Burn Me Like the Sun

“Do you take milk?”

I lifted up my head, the red splotch that was surely on my forehead from the pressure of my arms still tingling, and watched Zayn as he scurried around his kitchen, his hands flying over the stove. He checked on the pot of beans then glanced at me over his shoulder, his eyebrows shooting up.

“I can pour it myself,” I told him with a bat of my hand, slipping off the stool I’d commandeered and circling around Niall, who was sitting just next to me. I grabbed the teapot from the edge of the stove and the three mugs Zayn had laid out and brought them back to the table, then made a second trip to his fridge for the milk.

“I’ll take it black,” Niall told me with a lazy grin. I smiled back and poured his tea quickly, sliding it over to him before I poured a cuppa for myself.

When I finally got my mobile back from Louis, I didn’t text everyone back at once. I couldn’t do that and still expect my dreaded flip phone not to melt in my hands five seconds later. I first called Liam and stuttered out an apology before he could even so much as say hello, then finally texted Niall back a couple of days after that, until finally all that was left was my mum, who had found it necessary to send me a new message every morning and every night in the few days I had ignored her – a new record for a woman whose own son bitterly called her by her first name. I texted her back but was accosted by a phone call later that same night, a number of questions – most of them having to do with Louis – slung my way. I ended up feigning exhaustion to get out of it, but honestly, I was more done in by my mum’s sudden shift in behavior than anything else. This new clingy side of her was beginning to wear me thin.

Niall rang me back not a minute after he got my message and invited me over for dinner at Zayn’s house on the following Thursday. As much as I wanted to say no, maybe try to wiggle my way out of it by exaggerating my coursework load or something of the sort, breakfast for dinner was one of my favorite things – especially when I wasn’t the one doing the cooking.

Ultimately, I decided to stop ignoring all the boys, even though Niall’s selfies had come to a stop and Liam had finally gave up texting me, mostly because I missed them. I had only known them for only a couple months, but I missed Harry’s agonizingly slow voice, the way Niall always tried to make me laugh, how Liam always seemed to know to say the right thing, and Zayn’s unnaturally albeit infectious laid-back attitude. They had stuck on me better than Velcro and superglue combined. I couldn’t fight them off any longer without losing them completely, without damaging any friendship I’d developed with them beyond repair. They were absolutely brilliant individually and all together, and I didn’t want to lose them anymore.

“So, what, are you just going to ignore Louis like you did us?” Zayn asked, finally taking off the beans and switching the stove off with a flourish. “Or are you planning on forgiving him any time soon?”

My jaw went slack as I stared at Zayn as he stirred the beans.

“For the love of god,” Niall groaned next to me. “Please, just forgive him, Blake. Because if I have to suffer through another footie match where all he does is heave a bunch of dramatic sighs and ignore all me questions, then I think I might be driven to murder.”

I whipped around and gave Niall a severe look, finally finding my voice. “What, do you want me to forgive him?” I challenged. I tore the harsh look I had trained on Niall and shot it straight at Zayn, who cowered and ducked behind the counter, his ears going red. “Do you actually think that will change anything?” I deadpanned, setting the teapot down and adding milk to my cup.

“I don’t think you want to know what the rest of us think,” Niall said carefully, watching me over the rim of his mug.

I made a high-pitched noise and shook my head. “You two have already said plenty.” I picked up the string from the lip of my cup and stirred the milk around with the teabag. “I’m not going to keep ignoring him, if that’s what you’re trying to pout out of me,” I finally admitted, jabbing Niall’s toe with my trainer. I snorted once, shaking my head. “But knowing Louis, any attempts to ignore him would be pointless in the long run.”

Niall chuckled beside me as he sipped his tea and muttered his agreement.

“God knows why, but I kind of want to forgive him. Really, now,” I said, spotting the look of disbelief Zayn had plastered across his face as he stirred some eggs, his body half-turned in my direction. “He’s like a dandelion. He’s a weed at the thick of it, but he’s not killing the entire garden, and he’s not exactly an eyesore, either.”

“You don’t mind him poisoning your garden, then?” Niall mused, shooting me a suggestive look over the rim of his mug. Zayn guffawed.

“Had yer gob, you uncouth idiot. That didn’t even make any sense,” I sighed. “You’re trying too hard.”

“Oh,” he sang, smiling blithely, “but I’m still getting a reaction out of you. I love it when you get riled up and your accent comes out.”

“Quit it, Niall, or I’ll have a murder on my hands,” Zayn scolded, coming up between us and stealing the teapot. “And I could really do without the mess since I just got the walls repainted,” he added hastily, scrambling back to the oven when it beeped.

I rolled my eyes at Niall, who still had his lips curled in a stupid grin, and he laughed.

“So, em, I thought touring every once in a while was part of the whole pop star job description,” I started, watching Zayn as he rummaged in a cupboard for some plates. “Or are you blokes going on hiatus or something?” I ventured timidly. “If you are, don’t tell me, because I’ll just end up blabbing to Fran, and who knows what insane stunt she’ll end up pulling to fight it. And then my mate from work will get wind and he’ll just end up gossiping to everyone. And when I say everyone, I truly do mean everyone.”

“Fran… That’s your flatmate, yeah?” Zayn asked, twisting around and dropping a full plate in front of me before going back to the stove. Niall clumsily grappled for it, and I let him take it, lifting up my mug of tea before he could knock it over in his hungry haste.

“Aye. Liked you lot before I even met Louis. But now it’s more of an obsession than just a crush.”

Zayn smiled to himself as he pushed a couple of sausages onto the last two plates, and I could just see the a soft spot of pink on each of his cheeks bleeding through his stubble.

“To answer your question,” Niall finally mumbled behind a mouthful of eggs, yolk dribbling down his chin, “we’re on break. For now. But we’ve got a few one-offs lined up for the summer ‘round Europe. New album drops in autumn.”

I bit back my disgust at the sight of Niall chomping on his food with a wide-open gob, and instead reached for the paper towels on a stand in the middle of the table. I ripped one off and silently handed it to the boy.

“And then what? After summer?”

Zayn slipped into the chair just adjacent to me, sliding over a plate piled high with all sorts of greasy, salty fried foods. I took it gladly, the steam wafting above the plate warming up the tip of my nose.

“And then we go on tour. Release the new album in the thick of it. Come back home for real nine months later, and then do it all over again,” Zayn explained.

I watched him as he graciously added salt to his eggs, his brow furrowed. He never said much in all one breath, but when he did, it usually carried some sort of serious air along with it. He was almost always quiet and thoughtful when he wasn’t joking around, which wasn’t all that often, and when he finally let loose on whatever he was thinking about in that seriously closed-off brain of his, it always took a second for me to wrap my head around it. Honestly, looking at Zayn, with his eyes shiny and skeptical and his brow permanently in a furrowed state, he seemed to always be brooding. Sometimes what he had to say matched the impression he gave, and those were the times that caught me off guard – like at that moment, sitting next to him and watching him carefully cut up his breakfast sausage as he ducked his head.

I could feel a frown tugging at my lips like a fishhook. “You make it sound depressing.”

Zayn shook his head, shooting me another serious look as he rested his elbows on the table. “It’s not. But it can knock the air out of you. I’m just glad we get to stay home for a while longer this time. The small breaks in between mean nowt when you’re almost always gone.”

Niall nodded as he wiped off his face again, and when I glanced at his plate, I found that the only things leftover from the feast that was there just a couple minutes ago were a tomato slice and half a fried egg. “You start to miss a lot. And it gets annoying.”

Zayn sucked on his teeth, his eyes clouding up as he stared at the table. Then he looked up, locking his gaze with mine. “Especially when the people you care about take advantage of the fact that you’re always gone.”

I nodded my head slowly as the warmth that sat in my chest began to dissipate. I knew exactly what he was talking about. Or rather, whom.

“Vic is… is something else,” I muttered.

“Tell us how you really feel,” Niall teased, leaning over the table and resting his chin on his arm.

“I can’t, not when there isn’t a single string of words in the English language that could ever properly convey my feelings towards Victoria Anders-James.”

Niall exchanged a look with Zayn, both of them biting back outright grins.

“I seriously don’t know what he would’ve done if we had to pick ourselves back up and go back on tour so soon after it happened.” Zayn shook his head slowly as the smile slipped off his scruffy face, then finally started in on his food, watching me carefully out of the corner of his eye.

I sat back in my chair and twisted my mug between my fingers, pushing my food around my plate with the fork in my other hand. The warmth that had seized my chest had swooped down into my stomach, and I suddenly lost the appetite I had been working up all day. I woke up late that morning and hadn’t had a chance to even grab a granola bar before I was out the door. I’d been busy in the library after I’d finished with classes, only stopping by the flat to check up on Fran and to drop off my rucksack before I took the Tube to Zayn’s house.

Like Harry’s and Louis’s townhouse, Zayn’s house was surrounded by a tall brick wall, which, impressively enough, was just about as thick as my outstretched arm. It was located on a snug corner just a twenty minute Tube ride from my flat, which was a blessing to me, as I didn’t think I could handle keeping still on the train what with the lonely day-long study session I’d forced myself to suffer through in the library’s basement, where the Wi-Fi was iffy on a good day and the padding in the chairs had been worn out over years of use.

Niall had answered the door when I rang the bell after I’d opened the gate with the security code Zayn had given me, and he rushed to tackle me in a tight hug before I even so much as caught a glimpse of the lighted corridor behind him, where Zayn was standing with an apron tied around his waist and a spatula in his hand. I hugged the giddy Irishman back, though I had to shake him off before he squeezed all the air out of me, and then greeted Zayn with an embrace, one which he at first hesitantly returned before he wrapped both arms around me with a breathy laugh.

Niall clapped me on the shoulder now, jerking me to the realization that I’d been sitting motionless at the kitchen table for so long that my eyes had begun to glaze over.

“You okay?” he asked, reaching over and stealing one of my sausages as I watched his face. He was grinning despite his careful tone, his cheeks rosy and his lips covered with a light sheen of grease.

I only smacked his hand away when he went back in for my toast, earning a high-pitched yelp in return.

“I don’t know about you, but now I’m definitely not rooting for Arsenal if they make it to the Champions League this year,” Zayn said, pursing his lips tight enough together that his cheekbones seemed to jump out of his face. “Knowing what Vic did.”

Niall snorted, roughly swallowing my stolen sausage and licking his fingers. “Mate, who roots for Arsenal in the first place?”

“Aye,” I agreed, reaching out for my tea. I clinked my mug against Niall’s and nodded once before I sipped my tea, my stomach finally relaxing a little bit. “Ah. Alreet, now since we can all agree on how much of a prat Vic was, I just wanted to know – honestly, now – what do you boys think about what Louis did, with, em, with the paparazzi and all that?”

Zayn and Niall exchanged yet another look, one so quick that I had to fight the need to sarcastically ask if they had ESP, and then both of their expressions melted into something carefully blank.

“I don’t want to get in between the two of you,” Zayn finally said after a moment, flipping his fork between his fingers and watching my reaction carefully. “I’ve got no say in it. I mean, I don’t even know the whole story, love.”

Niall murmured something, but I couldn’t catch it.

“Sorry?”

“I said that fuckin’ Giles probably knows even more than all of us combined. That’s why he called us all in for private meetings.”

I looked at Zayn for confirmation, and he nodded. “Asked me what was happening between the two of you. Wanted to know what was going on. He was well nosy, though I couldn’t really tell him much to be honest.”

I turned to Niall, who was busy picking sausage from between his teeth with his fork. “Did you tell Giles anything?” I asked, shamelessly letting my voice rise accusingly.

He sucked on his teeth and shook his head like he was trying to shake his hair dry after a shower. “No way in hell. He can go get bit by a poisonous snake where the sun don’t shine and suck himself off.”

I laughed, earning a proud grin from Niall, and Zayn groaned next to me. “Mate, do you have to be so crude?” he chided, his grimace melting into a smirk after a few seconds.

“I seriously hate the fucking prick. For one, he didn’t even bother asking Louis himself if he has ‘feelings’ for you.” He made air quotes then flopped his hands back into his lap, scoffing once. “Tried to pry it out of me! Like hell I’d know in the first place. I’m not a bloody psychic.”

My upper lip curled, and I could feel my cheeks turn warm. “Why would he want to know that?”

“He likes to know ahead of time if we’re going to be caught gallivanting around with a bird.” Niall leaned sideways, pointing at Zayn. “Remember? That’s why Liam kept his last girlfriend a secret from him.”

“Come again?”

Zayn got up from his chair and reached across me for Niall’s plate, but he jabbed at his hand with his fork. “Didn’t want him selling the story for publicity since we were close to releasing a single at the time,” he quickly explained, smacking Niall’s hand back.

“How do you boys stand it, then? All the attention, all the time? It has to get to you, being controlled like that, yeah?”

Zayn spoke first after a pregnant pause, rubbing his chin. It was quiet enough in his kitchen that I could actually hear the sound of his fingers scraping against his stubble. “I mostly let them at it.”

My stomach lurched at his response, which was nearly word-for-word the same answer that Louis had given me when he drove me to class. “Just because you’re so easygoing, Zen, doesn’t mean you count,” I teased jaggedly, my voice tight.

“But it’s basically true,” Niall promised, brushing crumbs off his shirt as he bit off a piece of toast. He swallowed hard and started dabbing his bread into the leftover grease on his plate. “We can’t do much about them, not really. Louis using them – and don’t take this the wrong way, even though I already know you will – it was brilliant.”

“Brilliant?” I jeered, my lips curling like newspaper licked by a match. “What the fuck do you mean by brilliant, Niall?” I twisted in my chair and gripped my knees, fixing him with a steady, livid look. “Please, by all means, I’m so bloody interested in this wonderful opinion of yours.”

Zayn’s face crumbled into worry, and he fixed Niall with a heavy stare. “Niall—”

His eyes flicked to his band mate. “Keep out, mate, alright?”

Zayn pursed his lips, his brow darkening, and leaned back into his chair, his arms folded tightly against his chest. The tendons in his arms danced.

I was about to get out my seat – but where I’d head off to, I hadn’t a clue, as Zayn’s house was just as familiar to me as the boys’ music. I could chance slipping out the door I came through and spending some time on the patio, or I could even head home a little early. Anything so I wouldn’t be forced to hear Niall’s predictably bland explanation for calling Louis’s stunt brilliant. Of all things, calling it that hurt the worst.

Niall must have seen my feet shift against my chair legs, because he reached over and trapped my hand between his and my knee and shot me a beseeching look. I tore my hand away and matched his silent plea with another hefty sneer.

“Just hear me out, Blake.” He leaned in and ducked his head so his eyes were level with mine. He was close enough that I could smell his greasy breath and cologne – a thick, musky scent that washed over me, almost strong enough to make me forget what had riled me up in the first place. I heard Zayn leave the table, and then the faucet started up before Niall even spoke, his steady gaze latched onto me, persistent enough that it piqued my curiosity. “He used them. He didn’t use you. He never used you. He got this stupid, foolish, bullshit of a brilliant idea after you met. After he made his mind up about you.” He chuckled once, his head bobbing a little, though he didn’t so much as blink, his gaze was so steady. “And since we’re being honest here, I think he made up his mind about you before he even stepped foot out of that dentist’s office.”

“Niall—”

“Blake. Please.” He bit down hard on his bottom lip before he went on, only stalling to see if I was taking him seriously. He knew me well enough to know that if I didn’t want to believe him, I’d have already slung an insult at him for every heady heartbeat that ached in my chest with the realization that he was right. But I couldn’t. I was trapped because for once I knew what he was saying actually held a significant weight over my head.

“If you want to move on, you have to forgive him. Even if it means letting him get closer, you need to let it go for your own good.”

I looked off to the side when I felt my eyes warm up, like I had yanked them from their sockets, nerves still attached, and dropped them in my tea. I stared at a framed splatter-and-spray-painted canvas hung on the wall a few feet away, clenching my jaw hard enough that I felt my muscles groan from the pressure.

“I’m not saying go to him, okay? I’m not saying forget and move on and go back to where you guys were before. I’m telling you that once he’s ready to give it one last shot, let him. Don’t scowl at him like you are at me right now. Listen to him, like the friend you are, and let him know where he stands since you clearly know he hasn’t a fuckin’ clue anymore.”

“I don’t know why I’m even considering it.” My voice broke and I cleared my throat. “He doesn’t deserve it, you know.”

He laughed a little, and he patted my hand softly. “He doesn’t, not yet, but that doesn’t matter anymore, does it? There are just some things in life you can’t force yourself to let go.”

I finally looked back at Niall, whose lips were softly pinched upwards, and shook my head, only just enough so he could tell that for once he was right about something.