Lounsbury Prep

“Zayn.”

The way Louis had whispered his name echoed through Zayn’s mind again and again while he attempted to go to sleep. It made him turn incessantly in bed, squeezing his eyes shut, desperate for some kind of unconsciousness to wash over him. But he couldn’t be relieved of the guilt from his mistake.

When he’d stormed into his dorm room after the incident, with his cheeks still burning intensely with mortification, Liam had been sitting at his desk, desperately trying to work out a calculus problem, muttering to himself under his breath. The second the door had slammed closed behind his upset roommate, he’d turned around, ready to take the mickey out of Zayn, and he’d found a crying bundle of nerves instead.

Zayn had refused to say anything to his concerned friend, but he had a feeling that Liam already suspected something along the right track. Maybe Louis had told him. But Zayn had felt too uncomfortable to ask.

He knew he’d have to drop out of Glee Club. It wouldn’t be fair of him to stay and cause a massive rift in the group. He should have known that he’d bring nothing but drama to the close-knit group of friends at the all-boys’ school, and once he’d already started, he hoped to God that he could ease his way out of the clique, and everything would go back to normal.

Groaning, Zayn turned to face the wall in his bed, pulling up his sheet over his face. He wanted desperately to be able to bury his face into his pillow and sob out his confusion, but he had already cried his eyes dry. More tears refused to appear, and sleep still refused to come.

So heaving a sigh, Zayn got to his feet gingerly, careful not to wake up Liam, who was snoring loudly, muttering occasionally. For a second, the darker boy was jealous of Liam’s ability to fall asleep so quickly, without a worry in the world, but he couldn’t hate Liam for it. Zayn had brought his pain upon himself.

Although the boys were supposed to be in their rooms at midnight without exception, Zayn stepped out into the corridor at two AM, wandering the darkness in search of some sort of relief. At that point, he didn’t even care if he got caught and thrown out of the school. It would probably benefit everyone involved, he thought bitterly.

For a second, as Zayn wandered aimlessly, he thought about leaving. He thought about packing his bags, taking Liam’s mobile, and ringing his mum to pick him up. The drive wasn’t that long to the school, and he’d be gone before the first boy in the school woke up.

The Bradford boy snapped back to reality for a second and saw that he’d subconsciously made his way back to the piano room. A shot of pain fired through his chest, puncturing his heart and making his breath catch, but he found his hand reaching for the doorknob anyway.

The room was just as it had been earlier that day, except much darker. Zayn didn’t dare turn on the light, since he didn’t want to tempt fate, but he could make his way around the nearly-empty pitch-black room easily enough.

He sat down at the piano, the coldness of the wood seeping through the flannel of his pajama bottoms. His long fingers reached out and brushed the keys gently, closing his eyes as he remembered the grace with which Louis played the instrument, his blue eyes flicking to Zayn to watch the younger boy sing.

Zayn swallowed back his emotion and pulled his hand away. He regretted kissing Louis and ruining whatever friendship they’d started to develop, but he also hated that he hadn’t the courage to admit the truth to Louis. He’d never actually had to say the words, “I’m gay” out loud before. His family found out when they’d found a letter Zayn had written to one of his good friends that declared his love for him. His friends still didn’t know.

So going to a place where boys almost didn’t seem to care about sexual orientation was strange to him. Nobody batted an eye or cared at all that Louis was bisexual. They didn’t watch him carefully to make sure he was trying to make a move or get suspicious that he checked them all out when they weren’t looking. Those were Zayn’s biggest fears about admitting the truth to his friends back in Bradford. He didn’t want people to look at him differently.

But it was only a matter of time before the truth caught around school like a wildfire. Straight guys didn’t make out with other guys without any kind of alcohol involved.

Thinking about making out with Louis made Zayn want to cry again. His tongue involuntary ran across his bottom lip, remembering when Louis’ had begged for entrance to his mouth.

Zayn took a deep breath and put down the cover of the piano so he could rest his arms on top of it. He hated that he felt so much remorse over what had been, quite simply, the most exhilarating kiss of his life. He wanted nothing more than to kiss Louis for the rest of his life, to pull the shorter boy tightly against him and melt under his touch.

But he wasn’t sure how Louis stood on the situation. Although Zayn wanted to think it was promising that Louis had tried to deepen the kiss, it was entirely possible that he got caught up in the moment. Zayn knew a thing or two about that.

“Zayn.”

The half-Pakistani’s heart started to race as the memory of Louis whispering his name forced its way to the surface of his thoughts. God, Zayn wanted to go after Louis and admit everything so they could just be together without any worries or cares. If that was what Louis wanted, anyway.

Zayn was sick and tired of moping, so he got to his feet and started to make his way out of the room. The corridors were still silent, since it was still a quarter to three in the morning, and Zayn was still left alone with his thoughts.

When he was about two hallways away from his room, he thought he heard something. It was soft, like a pattering, and he immediately turned around, squinting to try to get a better look. But his eyes weren’t capable of seeing so far, and he cursed himself for not eating many carrots as a kid.

“Who’s there?” he heard someone call out. The voice was unfamiliar, and clearly had a London accent, which sounded so incredibly different from Zayn’s own voice.

He was tempted to make a break for it, to go as quickly as his legs could carry him toward his room, but he didn’t want to get Liam involved. So he stood there and watched as the figure came into view. He didn’t recognize the teacher, but he could tell quite easily what his standing was from the leadership vibe he gave off.

There was a long sigh. “Mr. Malik,” he started, which made Zayn’s eyes widen, as he had no idea how the professor could have known him, “might I ask what you’re doing, wandering around the corridors at such a late hour?”