Chapter 17: "Aftershocks"

The villa was eerily quiet, an unnatural stillness settling over the space that had, until now, been a battleground of unrelenting chaos, bruised egos, and ridiculous pranks that had nearly brought Paul to retirement. It was strange, almost unnerving, how the absence of shouting, laughter, and dramatic declarations of war could make the place feel foreign. For weeks, the air had been thick with unhinged energy, a never-ending cycle of revenge plots, PDA standoffs, and men in their thirties behaving like unsupervised children who had just discovered they had free rein over a luxurious, secluded villa.

But now? Now, the silence sat heavy and unnatural, stretching long enough to feel suffocating.

At the dining table, Niall sighed deeply, almost melting into his chair as he wrapped his hands around his steaming cup of tea, savoring the peace like a man who had just survived a natural disaster. The stillness, the serenity—it was the kind of morning he had been dreaming of since the moment they all stepped foot in this place. No screeching, no flying objects, no waking up to find someone being dramatically thrown into the pool for no reason other than boredom. Just quiet. Beautiful, glorious, blessed quiet.

For the first time in weeks, his tea was still in his cup and not halfway across the table because someone had thrown a pillow mid-argument. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't gripping his phone, waiting for the next international scandal to break because someone (Louis) had posted something completely unhinged online. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't actively fearing for his own mental stability. He took a slow, deliberate sip, his entire body relaxing into the rare, sweet embrace of absolute peace.

It lasted exactly thirty seconds.

"What if we faked a kidnapping?"

Niall choked. HARD.

Across the table, Louis sat with his arms folded, eyes bright, his leg bouncing under the table like a man physically incapable of existing without plotting something. Niall coughed violently, slamming his mug onto the table as he turned to stare at him in absolute horror. Louis, unbothered, merely raised an eyebrow, completely at ease with the idea that had just left his mouth like it was a perfectly normal thing to suggest.

"WHAT." Niall wiped his mouth aggressively, glaring at him. "WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?"

Louis, without missing a beat, tilted his head slightly. "What if we faked a kidnapping?" he repeated, as if that would make it sound any better.

Niall was too stunned to speak.

From the other side of the table, Harry slowly leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, expression flat and unimpressed. "Babe," he said, voice as patient as a man trying to reason with a wild animal, "we agreed to be good."

Louis exhaled deeply, shaking his head like he was genuinely struggling to understand the foreign concept of behaving himself. "Yeah, but that was before I got bored."

Harry rubbed his temples, already regretting waking up this morning. "Louis. It's been ONE DAY."

"Exactly," Louis pointed out, exasperated, throwing his arms out in frustration. "One whole day of being boring, Haz! Do you have any idea how painful that is for me?"

Niall groaned so loudly it echoed. "You are the reason I have trust issues."

From across the room, Zayn and Liam—who had been eating their breakfast peacefully, hoping to stay out of whatever this was—exchanged a glance, both instantly recognizing the telltale signs of an incoming disaster. Zayn, halfway through stirring his coffee, sighed heavily, setting his spoon down as he whispered, "Here we go."

Liam simply shook his head. "He lasted longer than I expected."

The air in the room shifted instantly, the energy of an impending Tomlinson-brand catastrophe thick enough to be tangible. Everyone had felt this before, that specific build-up before Louis did something that would make headlines. Harry sensed it and was already strategizing damage control. Niall feared it, bracing for the inevitable moment Paul would get involved. Liam dreaded it, already exhausted.

And then there was Paul.

Paul, who had been standing near the patio doors, who had been pretending to be disinterested as he scrolled through emails, who had been casually sipping his coffee as if he hadn't been doing this exact job for over a decade. Paul, who had heard everything, turned his head slowly, his expression one of pure, unfiltered exhaustion.

His eyes locked onto Louis, suspicious and fully done.

"If I see so much as a wink, you're ALL out of here."

The room went still.

Louis, mid-plot, mid-thought, mid-scheme, turned his head slowly, meeting Paul's dead-eyed stare.

There was a long, painful pause.

Then Louis grinned.

Paul's eyes twitched. "I swear to God, Tomlinson—"

Louis held up both hands in mock innocence. "Paul," he said smoothly, "I would never."

Paul's eyes narrowed. "You absolutely would."

Louis tilted his head, grinning wider. "You don't trust me?"

Paul inhaled slowly, gripping his coffee mug like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to sanity. "Not even slightly."

Harry groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "That's fair."

Paul took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of his nose before muttering, "One day. Just one day, that's all I wanted."

Louis' smirk deepened. "Paul, if you just let me explain—"

"NO."

Paul set his mug down with force, standing up straight, his voice carrying the sheer authority of a man who had reached his absolute limit.

"NO. No explanations. No schemes. No half-baked ideas that will somehow result in me having to put out a literal fire. You are ALL on thin ice. So help me God, if ONE of you so much as breathes wrong, I will personally escort each of you back to London myself and lock you in separate locations."

The threat sank in instantly.

The air shifted.

Harry tensed.

Liam looked alarmed.

Zayn blinked.

Niall flinched.

Louis?

Louis grinned wider.

Paul's fist clenched. "I SWEAR TO GOD, LOUIS."

And that was it.

That was the moment Paul Higgins—

head of security, crisis manager, and personal babysitter of One Direction—

fully gave up on life.

--

The weight of Paul's exasperated threat still lingered in the air, but Louis, as expected, looked utterly unbothered. If anything, he looked energized by the sheer effort Paul was exerting to keep them in line, like a man who thrived off testing authority figures.

"Paul, love," Louis said casually, propping his feet up on the chair next to him, "you're so tense. You ever thought about meditating?"

Paul slowly turned to him, expression unreadable.

"Tomlinson."

"Yeah?"

"If you speak again in the next five minutes, I will personally drag you onto the next available flight and seat you between two screaming babies."

Harry snorted, immediately covering his mouth to hide his laugh. Zayn raised an eyebrow, silently impressed. Niall openly guffawed into his tea, because nothing in the world entertained him more than watching Paul snap.

Louis, to his credit, at least had the decency to feign mild offense. He placed a hand over his heart, looking at Paul with exaggerated hurt. "That's cruel, Paul. Truly. Do you think so little of me?"

"Yes."

"Alright, fair."

"Thank God," Liam muttered under his breath, stretching his injured arm slightly before hissing as pain shot up his side.

Immediately, Zayn's attention snapped to him, all amusement gone in an instant.

"Don't do that," Zayn said sharply, gripping Liam's wrist before he could move again.

Liam winced but waved him off. "I'm fine."

"You're full of shit," Zayn shot back, eyes narrowing.

And just like that, the room shifted.

For all the chaos and nonsense that had unfolded in the past few weeks, there was one undeniable truth hanging over them all—Liam had nearly died. And while Liam himself had done his absolute best to pretend otherwise, there was no ignoring the fact that his body was still healing, that his ribs had been bruised, that his stitches had only recently come out.

Paul, as much as he loved to complain about managing them, had been quietly monitoring Liam's recovery the entire time.

"Doctor's coming in an hour," Paul announced, his tone suddenly serious, unwavering.

Liam groaned immediately. "Do we really need to make a big deal out of this?"

"Yes," Paul said simply. "Because if it were up to you, you'd be doing backflips off the balcony by now."

"Well, now that you mention it—"

"Finish that sentence, Payne. I dare you."

Liam shut his mouth.

-

Zayn had been watching Liam like a hawk for weeks, his usual quiet observance now fully fine-tuned to Liam's every breath. It was a miracle he hadn't actually forced Liam to stay in bed permanently, given how he'd hovered every time Liam so much as stood up too fast.

Now, with the checkup looming, Zayn's fingers tightened around Liam's wrist.

"You're not going to downplay shit when the doctor gets here," Zayn said, his voice low, serious.

Liam sighed, turning his hand over so his fingers brushed against Zayn's, a subtle reassurance.

"I'm fine, Zee."

"You almost died, Liam," Zayn said bluntly, his voice carrying that rare, cutting sharpness that only surfaced when he was genuinely worried.

The room fell silent.

Liam swallowed, his jaw tensing slightly, and for once, he didn't argue.

Zayn exhaled slowly, rubbing his thumb against the back of Liam's hand absentmindedly. He wasn't even aware of how tightly he was gripping him, like if he let go, Liam might disappear entirely.

Harry and Louis exchanged a look, neither of them saying a word, but understanding completely.

Niall, who usually joked through emotional moments, simply took another sip of his tea, eyes flickering between Zayn and Liam with something almost protective.

Paul cleared his throat, forcing himself back into professional mode.

"Doctor will be here in forty-five minutes," he reminded them, glancing at Liam once more before stepping toward the hall. "No more pushing yourself. Not today."

Liam rolled his eyes but didn't fight it.

Zayn, though?

Zayn didn't let go of his hand.

-

The villa doors opened precisely on schedule, and three security personnel entered first, scanning the area before the doctor himself followed.

This wasn't just a regular visit—Paul had ensured that Liam's safety was taken into account at every level. No media leaks, no risks. Just the best medical care possible.

Liam, still seated in the living room, looked up at the doctor lazily. "Fancy," he muttered.

Paul shot him a warning glare.

"Don't be an ass," Zayn muttered, finally releasing Liam's wrist—but only because the doctor needed access to him.

The examination began without much fuss, the doctor checking Liam's bruising, reflexes, lung capacity, and overall recovery speed.

Zayn didn't move.

Harry and Louis hovered just within earshot, but didn't interrupt.

Niall, still with his tea, watched like he was waiting for Liam to mess this up.

After a few moments of silent prodding and testing, the doctor finally stepped back, removing his gloves.

"Your healing process is going well," he confirmed, checking his notes. "Most of the external wounds will fade completely in a few weeks. Your ribs are still recovering, but you'll be back to full strength soon."

A collective exhale went through the room.

Zayn, ever the skeptical one, still looked tense. "And internally? No long-term damage?"

The doctor shook his head. "Nothing major. He's been lucky."

Zayn's shoulders visibly relaxed for the first time in days.

Liam, sensing the shift, nudged him. "See? Told you."

Zayn just rolled his eyes, unimpressed.

The doctor flipped a page, reading something carefully before looking back at Liam. "But I do have one concern."

The room immediately tensed again.

Paul straightened.

Harry frowned.

Niall sighed deeply, already knowing Liam was about to make his own life difficult.

Liam, unfazed, shrugged. "Go on, then."

The doctor folded his arms. "Rest. You need actual rest. Which means no overexertion, no lifting anything heavy, and no pulling any reckless stunts."

Liam stared at him blankly.

Then slowly turned his head to glance at the group.

Louis was biting his lip, clearly trying not to laugh.

Harry had already dropped his face into his hands.

Niall snorted. "Oh, that's not happening."

Zayn, not in the mood for jokes, immediately spoke up. "He'll rest."

Liam's jaw dropped. "What? No, I—"

"You. Will. Rest."

The doctor smirked slightly, closing his folder. "I'd listen to him if I were you, Payne."

Liam grumbled under his breath.

Zayn shot him a glare. "What was that?"

Liam grumbled louder.

Zayn leaned in closer.

Liam sighed, defeated. "Fine, I'll rest."

Zayn smirked victoriously.

Paul sighed, rubbing his temples. "Jesus Christ, it's like dealing with toddlers."

Louis grinned. "Welcome to our world, Paul."

--

The moment the doctor left, Liam stretched dramatically, rolling his shoulders as if the entire checkup had been a massive inconvenience rather than a necessary medical evaluation.

"See?" he declared, grinning entirely too smugly. "Told you I'm basically fine."

Zayn, still standing beside him, didn't react.

Niall side-eyed him over his tea. "Bro, you literally almost died three weeks ago."

"Yeah," Liam waved a hand dismissively, "but I didn't, so that's the main takeaway here, right?"

Harry, still rubbing his temples from secondhand stress, let out a long sigh. "You're actually insufferable, mate."

Louis, who had been lounging back in his chair, smirked. "Liam, if you so much as think about standing up too fast, I will personally tell Paul to sit on you until we leave this villa."

"I'd like to see him try."

Niall didn't even hesitate. "Bet."

"Alright," Liam scoffed, rolling his eyes as he stood up too fast—

—only to immediately regret it.

Pain shot through his ribs, his body protesting loudly at the movement, and before he could play it off, a sharp inhale betrayed him.

The room went silent.

Zayn's head snapped toward him so fast it was a miracle he didn't get whiplash.

"Sit. Down."

Liam, gritting his teeth, forced himself to keep his "I'm totally fine" expression locked in place.

"I just moved wrong," he muttered, but he was already lowering himself back into his seat because Zayn had a look in his eyes that promised suffering if he didn't.

Niall whistled lowly. "Man really thought he could fight his own body."

Louis leaned over to Harry, stage-whispering, "I give him three hours before he tries to do something stupid again."

Harry shook his head. "You're too generous. I'll give him one."

Paul, who had been watching the whole exchange, already seemed mentally prepared to walk straight into the ocean.

"Right," he muttered, rubbing his face. "You lot figure this out. I need coffee."

And with that, he left.

The boys all turned to look at each other.

Then, unanimously, they all turned to look at Zayn.

Liam blinked. "What's happening?"

Niall grinned. "We've all decided to let Zayn handle you."

Liam scowled. "That's not how democracy works—"

"It is today," Louis cut in cheerfully.

Zayn, who had remained silent throughout the whole exchange, exhaled slowly, rolling his shoulders before finally meeting Liam's gaze.

"Come with me," he murmured, nodding toward the sliding doors that led to the villa's private balcony.

Liam hesitated.

Zayn's expression didn't change. "Liam."

The way he said it, low, unwavering, with that certain edge that meant there was no point in arguing— it made something inside Liam still.

"...Fine."

Without another word, he stood, following Zayn outside.

The balcony was quiet, the sea air warm and crisp, but there was an undeniable weight between them.

Liam leaned against the railing, trying to act casual, trying to play this off like any other conversation, but Zayn remained standing in front of him, silent.

Too silent.

It wasn't normal silence.

It was Zayn's silence.

The kind that meant something was coming.

"Alright," Liam said after a moment, shifting slightly. "What's this about? You mad at me or something?"

Zayn exhaled through his nose.

"Mad?" he murmured, tilting his head slightly, voice controlled but tight. "Nah. Mad doesn't even begin to cover it, mate."

Liam blinked. "Okay… gonna need a little more than that."

Zayn's fingers twitched at his sides. "You almost died, Liam."

Liam stiffened.

The words hit him like a slap.

Zayn had barely said anything about it before now. He had been there, of course, always hovering, always watching, always making sure Liam didn't push himself too far. But he had never actually spoken about it.

Never actually said what was sitting in his chest.

Until now.

Liam opened his mouth to respond, but Zayn shook his head.

"No," he muttered, "you don't get to talk yet."

Liam shut his mouth.

Zayn swallowed, rolling his lips together before speaking again, carefully measured, like he was choosing each word with precision.

For weeks, Zayn had been holding it in, forcing himself to be the strong one, the calm one, the collected one. But standing here, with Liam looking at him like that— like Zayn was the one who had been hurt, like Zayn was the one who needed reassurance—something cracked.

His throat felt tight, his breath uneven, and before he could stop himself, it all spilled out.

"You don't fucking get it, do you?" His voice came out sharp, but there was no anger in it—just raw, unfiltered emotion.

Liam blinked, startled. "Zayn—"

"No, just—just listen." Zayn exhaled sharply, gripping the railing behind him like it was the only thing keeping him upright. "You weren't there, Liam. You weren't fucking there. You didn't see—" He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to block out the memory.

Liam stilled.

"I sat in that hospital," Zayn said, voice barely above a whisper, "watching them work on you, listening to the machines—those fucking machines, Liam. You know what that sounds like? The beeping, the monitors, the way the whole room moves around you like you're already gone? It's the worst sound in the world."

Liam's fingers tightened around Zayn's wrist.

Zayn let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. "And nobody was telling me shit. They just kept moving around, kept talking in that low voice doctors use when they don't want to say the worst thing out loud." His jaw tensed, breath uneven. "I was standing outside the fucking room, staring through the glass, thinking, 'This is it. This is how I lose him.'"

Liam's chest ached.

Zayn finally looked at him, and his eyes were wet.

"You weren't moving," he whispered, and Liam swore he saw a flicker of something dark in Zayn's gaze—something that looked too much like fear, grief, panic. "I was just standing there, and you weren't moving, and I swear, I thought—" His voice broke completely, and he looked away, exhaling shakily.

Liam felt his own throat constrict.

Zayn had always been quiet with his emotions, had always carried things alone, deep inside, where no one could reach them. But now? Now, he was right here, raw and exposed, trembling with the weight of something too heavy to carry alone.

And Liam had put him through that.

"Zee," Liam murmured, stepping closer, his free hand lifting to Zayn's cheek, thumb brushing against his skin.

Zayn closed his eyes, leaning into the touch just slightly.

"You didn't lose me," Liam whispered.

Zayn exhaled, shaking his head. "I almost did."

Liam swallowed hard. "But you didn't."

Zayn let out a breath, like he was trying to steady himself, trying to believe it.

Liam, still holding his wrist, shifted his grip, lacing their fingers together.

"I'm here," Liam whispered, his voice soft, steady. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."

Zayn finally looked up, searching Liam's face, like he was trying to memorize every detail, like he was still convincing himself that this was real.

After a long moment, he exhaled deeply.

"You promise?" Zayn murmured.

Liam squeezed his hand, pressing their foreheads together.

"I promise," he whispered.

For a long time, they just stood there, wrapped up in each other, letting the weight of everything settle between them.

Zayn's breath evened out. His shoulders relaxed for the first time in weeks.

And Liam?

For the first time, he understood.

Zayn hadn't just been worried. He hadn't just been scared.

He had been devastated.

Liam exhaled slowly, turning his head slightly to press a soft kiss to Zayn's temple.

"Okay," Liam murmured, finally surrendering. "I'll rest. I swear."

Zayn pulled back just enough to see his face, checking for any signs of dishonesty.

But Liam was serious.

For the first time, he meant it.

And Zayn?

Zayn let out a breath, finally believing him.

"Good," he whispered.

Because this time, Liam was staying.

And Zayn was never letting go.

-

The second Zayn had told Liam to follow him onto the balcony, every single one of them had stared in disbelief as Liam Payne—*the most stubborn man alive, the man who argued with medical professionals, the man who once said "I don't follow orders, I lead them" in an interview with full confidence—*stood up without hesitation and actually did what Zayn said.

No argument.

No eye-roll.

No "I'm fine, mate."

Just… compliance. Immediate, obedient compliance.

"Did Liam Payne just listen to a direct command?" Niall asked, eyes wide as he turned to Harry and Louis.

Louis blinked. "I—yeah? I think he did?"

Harry furrowed his brows, watching through the window as Liam followed Zayn onto the balcony, shoulders only slightly tense, as if he already knew he was about to get his ass handed to him.

"…This is unsettling," Harry muttered.

Louis nodded slowly. "I don't like it."

"What is he, a trained golden retriever?" Niall whispered.

Liam had zero hesitation, no usual stubborn resistance—just an automatic response to whatever the hell Zayn wanted. It was unnerving.

And that was exactly why they needed to witness this firsthand.

Within thirty seconds, they were all huddled near the glass doors leading to the balcony, trying (and failing) to be subtle as they listened in.

Louis had pressed himself against the wall, leaning just enough to see outside.

Harry was next to him, arms crossed, brows furrowed in curiosity.

Niall had taken the shameless approach, literally crouching with his ear near the glass.

Liam and Zayn were standing too close, talking too softly, but every once in a while, Zayn's voice would cut through the night air, sharp and shaken in a way that made all of them stop breathing.

And then, as Zayn's voice broke, the words came through crystal clear.

"I was standing outside the fucking room, staring through the glass, thinking, 'This is it. This is how I lose him.'"

The eavesdroppers went deadly silent.

Niall clenched his jaw. Louis shifted almost uncomfortably. Harry inhaled deeply through his nose.

Because knowing that Zayn had been scared was one thing.

Hearing him say it out loud was something else entirely.

Harry let out a slow exhale, glancing at the other two. "This is worse."

Louis nodded wordlessly. "Way worse."

"I didn't think it was possible," Niall muttered. "But hearing it? It actually hurts."

It was one thing to understand that Zayn had been hovering for weeks, watching Liam like he was afraid he'd vanish.

It was another thing entirely to hear the way his voice cracked.

To hear the weight of the fear in his words.

To hear the devastation that still lingered under his breath.

None of them moved for a long moment, just listening as Zayn let everything out, finally, after holding it in for so long.

Then, slowly, Louis exhaled. "I think that was the first time Zayn has ever actually admitted he was scared."

"Yeah," Harry muttered. "And the first time Liam actually heard it."

The three of them fell quiet again, because they all knew what was coming next.

Liam might've been a pain in the ass, but even he wasn't dense enough to ignore what this meant.

So when he finally whispered, "I'm sorry," they all exhaled in relief.

"About fucking time," Louis muttered.

Zayn was still talking, voice softer now, quieter but just as intense, and none of them were about to interrupt.

Instead, they quietly processed something else entirely.

Liam Payne, arguably the most bullheaded member of the group, had followed Zayn without a fight.

Liam Payne, who could barely take orders from a doctor, had done exactly what Zayn said, the moment he said it.

Liam Payne, who had spent the past decade pretending he wasn't hopelessly in love with Zayn, had just immediately agreed to resting.

"Holy shit," Niall whispered, realization settling over him like a revelation.

Louis blinked. "What?"

"Liam Payne is actually whipped."

Louis gasped. "Oh my God."

Harry raised a hand to his chin, processing. "…That actually explains everything."

"Liam Payne just does whatever Zayn wants." Niall's tone was pure amusement, like he had just cracked some kind of unspoken code.

Louis turned to Harry, grinning. "Liam Payne is Zayn's bitch."

"One hundred percent," Harry confirmed, sounding impressed.

"I cannot believe we never realized this before," Niall whispered, clearly losing his mind. "That explains why he never argues with him."

Louis started counting on his fingers. "That explains why Zayn can make him sit down when nobody else can. That explains why Liam was fine with letting Zayn control his recovery. That explains why—"

"—Liam would literally crawl through fire if Zayn asked him to."

They all stared at each other.

Then, as if fate had heard them, Liam spoke again.

"Yeah, Zee. I promise."

The three of them lost it.

Louis had to physically cover his mouth to stop himself from cackling. Harry pressed a fist against his lips, shoulders shaking. Niall actually rolled onto his back, wheezing.

"HE JUST—" Niall covered his face, still laughing. "HE REALLY SAID IT."

Louis wiped a fake tear from his eye. "He really just agreed without a single fight."

"Wow," Harry muttered, staring in awe. "Zayn Malik, the Liam Whisperer."

"The only man who can tame Liam Payne."

"The only man who can make Liam Payne willingly rest."

Niall grinned so hard it hurt. "I can't believe we're witnessing history."

They were still trying to quietly lose their shit when Liam and Zayn finally turned, noticing the three idiots pressed against the window.

Liam narrowed his eyes immediately. "What the hell are you lot doing?"

Louis, without hesitation, grinned. "Just watching you be whipped, mate."

Liam's expression froze.

Zayn, to everyone's surprise, actually smirked.

"You are, though," Zayn said casually.

Liam's jaw dropped. "WHAT—NO—"

Louis, Niall, and Harry HOWLED.

Liam turned bright red. "I AM NOT—"

"You literally just agreed to rest because Zayn told you to."

"I WAS—THAT'S NOT—"

"Liam," Zayn cut in, raising an eyebrow. "You just did exactly what I asked without arguing."

Liam stared at him.

Zayn smirked. "Whipped."

Louis collapsed onto the floor in laughter.

Harry actually had to walk away to breathe.

Niall? Fully rolling on the couch.

Liam just groaned into his hands. "I hate all of you."

Louis wiped at his eyes. "Don't worry, mate. You're a happy little lapdog, and we support you."

"I AM NOT—"

Zayn smirked wider, reaching for his wrist. "Come sit down, Li."

Liam immediately obeyed.

The room erupted in screams.

—

The absolute chaos that erupted from their realization was so loud, so unhinged, so filled with collective betrayal and amusement, that it shook the entire villa.

Louis was on the floor, wheezing.

Harry had to walk away to collect himself.

Niall was half-crying, half-screaming into a couch cushion.

Liam, still shell-shocked, had his face buried in his hands, clearly replaying every moment of his own downfall.

Zayn?

Zayn was smirking like he had known all along.

And then, because the universe was a cruel and unforgiving place—

Cheryl, Gigi, Amelia, and the mothers walked in.

Anne, hands on her hips, stared at the scene unfolding before her. "Alright, what in the world is going on here?"

Karen, looking deeply unimpressed, folded her arms. "Why are you lot screaming like you've just won the lottery?"

Trisha, narrowing her eyes, focused on Liam—who was still bright red, refusing to meet anyone's gaze.

"Did he finally trip over something and fall on his face?" she asked casually.

Gigi, who had been halfway through sipping a coffee, paused mid-sip, confused as hell. "What did I just walk into?"

Amelia, blinking between Niall—who was wiping actual tears from his eyes—and Louis, who was rolling on the floor like a child, sighed. "Oh no," she muttered. "What did you do?"

The boys absolutely lost it again.

Louis, still wheezing, pointed at Liam. "It's not what we did, Amelia. It's what Zayn did."

"Or more accurately," Harry snorted, regaining control of himself just enough to speak, "what Zayn has been doing for years."

"Which is?" Gigi asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Completely controlling Liam Payne."

Liam groaned into his hands. "Oh my god."

Zayn, unbothered, sipped his water. "I wouldn't say controlling," he mused, ignoring Liam's horrified stare.

"WHIPPED, AMELIA. WHIPPED." Niall slammed his palm against the couch, still losing his mind. "OUR MANS IS OWNED."

Liam's jaw dropped. "I AM NOT—"

"Let's break it down, shall we?" Louis cleared his throat, sitting up dramatically.

"Exhibit A," Harry started, smoothing out his shirt like he was presenting an academic paper. "Liam was literally given doctor's orders to rest, ignored it, and then the moment Zayn told him to rest, he obeyed."

"Immediately, without question, like a trained retriever," Louis added.

"No resistance. No fight. No 'I'm fine, mate'. Just straight-up 'Yes, Zee, whatever you want.'" Niall guffawed.

Karen covered her mouth, eyes twinkling with pure amusement. "You're joking."

Anne, equally entertained, turned to Zayn. "And you just told him to rest?"

Zayn, looking so completely at peace, shrugged. "Yeah."

"And he just did it?"

"Yep."

The room erupted again.

Liam, fighting for his life, shook his head furiously. "Okay, first of all—"

Louis held up a finger. "We're not done."

"Exhibit B!" Niall continued, giddy as ever. "The way Zayn has literally been getting Liam to do shit for years without any of us clocking it."

"I mean," Harry started ticking things off on his fingers, "Zayn tells Liam to sit, he sits. Zayn tells Liam to chill, he chills. Zayn tells Liam to stop being an idiot—"

"—Okay, to be fair, that one never works," Louis cut in.

Zayn tilted his head. "He listens more often than he used to."

"Exactly!" Louis pointed. "Exhibit C! This is not a new phenomenon! This has been happening since 2010 and we are only just now realizing!"

"2011," Harry corrected. "That's when it really kicked in."

"See? Historical evidence!"

"Okay, let's talk about on-stage moments," Niall continued, on a roll now. "Like when Zayn used to step forward mid-song, just to give Liam a look, and suddenly Liam was all chill and behaving like a perfect little angel."

"Or," Louis added, wiping tears from his eyes, "when Zayn used to pull Liam away from saying dumb shit in interviews by just touching his wrist and suddenly Liam forgot how to speak."

Cheryl, at this point, was fully leaning against the counter, covering her mouth. "So what you're saying," she mused, "is that Liam's entire personality shifts the moment Zayn tells him to do something."

"EXACTLY," Louis yelled.

The absolute final blow came when Harry, looking positively delighted, turned to Gigi.

"Cheryl," he said smoothly. "Did you ever have to convince Zayn to get Liam to do something for him?"

Cheryl blinked. "Oh, all the time."

Liam slammed his head onto the table.

The boys SCREAMED.

"OH MY GOD." Louis threw his hands up, collapsing against Harry.

Niall nearly spilled his tea, laughing so hard he couldn't breathe.

Zayn?

Zayn was smirking like he had known all along.

Liam lifted his head, looking utterly betrayed. "What the fuck, Cher?"

Cheryl shrugged. "I mean, you're easy to manipulate when Zayn's the one doing it."

Gigi wiped away an actual tear. "This is the best thing I've ever learned."

Amelia, who had been covering her mouth, fully cracked. "I mean… she's right."

Liam let out the loudest groan known to man. "I hate you all."

"It's okay, mate, we still love you." Niall patted his shoulder. "Even if you're fully, undeniably, unquestionably Zayn's personal lapdog."

Liam turned to Zayn, pleading. "Zee, back me up here, man."

Zayn, completely unbothered, shrugged. "You do kind of listen to me more than anyone else."

Liam's soul left his body.

The villa descended into hysterics.

—

Liam was dying inside.

Absolutely, fully, spiritually dying.

His entire existence, his credibility, his supposed 'independence' had just been ripped apart before his eyes, dissected and presented as undeniable fact.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

They weren't even wrong.

Not a single one of them was lying.

"Oh! Oh! Remember when Zayn told Liam to switch seats on the tour bus so he could sleep against the window, and Liam moved without question?" Niall gasped, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard.

Louis snapped his fingers. "YES. That was back in 2014. Liam didn't even hesitate. Didn't argue. Just stood up, nodded, and moved like a fucking well-trained service dog."

"AND THEN—" Harry gasped, wiping tears from his eyes. "Remember when Zayn had that cold in 2013 and Liam was his unofficial nurse for three days straight?"

Anne, eyes sparkling with amusement, turned to Zayn. "Did you ask him to?"

Zayn, entirely unbothered, sipped his water. "Nope. Just said I wasn't feeling well, and the next thing I knew, he had a whole routine scheduled for me."

The boys HOWLED.

"Oh my God, Liam!" Cheryl cackled, clutching onto Amelia's arm for support.

"IT GETS WORSE," Louis shrieked. "Remember when we were in Japan and Liam was dead asleep, but Zayn said he wanted food and Liam got up immediately and went to get it?"

"He was half-conscious!" Niall wheezed. "He didn't even open both eyes! He just nodded and got up!"

Trisha, who had been sitting quietly, observing all of this, finally spoke.

"Wait," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Is that why Bear called Zayn 'boss' the other day?"

Liam froze.

The villa lost it again.

And then, just as Liam was opening his mouth to protest, to salvage what little dignity he had left—

Zayn, completely calm, unbothered, still lounging in his seat like he wasn't the center of all of this, let out a soft hum, then—

"Li," he murmured, soft as ever, barely above a whisper, that gentle, honey-dipped tone that he used when he was feeling particularly affectionate, "let's go upstairs for a bit, yeah?"

And Liam. Fucking. Payne.

Stood up immediately.

Without hesitation.

Without questioning.

Without thinking.

He just nodded like he'd been summoned by a divine force, already moving before his brain had fully caught up.

Zayn stood too, stretching, and the two of them casually walked toward the stairs.

Not a word.

Not a protest.

Not a second thought.

Just pure, unfiltered autopilot.

Liam Payne had been exposed.

Humiliated.

Dragged.

Roasted to an astronomical level.

And the worst part?

The absolute worst part?

He had done it to himself.

It had started innocently enough.

Zayn had spoken—soft, smooth, with that low, honeyed tone that made every word sound like a secret meant just for Liam.

"Li, let's go upstairs for a bit, yeah?"

And without a second thought, without hesitation, without so much as an acknowledgment that he was moving of his own free will, Liam had stood up like a trained fucking soldier and followed.

No protest.

No questions.

Just immediate, blind obedience.

Like a man under a spell.

Like his soul had been summoned to another plane of existence.

Like Zayn was the puppeteer and Liam was just the helpless, lovesick fool dancing on his strings.

And as Liam had walked away, completely unaware of what he had just done, the rest of the villa had been left in absolute, paralyzing shock.

Nobody spoke.

Not a single word.

No one breathed.

Every single person in the room just stared at the space Liam had occupied, blinking.

Just… wide eyes, frozen expressions, mouths slightly open as they tried to process what had just happened before their very eyes.

Anne looked like she had just witnessed a miracle.

Karen had one hand over her mouth, shaking with silent laughter.

Gigi covered her mouth, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered secondhand embarrassment.

Cheryl looked genuinely stunned.

Trisha just stared, processing.

And then—

"WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT."

And the boys?

The boys were about to make this man's life a living hell.

"…Did that just happen?" Niall finally asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"He didn't even fucking think." Louis was staring at the stairs like they had stolen his entire belief system. "He just… moved."

Harry ran a hand over his face, genuinely struggling to process. "Liam Payne has been Zayn's bitch this whole time and we just—we just never realized."

"HE JUST WENT." Niall was losing his mind, holding onto the couch for support.

"NO ARGUMENT. NO SASS. NOTHING."

"HE MOVED BEFORE HE EVEN REGISTERED THE COMMAND."

"FUCKING AUTOPILOT."

Louis pointed dramatically. "That's not even being whipped—that's biological instinct."

"Bro is actually coded to respond to Zayn."

"It's like a fucking superpower."

Anne, who had been quietly observing all of this, finally spoke. "That was the single most domestic thing I've ever seen in my life."

Trisha tilted her head. "You don't think Bear's picked up on it, do you?"

Karen sighed, exasperated. "Trisha, my grandson calls Zayn 'Boss.' Of course he has."

The villa absolutely fell apart.

"NOT EVEN THEIR KID RESPECTS HIM."

"I CAN'T BREATHE."

"ZAYN IS LIAM'S HANDLER."

"HE'S BEEN DOMESTICATED."

Cheryl wiped at her eyes. "I always knew you were a little idiot in love, Liam, but this? This is the next level."

Amelia, finally catching her breath, leaned against Niall and sighed. "He's never recovering from this."

And she was right.

By the time Liam and Zayn came back downstairs, the sun had already started setting, casting long golden streaks across the villa's floors.

Liam was a different man.

Gone was the cocky, stubborn idiot who had spent weeks refusing to acknowledge his own physical limits.

Gone was the defiant, argumentative Liam Payne who always had a comeback, always had something to prove.

In his place?

A sleepy, docile, love-drunk cat of a man, blinking slowly as he curled into Zayn's side on the couch like he physically couldn't function without contact.

His head rested against Zayn's shoulder, arms lazily draped around Zayn's waist, like he was the human embodiment of contentment.

Zayn, entirely unbothered, simply leaned into him, rubbing slow circles against Liam's back like it was second nature.

It was so disgustingly soft that it physically hurt to watch.

The boys stared.

Niall opened his mouth.

Closed it.

Opened it again.

"…What the actual fuck."

Liam, barely awake, blinked at him blearily. "What?"

"What?" Louis repeated, scandalized. "WHAT? YOU'RE A WHOLE DIFFERENT PERSON."

Liam, completely unfazed, just let out a soft sigh, nuzzling his face further against Zayn's shoulder. "Dunno what you mean, mate."

"OH, COME ON." Harry threw his hands up.

Zayn raised an eyebrow. "He needed rest. I made sure he got it."

"YOU DRUGGED HIM, DIDN'T YOU?" Louis pointed an accusatory finger.

Liam let out a low, sleepy laugh, voice softer, warmer than any of them had heard in ages. "No, mate. Zee's just comfy."

The room EXPLODED.

"COMFY?! COMFY?! THIS IS YOUR WHOLE PERSONALITY NOW?!"

"ZAYN MALIK, SLEEP THERAPIST."

"HOW IS HE JUST THIS? THIS LEVEL OF DOMESTIC?"

Liam yawned, not even reacting to the chaos anymore, fully melting against Zayn like he had no bones left in his body.

Zayn, still rubbing his back, smirked. "Told you I could make him rest."

"THIS ISN'T REST. THIS IS REPROGRAMMING."

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HIM?!"

Zayn gave a lazy shrug. "Nothing special. Just told him to come upstairs, made him lie down, and played with his hair for a bit."

The room went dead silent.

And then—

"WHAT THE FUCK."

"THAT'S NOT FAIR."

"HIS LOVE LANGUAGE IS AFFECTION. YOU BASICALLY HACKED HIS SYSTEM."

Liam, fully sprawled against Zayn like an overgrown cat, sighed happily.

"HE'S TOO GONE TO EVEN BE EMBARRASSED."

Zayn, completely unbothered, smirked down at Liam's sleepy form, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"See? He's fine."

Niall shook his head. "You're terrifying, mate."

Zayn just smirked, clearly pleased with himself.

Louis, eyes narrowed, folded his arms.

"…I'm scared to say it, but I think we lost him."

Harry patted his back solemnly. "It's okay. He's happy."

"Yeah," Louis sighed, watching as Liam all but curled himself tighter into Zayn's side, purring like a fucking housecat. "That's what scares me."

And with that, the legend of Zayn Malik, the Liam Payne Whisperer, was forever cemented in history.

--

Liam had been many things in his life.

A pop star. A songwriter. A father. A survivor of One Direction-related chaos on multiple levels.

But today?

Today, he was a victim.

Because not even ten minutes after returning from a nap Zayn had forced him to take, Liam Payne was suffering.

The villa had become a courtroom, and Liam was on trial.

Except there was no jury.

Just executioners.

And they were all his supposed loved ones.

Liam sat slumped into the couch, arms crossed, sulking like a schoolboy while the boys continued their relentless attack. He should have expected this—of course, he should have expected this. But had he? No. Because he had been a fool, a blind, unsuspecting fool, unaware that his own body was actively betraying him.

"Remember when Zayn casually said he didn't like a certain brand of tea, and then, for the rest of the tour, Liam never drank it again?" Niall snorted, clutching his stomach from laughing too hard.

Louis gasped dramatically. "Oh my God, YES. I forgot about that!" He turned to Harry in shock. "That was in 2013, wasn't it?!"

Harry nodded, barely holding it together. "Yup. Liam literally switched tea brands overnight."

"That doesn't count!" Liam argued, sitting up. "I just happened to prefer—"

"Nope. No. No way, mate." Louis waved him off. "You fully committed to never drinking it again like a loyal, obedient boyfriend."

"AND THEN—" Harry gasped, clutching onto the couch arm for support. "*Remember that time in Japan when Zayn wanted to go for a late-night walk and Liam—who was literally half-asleep, in pajamas, faceplanted on the table—got up immediately and followed him?"

"LIKE A FUCKING TRAINED RETRIEVER," Niall screamed.

"LIKE A POSSESSED, VICTORIAN CHILD," Louis corrected, looking absolutely feral with laughter.

Zayn, unbothered and still looking smug, hummed softly. "I remember that walk."

Liam groaned loudly, rubbing his face. "It's called being a good friend."

"Mate, you weren't even conscious," Niall cackled. "You just heard Zayn wanted to go outside and started moving!"

Liam let out a deep, suffering sigh, dropping his head into his hands.

The laughter grew louder.

And then—as if fate had a sense of humor—Zayn shifted, tilting his head toward Liam with a lazy smirk.

"Li, come here," he murmured, voice soft, smooth, easy.

And Liam moved.

Not a conscious choice.

Not a second thought.

He just started standing up.

And then—horror.

His own brain caught up to his body and realized what he had just done.

He froze mid-motion, eyes widening in absolute terror as he recognized his own autopilot obedience.

The room went silent.

And then—

"HE WAS GONNA DO IT."

"HE WAS GONNA STAND UP."

"AUTOMATIC. ACTUAL. AUTOPILOT."

"MALIKGPT, ACTIVATE: 'LIAM, COME HERE.'"

Liam collapsed back onto the couch, groaning so loudly it echoed.

Zayn, still far too smug, simply lifted a brow. "You were saying?"

The villa imploded.

Paul had been standing near the entrance of the living room for the last five minutes, watching this unfold. He had entered with the intention of discussing something serious, something important, something that required all of them to sit down and focus.

Instead?

He had walked straight into Liam's public roasting session.

And honestly?

He wasn't mad about it.

Leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, Paul observed the pure anarchy before him with a small smirk.

"You know," he finally said, loud enough to cut through the screaming laughter, "I was going to wait to say this, but I just want to point something out—this is the first time Liam has ever actually sat still."

The boys howled.

"YOU'RE RIGHT."

"ZAYN FUCKING BROKE HIM."

"LIAM PAYNE: OFFICIALLY DOMESTICATED."

Liam slumped further down the couch, groaning dramatically. "This is my nightmare."

Paul, still smirking, took a sip of his coffee before continuing. "Alright, alright, as much as I enjoy watching Liam suffer, we need to talk about something important."

The laughter slowly died down.

Paul exhaled, setting his mug down.

"You need to start thinking about your next move."

Instantly, the atmosphere changed.

The teasing, the laughter, the casual playfulness—it all simmered down into something heavier.

Because Paul wasn't just talking about their schedules.

He wasn't just talking about the future in a vague sense.

He was talking about everything.

Their public personas.

Their relationships.

Their next steps.

For the first time in their lives, they had control.

And everyone was watching.

Paul, seeing the way their amusement drained into something more serious, exhaled.

"You're untouchable now," he told them, voice calm but firm. "And the world is waiting."

Niall, who had finally caught his breath, grabbed his phone from the table and unlocked it.

"Yeah," he muttered. "He's not wrong."

He turned the screen around, and the boys saw Twitter in absolute flames.

"#DirectionerNationalHoliday is still trending," he announced. "And apparently, someone made an actual, fully-researched timeline of the Villa War. It's being treated as a historical event."

Louis' eyes widened. "Wait, let me see that."

He grabbed the phone, scrolling quickly. His face went from confusion to amusement to absolute delight in real-time.

"Oh my God." He turned the phone to Harry. "People are treating this like a legitimate war."

Harry squinted at the screen. "Is that a fucking thesis?"

"It's a full dissertation," Niall confirmed, grinning.

Paul, now massaging his temples, let out a slow breath. "That's not the point—"

Louis grinned. "It's a little bit the point, Paul."

As the boys scrolled further, they realized it wasn't just one trend—it was multiple.

"Okay, I know we say this a lot," Harry said, voice a bit distant as he read, "but… we might actually be royalty now."

Liam, still recovering from his public execution, frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Look at this," Louis shoved the phone toward him. "People are literally calling us the royal court of chaos."

And sure enough, it was everywhere.

•"Paul Higgins = Head of the King's Guard."

•"Zayn Malik = The Power Behind the Throne."

•"Louis & Harry = The Disgraced Princes of Madness."

•"Niall = The Drunken Bard Who Witnesses It All."

•"Liam Payne = The Crowned Survivor of Gay Sex Education and Larry PDA."

Liam groaned. "Oh my God."

Zayn, reading it with amusement, nudged him. "I mean, babe. They're not wrong."

"YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE ON MY SIDE."

The internet was still on fire.

The world was still waiting.

For them.

Because for the first time, they were untouchable.

Their secrets weren't being used against them.

Their relationships weren't being hidden.

Their freedom was real.

For so long, they had fought for control, fought for their names, their lives, their loves.

But now, they had won.

So what came next?

Liam exhaled, running a hand over his face.

"Damn," he muttered. "That's actually a good question."

Zayn leaned back, arm draped lazily over the couch. "Guess we have to figure it out."

Louis smirked. "Guess so."

And just like that, the next era of their lives had begun.

The villa had been filled with laughter, warmth, and something that finally resembled peace for the first time in what felt like forever. The air was lighter, the weight of the past beginning to settle into something more manageable.

But Paul had been watching them.

Watching the way they finally allowed themselves to breathe.

Watching the way Liam let himself lean into Zayn like he wasn't still haunted by what happened.

Watching the way Harry and Louis had their fingers tangled in each other's like they had never spent years apart.

Watching the way Niall looked relieved, finally able to relax instead of being the glue keeping everyone together.

And Paul knew.

Knew that they thought this was the end of the fight.

Knew that they thought they had already won.

And that's why, as the night wound down, as the group settled in the living room, still basking in the aftermath of the day, Paul cleared his throat and reminded them that winning was only half the battle.

Because if they didn't protect what they had fought for, they'd lose it all over again.

The second Paul sat down, rubbing at his temples like they had already caused him years' worth of stress just by existing, the air in the room shifted.

Liam, who had been resting against Zayn, sat up slightly. Harry and Louis stopped whispering.

Niall exhaled, already bracing for whatever was coming.

"Alright," Paul started, voice flat but firm, "I'm only gonna say this once, so listen up."

The room went silent.

Paul sighed, looking them over.

"You've won," he told them, and it was true.

They had won.

They had beaten the system that had tried to control them. They had come out stronger, freer, completely untouchable.

But that wasn't enough.

Paul's gaze sharpened.

"But now, you need to protect what you have."

The words hung in the air.

Because this was what they had wanted.

To be free.

To be together, without anyone threatening to take it away from them.

But what Paul was saying—what he wasn't saying—was that just because they had won didn't mean people weren't still waiting for them to fail.

They had power now.

They had influence.

They had the entire world watching their next move.

And if they weren't careful, if they didn't use it right, didn't protect themselves, someone else would be waiting in the shadows, ready to take it away.

"This isn't the time to get reckless," Paul continued, his voice heavier now. "This is the time to cement your legacy."

Silence.

Liam swallowed, running a hand over his jaw.

Zayn exhaled, sitting forward, fingers laced together.

Louis and Harry exchanged a glance.

Because Paul was right.

They had fought so fucking hard to get here.

And they weren't about to lose it now.

The moment was serious, weighty, important.

Which, of course, meant that Harry had to ruin it.

He smirked, tilting his head slightly. "So what you're saying, Paul, is that we can't cause trouble anymore?"

Paul's eyes snapped to him immediately.

The exhaustion was instant.

"Don't push it, Styles."

The room erupted into laughter.

Paul rubbed at his temples, muttering something about stress-induced gray hairs.

Louis grinned, nudging Harry's shoulder. "I mean, he didn't say no."

Paul groaned.

And across the room, Zayn and Louis exchanged a look—because when had they ever listened?

As the teasing faded, as the laughter settled, the truth of it all finally sank in.

They weren't just former members of the biggest band in the world anymore.

They weren't just a group of men who had finally taken back control of their lives.

They were something else entirely now.

They were bigger than the industry itself.

They were untouchable.

The fans were theirs.

The influence was theirs.

The world was theirs.

And for the first time, they weren't being controlled.

They were the ones calling the shots.

Paul let them sit with that realization for a moment before finally pushing himself to stand.

"You have everything you've ever wanted," he told them.

His gaze flickered to Liam, to Zayn's hand resting against his knee, to the way Liam looked lighter than he had in weeks.

Then he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Don't fuck it up."

And with that, he left.

The room stayed quiet for a moment, the weight of Paul's words settling between them.

Then, finally, Liam moved.

Not dramatically, not noticeably.

But Zayn felt it.

The subtle way his fingers curled slightly into the fabric of his jeans, the tension in his shoulders, the shift in his breathing.

Zayn's brow furrowed.

"Liam?"

Liam blinked, snapping out of whatever thought had just stolen him away.

He forced a small smile. "Yeah?"

Zayn didn't look convinced.

Because he could see it.

The way Liam's mind was still turning, still racing, still searching.

Because Liam wasn't just resting.

He was digging.

Looking for something.

For answers.

For the truth of what really happened that night.

And soon?

Soon, they were going to have to face it.

No matter what they found.

--

The villa was asleep.

The laughter, the teasing, the chaos that had filled the house for weeks had finally settled into silence, leaving behind nothing but the hush of the ocean and the occasional creak of the old wood beneath the balcony.

And yet, Liam couldn't rest.

He sat alone in the darkness, the glow from inside the villa casting long shadows against the railing. His water glass sat untouched on the table beside him, condensation dripping into a small ring on the surface, forgotten.

His fingers tapped against his knee, restless, body wound too tight despite the exhaustion that tugged at him.

Because no matter how much he wanted to move forward, no matter how much he wanted to focus on the fact that he was here—alive, safe, loved—his mind kept pulling him back.

Back to the night it all happened.

Back to the moment he almost never came home.

Liam had tried.

Tried to convince himself that he was lucky.

That it had been random. That he had been in the wrong place, wrong time. That it had been just another senseless act of violence.

But deep down, he knew that was bullshit.

Because there were things missing.

Things that didn't make sense.

It had all happened so fast.

The push.

The air rushing past him.

The impact.

He had barely registered the fall before the pain had swallowed him whole, had dragged him under so deeply he wasn't sure he'd come back from it.

But that wasn't what kept him awake.

What kept him awake was the voice.

Because there had been one.

Not the shouts from the street.

Not the noise from the fight.

A voice. Low, deliberate, right behind him.

"You should've stayed quiet."

Liam exhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers over his forehead, jaw clenching.

Because that?

That hadn't been a threat in the heat of the moment.

That had been a message.

And whoever it was, whatever they wanted, they had meant for him to stay down.

But he hadn't.

He was still here. And he wanted to know why.

"Liam?"

The voice was soft, familiar, cautious.

Liam's head snapped up, blinking as Zayn stepped onto the balcony, barefoot, hoodie too big, hair a mess from sleep.

He looked so different from the man Liam had known ten years ago. Softer. Older. More tired in ways Liam wished he could erase. But his eyes?

His eyes were exactly the same.

"Hey, love," Liam murmured, attempting a half-smile.

Zayn didn't return it.

Instead, he watched him carefully, gaze flicking from the untouched water in Liam's hands to the way his shoulders sat stiff and tense.

"You alright?"

Liam exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly in his chair. "Yeah," he said, too quickly. "Just couldn't sleep."

Zayn didn't move, but his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You've been thinking about it again," he murmured, voice lower, unreadable.

Not a question.

Liam swallowed.

Because of course Zayn knew.

Because even after ten years apart, even after the silence, the heartbreak, the distance— Zayn still knew him better than anyone.

And Liam?

Liam had never been able to lie to him.

"Yeah," he admitted. "I have."

Zayn let out a quiet breath, stepping closer. The chair next to Liam was empty, but instead of sitting in it, he perched on the railing, turning so they were level.

"Tell me," Zayn murmured. Not demanding. Not pressing. Just… there.

And maybe that was why Liam let himself say it.

"There was a voice," Liam murmured, fingers gripping the edge of his seat.

Zayn's brows furrowed. "A voice?"

"Yeah." Liam licked his lips, heart hammering. "Just before it happened. Right before I felt myself falling. Someone said something to me."

Zayn sat up straighter, fully awake now.

"What did they say?"

Liam exhaled, stomach turning.

"You should've stayed quiet."

Zayn didn't move.

Didn't blink.

Didn't even breathe.

And Liam? Liam saw it.

The way Zayn's body locked up, his fingers twitching like he wanted to grab onto something.

The way his jaw clenched, his lips pressing into a tight line like he was fighting the urge to swallow down something too big to hold.

Because this wasn't just some random attack.

This wasn't just a fight gone too far.

Someone had wanted Liam dead.

And Zayn?

Zayn had almost lost him before he ever got the chance to fix what was broken between them.

Liam swallowed, his chest aching with something deeper than fear.

"Zee," he murmured, voice barely there.

Zayn's head snapped up, and fuck.

Liam had seen Zayn angry. Had seen him frustrated, pissed off, sharp-tongued.

But this?

This was quiet rage.

This was ten years of loss, ten years of silence, ten years of missing him—wrapped up in the sheer fucking terror of almost losing him for good.

Zayn inhaled through his nose, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to steady himself.

"We'll find out who did this," he said finally, voice low, steady, certain.

Not a question.

Not a - maybe.

A promise.

Liam turned his head, meeting his gaze.

Something inside of him loosened slightly.

Because if there was one thing he had always known about Zayn Malik, it was this:

He never made promises he didn't intend to keep.

Liam exhaled, reaching out, curling his fingers around Zayn's wrist, grounding himself in the warmth of his skin.

"I know," Liam whispered.

Zayn flipped their hands, threading their fingers together, holding on like he wasn't planning to let go.

Because this wasn't over.

Not even close.

But whatever came next?

They were facing it together.

--

The villa was wrapped in a rare kind of stillness, the air thick with the warmth of the night and the quiet hum of the ocean in the distance. It was the kind of night where things felt weightless, where the world outside the walls of their private sanctuary no longer mattered.

For the first time in what felt like forever, there was no chaos.

Just them.

Them and the love they had spent so long running from, fighting for, and now—finally—holding onto.

But it wasn't just love.

It was a relief.

It was the knowledge that, for the first time in a decade, they didn't have to hide anymore.

And that? That was everything.

Louis & Harry

Louis was already grinning as he pulled Harry through the villa, fingers wrapped tightly around his wrist, his body still buzzing from the laughter and teasing from earlier.

The villa was alive with energy, but he needed to get away, needed to be alone with Harry.

Because it had been a long time coming.

Because they had been waiting for this.

The moment they reached the quiet balcony attached to their room, Louis turned, pressing his back against the railing, looking up at Harry with bright, mischievous eyes.

Harry laughed softly, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

Louis smirked. "Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?"

Harry didn't answer.

Instead, he stepped closer, hands finding their place against Louis' waist, gripping him lightly, grounding himself.

And just like that, everything slowed.

The teasing, the playfulness—it was still there, but it was softened by something deeper, something heavier.

Louis felt it settle between them, the weight of the years they had spent apart, the years they had spent trying to pretend they were okay without each other.

Harry ran his thumb along the hem of Louis' shirt, his green eyes flickering with something Louis had seen a million times before but had been too afraid to hold onto.

Something soft.

Something endless.

"I missed you," Harry said finally, voice barely above a whisper.

Louis inhaled sharply, his fingers curling into the fabric of Harry's shirt.

"I missed you too," he admitted, and fuck— his voice wavered, just slightly.

Harry noticed.

Harry always noticed.

His hands slid up, cupping Louis' jaw, tilting his face up slightly.

"We wasted so much time, Lou," he murmured, voice rough with something unspoken.

Louis swallowed, blinking rapidly. "Yeah. We did."

Harry exhaled, forehead dropping against Louis', his breath warm against his lips.

"I don't wanna waste any more," he admitted.

Louis' hands slipped around the back of Harry's neck, fingers curling against his skin, anchoring himself.

"Then don't," Louis whispered.

And this time, when they kissed, there was no urgency.

No desperation.

Just certainty.

Just the steady, unshaken promise that they weren't going anywhere.

Not this time.

Not ever again.

Zayn & Liam

They had spent so many years apart.

Too many.

And yet, somehow, it didn't feel like it had been ten years.

Liam lay on his side, his body relaxed in a way that felt almost unnatural, like his muscles were still learning how to let go. The sheets warm and tangled around their legs, his body finally relaxed after days of tension, of exhaustion, of too much weight pressing on his chest. He wasn't sure how long they had been lying there, wasn't sure when the rest of the villa had gone quiet—he just knew that Zayn was there, right beside him, awake, watching him with those dark, unreadable eyes.

Zayn was next to him, half-propped on his elbow, watching him in the low glow of the bedside lamp.

It was the way Zayn always watched him, the way he always had.

Even when they were kids, barely understanding what they were to each other.

Even when they were at the peak of their madness, pretending they didn't know what it meant.

Even when Zayn walked away, and Liam told himself not to care.

But Liam had never stopped caring.

Not once.

And now, after ten years of distance, of heartbreak, of longing— Zayn was finally back where he belonged.

Neither of them spoke at first.

They didn't have to.

Zayn was tracing light, slow circles against Liam's wrist, his fingers warm and steady. Liam let him, let himself focus on the sensation, let himself memorize it.

Because he almost never got to have this again.

And fuck, that realization hit him hard.

Liam let out a shaky breath, voice barely above a whisper.

"I never stopped, you know."

Zayn's brows furrowed slightly. "Stopped what?"

Liam turned his head, meeting his gaze, fully this time.

"Loving you."

The words hung in the air between them, pressing into the space that had been too empty for too long.

Zayn's breath caught.

His fingers, which had been moving in slow circles over Liam's wrist, stilled.

For a moment, he didn't move at all.

Liam felt his own heart hammering against his ribs, but he didn't take it back.

He couldn't.

Because it was the truth.

And for once, he wasn't afraid to say it.

Zayn exhaled slowly, his eyes never leaving Liam's.

"I never stopped either," he admitted, and fuck—his voice cracked.

Liam felt something ache deep in his chest.

Because he had been waiting to hear that for so long.

For ten years, he had convinced himself it was better to move on, better to forget, better to pretend like Zayn had left him for good.

But Zayn hadn't.

He had never stopped loving him.

Liam's fingers curled into the sheets between them, gripping onto the fabric like it could somehow ground him.

"You left," Liam whispered, and it wasn't an accusation—not anymore. Just a truth, one that still hurt even now.

Zayn swallowed hard. "I know."

Liam's throat felt tight, heavy. "You left, and I—I told myself I hated you for it. I told myself I'd never forgive you. But I—" His voice broke, his fingers clenching around the fabric even tighter.

Zayn's hand slipped over his, prying his fingers from the sheets, threading them together.

Liam sucked in a sharp breath at the contact.

"I know, Li," Zayn murmured, his thumb brushing over Liam's knuckles. "I hated me too."

Liam's breath hitched. "Then why—"

"I was scared," Zayn admitted, his voice low, raw. "Scared of what they'd do to us. Scared of what would happen if we didn't stop. If we didn't walk away."

Liam blinked at him, his chest aching with something unbearable.

"You mean if you didn't walk away," he whispered.

Zayn's fingers tightened around his. "If I didn't walk away," he corrected, voice rough.

Liam exhaled slowly, his eyes burning now, because Zayn had never said it before.

Had never admitted that it was a choice.

That it had been fear that kept them apart.

And it wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair that they had spent years apart, wasted years, miserable and alone, because they had been too fucking scared to fight for what they had.

Liam let out a broken laugh, shaking his head. "We wasted so much time, Zee."

Zayn's jaw clenched.

"I know."

Liam turned his head, pressing his face against Zayn's pillow, his free hand reaching for him, needing more than just words.

Zayn moved instantly, closing the space between them, pressing his forehead to Liam's, their breaths tangling together.

"We can't get those years back," Liam whispered, his voice thick.

"No," Zayn murmured. "But we can make sure we never lose another one."

Liam let out a shaky breath, his fingers slipping into Zayn's hair, holding him there.

"You're mine," Zayn whispered, voice softer now, but certain. "You've always been mine, Liam."

Liam's chest ached, ached, ached.

He nodded, his nose brushing against Zayn's.

"Yours," he whispered back, his voice breaking under the weight of everything that had ever been left unsaid. "Always yours."

Zayn exhaled deeply, pressing their lips together—not desperate, not rushed, just steady, just real.

And Liam?

Liam let himself fall into it, let himself believe, let himself hold onto the only thing that had ever mattered.

Because after ten years apart, after all the distance and fear and pain—

They were here.

Together.

And this time, they weren't letting go.

Liam curled into Zayn's warmth, his head pressed against his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring beat of his heart.

Zayn held him close, fingers threaded through his hair, his other hand tracing soft lines against Liam's back.

For once, Liam felt weightless.

For once, he wasn't afraid.

For once, he knew, without a doubt, that Zayn was never leaving again.

And for the first time in a decade, Liam fell asleep happy.

Niall & Amelia

Niall walked slowly down the villa's private beach path, fingers laced with Amelia's, the air cool against his skin.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like he could finally breathe.

Not because he had ever had to hide like the others.

Not because his relationship with Amelia had ever been questioned.

But because for so damn long, he had been waiting for this moment.

Waiting for his best friends to be free.

Waiting for them to realize what he had known all along.

That they were stronger together than they ever were apart.

"You're quieter than usual," Amelia murmured, squeezing his hand.

Niall hummed, looking over at her with a small, soft smile. "Just thinking."

"About?"

He exhaled, squeezing her hand back.

"About how, for the first time in years," he murmured, "I don't have to hold everything together anymore."

Amelia stopped walking, pulling him gently to face her, eyes searching his.

"You were never supposed to do that alone, Niall," she whispered.

Niall's throat tightened.

"I know," he admitted. "But I did. For a long time."

She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in, resting her forehead against his.

"And now?" she murmured.

Niall smiled, real and easy and finally, finally free.

"Now I finally get to just enjoy what we have," he whispered, pressing a kiss to her temple. "No bullshit. No secrets. Just us."

And for the first time in years, he let himself believe it.

No hiding.

No pretending.

Just love—real, raw, and finally free.

And for tonight, that was enough.

Because they had fought for this.

And they weren't going to let it go.

Not ever again.

--

The villa was no longer buzzing with the warmth of laughter and teasing. The morning had started slow, filled with lazy kisses, lingering hands, whispered affections meant for no one but the people they had waited a decade to love freely. But as the sun rose higher, the weight of reality crept in, casting shadows over what had been the first night in years they didn't feel the world pressing in on them.

Paul's call for a meeting had shattered that fragile peace.

Liam had felt it brewing all morning, the way Paul had watched them all with the careful, measured gaze of someone about to say something that would change everything.

And now, as they sat in the cool, sunlit living room, every trace of comfort had been stripped away.

Paul stood before them, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had been with them long enough to know how to school his emotions, how to keep himself in check even when they pushed him to the edge of reason.

But today?

Today, there was something different in the way he held himself.

Something tense, controlled, but edged with something else—something Liam recognized as hesitation.

Paul was never hesitant.

And that?

That was enough to send Liam's stomach twisting into knots.

Paul exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his jaw before leveling them all with a look.

"We're not letting what happened to Liam go unanswered," he said, voice even, but final.

The words sank into the room, silencing whatever lingering traces of comfort had been left behind.

Liam felt Zayn's hand curl slightly against his thigh, not obvious, not for anyone else, but steady—always steady.

"Yeah, mate," Louis muttered, tilting his head, his voice unusually measured. "We figured that part out. What's changed?"

Paul hesitated. Just for a second. Just long enough for Liam to notice.

And then, finally, he dropped it.

"The attack on Liam caught the attention of people outside our usual circle," he said, his voice carefully controlled.

Harry's brows furrowed. "What people?"

Paul's gaze flickered between them before he exhaled, his voice dropping lower, like saying it out loud would make it more real.

"The Royal Security Task Force has reached out."

The silence was instant.

Liam felt the words hit him before he fully processed them.

The Royal Security Task Force?

The same force that worked directly with the Royal Family, that handled high-level security concerns, intelligence, and national threats?

Zayn sat up straighter, his entire body going rigid. "What?"

Paul nodded, his expression grim. "They saw the reports. Saw what happened. And now they think it's worth looking into."

Liam's heart was pounding against his ribs.

Because this wasn't just an industry scandal.

This wasn't some jealous ex or a bitter rival or a tabloid stunt gone too far.

This was government-level interest.

Which meant whoever had come after him wasn't just some random attacker.

They were dangerous.

And they were being watched.

"Why the hell would they care about this?" Harry asked, his voice calm but edged with something sharp, something protective.

Paul exhaled, fingers twitching slightly at his sides.

"Because," he said, "there's reason to believe that what happened to Liam wasn't just about him."

Liam felt his stomach drop.

Zayn's hand clenched into a fist against his knee. "What does that mean?"

"It means," Paul said, his tone tight, "that whoever did this wasn't just trying to hurt Liam."

The room felt smaller.

Louis shifted, his usual smirk absent, replaced by something colder, something more calculating.

"You're saying someone targeted him for a reason," he said slowly.

Paul nodded.

Harry exhaled, dragging a hand through his curls. "Fuck."

Liam gritted his teeth.

Because he had felt it.

The way that shove hadn't just been a moment of aggression.

The way those words had been a warning, not a threat.

"You should've stayed quiet."

Zayn turned his head, his gaze locking onto Liam's.

And Liam knew.

Knew that Zayn had already been thinking the same thing.

That this wasn't just about Liam.

That this was about all of them.

Liam exhaled slowly, forcing himself to breathe.

"So what does this mean?" he asked, his voice calmer than he felt. "What are they looking for?"

Paul met his gaze, and for the first time in all the years Liam had known him, there was something in his expression that almost looked like concern.

"They're looking for whoever did this to you, Liam," he said simply. "And they're going to find them."

Liam swallowed hard.

Because this wasn't just about getting answers.

This was about preparing for whatever came next.

And something told him?

They weren't ready for it.

The meeting ended, Paul leaving them to sit with the weight of what they had just learned.

Liam barely registered the others leaving the room, their voices hushed, their minds already moving onto the next steps.

All he could feel was the tension still sitting in his chest.

And then, suddenly, Zayn's fingers brushed against his.

Not loud.

Not demanding.

Just there.

Liam glanced at him, his gaze searching.

"You okay?" Zayn asked softly.

Liam let out a slow breath. "No."

Zayn nodded once, then reached over, threading their fingers together, squeezing tight.

Liam didn't say anything.

Because Zayn already knew.

Already understood.

And in that moment, with the weight of the truth pressing down on them, Liam realized something else.

Zayn wasn't just holding his hand.

He was making a promise.

A silent vow.

That whatever happened next?

Liam wouldn't face it alone