a smile. Shoulder’s smoothing out - and Liam definitely isn’t thinking about what it would fel like to dig his thumbs into Niall’s delt,s press some of that well hidden tension out of him - Niall comes over to Liam. 

“Okay, so.”

“So?”

“So we can work on that.” Niall offers his hand, “You don’t have to know all of thing to try it.”

Liam swallows, “Seems like I should, most times.”

“Everyone who says that to you, is a dick,” Niall says, cheerfully.

Liam laughs a bit.

“There we go,” Niall reaches out to tuck a thumb under the strap of Liam’s bag.

 It puts him close enough Liam could count his freckles. And this is the other bit about dancing, not just everything like people knowing and watching and drawing conclusions, but Niall, Niall so close, eyes crinkled up happily and freckles like complex equations calling for Liam to sit down and count them out on his fingers.

Taking a deep breath, Liam helps Niall slide off the bag to the floor.

He wrings his fingers a bit before taking Niall’s proffered hand. 

“Okay,” he says, only a little wobbly, “The waltz?”

“The waltz,” Niall nods, and lets Liam decide if he wants the lead. 

Liam bites his lip and shakes his head, drawing his hand over Niall’s shoulder instead. He could press down, like this. Try and soothe some of that tension. It’s almost too much of a lure. 

Luckily, Niall just taps his foot a bit and leads them straight into it at the right note. Liam holds on and tries to remember everthing Niall has said, keep to the rhythm, keep to Niall, keep to the basics.

After a few shuffles, Niall gently pulls at Liam’s arm, “Fully extended, remember.”

Right. 

Liam sighs, “Sorry.”

“Nah, s’alright. No harm,” Niall grins at him, “Ha! Arm. Harm.”

Liam raises the corner of his mouth at him. 

“Hey,” Niall’s hand presses into Liam’s spine. It feels like a brand. Maybe Liam will walk out of here and everyone will be able to see where Niall touched him. 

He’s never wanted that before.

“Yeah?”

“It’s okay, promise.” Niall tongues at his lip, “You okay?”

“Yeah, just. Keep trying to think of everything.”

“Everything?” Niall moves them towards the center of the room.

“Yeah, all the rules and stuff.” Like don’t trip and hold his feet at the angle and move with the square and -

“Well, okay.” Niall’s forehead wrinkles.

“What?”

Niall’s hand smooths down Liam’s back and Liam clenches his teeth to avoid shivering. 

“It’s just, that’s hard, isn’t it?”

“Yeah?” Duh. Liam rubs his fingers along the seam of Niall’s shirt a little bit. He doesn’t notic, just continues to frown a bit at Lia, moving them effortless around the room. Doing all the work as Liam keeps up by just walking in places.

“Okay, so, don’t do that then,” Niall says, “Maybe just feel it instead.”

“Feel it?” Feel what.

“The dance, me, the music. Just. Like, close your eyes?”

“Niall, I can’t even do it with my eyes open.” Frustration sits unhappy in his chest. He stumbles another step and Niall guides them to a stop, but keeps them wrapped up together.

“You already know how to move, Liam,” Niall says softly, “I wouldn’t have asked you to do this if I didn’t believe in you and your moves.” His voice lilts at the end, like an echo of the music and his thumb traces a brand at Liam’s lower back. Over the kidneys, he thinks, a little breathlessly. He knows how sensitive those are. How vital.

“I just, don’t know how to keep everything in my hea - “

“Don’t,” Niall insists, tugging them together close enough Liam feels lost in the expanse of his eyes, the waft of his cologne.

“Don’t what?” Liam asks, quietly.

“Don’t think, just feel,” Niall whispers. “Pretend, maybe,” Niall breathes deep and Liam echoes it, “It’s just a conversation.”

“A conversation?”

“Yeah,” Niall starts to grin sharply, “Yeah, we’re just talking bodies, baby.”

Liam laughs, even as his stomach rolls. God, Niall called him baby. Even as a joke, it’s - 

“It’s just like talking, okay.”

“Is it?” Hasn’t felt like it. Liam clings a bit to Niall’s shoulder and hand, stomach still clenching. 

“Yeah,” Niall nods, fingers tapping against Liam’s hips. “You like talking to me, right?”

As much as this is nervewracking, is every session a night filled with his hands tugging at his own hair and relearning how to breath, they’ve never had a problem talking through it. Liam’s never worried about talking to Niall. Not like he is about other things.

Niall always makes him feel safe enough to say anything, safe enough even, to ask questions about anything. 

Liam find himself smiling. 

He looks up at Niall, to see him smiling back.

Liam watches Niall’s check dimple inwards and feels something like when he went down at the 20 yard line last game, winded, accomplished, in acute prideful pain. I did that, he thinks. I made Niall James Horan have a dimple.

“Yeah,” he says, faint. 

Yeah, he likes talking to Niall.

“Okay,” Niall squeezes at his hips and then draws one hand up, “so talk to me.”

Liam closes his eyes and breathes deep. “Okay.” 

He listens for Niall, and tries lets his body feel the words to say back. He lets his hand relax into the curve of Niall’s shoulder finally and it feels like releasing a breath, he lets his fingers lace with Niall’s and it feels like a firm punctuation of understanding.

When they move, he finds the music, and lets himself sing along.

“There you go,” Niall says, close.

Zayn moves his hands gently through the brown strands scattered across Niall’s temples and listens to the way that Niall’s breathing hops and skips lower and lower. He’s got one arm curled over Zayn’s thigh and one hand tangled in Tucker’s heavy winter coat. She’s dreaming of something, legs kicking out. Even getting heavier in Zayn’s lap, Niall tugs her closer, mumbles something. 

Zayn’s heart burns. 

Their bedroom is just a little bit too cold, with the aircon left to it’s own devices and Zayn tries to shift closer around Niall to block some of the gusts. 

He’s still got a bit of sunburn from Glastonbury on his shoulders and the tops of his nose and cheekbones. Zayn reaches out to draw a finger along the messy array of freckles across his cheek. In a few weeks, more of them might crop up and Zayn might be relearning patches of Niall all over again. 

It’s one of his favorite things about him. The way Niall never changes but never stays the same. 

Like this, Niall bringing up this toosoft notargument over and over again, just checking, knowing Zayn isn’t going to say anything different. 

But he really does, “Hate carrot cake.”

“I know,” Niall mumbles against his leg. Zayn closes his eyes and creaks his spine down to curl into his shoulder. Niall’s thumb rubs at his knee. “I ordered red velvet.”

Something silent clicks in Zayn’s chest. He breathes in deep for a moment. Niall is so -

“Harry’s gonna be pissed,” he says, finally, feeling squashed and wriggly and overwhelmed. 

“I love you,” Niall says, simply. Then, rolls clumsily over Tucker and throws an arm back over her to pat the spot beside her. She makes a small merp and noses into the sheets. “C’mere.”

Niall's nodding again and again like Louis' said something, like he has a fucking clue what's happening and for a second Louis is just as mad at him as he'd been before all this had turned real and visceral and serious. And then the light catches the curve of Niall’s check, the wet trail of tears Niall's finally let spill – or maybe he didn’t have a choice - and Louis anger is sucked away again, gone clear into the vacuum fast taking over his body. His whole body seems to ache the more for it.

"Niall," Louis tries again. He owes Niall that much. He owes Niall so much, he thinks, with a hitch, "I never-"

"You never," Niall’s voice is sharp, cutting through the room.

Louis feels like it hits him in the face, the way his head snaps back. Niall doesn't talk, doesn't bite like this.

"You never," Niall says, a chill approaching frozen solid, "You never, but I - "

Niall's voice cracks and his hands curl tighter around himself like he can hold himself together with only the force of his calloused fingers. Louis' palm ache with sympathy, with need, with the memory of how it's his fucking fault Niall looks like he's a step away from sobbing, a step away from a panic attack, a step away from becoming a hurricane that dissolves everything it touches, including itself. Louis curls his fingers in on themselves. They won't do any good here.

"I deserve more." Niall's voice is so quiet it nearly disappears under the heavy sound in Louis' ribs, the steady rotation of the fan.

Louis thinks this must be what drowning is like. Everything inside of you is swirling and chaos and hurt but outside, outside is blue and wet and moving away -

Niall walks away like he's fighting against the pull of something, wobbly on his knobby knees, grasping at the door jam, making a soft sound just as the door falls shut behind him.

Niall walks away like he's pulling off the hold Louis' had on him for four years finger by finger.

And Louis lets him.

After a minute or two Louis' body sort of collapses sideways onto the bed without any of his permission. It turns to face the door, sits straight up. And then everything is quiet for a long while, just the sound of the determined fan oscillating in the corner.

It takes about an hour for Louis to realize he's waiting for Niall to walk back in.

It takes another for him to convince himself that he can get up, it doesn't matter if he's sitting in front of the door, waiting attentively, more calmly than he thinks he's waited for anything ever before. It doesn't matter because Niall isn't going to walk back in.