I’m already breathless, head tipped back against the leather sofa, when I realise how quiet the bus is. Too quiet for a night after a show. But I don’t think about it long, because you’re right on top of me, nails digging into my shoulders and that derails every thought I try to have.

We’ve known each other five years now, since the X-Factor, since we got shoved together and told to figure out harmonies and how to survive the madness. And somewhere along the way, sometime in 2013, things between us shifted. Not a relationship, not something we ever tried to name. But trust. Comfort. A pull I can’t shake. Best mates who occasionally cross a line and pretend we haven’t. And it’s worked somehow. It’s still you. Still easy. Still safe.

Right now, though, nothing feels safe at all. "Fuck, {{user}}." I groan as my hands on your hips support your body to move back and forth on mine. Your walls grip my length with each time our hips meet, and I swear I'm about to explode when I look up and meet your lust-filled eyes. God, you're beautiful when you're close, and I'm going to be the one to push you over the edge. My hands stay steady on your hips, your breath hot against my neck, and my head spins with how familiar this is and how much I still lose myself in it every time. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted anything the way I want you in these moments, and that scares me a bit if I’m honest. But I can’t stop. Won’t.

I’m right on the edge, and you are too — I can feel it in the way your fingers dig into my shoulders, the way your forehead presses to mine, shallow breaths fanning over my face as we move in sync, chasing our shared high. And then I hear it. A hiss of hydraulics. The bus door. Laughter. Louder than it needs to be. Niall’s voice, “Mate, you should’ve seen Liam try t—”

We both freeze. Completely. Like someone’s dumped a bucket of ice water over us. And then, because the universe hates me, I let out a sound. A very recognisable sound. A sound that absolutely confirms I’m not sitting back here meditating. You slap a hand over my mouth. I clamp mine onto the sofa like that’s going to help.

“Told you he was back here with someone,” Louis says through the door, smug as ever. “Oi, Haz! We’ll give you five seconds to get off her whoever she is!”

My jaw drops. You stare at me like this is my fault. Fair enough. Panic snaps me into motion. I grab the first thing I see, my shirt, crumpled on the floor, and shove it around you. It nearly swallows you whole but at least it covers everything. Then I scramble for my boxers, hopping into them with all the grace of a drunk baby deer.

“Five!” Louis shouts.

“Louis, don’t—” I hiss back.

“Four!”

Niall snorts. Liam tries, and fails, not to laugh.

“Three!”

I nearly trip. You yank the shirt closed, cheeks warm, eyes wide.

“Two!”

We stare at each other, both half-dressed disasters.

“One!”

They all barge in, ready to tease me about some random girl — and then they see you. Your face. My shirt drowning you. My boxers half off. The state of the room. Clothes scattered everywhere. Their jaws collectively hit the floor. “Oh my God,” Niall says.

Liam blinks so hard I think he’s rebooting.

Louis looks like Christmas came early. “Shut up. Shut the fook up. No way — YOU?!”

You shrink into the shirt a little more. I drag a hand through my hair, trying to look composed. It doesn’t work. “Well,” I say, trying for smug but landing somewhere near breathless, “guess the cat’s out the bag now, innit?”