Shadows Within Spotlight Chapter 16: Collateral Damage, a misc. plays/musicals fanfic

Chapter 16 : Collateral Damage

The den of the villa hummed with laughter and conversation, the kind of warm chaos that only family could create. Phones buzzed, notifications dinged, and a soft melody played from a speaker in the corner. The boys and their families were sprawled across couches and chairs, scrolling through the endless flood of comments that had poured in since their Instagram posts went live.

"Have you SEEN this one?" Niall called out from his spot on the armrest of a couch, waving his phone like a trophy. "Someone said Zayn and Liam are 'auditioning for the live-action remake of The Notebook.' And honestly? They're not wrong."

Liam groaned, sinking further into the couch as a chorus of laughter erupted around him. "Why does every meme have to mention us? What about Harry and Louis? They're practically glued together in half those photos!"

"Excuse me," Louis interrupted, smirking from where he was draped across Harry's lap. "I've already been branded Harry's personal furniture. What more do you want, Payne?"

Harry, attempting to look serious, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "To be fair, Lou, you are a very versatile chair. Recliner, armrest, and sometimes even a headrest." He tilted his head back, miming resting on Louis's shoulder.

"Don't encourage him!" Louis exclaimed, swatting Harry with a throw pillow. "Next thing you know, someone's going to start selling 'Louis Tomlinson furniture sets.'"

"That would actually be a solid investment," Niall said, barely containing his grin.

Anne, perched elegantly on a nearby armchair, chuckled softly. "Well, at least you boys are giving the world something to smile about."

#PantryKisses was trending, #BlushKing was climbing the charts, and memes dissecting every detail of their public posts flooded social media. From Louis being reduced to a "luxury loveseat" to Zayn and Liam being labeled "Balcony Gatekeepers," the fandom was having the time of their lives.

But amidst the laughter and teasing, Zayn sat quietly on the far side of the room, his phone resting against his knee. His usually sharp eyes darted between the screen and the people around him, the corners of his mouth twitching faintly when someone cracked a particularly funny joke. To the others, it looked like he was just observing, taking it all in. But Liam knew better.

"Zee?" Liam's voice cut softly through the noise, drawing Zayn's gaze. He nudged Zayn's knee with his own. "You okay?"

Before Zayn could answer, his phone buzzed in his hand, and he froze. His jaw tightened, the humor in the room fading from his face in an instant. Liam's smile faltered.

"What is it?" Liam asked, leaning closer.

Zayn hesitated, his thumb hovering over the screen as if it might explode in his hand.

Finally, he turned the phone toward Liam, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's another one."

The message was simple, stark against the white background of his screen:

"Do you think this changes anything? You've just made it worse for yourselves."

Liam's eyes darkened as he read the text, his protective instincts kicking in immediately. "What the hell…?"

Zayn sighed, pulling the phone back. "It's not the first one. I got something similar yesterday after we posted, but I didn't want to say anything. I thought maybe—maybe it was just someone blowing off steam. But now…"

He trailed off, his voice heavy with doubt and unease.

Liam's fingers curled into fists. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Zayn shrugged, his gaze fixed on the floor. "Didn't want to ruin the moment. Everyone was happy, and—" His voice cracked slightly, and he cleared his throat. "I didn't want to drag us all into this."

Before Liam could respond, Harry's voice cut through the room. "Alright, what's going on over there? You both look like someone just stole your snacks."

"Snacks? Really, Hazz?" Louis muttered, elbowing Harry. But his teasing tone faded the moment he saw Liam's expression.

Liam exhaled sharply, handing Zayn's phone to Harry. "This is what's going on."

The room fell into silence as Harry read the message aloud. The shift in the villa was immediate—laughter was replaced by tension, smiles fading into concern. Louis, who had been halfway through a dramatic complaint about his "furniture" status, sat upright, his easy going demeanor evaporating.

"Is this a joke?" Louis asked, his blue eyes narrowing as he passed the phone to Niall.

"It's not a joke," Zayn muttered, his voice steady but laced with frustration. "It's the second one I've gotten."

Niall, holding the phone like it might bite him, whistled low. "Well, that's… unsettling."

"It's more than unsettling," Liam snapped, standing up and running a hand through his hair. "It's a bloody threat. Who sends something like this?"

"They didn't sign it with love and kisses," Harry muttered grimly, crossing his arms. "Which means it's someone who's serious."

Anne's calm voice cut through the tension. "Alright, let's not panic just yet. Zayn, are you certain it's not just some angry fan? We've seen people lash out before."

"Angry fans don't usually find my private number," Zayn replied, his tone sharper than intended. He softened slightly as he added, "Sorry, Anne. I just… I don't know who it could be."

Karen spoke up next, her tone reassuring. "We'll figure this out, boys. But first, let's stay calm. There's no use jumping to conclusions."

"Calm?" Louis barked. "Someone's out there sending threats, and you want us to be calm? What if this isn't just about Zayn? What if it's about all of us?"

"That's exactly why we need to think this through," Paul said, stepping into the room. His face was calm but serious. "I'll contact the security team and see what we can find out. In the meantime, no one leaves the villa alone. And no more posting anything about where we are."

"But the villa's supposed to be secure," Harry said, frowning. "Isn't it?"

"It is," Paul replied. "But it doesn't hurt to be cautious."

The tension in the room settled thick as fog, pressing down on every single one of them. Even the lingering warmth of their public coming out, the joy of finally existing in the open, felt dulled by the weight of the unknown. Zayn exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face, while Liam's jaw remained clenched, his entire body coiled with protective energy.

"This changes things," Louis muttered, arms crossed, his foot tapping anxiously against the carpet. "This isn't just some anonymous Twitter troll. This is someone who knows how to reach us privately."

"And wants us to know it," Harry added, brows furrowed as he stared at the message.

A silence stretched between them, thick and unspoken, until Paul cleared his throat. "Alright, we need to sit down and figure this out properly."

A collective murmur of agreement rippled through the room as they moved toward the den. The casual coziness of the space—plush couches, soft lighting, the faint hum of music playing from the speakers—felt starkly out of place against the heavy conversation about to unfold.

Harry paced near the fireplace, his fingers raking through his curls, while Louis scrolled furiously through his phone, his frown deepening with each second before he threw his hands up.

"You know what we should do?" Louis announced, eyes flashing with determination. "Call them out. Publicly. Let them know we're not scared and let the fans rip them to shreds."

"Because nothing says subtle like Louis Tomlinson with a megaphone," Niall muttered, taking a long sip of his tea.

Louis didn't hesitate—he grabbed the nearest throw pillow and launched it at Niall's face with terrifying accuracy. It hit him dead-on, making an obnoxiously loud thwump before falling to the floor.

"Oi!" Niall yelped, rubbing his cheek. "That was uncalled for."

"That was justice," Louis shot back, folding his arms.

Paul ignored them both, pinching the bridge of his nose as though he were already exhausted by the conversation. "We're not doing anything rash. The best course of action is to contact security and law enforcement to trace the messages. Until we know who it is, no one makes any public statements."

"That could take weeks," Harry pointed out, his pacing growing more erratic. "Meanwhile, whoever this is gets to sit back and watch us squirm?"

Paul exhaled sharply. "I get that this is frustrating, but the last thing we want is to draw more attention to the situation before we know exactly what we're dealing with. The internet is already watching you four under a microscope. If we react too soon, it could escalate."

A heavy silence fell again, the weight of reality pressing down on them.

Then, in the most Niall move possible, he broke the tension with a smirk and a casual, "If it turns out to be another crazy ex or a bitter journalist, can we just invite them over and bore them with Harry's speeches on 'inner peace'?"

There was a beat of stunned silence—then, despite everything, Zayn let out a small, reluctant chuckle. "Honestly, that might work."

Harry rolled his eyes but couldn't fight his smirk. "You lot are impossible."

"Better than being utterly doom and gloom," Niall shot back, raising his mug of tea in a mock toast.

Even with the small reprieve, the reality still loomed over them. They could joke, they could deflect, but the fact remained—someone was watching them.

And whoever it was? They weren't done yet.

A thick silence settled over the room once again, the weight of uncertainty lingering even as Niall's humor cut through some of the tension. Harry had stopped pacing, Louis had reluctantly dropped the idea of publicly declaring war, and Zayn sat back against the couch, still gripping his phone like the message might disappear if he held it tightly enough. Liam's fingers drummed against his knee, his mind running through worst-case scenarios, while Paul exchanged hushed words with a security contact on the phone.

Anne, Karen, and Trisha exchanged quiet glances, the kind only mothers could share—part concern, part patience, part deep-seated knowledge that their sons were about to drive themselves into a spiral if someone didn't intervene.

"We're all just… sitting in this," Anne finally said, her voice soft but cutting through the thick atmosphere. "And I know you boys. If you sit in it too long, you'll turn into brooding messes."

"We don't brood," Louis muttered automatically.

"Sweetheart, I've known you since you were a teenager," Anne countered smoothly. "You absolutely brood."

"I second that," Karen added, giving Liam a pointed look.

Before anyone could argue, Trisha clapped her hands together, standing. "Right. Enough of this. You lot need a distraction, and since I highly doubt you're going to sit down for a cup of tea and meditation, you're going to cook dinner."

Liam blinked. "What?"

Anne nodded sagely. "A family meal. All of you, together."

Niall squinted. "You're trying to distract us with chores?"

"Yes," Trisha said simply, already ushering them toward the kitchen.

Zayn groaned. "Mum, I don't even cook."

"Then you can supervise," Trisha said smoothly. "Keep these lot from setting something on fire."

That did not, in fact, happen.

What followed was pure, uncontrollable chaos.

It started out so innocently.

A calm, family-oriented idea: "Let's cook together," Trisha had suggested, hands folded neatly like she hadn't just thrown a bunch of wild animals into a glassware store.

There had been nods of agreement, a few mumbled complaints, but overall, it seemed like a reasonable suggestion. A family meal, cooked by everyone together—an evening of warmth and togetherness.

In theory.

But theories, as it turned out, did not apply to this household.

Zayn had already seen disaster on the horizon and had tried, very casually, to slip out before anyone could notice. Maybe disappear onto the balcony, pretend he suddenly had a headache, perhaps fake a phone call. Anything to avoid whatever impending catastrophe was about to unfold.

But Trisha had caught his first step toward the door and had given him The Look. The one that had terrified him since childhood, the one that said:

"Don't even think about it."

So there they were.

Trapped.

In a war zone disguised as a kitchen.

The Cooking Was Doomed From the Start.

The first mistake?

Trusting Louis with flour.

Paul, for some ungodly reason, had entrusted him with measuring it for the bread. In hindsight, this was a tactical error on the level of inviting a tornado into a greenhouse.

Louis had started out well enough, but then he had gotten distracted. Maybe it was Niall talking too loudly next to him, or maybe he had gotten too confident in his ability to multi-task while cracking jokes.

Either way—one wrong movement, and suddenly, disaster struck.

The entire bag of flour slipped from his hands, tipped sideways, and in an instant, the world turned white.

The Moment Everything Fell Apart

Harry, who had absolutely no business being anywhere near food preparation, had been standing by the counter talking about wine pairings when he became the casualty of the first strike.

One second, he had been mid-sentence—something about how a nice glass of Sauvignon Blanc would complement the dish—and the next, he was absolutely annihilated.

A blinding cloud of flour erupted into the air, engulfing him in a thick, powdery storm that completely transformed him into what could only be described as a ghostly Victorian orphan trapped in a bakery.

The room stilled.

Nobody breathed.

Harry, frozen in place, looked down at himself.

His once-black T-shirt? Gone. Now a stark white.

His curls? Looked like they had aged 80 years.

His face? Absolutely entombed.

He looked haunted.

And then—

Louis wheezed.

"Oh my GOD," he bent over, hands on his knees, gasping through laughter. "Mate, you— you look like—" he could barely get the words out, "—like a haunted loaf of bread."

Harry's jaw clenched.

Through the thick coating of flour, his green eyes burned.

Slowly, terrifyingly, he turned his head to face Louis.

"Run," was all he said.

The War Begins

Louis barely had a second to react before a fistful of flour smacked directly into his chest.

"YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!" Louis shrieked, stumbling back, hands flailing. "I WASN'T READY!"

"NOW YOU ARE!"

Harry lunged.

With vengeance in his heart, he grabbed a fresh handful of flour and launched it full-force into Louis's face.

What followed could only be described as absolute warfare.

Flour exploded into the air like a goddamn smoke bomb, filling the kitchen with a thick, chaotic storm of white.

Screaming.

Shouting.

Shrieking betrayals.

Louis, coughing violently, tried to duck behind the kitchen island, but it was too late. Harry was already on him, relentless, flour smearing across his shirt, his hair, his skin.

"CALL A CEASEFIRE!" Louis yelped, flailing as he tried to shield himself.

"No mercy!" Harry declared, grabbing another handful.

From across the kitchen, Anne sighed, watching from a safe distance, hands clasped around her mug of tea.

"They are fully grown men," she murmured.

Karen, completely unfazed, nodded. "Technically."

The kitchen was already a battlefield of chaos.

Flour still hung in the air like an eerie mist, a visible reminder of the disaster that had unfolded with Louis and Harry. The scent of something questionable burning in the oven mingled with the fresh aroma of roasted vegetables. Somewhere in the distance, Liam was being a menace, and Anne was watching the disaster unfold with the patience of a saint.

But amidst the wreckage, amidst the nonsense—Zayn was trying to be useful.

He had long since accepted his fate as the only competent one in this group of absolute menaces to society, and for the sake of his own sanity, he had decided to take full control over plating.

His hands moved with meticulous precision, arranging the roasted vegetables into a perfectly balanced composition, ensuring that the colors were vibrant, the portions symmetrical, and that—for once in this godforsaken night—something actually looked edible.

The dish had to be just right.

Perfect.

But then—something was wrong.

Zayn's brows furrowed as he stared at the plates.

His brain immediately went into hyper-analysis mode. Had he miscalculated? Had he miscounted? Had one of the trays fallen victim to the kitchen massacre?

He squinted.

Then—a movement.

A flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye.

His instincts kicked in like a hawk spotting its prey.

His head snapped up just in time to witness absolute TREACHERY.

There—standing a few feet away, mid-chew, face full of crime—was Niall Horan.

Zayn's entire body stilled as his mind caught up to what he was seeing.

Niall. Munching.

Niall. Casually chewing.

Niall. Holding a half-eaten roasted potato in his hand like a goddamn trophy.

Zayn froze.

His soul left his body.

The audacity. The disrespect. The complete and utter betrayal.

He had been standing there—minding his own business, doing the Lord's work in trying to save this goddamn meal—and meanwhile, Niall had been robbing him blind.

Niall—sensing danger too late—slowly, hesitantly, turned his head, still chewing, his eyes meeting Zayn's.

There was a long pause.

A standoff.

Neither of them moved.

The room was still buzzing with noise—Harry and Louis were still shouting, Liam was laughing somewhere in the background, the oven timer was beeping in distress—but to Zayn, all of that faded into the background.

Because all that mattered now was this moment.

His enemy.

The Potato Thief.

Zayn's eyes narrowed into slits. His fingers curled into fists at his sides.

His voice, deadly soft, cut through the noise like a blade.

"Niall."

Niall, still chewing, tilted his head slightly. "Hmm?"

Zayn's jaw clenched.

"You're eating the food."

Niall—with a level of audacity that should have been illegal—swallowed.

"No, I'm not."

Zayn's eye twitched.

His hands flexed, like he was contemplating murder.

"You're literally eating it RIGHT NOW."

Niall licked his lips. "You can't prove anything."

Something inside Zayn snapped.

The rage that surged through him could have powered a small city.

"NAILLER, STOP EATING THE FOOD!"

Niall lifted his hands in defense, still grinning, still trying to act innocent—which was a bold move, considering he had a literal potato in his goddamn hand.

"I'm taste-testing!"

"IT'S NOT READY!"

Zayn lunged.

His hands shot forward, reaching across the counter to grab Niall by the hoodie, the sheer feral energy radiating off him enough to strike fear into the hearts of lesser men.

But Niall—the human raccoon that he was—was too quick.

He dodged.

He twisted.

He slipped out of Zayn's grasp like a professional escape artist.

And then—THE ABSOLUTE AUDACITY—

HE SNATCHED ANOTHER POTATO ON HIS WAY OUT.

Zayn's rage became biblical.

His veins filled with pure, unfiltered fury.

His vision blurred at the edges.

"I'LL KILL YOU!" he roared, grabbing the nearest weapon.

Which, unfortunately for Niall, was a wooden spoon.

Karen, who had just entered the kitchen, blinked in mild horror as she watched her fully grown son sprint for his life, still chewing stolen food, as Zayn chased him down wielding a wooden spoon like a medieval knight.

"YOU GOTTA CATCH ME FIRST!" Niall cackled, making a mad dash to hide behind Karen.

The audacity.

The disrespect.

Zayn, panting, skidded to a stop, glaring absolute death at Niall as he peered out from behind his mother's shoulder, grinning like a gremlin.

Karen, utterly unimpressed, slowly turned to her son.

"Niall. What did you do?"

Niall, the absolute liar, gave her the most innocent, doe-eyed look in existence.

"Nothing."

Zayn, still breathing like a man on the verge of a breakdown, stabbed a finger in Niall's direction.

"HE STOLE THE POTATOES, KAREN."

Karen exhaled slowly, rubbing her temples.

"Niall, darling, if you don't stop antagonizing Zayn, I will personally hand you over to him."

Niall immediately straightened up.

"Yes, Mum."

Zayn, still fuming, pointed the wooden spoon directly at Niall's forehead.

"You're dead to me."

Niall grinned. "You say that now, but wait until you need me for backup vocals, mate."

Zayn lunged again, but this time, Karen held out a hand, stopping him with nothing but sheer Mum Authority.

"I swear to God," Zayn muttered, raking a hand down his face, "if I turn around and find one more potato missing—"

He didn't finish.

He didn't have to.

Because from behind Karen, Niall stuffed the last bite of stolen potato into his mouth.

Zayn saw it.

Karen saw it.

Everyone saw it.

Zayn screamed.

Niall ran.

Karen sipped her tea.

—

The kitchen, already a disaster zone of flour clouds and petty warfare, was on its last thread of sanity as Amelia, attempting to salvage at least one part of the meal, stirred a bubbling pot of sauce while Liam focused on seasoning the chicken. She was concentrating, squinting slightly at the ingredients in front of her, trying to recall what Trisha had said about the proper balance of flavors. Meanwhile, Liam, ever the overachiever, was dramatically sprinkling seasoning over the raw chicken like a contestant on a cooking show. He had been painstakingly methodical about it too—measuring, adjusting, humming a tune as he worked.

Everything seemed fine.

Until Liam tasted the sauce.

The instant the spoon reached his tongue, his entire body betrayed him. He gagged violently, his shoulders lurching forward as his face twisted in pure horror. The spoon clattered to the counter as he coughed like he had just been poisoned.

"WHY IS THIS SWEET?!"

Amelia froze, her eyes darting between the pot and Liam's expression of sheer culinary betrayal. Her hands, previously relaxed, were now clenching the spoon with a death grip.

"Wait..." Her voice wavered. "That wasn't the salt?"

Silence.

Then, from across the kitchen, Niall—still mid-escape from Zayn's wrath—let out a loud, delighted howl of laughter.

"Did you just make dessert chicken?"

Liam, still dramatically wiping his tongue on a paper towel, pointed at the pot like it had personally wronged him. "It's like sugar-coated death!"

Amelia's face turned a deep shade of horror as she grabbed the salt and sugar containers from the counter, staring at them like they had conspired against her. "Oh my God. Oh my God, I just—"

"It's experimental," Liam tried to salvage, his voice weak, still recovering from the assault on his taste buds.

Zayn, from the other side of the kitchen, looking one minor inconvenience away from snapping, turned slowly toward Liam and Amelia. His eyebrows were already twitching, his jaw set like he was physically restraining himself from a breakdown.

"IT'S A CRIME!" Zayn barked, flinging his hands toward the stove.

Amelia winced, whispering, "I really thought it was salt."

"You thought—" Zayn took a deep, exasperated breath, closing his eyes for a moment, reaching for divine patience that did not exist.

But this? This was still not the moment that truly pushed him over the edge.

That came next.

The thing that broke him, shattered his last sliver of restraint, that sent him spiraling into full-blown rage?

Liam burned the garlic bread.

It should have been simple. All Liam had to do was slice, butter, toast. But somehow, in the chaotic vortex of bad decisions, the tray of bread was forgotten in the oven for approximately three minutes too long.

The smell was instantaneous.

Zayn smelled the mistake before he saw it, his head snapping up in alarm as thick smoke curled from the oven.

The moment Liam opened the door, the room was hit with the unmistakable scent of ruined potential—a tragedy in the form of burnt, blackened baguette slices.

Liam yelped, immediately fumbling with a pair of oven mitts, trying to yank the tray out as wisps of smoke curled around him like a scene from a horror film.

"It's fine! It's just a little—"

"LIAM."

Zayn's voice was sharp, horrified, betrayed beyond comprehension.

Liam, looking increasingly nervous, lifted the tray like he was handling an ancient relic, peering at the sad, charcoal-colored pieces of what had once been perfectly good garlic bread.

"I—"

Zayn's eye twitched.

"You burned the GARLIC BREAD?"

Liam hesitated, then, in a last-ditch attempt at damage control, shrugged. "It's just a little toasty—"

"LIAM."

Zayn dropped the spoon he was holding, his entire body stiffening like something inside him had officially snapped.

And then it happened.

Zayn completely lost his patience.

With fire in his eyes, he turned on everyone like a man possessed, his hands flying up as he waved a wooden spoon like a damn sword.

"EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU—OUT."

Liam blinked. "Wait—"

"OUT."

Louis, still covered in flour, put his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, let's all take a breather—"

"I SAID OUT!" Zayn snapped, looking personally offended by the state of his kitchen. "You're all MENACES! You're all a LIABILITY! GET OUT OF MY SIGHT!"

Even Harry, who rarely took orders, grabbed Louis by the back of his shirt and dragged him out of the war zone.

Niall, still chewing on stolen food, lifted a brow, entirely unbothered. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Zayn's head turned slowly, his voice eerily calm, which was somehow worse.

"You. Are. The. Worst."

Niall grinned, held up a half-eaten carrot stick, and simply said, "Gotta keep up my strength, mate."

That was the final straw.

Zayn lunged.

Niall bolted.

From the other room, Anne sighed into her tea. "Well, at least they're bonding."

Karen, watching Liam rub burnt crumbs off his fingers, hummed in exhausted agreement. "I think this is the closest they've ever been to working as a team."

Trisha, watching Zayn chase Niall with what looked like actual intent to kill, took a slow sip of her drink. "We should've just ordered takeout."

And honestly? She was right.

Zayn had long since accepted that he was the only competent person in this kitchen.

He had watched with horrified resignation as Louis turned the entire space into a war zone with the flour, as Harry, a fully grown man, acted like a vengeful Victorian ghost, and as Niall actively committed food theft in broad daylight. The only thing keeping Zayn from walking straight out of this villa and into the ocean was the sheer fact that somebody had to fix this disaster.

So, he had done what he did best: taken control.

He had kicked everyone out, pointing at the door like a furious king banishing traitors from his court. The look in his eyes had left zero room for negotiation—even Louis had stopped arguing mid-sentence, and Harry, who usually ignored all forms of authority, had grabbed Louis by the collar and hauled him out.

The only one who had refused to leave?

Liam.

And technically, Liam wasn't even helping.

He was sitting on the counter, legs swinging idly like a child watching Saturday morning cartoons, arms resting lazily behind him as he studied Zayn with the intensity of a man enjoying premium entertainment.

Zayn ignored him.

Or at least, he tried to.

He focused on the sauce simmering on the stove, the steady flick of the knife as he chopped herbs, the methodical motions that calmed his mind in the middle of this absolute circus.

Until Liam spoke.

"I don't need an audience, Li," Zayn muttered, flipping something in the pan with practiced ease, not looking up.

"I'm being supportive," Liam responded smoothly, his grin absolutely audible.

Zayn glanced at him, unimpressed. "You're being annoying."

Liam, unbothered, casually reached out, grabbed a stray carrot stick from the cutting board, and popped it into his mouth with an obnoxious crunch.

Zayn's hand twitched on the spatula.

It was a miracle he didn't launch it at Liam's too-pretty face.

But then—Liam did it.

He leaned in, closer than necessary, his voice dropping into a tone that Zayn immediately recognized as dangerous.

A tone that always, always, always led to trouble.

"You're kinda hot when you're angry."

Zayn froze.

The spoon in his hand hovered above the pan, his brain buffering, his body betraying him immediately.

Liam smirked.

Zayn turned, slowly, deliberately, a single brow arching with practiced indifference.

"I will stab you," he informed him coolly.

Liam, still smiling, tilted his head. "With love?"

Zayn didn't dignify that with a response.

Instead, he grabbed the nearest weapon—a perfectly diced onion piece—and hurled it directly at Liam's smug face.

Liam dodged effortlessly, laughing, clearly enjoying this way too much.

"See?" he said, grinning wide. "Angry and violent. Very attractive."

Zayn exhaled sharply, turning back to his sauce, his jaw tightening, his patience hanging on by a thread.

"Liam," he warned.

"Yeah, babe?" Liam replied innocently, tapping his fingers against the counter, his movements slow, deliberate, teasing.

Zayn narrowed his eyes.

He saw exactly what Liam was doing.

So he upped the stakes.

Instead of snapping back, instead of giving Liam the reaction he so clearly wanted, Zayn went completely still.

With painstaking precision, he dipped his spoon into the sauce, his fingers curving around the handle just right, his movements slow, methodical, intentional.

Liam's eyes flickered downward—just for a moment, just long enough.

Zayn lifted the spoon to his lips, his tongue flicking out just slightly, tasting it deliberately, his lips parting slightly, just enough to be distracting.

The air in the kitchen shifted.

Liam's legs stopped swinging.

His teasing grin flickered, his posture losing its carefree ease.

Zayn leaned in, his voice dropping into something low, smooth, laced with quiet amusement.

"Still feeling cheeky, Payne?"

Liam gulped.

Zayn had won.

Or so he thought.

Because then—before Zayn could bask in his victory—

Liam moved.

One second, Zayn was standing there, the undisputed winner of this battle.

The next—Liam grabbed him by the waist and yanked him between his legs.

Zayn yelped, hands flying out, gripping onto Liam's thighs for balance as he was suddenly, absolutely trapped, his back hitting Liam's chest, his breath stuttering as Liam's arms looped around him effortlessly.

His warm hands. Large hands. Hands that had no business making Zayn's pulse go haywire like this.

"Now I am," Liam murmured against his ear, grinning into his skin.

Zayn made a noise—something between flustered and murderous, something that sounded entirely too much like a whimper for his own comfort.

"Liam, I'm cooking," he managed, voice noticeably weaker than before.

"You're hot," Liam responded smoothly, his grip tightening, his thumb pressing into Zayn's hip in a way that made his breath hitch.

"This is more fun."

Zayn twisted, trying to wriggle free, but Liam just tightened his hold, his chin dipping down, his lips brushing against Zayn's neck with zero shame.

"Let me go," Zayn muttered, half-heartedly, knowing damn well he didn't mean it.

"Never," Liam whispered, his lips skimming the curve of Zayn's jaw, slow and deliberate, entirely too confident.

Zayn hated how much he loved this idiot.

And Liam knew it.

His fingers flexed, squeezing slightly, pulling him closer, drawing Zayn in like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Zayn tried to fight it—he really did—but Liam was everywhere.

His hands.

His warmth.

His breath against Zayn's throat, his lips right there—right there—

Zayn's resistance crumbled like burnt garlic bread.

With a frustrated exhale, he turned in Liam's grip, his hands fisting into the fabric of Liam's shirt, pulling him in.

Liam was already smiling, his eyes dark with amusement, waiting for Zayn to make the next move.

Zayn didn't hesitate.

He grabbed Liam by the back of the neck and kissed him.

The second their lips met, Liam made a low, pleased noise, something deep, something satisfied, something that sent heat curling down Zayn's spine.

His hands slid down, fingers pressing into Zayn's waist, pulling him flush, deepening the kiss until Zayn felt like he was on the verge of losing himself completely.

And Zayn?

Zayn let him.

For once, he let Liam win.

The second Zayn kissed him, Liam melted into it.

His grip tightened around Zayn's waist, his hands spreading wide, greedy, possessive, fingers digging in like he had been waiting for this all night. The playful, teasing energy that had been dancing between them was gone, replaced with something thicker, heavier, something that made Zayn's stomach curl hot and tight.

The pan on the stove was sizzling, the scent of roasted garlic still thick in the air, but Zayn couldn't think about any of it.

Because Liam was everywhere.

His lips—warm, insistent, deliberate—moved slowly against Zayn's, his breath hot and teasing, his tongue brushing against Zayn's lower lip, coaxing a reaction from him, pulling him in deeper.

Zayn let him.

Hell, Zayn gave in completely.

He tilted his head, parting his lips to let Liam take control, shivering as Liam's tongue slid against his, the kiss turning slow, deep, dangerously indulgent. It wasn't just a kiss—it was deliberate consumption, like Liam wanted to taste every single part of him.

Zayn felt himself being pushed back slightly, Liam's hands shifting to grip his hips more firmly, pulling him flush against his chest.

It wasn't enough.

It was never enough.

Zayn's hands fisted into the fabric of Liam's T-shirt, gripping him like a lifeline, like he needed something to ground himself, because Liam was devouring him, and Zayn felt like he was going to burn alive.

Liam made a low, satisfied sound, something deep, something approving, something that shot straight through Zayn's veins like fire.

Then, Liam moved.

Zayn barely had time to react before Liam flipped their position, yanking him in closer, pulling him right between his legs, pinning him there, his arms locking Zayn in place.

Zayn gasped slightly, his balance thrown, his hands pressing against Liam's chest for support, but Liam didn't let him escape.

His lips were back on him instantly, more demanding this time, more eager, more desperate, and Zayn moaned into it before he could stop himself, before he could even think.

Liam smirked against his mouth. "Yeah?"

Zayn hated him.

He hated how smug he sounded, hated how good he felt, hated how his entire body reacted like it had been wired for this exact moment.

Liam was teasing him, testing him, dragging him deeper into something dangerous, something that made Zayn's pulse pound beneath his skin.

So Zayn bit him.

Liam groaned, the sound low, dark, and perfect, his grip on Zayn tightening.

Zayn felt it everywhere.

The way Liam's fingers flexed against his waist, the way his thighs squeezed slightly, keeping Zayn in place, the way his breathing had changed, now slightly heavier, slightly rougher, like he was just as lost in this as Zayn was.

"Liam," Zayn breathed, half-warning, half-plea.

Liam kissed him harder, his hands sliding under the hem of Zayn's shirt, fingertips grazing over warm skin, making Zayn arch slightly into the touch before he could stop himself.

Liam smirked against his mouth. "What?"

Zayn could barely think, could barely focus on anything other than the way Liam's hands were moving, the way his lips kept returning to his jaw, his neck, as if he couldn't help himself.

It was too much, too hot, too intense.

Zayn pressed closer, his fingers curving around the back of Liam's neck, pulling him in, pulling him deeper, letting the kiss turn sloppy, messy, desperate.

Liam's breath hitched, his hands tugging Zayn down fully, their bodies aligning perfectly, and for a brief, heady moment, Zayn wondered if he could just—

"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!"

The sudden yell shattered everything.

Zayn jerked back violently, his heart slamming against his ribs, his entire body flushing with heat as his eyes snapped open—

To see Niall standing in the doorway.

His jaw had dropped, his eyes were wide, and he was pointing at them like he had just caught them committing a federal crime.

Zayn's entire soul left his body.

Liam?

Liam just grinned, still holding onto Zayn like he had no intention of letting go.

"Ever heard of knocking, mate?" Liam drawled, completely unbothered.

Niall blinked. Then blinked again. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like his brain had short-circuited.

Zayn, absolutely mortified, tried to scramble back, but Liam wouldn't let him move.

Instead, Liam smirked up at him, voice low and amused.

"You were saying, babe?"

Zayn swore he was going to murder him.

Niall made a loud, distressed noise, shaking his head as he turned away violently, hands in the air.

"I—I DIDN'T NEED TO SEE THAT," he yelled, practically running out of the kitchen. "I NEED TO BLEACH MY EYES—HARRY, LOUIS, WE HAVE A PROBLEM—"

Liam chuckled, pulling Zayn back down before he could escape.

"You know he's never gonna shut up about this," Liam murmured, pressing a slow kiss against Zayn's jaw.

Zayn groaned, dropping his forehead against Liam's shoulder, willing himself to disappear.

Liam just laughed.

Because, of course he did.

By the time everyone was finally allowed back into the kitchen Zayn had salvaged what he could of the meal. The once-pristine counters were now a battlefield of discarded ingredients, flour-dusted surfaces, and the unmistakable remnants of Harry and Louis's earlier war crime. The air was thick with the scent of roasted vegetables, perfectly cooked chicken, and an unfortunate trace of burnt garlic bread, which no one dared to speak of aloud.

Dinner was served, though at what cost?

The group settled at the long dining table, still buzzing from the absolute disaster that had unfolded just minutes ago. Niall was still muttering under his breath about needing to bleach his eyes, Harry was picking flour out of his curls, Louis was sulking about having been temporarily banished from his own kitchen, and Liam was sitting with the smuggest expression possible, looking far too pleased with himself.

Zayn, seated beside him, was pointedly ignoring him.

But, of course, that didn't last long.

"So," Louis started, casually stabbing his fork into his plate, "on a scale of one to ten, how absolutely traumatized should I be about what Niall allegedly walked in on?"

Zayn closed his eyes. Breathed. Willed the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

Liam?

Liam grinned.

"You should be grateful Niall interrupted when he did," Liam mused, chewing slowly, looking far too smug for his own good.

Across the table, Niall groaned dramatically, shoving his plate away like it had been tainted by Liam's shamelessness. "OH MY GOD, STOP. I HAVE BEEN THROUGH ENOUGH."

"Did you see tongues?" Harry asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I SAW TOO MUCH."

"Details," Louis demanded, leaning forward with entirely too much interest.

Zayn's entire body tensed, his grip on his fork tightening like he was debating using it as a weapon.

"There will be no details," he said sharply, eyes flashing as he turned to glare at Niall.

Niall, for once in his life, looked horrified.

"Trust me, mate, I am not trying to remember it," he muttered. "I am actively trying to erase it from my brain."

"You should've knocked," Liam said smoothly, reaching for his drink.

"Oh, my bad, mate," Niall deadpanned, gesturing aggressively. "I didn't realize I needed to make a bloody appointment before entering my own damn kitchen."

"Could've saved yourself some trauma," Liam said, taking a long, slow sip, so relaxed it was infuriating.

Louis snorted. "Nah, but this is better. This is gold."

Zayn, glaring daggers, stabbed his chicken with unnecessary force.

"I hate all of you."

"Oh, babe, don't be like that," Liam murmured, nudging Zayn's thigh under the table like he wasn't actively making things worse.

Zayn flinched, inhaling sharply. His patience was hanging by a thread.

"Keep talking, Payne," Zayn warned, voice low, dangerous, "and I will personally ensure you don't make it out of this villa alive."

Harry, never one to miss an opportunity, smirked knowingly. "Bit dramatic, don't you think?"

Zayn's fork scraped against his plate, his jaw tightening further.

Louis, ever the agent of chaos, tilted his head thoughtfully. "So, what exactly did you walk in on, Niall?"

"NO," Zayn snapped.

"YES," Louis countered.

Niall threw his hands up. "All I'm saying is that there was touching. And noises. And I hated all of it."

"Sounds about right," Liam said easily, not even remotely bothered.

Zayn's entire face burned, and he kicked Liam under the table. Hard.

Liam barely flinched, but his grin grew wider.

Anne, who had been sitting quietly watching the madness unfold, finally cleared her throat, amusement evident in her voice.

"Boys," she said lightly, "perhaps we should focus on eating the meal that Zayn worked very hard to salvage after all of you nearly burned down my kitchen."

Zayn turned to her, grateful. "Thank you, Anne."

"Though I will say," she continued, picking up her wine glass, "I'd love to hear more about the noises."

Zayn choked on his own breath.

Louis nearly fell off his chair laughing.

"MUM!" Harry exclaimed, looking betrayed.

Anne took a long, slow sip of wine, completely unfazed.

Liam chuckled deeply, leaning into Zayn, his lips dangerously close to his ear.

"You make very good noises, babe," he murmured.

Zayn, in a moment of sheer impulse, grabbed a piece of roasted potato from his plate and shoved it into Liam's mouth to shut him up.

"Eat," he ordered. "Before I kill you."

Liam, clearly loving every second of it, chewed obediently, eyes twinkling with mischief and something far more dangerous.

Dinner carried on, filled with laughter, relentless teasing, and Zayn internally plotting Liam's demise.

And somehow, despite everything that had gone wrong, despite the ruined kitchen, the near death threats, and the unbearable smugness of Liam Payne—

Zayn still felt like he was home.

Dinner had finally settled into something almost peaceful, the initial teasing and relentless jabs at Zayn's dignity dying down just enough for him to believe—for one blissful moment—that perhaps he would escape this evening with some of his dignity intact.

That was, of course, before Niall opened his mouth.

It started casually, too casually, the way all disasters do.

Niall, leaning back in his chair, stretching lazily, sighed dramatically and clinked his fork against his glass.

The room immediately fell quiet.

Every single person at the table turned toward him with suspicion, because nothing good had ever come from Niall making a scene.

Liam, sitting beside Zayn, was already grinning, sensing something truly evil was about to unfold.

Zayn?

Zayn felt actual dread settle in his bones.

Niall cleared his throat, looking far too pleased with himself, and then—

"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, his voice dripping with faux importance, "I would like to take this moment—this sacred, once-in-a-lifetime moment—to formally announce that I have experienced something tonight that I will never, ever recover from."

Zayn's entire body tensed.

"Niall," he warned, voice low, dangerous, a warning that should've sent any rational man running.

Niall, not being even remotely rational, ignored him entirely.

"I just think it's important," Niall continued, projecting his voice like he was giving a TED Talk, "that everyone at this table fully understands what my poor, innocent eyes have been subjected to this evening."

Liam choked on his drink, clearly enjoying every second of this.

Louis, looking far too intrigued, leaned forward. "Go on, then."

Zayn, seeing his impending doom, moved to lunge across the table, fully prepared to physically silence Niall by any means necessary.

But before he could get even halfway out of his chair, Liam casually looped an arm around his waist, effortlessly dragging him back down into his seat like he weighed nothing.

"Relax, babe," Liam murmured way too close to his ear, his voice positively dripping with amusement. "Let him have his moment."

Zayn turned to glare absolute murder at him, but Liam's grip tightened, a smug smirk playing on his lips.

"You absolute traitor," Zayn hissed.

Liam winked.

And then—

Niall stood up.

Zayn's soul left his body.

"TONIGHT," Niall announced loudly, dramatically, unnecessarily, "I WALKED INTO MY OWN KITCHEN, MY OWN HOME, ONLY TO FIND ZAYN MALIK—YES, THAT ZAYN MALIK—PRESSED UP AGAINST THE COUNTER, BEING THOROUGHLY SNOGGED INTO OBLIVION BY LIAM PAYNE."

The room exploded.

Anne choked on her wine.

Trisha looked scandalized.

Karen sipped her tea calmly, entirely unsurprised.

Harry's jaw dropped, his face a perfect mixture of shock and delight, while Louis actually collapsed onto the table in hysterical laughter, his forehead banging against the wood as he wheezed.

Zayn, beyond mortified, slammed his hands over his face, willing himself to literally cease to exist.

Liam?

Liam, the actual devil, just sat there, looking unbothered as hell, rubbing slow, lazy circles against Zayn's back.

"Not my fault he tastes good," Liam said easily, taking another bite of his food like he hadn't just casually ruined Zayn's entire life.

The room screeched in unison.

"OH MY GOD."

"LIAM, WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Louis was practically rolling on the floor, crying. "This is the best night of my life. I want this moment framed. Put it on my gravestone."

Zayn whipped his head toward Liam, absolutely seething, his face burning hotter than the sun itself.

"You. Shut the fuck up."

Liam, still completely unbothered, smirked. "I mean, should I have lied?"

"YES."

"Bit late for that," Liam said, popping another bite of food into his mouth like he hadn't just said the most unholy sentence known to man.

Meanwhile, Niall was still going.

"And let me tell you," he continued, fueling the fire like a true agent of chaos, "this wasn't just a kiss, no no no, my dear friends, this was a full-body, hands-in-hair, thigh-grabbing, soul-consuming, borderline-INAPPROPRIATE—"

"NAILLER, I SWEAR TO GOD!"

Zayn launched himself across the table, fully prepared to strangle him, but Niall dodged expertly, scrambling away with a loud, cackling laugh.

"THE WORLD NEEDS TO KNOW," Niall yelled over his shoulder as he ran for dear life.

Zayn was right behind him, murder in his eyes, vengeance in his soul.

"THE WORLD NEEDS TO MIND ITS BUSINESS!"

The last thing anyone saw before Zayn disappeared after him was Niall throwing his arms out dramatically, shouting:

"I'M TELLING TWITTER!"

Liam chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Well. That went well."

Louis, still crying from laughter, reached over and high-fived him.

"You're a menace," Louis told him.

"Yeah," Liam agreed, watching Zayn tackle Niall in the hallway, "but I'm his menace."

And, honestly?

That made it all worth it.

After dinner, the villa still buzzed with post-meal chaos, laughter still spilling into the air as everyone leaned back in their chairs, sated but exhausted from the evening's earlier catastrophes. Zayn was still recovering from the public execution of his dignity, glaring intermittently at Niall, who, completely unaffected, sat back like a king surveying his kingdom of disaster.

Then, with zero shame, Niall lifted his glass and tapped a spoon against it, his signature move when he was about to make an unnecessary but undeniably attention-grabbing declaration.

"Right, listen up, peasants."

Groans filled the room immediately.

Louis threw a napkin at him. "Absolutely not."

Harry rested his chin on his palm, sighing. "Can we vote to kick him out of the villa?"

"No, because I've just promoted myself." Niall smirked, letting the dramatic pause stretch, waiting for someone to take the bait.

Liam, ever the enabler, sighed. "Alright, go on then."

Niall grinned. "I am now, officially, the Villa Morale Officer."

More groans.

Zayn, still deeply bitter, crossed his arms. "This sounds like a dictatorship."

"Oh, it is," Niall confirmed cheerfully, completely unbothered by the hostility in the room. "From now on, any time one of you miserable lot gets too mopey, I will personally drop another Instagram post to roast you into feeling better."

Liam choked on his drink while Louis let out a loud, wicked laugh.

"Oh, this is dangerous," Amelia said, grinning. "That's way too much power to give him."

Zayn shot her a deeply betrayed look. "You're encouraging him?"

Amelia shrugged innocently. "Morale is important."

Liam, still giggling into his drink, nudged Zayn under the table. "I mean, we probably will need it."

Zayn groaned dramatically, dragging a hand over his face. "I am not dealing with another social media disaster."

"Oh, you absolutely are," Niall said, eyes twinkling with mischief, already pulling out his phone.

Less than ten minutes later, a notification popped up on all their phones.

@NiallHoran added to their story.

Zayn, eyes narrowing, immediately opened it in alarm.

And there it was.

A grainy, chaotic shot of the dinner table, Zayn mid-glare, Liam mid-smirk, and Harry mid-eye roll, overlaid with the text:

"WELCOME TO THE VILLA OF CHAOS. I AM YOUR CAPTAIN NOW. GOOD LUCK. #MoraleOfficer"

The next clip?

A very shaky, zoomed-in video of Zayn dramatically dropping his head onto the table, groaning, while Liam sat beside him, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

The caption?

"He's just mad I caught him making out in the kitchen. #VillaConfessions"

The following clip was worse.

It was Liam's voice, off-screen, whispering:

"We probably will need it."_

Then the camera panned to Zayn, who had just realized he was being recorded, his jaw dropping in horror.

CUT TO BLACK.

Zayn shot out of his chair so fast it scraped loudly against the floor.

"DELETE IT."

Niall was already sprinting away, phone in hand, cackling.

"IT'S FOR MORALE, MATE!"

"I WILL KILL YOU!"

Liam, completely unhelpful, was laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

Louis, tears in his eyes, leaned over to Harry. "Oh my God. He actually posted it."

Harry, chewing thoughtfully, nodded. "It's art."

Meanwhile, Anne, watching all of this unfold from her seat, took a slow sip of wine.

"Well," she said, exhaling contentedly, "at least they're keeping busy."

The moment Niall posted his now infamous Instagram story, the fandom detonated like a bomb. Within minutes, screenshots and clips flooded Twitter, spreading like wildfire.