Turning Tables

There is a certain ugliness that comes with hiding things, a big disgusting feeling that overwhelms the secret keeper. And that is what Zayn was feeling now as he sat up in their motel bed, head leaned back against the headboard and his eyes cast to his sleeping girlfriend. She deserved to know why he brought her here, didn't she? She could handle his reasoning, she might even be proud of it and rejoice in it. But despite what Finley wanted -her privacy, this romance- Zayn knew that she would want what made Zayn happy, and whether or not he wanted to admit it, One Direction made him happy.

He loved those boys like brothers. Harry was this sarcastic charm, Liam with his stern, yet humorous attitude, and not to forget Niall, the Irish boy with a love for food and a warm heart. And there was Louis, too, who Zayn had become closer too than the other boys. They'd bonded, they'd laughed, they'd cried. They were brothers in every aspect but blood. They cared for one another and they knew what the other was thinking.

That's why Zayn had left the note to Harry. Harry would play it off as cool, he thought, and urge them to give Zayn the space he needed. He knew that leaving the note to Harry would throw Louis off, or at least he'd hoped, and make him feel hurt and discouraged in finding him. He assumed the other boys would follow suit. However, he wasn't stupid. He knew how stubborn each and everyone of those boys could be, Louis at the top of the list. They'd find him if they really wanted.

Finley stirred and opened her eyes. She stretched her arms and then turned on her side to face her lover, tucking her arms against her chest. Her eyes were still hazy with the hazy clouds of dreamland and her smile was lazy but it was a beautiful picture nonetheless. Tangles of red hair fell behind her, leaving her face clear. Zayn grinned and rose to his knees and crawled closer to her and then mimicked her position. He kissed her nose.

"Good morning," he said, still contemplating if he should confide in her just yet. He could see behind her mask, he knew she knew there was something he was keeping away from her. She was kind enough to let it be until he was ready. He had to tell her soon. How would it look if the boys showed up and tried to drag him back to London, telling the lovely Finley of the things her own lover wouldn't tell her. He couldn't have that.

"Good afternoon, more like it," Finley laughed as she glanced at the clock behind them. "It's nearly two in the afternoon. I can't believe you didn't wake me earlier!"

Zayn shrugged. "You looked like a sleeping angel."

Finley knew the line was cliché but smiled at it anyway as her stomach did backflips. He had a way about him that made her feel like she was in one of those romance novels. He charmed her with everything about him, primarily what he thought of as his flaws. Like how he would pour his milk before the cereal or how he would sing while in the check out aisles at stores. Like how he would prefer to sleep the day and not step outside at all or how he loved to play guitar in his underwear and socks. Everything he thought of as odd about himself, Finley loved just as much -or even more- than the so-proclaimed good things about him.

"You want to get lunch?" He asked her, a plan formulating in his brain. He would tell Finley today at lunch. He had to. They both deserved to be honest with themselves about what would happen and what they wanted. "I need to talk to you about something," he added with a soft smile.

Finley agreed immediately, rubbing her belly to exaggerate her hunger. The true feeling within her, however, was not hunger. It was excitement and satisfaction. He would tell her something and she could only assume it was what he'd been keeping from her. She was ready to be let in.

They left twenty minutes later and found a small diner in the tiny town that, much to their pleasant surprise, was still brunch. They sat across from each other in small green booths and ordered pancakes when asked for their order. Finley ordered a coffee as well, decaf.

When their orders came, they ate and they drank from Finley's cup -though he'd insisted that he didn't need anything to drink when they'd given their orders- and talked and laughed about things they used to. Other celebrity drama, funny things the lads had said, books and television and the news. It seemed in that moment Zayn had never been famous at all. In this cafe he was a guitar playing boy who babbled about Auron from Final Fantasy X's bad-assery. He was a musical, talented, and geeky normal boy.

Finley didn't want to ruin the moment but she was curious about what he'd wanted to tell her. "So, what had you wanted to talk about?"

Zayn panicked. They'd been having such a good time. He knew this is what he wanted. He wanted to be secluded with Finley, not chased down by the paparazzi. But during the conversation Finley had spoken so fondly of London and of the lads and their music. He knew that no matter what, she liked him in One Direction. She knew they both had a place there. He couldn't tell her. Not now, anyway.

"Uh, just forget it," he laughed.

"Are you sure?" Finley asked, her heart sinking into a dark pit. Zayn nodded. She sighed but kept the conversation alive. She covered up her pain with understanding. Finley wasn't stupid. She wouldn't force it out of him but he'd have to tell her eventually, or otherwise become so distant that they'd be too far gone to fix their relationship. He'd tell her in time. "You can tell me anything," she assured him.

He smiled, really glad to hear it but still not ready to say. "I know."