Round 2
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ROUND 3 delicious /
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WEDNESDAY
It's a concert night and your vocal chords are practically shot, but for the first time in a long time you're really happy. Seeing your bandmates alive with the glory of singing, loving what they do, is really inspiring to you. And, really, you live for this because as much as you know this is your passion, you know it's theirs, too. You've all worked so hard for this.
Management rents a hotel for the night and you all draw straws until Niall's pumping his fist because he's got the single and Harry and Louis are sneaking away to their room and Zayn is looking at you with a smile on his lips. And, okay, this is going to be much more comfortable than the bus but you'd almost prefer it.
Not that rooming with Zayn is awkward or anything; quite the contrary. You're just not sure you're up to a night of silent glances and questions. You're just exhausted and kind of want to sleep forever, but Zayn's asking you about Charles Dickens and you're only half paying attention.
Being ever-patient, Zayn just laughs and says you can worry about this tomorrow and okay, maybe he's blushing and you aren't sure why but it's so damn adorable. He slips into the bathroom to shower and you know that, before the night is out, you should as well but you're having a hard time finding the motivation to breathe right now, let alone contemplate a shower. So you lie on the bed, still in your performance clothes, and fight of the headache thats bleeding into your consciousness.
And, okay, maybe you fall asleep and maybe Zayn is too nice to wake you properly before slipping off your shirt and pants and tucking you into bed. Maybe, just maybe, you're mumbling out a thank you and you feel like a child but its so nice to be taken care of every once in a while. Sometimes, being Daddy Direction is just too much.
And you're glad that it's not weird to have Zayn tuck you in, glad that the five of you got over your sheepishness long, long ago. You've seen Harry's extra nipples, Louis' scars, and the fact that Niall's carpet doesn't match the drapes. You've seen almost every inch of Zayn's tanned, immaculate skin and they've seen all of you. Really, it's as if you're five parts of one whole and you wouldn't have it any other way.
But maybe it's still weird to have Zayn brush your fringe out of your eyes and whisper, "'Good night, good night. Parting is such sweet sorrow, that I shall say good night 'til it be the morrow.'"
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But yes, this is so lovely!
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