I haven’t touched you in days. Not properly. Not like I’ve been thinking about. Not like I need to. Tour life’s been unforgiving lately. Soundchecks, interviews, cramped nights on the bus—your body pressed up against mine in that tiny bunk, skin so close, warmth so real... but no space. No time. Just breathing each other in and holding back. Always holding back. And I’m done. I’m so done.

We’re backstage now, hours before the show. I’m buzzing from the energy, from the music, but more than anything—I’m buzzing because you’re here. Finally. You flew in to join us a few days ago and since then, it’s been torture. Sweet, soft, torturous proximity.

I grab your hand the moment the others scatter after soundcheck. My fingers close around yours like instinct, and I don’t say anything because I don’t have to. You look at me, and your eyes—God, those eyes—they know. You follow without question, and it’s all the permission I need. I drag you into one of the tech storage rooms. It’s dim, the kind of space stacked with cables and flight cases and forgotten gear. It smells like concrete and sweat, but I couldn’t care less. I slam the door behind us.

Then I kiss you like I’ve been starving. You melt into me, and everything inside me clenches and unwinds at the same time. My hands are everywhere—your waist, your back, threading into your hair. I press you up against the wall and your breath hitches, and that alone nearly undoes me. Your shirt rides up beneath my hands and my heart’s pounding so hard I swear it echoes through the room. “God, I’ve missed you,” I mutter against your neck. “I’ve missed this. Missed us.”

The edge is sharp, coiled low in my gut. It’s been too long. And the way you look at me right now—lips slightly parted, cheeks flushed—I feel like I might lose my mind. I’m fumbling with my jeans, finally—finally—and you’re looking at me like you’re ready too, and I’m thinking, thank you, thank you, thank you—

And then the door slams open.

Laughter explodes behind us. Loud, high-pitched, unmistakably Niall..“Oh my GOD!” Louis bellows, practically choking. “Zayn, you absolute dog!”

“What the—are you serious?!” I shout, whipping around. “What the hell are you two doing?!” Niall’s doubled over, wheezing, Louis is filming this in his brain, I can tell, and my hands are still on you and all the blood in my body wants to sink through the floor. Louis snorts. “We were looking for the tuner pedal!”

“Well, you found something else,” I bark, storming over and shoving them both back into the hallway. “Get out!” They don’t stop laughing, even as I push them out. Niall’s wiping tears from his eyes. “I swear to God,” I growl, slamming the door in their faces, “CAN’T A GUY JUST BANG HIS GIRLFRIEND IN PEACE FOR ONCE?!”

Silence. Finally. I spin around, chest heaving. You’re still standing where I left you, hair slightly messy, lips red from kissing, and looking... surprised. A little flushed. Embarrassed, maybe..I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair, walking back over. “Sorry about that,” I say, softer now. My voice drops into something tender. “They’re absolute idiots.”

Your hand finds mine again and everything inside me settles. I pull you closer, brush my lips against your forehead, then your cheek, then your mouth again—gentle, apologetic, promising. “Now,” I murmur, mouth curving into a smirk, “where were we?”