“Rosie, no!” 

Too late. Louis can only watch on in horror as his too-curious-for-her-own-good cat startles in surprise at his exclamation. Precariously perched on the pyramid of soup cans that Louis just spent the last twenty minutes constructing, she slips off a yowl of shock and sends the mountain of cans avalanching down. She twists nimbly through the air and lands on her feet but yelps when one of the cans hits the ground and explodes, dousing her in cold tomato soup. With a wail, she launches herself into Louis’ arms. She tucks her red-stained face into his neck while the aisle clatters with loose cans and draws more than a few gawking shoppers. 

Louis groans and does his best to mop up his sopping familiar with his Tesco uniform shirt. By the time Rosie looks more cat than marinara monster, Louis’ manager has arrived onto the scene. The crowd of onlookers part for his manager’s cross-looking dog familiar, who Rosie hisses at. 

“Knock it off, Rosemary,” Louis mutters under his breath. 

His manager shoots him an unimpressed look. “Tomlinson.” 

“Mr. McCormack, how can I help you?” Louis attempts his most dazzling smile. He doesn’t know how effective it is with a soup-soaked feline dripping in his arms and the canned goods aisle quickly transforming into the Red Sea at his feet. 

Mr. McCormack raises an eyebrow. “I’m afraid this just isn’t working out.” 

Louis sighs and hangs his head. “I know.” 

In his arms, Rosie purrs. 

“Thanks for coming to get me, Payno,” Louis says, rocking to his feet from where he and Rosie had been sat on the curb. He grimaces at the faint orange, cat-shaped stain Rosie leaves behind on the cement. “You’re a lifesaver.” 

He lets Rosie clamber in first. As usual, she ignores Liam and hisses at Liam’s familiar Alfred in the backseat. But Louis ran out of patience three cans of tomato bisque ago. “Oi,” Louis snaps, “cool it, will ya? You’ve done enough damage today.” 

Rosie whines in protest but grudgingly lets him lift her so he can sit in the passenger seat and settle her in his lap, where she makes sure to stomp on his dick. 

Twice. 

“Of course, Lou,” Liam says, checking over his shoulder before merging back into traffic. “You’re my best mate. You can always call me and Alfie, anytime. You don’t mind spending the day with me at the bakery, do you? Harry’s got me on the afternoon shift.” 

“Seeing as I just got sacked, it’s not like I’ve got anything else planned for today.” Louis leans back against the headrest, which is just a little too low to be comfortable after Louis accidentally jammed it back in sixth form. Liam’s old but trusty car sputters and hums under him—familiar and comforting and reminiscent of simpler times, broken pieces and all. Rosie paws at the window expectantly until Louis cranks it down enough for her to stick her nose out. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Liam says earnestly. He risks a reassuring smile at Louis before diligently returning his eyes on the road, hands at ten and two.

Louis hums morosely. “Do you think Harry’ll have any scones left?” 

“I didn’t even last a week, Haz,” Louis groans, slumping forward in his seat to thump his forehead against the counter. “That’s got to be some kind of record. I’ll be back home with Mum and the little ones at this rate.” 

“What happened?” Harry asks while he fiddles with the finicky register. The cash drawer jumps out with a metallic bang that makes Harry flinch.

“My bloody familiar happened,” Louis grumbles and lifts his head just enough to snag another free sample of sticky buns Harry set out. “Rosie made a huge mess at work and hissed at me boss’ familiar.” 

Harry winces in sympathy. “She’s still not outgrown her tricky phase then.” 

Louis gives him a flat look. “We’re twenty-nine years old, Haz. She’s not exactly in her terrible twos.” 

“Hey, I’ve only known you since you moved to London. Maybe she’s having trouble adjusting.” 

“We’ve been here for three years,” Louis points out. “Nah, she’s always been like this, never liked anyone’s familiar except me families’. Barely puts up with Payno and poor Alfred, and we’ve known them practically our whole lives.” 

Harry nods slowly, contemplating. “Have you tried taking her to a specialist?” 

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” Louis bristles. “She’s just…particular. She doesn’t like other familiars, and that’s fine. I don’t want to stress her out if that’s what she prefers.” 

Harry holds up his hands placatingly. “Okay, okay, sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I was just wondering if you’ve gotten a professional opinion about it. I mean, Rosie seems happy enough here.” He nods over his shoulder to the kitchen where they can see the black cat wiggling her haunches. She pounces on an unsuspecting Winifred, who lets out a hearty croak but otherwise seems unbothered that Harry has left him at Rosie’s mercy. “Maybe you should just suck it up and take the job I’ve been offering all year.” 

Louis scowls. “I haven’t even got a degree, H.” 

“It’s baking, mate, not rocket science.” 

“Tell that to the toast I burned this morning.” 

From the kitchen in the back, Liam sticks out his head to helpfully add, “Nearly had to call the fire brigade! I’ve started looking into insurance for our flat.” 

“No one asked you,” Harry retorts and scrunches his nose at Liam, who retreats to check on the croissants in the oven. At Louis’ smug expression, Harry groans. “Why are you being so impossible?” 

“If you want to burn down your nan’s beloved bakery, be my guest. But leave me out of it. I’m not here for handouts.” Louis stubbornly crosses his arms over his chest. “Me and Rosie, we’re not a charity case.” 

“Fine. What if I start you on the register or something? Or sweeping up after hours? Is that lowly enough for your poor self-esteem, you bloody martyr? I’ll need more free time to train a new baker anyway since Liam’s going back to school soon.” 

Louis blinks. “He is?” 

Harry nods, expression softening with fond pride. “Going back for an advanced degree in business and finance to help out with the bakery’s bookkeeping. He wanted to do it and work at the same time, but I told him he was mad and we’d be fine without him for a little while.” 

“He didn’t tell me anything about this,” Louis says, trying and failing to keep his tone from souring with hurt. 

“I think he only just found out he’d been accepted today,” Harry explains gently. “He wasn’t trying to keep it from you on purpose or anything like that.” 

Louis bites his lip, torn between feeling guilty for ruining Liam’s good news with his own inane problems and feeling embarrassed that he can’t hold down a shitty Tesco job while Liam’s gone and gotten accepted into a graduate program like a proper adult. The latter cements his decision to finally swallow his pride if it means getting his life at least somewhat back on track. 

“So,” Louis tilts his head, “is that cash register really as tricky as you make it seem, or are you just an idiot?” 

Harry pouts. “Hey, it’s not my fault the keys stick.” 

“Nine on the dot,” Eleanor remarks when she leans across the console to open the passenger door for Louis to climb in. She straightens up, streetlights casting elegant evening shadows across her face. “That’s gotta be a record.” 

“Please don’t start,” Louis groans, shutting the car door and getting Rosie settled on his lap. She grunts unhappily and peers into the backseat to sniff at Clifford and Bruce, who wag their fluffy tails in greeting. 

Eleanor raises an arched eyebrow as she peels away from the curb and flips off someone who tries to cut her off. “Rosemary seems grumpier than usual.” 

Louis grimaces. “Yeah, I don’t know what’s going on. Usually we can at least get to dessert before she starts getting stroppy. And I was really looking forward to the cheesecake we ordered.” 

“Your date must’ve been boring as fuck if the most exciting thing was cake that’s going to make you fart for days.” 

Louis snorts. “He was fine. Chewed with his mouth open but only sent me two dick pics on Tinder, so not the worst person I’ve gone out with.” 

“And he paid?” 

“And he paid.” 

“Good lad.” Eleanor merges without flipping her blinker on. “So, did the dick pics look any good?” 

Louis grins, sour mood finally lifting at Eleanor’s crude and familiar humor. Quiet pop music drifts out the open windows as they cruise along hidden side streets to avoid the worst of the Friday night traffic. “Didn’t seem half bad, but thanks to Rosie I can’t give you a full product review. Shame too. I haven’t gotten laid in ages.” 

“Is that your sly way of trying to get into my pants?” 

“Maybe.” Louis waggles his eyebrows. “Did it work?” 

Eleanor laughs—full-belly, head thrown back, unguarded in a way Louis doesn’t get to see often enough. “Cheeky, Tommo.” 

“I would also settle for ice cream,” he offers magnanimously. 

“Alright, I’ll see what I can scrounge up. You’re lucky Harry hasn’t got me on one of his weird LA diets. I swear, one trip to California and he thinks he’s allergic to lactose or something.” 

Louis scowls. “I wish he was allergic to avocados. He’s somehow got Payno hooked on the worst food trend of all time.” 

“And—and then,” Louis hiccups, his words a bit slippery this many beers in. His tongue is slowly going numb from the Twister ice lolly Eleanor had triumphantly pulled from the back of her freezer, “he tried to kiss me with fookin’ food in his beard!” 

He and Eleanor dissolve into helpless giggles, grasping each other as they drunkenly sway on the couch. 

“Stop, stop,” Eleanor wheezes and waves her own half-melted Twister around with one hand. “You’ll make me bloody drop it, and then Cliff or Brucie will eat it and get sick all over the floor.” She twists her wrist to lap at the ice cream dripping down her wrist. 

Louis watches with hooded eyes and takes another sip of beer, enraptured by her quick pink tongue darting out to lap delicately at her sticky fingers. 

When she catches him watching, Eleanor’s eyes darken. She sucks a little more pointedly at her thumb, cheeks hollowing. 

More than a little tipsy, it’s the easiest thing in the world for Louis to set his beer on the coffee table and scoot closer. He cradles her soft cheek in one palm, relishing the way they still fit together, and pulls her in for a sticky-sweet kiss. It’s a tender press of lips, but they soon separate with nothing more magnetic than slight nostalgia holding them together. 

“I really thought it was you, that you were my one,” Louis admits softly as Eleanor pats his knee and gets up to bin her ice lolly stick. “You were the first person I’d ever met that Rosie didn’t hate on sight.” 

“You were the first person who didn’t think I was a freak for having two familiars,” Eleanor says when she flops back onto the couch. On cue, Bruce and Clifford bound up to her for chin scritches. She leans into Louis and rests her head on his chest while she plays peek-a-boo with Bruce using his floppy ears to cover his eyes. “You made me happy to be me for the first time in a long while.” 

Louis presses a kiss to the top of her head and hugs her close. He tries not to dwell on the past, but at times like this—pleasantly drunk, stripped of all his walls, and cuddled up with his first love—Eleanor brings it out in him. She’s his exception in so many ways. 

“I remember feeling so lucky,” Louis muses. “You were so beautiful, so far out of my league—” 

“Still am,” Eleanor interrupts, elbowing him in the ribs but not moving from where she’s tucked under his arm.

Louis winces and rubs at the sore spot. “Obviously, love.” 

“But I know what you mean. It felt like a movie.” She squeezes his hand, fingers tracing familiar patterns over his tattoos. “I couldn’t believe it.” 

“Do you ever wish it had worked out?” 

Eleanor pauses thoughtfully. “Not anymore. When we first broke up, yeah…every day.” She lets go of his hand to reach for Bruce, who happily shoves his face as close as possible. 

“What changed?” 

“I dunno.” She shrugs. “I guess, just watching you grow up and become someone I still loved, but in a different way than before. Someone I don’t think you could’ve been with me traveling so much for work.” 

Louis snorts. “You mean a twenty-nine year-old twat with no job and no life plans? Ow! Did you just pinch me?” 

“Don’t talk about my first love like that,” Eleanor says sharply, sitting up and twisting to glare at him. Clifford barks in agreement. “So fucking what if you’re trying to find your feet? You’re one of the kindest, most selfless people I know, and I’m proud of you, so shut the fuck up.” 

“Noted.” After Eleanor unfolds herself and relocates to the other end of the couch, long legs splayed out in the space between them, Louis murmurs a quiet, “Thanks.” 

She pokes his thigh with her toe in response. “What’s brought this on anyway? Not that I don’t love reliving our glory days, but it’s a bit morose for a Friday night. I thought we were in a good place.” 

“We are! I just think this bad date on top of the Tesco thing has been a lot, just one thing after another. And I’m turning thirty this year, El.” Louis makes a face. “This isn’t exactly where I’d wanted to be at thirty.” 

“Surrounded by people who love you and with a fresh job offer on the table?” 

“You talked to Harry!” Louis accuses. 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “Actually, Harry talked to me and told me all about you being a stupid twat.” 

“Alright, alright, I’m taking the job, okay? So you lot can back off.” 

“Not until you tell me what’s really bothering you,” she insists and tips back the rest of her wine. “Is it about Rosemary?” 

Louis stiffens and glances over at where his cat is sleeping curled up on one of the dog beds. “I…it’s not not about her, I suppose. She’s just been more tetchy than usual lately. I mean, she’s never really liked people, but this is the third job she’s cost me. And who knows how many dates.” Louis rolls his eyes. “I won’t always have Harry to bail me out next time it happens. I just,” he huffs in frustration, “I don’t get her. I know she’s my familiar, and she’s a part of me, but we’re so out of sync sometimes.” 

It's not the first time the dark thought has ever crossed his mind, that there might be something fundamentally wrong with his connection with Rosie. But it’s the first time he’s ever voiced to someone else, and hearing it aloud scares him a little. He reflexively cranes his neck to look for her again, relieved to see her still snoring obliviously. 

Eleanor makes a sympathetic noise. “I know it’s tough, babe, but I think you’ve hit it right on the head there. She’s your familiar. She’s a part of you . Even if you don’t understand everything right now, trust that she knows you too. Familiars work in mysterious ways. Trust me, I would know. I’ve got two of ‘em.” 

Louis slumps back into the couch cushion with a sigh. “Yeah, I guess so.” 

“That was great, Joy,” Niall says into the mic, shooting a thumbs up at the nervous girl in the recording booth. “Give me and Zed a second to debrief, and we’ll be right with you.” He switches off the mic and swivels his chair to face Zayn, who frowns pensively down at the clipboard he’s been taking notes on. “Well,” Niall prompts, nudging Zayn’s foot with his own. “Whaddya think?” 

Zayn leans back in his own chair. He fiddles with the pearl bracelet on his wrist while he collects his thoughts. He wants to be careful with his first impression since, more likely than not, Niall’s already got his heart set on this girl. “She kinda lost me at the Twister metaphor,” Zayn says finally. “Not sure what ice lollies’ve got to do with love at first sight.” 

Niall snorts. “Yeah, we’ll work on it. S’not like we were the best lyricists at nineteen either, y’know. Pretty sure I’ve still got moleskins full of your shitty poems lying around somewhere.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. “You didn’t let me finish, Horan. I think the lyrics could use work, the concepts too. But she’s got a great sound, really soulful. Pure R&B ain’t exactly dominating the charts right now. But if she doesn’t mind a more lowkey debut than if she tried something more bubblegum pop, then I’m down with that.” 

Niall’s face lights up. “But you’ll take her?” 

“We’ll take her,” Zayn agrees. He cracks a smile when Niall’s red deer familiar, Kieren, lifts his antlered head in response to Niall’s enthusiasm. “You act like I’m the only one whose opinion matters. It takes a village.” Zayn holds his fingers out for Kieren to sniff and nibble at. “What do you make of her?” 

“You’re pretty much spot on,” Niall says. “She’s rough and unpolished but got a strong foundation. She could go in a lot of directions. Just needs some help figuring out the details of how to get wherever she wants to end up. I knew you’d like her though. She’s a fighter.” Niall drops his voice and leans in to mutter, “She had a record deal a couple years ago, but it fell through when they realized she wasn’t born with a familiar.” 

That catches Zayn’s attention. 

He glances into the recording booth where Joy waits anxiously, wringing her hands. Thinking about what Niall’s just said, he assesses her with new eyes. The longer he looks, the less he sees a hopeful girl and the more he sees himself at seventeen—bright-eyed and full of romantic fantasies about becoming a global music sensation. That was before he realized the pop music industry had a particular image it wanted to sell to consumers and that familiar-less, brown boys from Bradford weren't it. That was over ten years ago now, Zayn realizes with a jolt of grief for the boy he was, the grandiose dreams he watched shrivel and die in his cupped palms. 

But the jarring realization is quickly soothed by a breath of relief when he remembers where he is now: writing, producing, and collaborating with his best friend. He looks back at Niall, who’s gotten distracted trying to see how many things he can hang on Kieren’s antlers before his familiar notices. So far, he’s gotten three paper clips and two pens. 

The shadowy pop industry machine hasn’t changed much since Zayn first entered the game. But the little bit it has budged, Zayn reckons, is owed to the young artists fighting to have their voices heard for the first time. 

He still remembers how it felt growing up thinking he was a freak, that he was the only one without a familiar in the whole world. Everyone had a soulmate except for him. Even his parents were at a loss and often avoided the subject. Zayn didn’t see people like himself until he moved to London after uni. That was a long time to feel alone. 

If he could do anything to reassure kids out there, give them a role model to look up to, well then the choice was obvious. 

Zayn peers down at his hastily scribbled notes and leans over to flip on the mic to the booth. “Joy, can you try the hook again? I’ve got an idea.” 

“Where are we going again?” 

“This place I saw on TikTok! They do these great pastries.” 

“Is this the one with the baker you think is cute?” 

“…It might be.” 

Zayn rolls his eyes. 

“Oi, a fit baker doesn’t negate the deliciousness of the food.” 

“I’ll see it when I believe it, Horan.” 

The frog-shaped bell dangling above the doorway jingles merrily when they enter. Zayn doesn’t dabble much with the TikTok. He’s not like Niall, who begs at least twice a week to “Just give it a shot, mate. A week, that’s all I’m asking. You don’t have to figure anything out. The algorithm figures you out!” 

“That’s not nearly as reassuring as you think it is.” 

Looking around, Zayn doesn’t really see why this cafe—with its cozy but fairly simple decor—would’ve caught the attention of Niall and hundreds of teenagers on the Internet. But he’s willing to try anything once.

(Except for a cement mixer shot. No matter what Niall says, there’s no way Zayn is going to swallow curdled Bailey’s.) 

They meander to the front counter, Zayn eyeing the rows of baked goods primly arranged in the glass display case while Niall gets in line. As he admires the crisp pipework on a bouquet of watermelon-themed cakes, someone says, “Want a sample? Liam’s just put some out. You should get it while it’s fresh.” 

Zayn looks up and instantly realizes why Niall insisted they walk half a dozen blocks past their usual coffee shop: soft brown hair curling behind his ears; deep, molasses-smooth voice; bright green eyes speckled with gold. Without the distraction of the rapid-fire captions and staticky music layered onto most of the videos Niall has shown him, Zayn realizes the TikTok Baker Man is even more attractive in person. He adjusts the butterfly clip holding his fringe back with long fingers studded with bulky rings that can’t possibly be conducive for baking. Not Zayn’s type, but he sees why the account has over three thousand followers. It’s definitely not for the cute, but fairly ordinary baked goods. 

“Nah, mate,” Zayn says, straightening up from where he’d crouched to get a better look. “Thanks, though. I’m just here with him.” He jerks a thumb over at Niall, who’s nearly green with jealousy. He keeps shooting Zayn and TikTok Baker Man wistful sidelong looks and barely pays attention to the cashier, who appears to be fighting a losing battle with the till. The cashier jumps and swears vehemently when the drawer slams shut and nearly catches his fingers. 

TikTok Baker Man sighs. “Sorry about Louis. He’s new. I’ll go help.” 

Zayn waves away the apology. “Don’t worry about it, and add a croissant to my friend’s order please.” 

TikTok Baker Man grins. “You got it.” He swans over to the cashier, who has taken to complaining loudly to Niall about the “stroppy machine. Christ, Harry, when’re you gonna get one of them easy computerized ones for fook’s sake.” 

“When I’m done investing in ungrateful employees,” Harry retorts, hip-checking the cashier out of the way to finish the transaction while Niall looks on with stars in his eyes. 

Zayn chuckles and goes to snag a table near the window. 

A couple minutes later, Niall slides into the empty seat across from him with a spectacular pout. “I can’t believe I brought you to my favorite bakery only for you to steal my future husband the second my back is turned. Some best mate you are.” 

Zayn just rolls his eyes and reaches for his bagged croissant. “This can’t be your favorite bakery. We just got here.” 

“So?” Niall pulls the paper bag just out of Zayn’s reach. 

“You haven’t even tried any of their stuff yet.” 

“ So ?” 

Zayn groans in defeat. “Would you just give me my food?” 

“Husband-stealers don’t deserve delicious pastries.” 

Eventually, Zayn manages to wrest his croissant away and take a bite. He makes a pleasant noise of surprise at the satisfying crunch and the buttery flakes melting on his tongue. Huh, maybe these TikTok teens are onto something after all. 

The insomnia isn’t new. By now, Zayn is well versed with sleepless nights, tossing and turning, getting up for a glass of water, and weeing it out a couple hours later. Like clockwork, he cycles through his typical late night distractions—scrolling through Twitter, halfheartedly smoking a half-used joint to forget what he saw on Twitter, pretending to meditate—and ultimately lands on his favorite and usually most effective option. 

Shoving at the sliding balcony door that always jams halfway, Zayn steps out of his flat into the cool London night with a shiver. He lights up a cigarette with his phone cradled between his ear and shoulder. It rings while he exhales a lungful of acrid smoke to dissipate into the night twinkling with city lights. 

“He-eyyy, babe, what’s up?” 

“Hi, Gi, you got a sec?” 

“For you, always,” Gigi giggles. 

He can hear her stumbling around until the background noise, the distinctive baseline of the latest Top 40 dance hit, gets significantly quieter. 

“Okay, okay, I think you’re good. What’s going on?” 

“The usual,” Zayn says. He briefly leans against the railing until his sleep-deprived brain conjures the gruesome image of the sturdy wrought iron giving way and sending him toppling four stories to the ground. He steps back quickly. “Can’t sleep, and I wanted your opinion on this song me and Niall have been working on.” 

“Have you been taking care of yourself?” Gigi demands. “Eating, hydrating, and all that?” 

“Yeah,” Zayn rolls his eyes but smiles fondly at her instinctive, mum-like tone. “Even been meditating and all that hippie shit you like, promise. It just happens sometimes. Got too much on my mind, and this has been bothering me all day. Couldn’t quite get it right in the studio.” 

“Okay, try me. But I’m gonna be honest, Z, I’m a little tipsy.” She hiccups. “I dunno how much use I’m gonna be.” 

Zayn chuckles and can easily imagine her—pink-faced and but elegant in her towering heels, squeezed into a custom-tailored monstrosity that she’ll inevitably spill 3am kebab sauce on. “No, you’re good, babe, don’t worry. Drunk Gi is my most honest critic.” 

He jumps right in, humming the opening bars of the chorus they pieced together yesterday. He tries a couple different variations on the melody, riffing as it comes to him and taking his cue from Gigi’s reactions. He jots down notes in the journal he brought out with him when she tells him what didn’t land and what bits he should build out. But it devolves quickly into more laughter than productivity when Gigi tries her own hand at the vocals. 

“Why are you laughing? I’m being serious, Zayn! This is my audition so you can sign me and fly me out to London.” 

“I’ll be sure to bring it up with Nialler.” 

When a movement catches the corner of his eye, he turns and spots a pair of bright yellow eyes gleaming in the murky darkness. Squinting, he makes out the sleek shape of a black cat sitting on his neighbor’s empty balcony. As he watches, the cat crouches, wiggles its haunches, and leaps straight toward him. 

“What the fuck!” Zayn flinches back in surprise, fumbling his phone. But the cat merely lands on the railing lining his patio and scrambles to the ground. 

“Zayn? Are you alright?” 

“Yeah, sorry, this cat just showed up out of nowhere.” Zayn tentatively holds out his hand. He doesn’t think about rabies and fleas until the cat has come close enough to sniff his fingertips, purr, and rub her face against his palm. 

“Like a stray?” 

Zayn frowns, feeling around the scruff for any sign of a collar or microchip. “Maybe. I don’t see a tag or anything. She’s cute.” He doesn’t know for sure it’s a female, but it feels right when he says it. 

“Maybe it’s your familiar,” Gigi jokes. “Better late than never, right?” 

Zayn snorts and boops the cat on the nose. She mews in protest, batting at his hand. “Twenty-eight years late seems a bit much.” 

“You never know. It’s not like anyone really understands familiars anyway. Don’t they say all those supposed scientific studies about the familiar-soulmate phenomenon are actually fake?” 

“You watch too many Netflix conspiracy documentaries.”

“Actually, this one was a podcast.” 

Zayn snorts. He scratches the cat behind the ears and enjoys her purr vibrating against his skin. He knows in his bones this cat isn’t his familiar, but she settles something in him anyway. She muffles the constant hum of anxiety whirring under his skin at the thought of soulmates, a social construct he grew up with but never fit into. 

He lets Gigi go soon after that but stays up with the strange cat until the milky dawn creeps over the horizon. 

The sound of his door creaking open makes Louis groan and roll over in bed, shoving a pillow over his head. He peels one eye open to look at the clock and groans even louder just to make sure Liam hears his displeasure at being disturbed before noon. 

“Louis, are you awake?” 

“I am now .” 

“Have you seen Rosie?” 

“What do you mean? She’s right…” Louis wiggles his toes under the blankets and feels for his cat’s distinct, lumpy weight pinning down his feet. “Here?” 

“I haven’t seen her since last night.” 

That snaps Louis to attention. He bolts upright so fast his pillow goes flying and he feels slightly lightheaded. “You haven’t?” 

He tears off his covers and doesn’t give a fuck that Liam will see him in the ratty pants he wore to bed last night. He struggles to stop his irrational brain from conjuring up all the horrible ways a too-curious-for-her-own-good cat could die: run over by a train, lost and dying of starvation in Scotland, eaten by a rabid werewolf—

“Wait,” Liam frowns, “do you hear that?” 

But Louis has already flown from his room and skidded down the hall to follow the source of pitiful meowing. “Rosie? Rosemary J. Tomlinson !” Louis throws open the balcony door to let in an indignant Rosie waltz in, fur fluffed in annoyance. “Where the hell were you?” He scoops her up and ignores her petulant mews. “You had Payno worried sick!” 

He buries his nose into the soft fur between her ears while Liam coos and takes pictures on his phone to send to their WhatsApp group with Harry and Eleanor. The former replies with a cryptic combination of a cow and corn emoji signed xx H while the latter tells Louis to put some Goddamned trousers on. 

While Liam scratches his head and tries to decipher Harry’s response, Louis frowns at the scent of an unfamiliar brand of cigarettes clinging to Rosie’s fur.

“Will that be all for you?” 

Zayn nods and pulls out his wallet to pay for his coffee. In all honesty, it’ll probably taste better than anything he could get at Harry’s bakery. But he already regrets having stayed late in the studio and not having time to walk the extra distance to chat shit with Harry, tease Liam during his break, and maybe finally work up the nerve to say more than two words to the fit cashier. 

Over a week of him and Niall becoming regulars, and all he’s got to show for it is knowing Louis’ name. And even that is just from overhearing Harry lecture Louis about being late. Zayn has never wished to be an extrovert more than during those brief moments when meeting Louis’ bright blue eyes causes Zayn’s tongue to shrivel up. Each time without fail, Zayn croaks out a pitiful hello before retreating to their usual table so Niall can laugh at him. 

Biting back a sigh at the memory, Zayn hands over his card to the far-less-fit cashier here. 

“You want anything for your familiar?” The bored-looking employee robotically gestures to the small array of packaged biscuits next to the register.

“No, I’m good.” 

 “You sure? We’ve got a special today. Half off.” 

“I, um, actually don’t have a familiar.” Zayn doesn’t know why he says it. He has a dozen well-versed and socially acceptable excuses on the tip of his tongue: his familiar is waiting for him outside, they’re too big to come with him everywhere so they’re at home, they died when he was young. The last one always shuts people up fast. 

But his typical lies catch like fish hooks in his throat. The words suddenly feel jagged in a way that he thought he’d gotten used to in all the years he’s avoided talking about familiars with strangers and close friends alike. Even Niall knows better than to broach the subject unless Zayn brings it up first. And now Zayn’s just outed himself to a complete stranger.

“Ah.” The cashier’s face twists, slightly but not subtle enough to escape notice. He quickly shoves Zayn’s card back towards him. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” 

Zayn blinks in surprise and nearly doesn’t catch his card before it skitters off the counter. Logically, he knows this is hardly a blip on the radar compared to the atrocities non-familiars all over the world face on a daily basis—familiar-less kids abandoned after birth, families run out of town for harboring a non-familiar child, people losing their jobs after word gets out. But after over five years living in London with no trouble, Zayn’s shocked speechless. 

“Oi, watch how you talk to him.” 

Zayn turns to see Louis standing behind him in line, eyes narrowed as he shoves his long fringe out of his face. At his feet, a black cat hisses in agreement. 

“We reserve the right to refuse service to anyone,” the cashier replies in a cold tone. “Now please move aside. You’re holding up the line.” 

“That is such bullshit,” Louis growls and stalks forward. 

But Zayn finally snaps out of his stupor and intercepts Louis before he can vault over the counter like some kind of decaffeinated avenger. “Louis, stop, it’s fine.” 

“It’s not!” 

Louis glares over Zayn’s shoulder at the cashier, who crosses his arms over his chest and grunts, “Do I need to call the police?” 

“No,” Zayn says quickly. He grabs Louis’ arm and hauls him toward the door. “We were just leaving.” 

The other patrons give them a wide berth as they leave, most averting their gazes. One or two particularly spiteful pricks spit, “Freak,” and yelp when the black cat following Louis swipes at them with a hiss. 

Face burning with embarrassment, Zayn all but throws Louis out the door. When they finally emerge into the brisk spring air, he spins on his heel and walks as fast as he can away from the shop. Maybe everyone will stop looking at him like a criminal if he abandons the scene of the crime. 

So much for his quick coffee break. He’ll have to find another cafe near the recording studio now. He huffs out an annoyed breath. 

“Wait!” 

Jamming his hands deeper into his pockets, Zayn walks faster. 

“Zayn!” 

“What the hell do you want, Louis?” Zayn whirls around and nearly collides head first with Louis. “Jesus, watch it, will ya?” 

Louis squints at him. “Are you alright? You seem mad.” 

“Well, I now have to find another good coffee place walking distance from my job, so sorry if I’m not exactly overjoyed right now,” Zayn scoffs. 

Louis’ jaw drops. “Are you mad at me ? I was standing up for you!” 

Zayn grits his teeth. “I didn’t ask for your help.” 

“You didn’t have to! No one should be able to treat non-familiars like that.” 

Zayn’s heart drops to his stomach. His secret is out. Scared, tired, and more than a little overwhelmed, he lashes out with a cruel sneer. “Well, your good deed of the day is done, so you can fuck off, mate. I really don’t need your pity.” 

He spins around and resumes walking. He’s heading in the opposite direction of the studio, but he doesn’t want to turn around and see Louis’ stupid face again. He can’t bear the thought of someone viewing him differently than before.  

“Wait, Zayn, I’m sorry. That came out wrong. I just meant no one should be treated like that, alright? It’s not right.” 

Zayn doesn’t slow down but also doesn’t protest when Louis appears at his side, cat trotting between them. 

Zayn frowns in surprise when he takes a closer look. “Have you got your cat in a harness?” 

“Huh? Oh yeah.” 

“Don’t think she likes that much, mate,” Zayn observes as the cat in question stops in the middle of the pavement to chew at the thick nylon lead. 

“Oh, I’m certain she doesn’t.” Louis leans down to scoop her up into his arms, ignoring her loud complaints. “But I wanted to make sure Rosie couldn’t wander away during the game.” 

The further they get from the disaster of a coffee shop, the more Zayn’s mind clears. He now focuses on Louis’ obvious football kit—trackie bottoms tucked into his socks, matching trainers, an Adidas bag tucked over his shoulder with dirty boots peeking out of the broken zipper. 

“You play footie at all?” Louis’ cat, Rosie, pauses in her struggles as if awaiting Zayn’s answer. 

Zayn shakes his head. 

“You watch footie at all?” 

The corner of Zayn’s mouth quirks up. “Might do.” 

In reality, he was more of a UFC man. But Niall always made sure to keep him up to date with Derby’s latest stats. That might be the extent of his football knowledge, but Zayn didn’t have to tell the cute footballer that. 

Louis grins triumphantly. “You should come to the park with us. Keep Rosie company.” 

And, really, Zayn should be heading back to the studio soon. This was only supposed to be a quick break. But he’s still feeling a little shaky from the coffee incident and probably won’t be much use to Niall for the rest of the day. 

“Well,” Zayn hums, reaching out to scritch Rosie under the chin, “I can’t possibly leave a lady lonely during a boring kickabout.” When he looks up, he sees Louis’ eyes wide and mouth slightly open. “Alright?” Zayn instantly retracts his hand and straightens up in ruffled embarrassment because Louis obviously only offered to be polite, and now Zayn’s gone and made a complete tit of himself. 

But Louis snaps his mouth shut and quickly nods. “Yeah, of course.” He leads the way across the street towards the local park. “I’m just surprised. This one,” he lets Rosie down to pad alongside them, “is usually a little shit.” 

“She seems like a sweet girl.” 

“Of course she is, but you don’t understand. Rosie doesn’t like anyone . Fights with practically every familiar we meet, even the ones she’s known for years.” 

“Good thing I haven’t got one then.” 

Louis winces. “Right, sorry I keep bringing it up. I’ll stop. And I’m sorry again about earlier, if I overstepped.” 

“It’s alright. I just wasn’t expecting it.” 

“For that guy to be such an arsehole?” 

“For someone to care.” 

Louis’ steps falter. 

Zayn stops to look at him, the hard set line of his mouth and flash of his eyes. 

“Someone should always care,” Louis insists. 

“If ‘shoulds’ mattered, the world would be a very different place,” Zayn points out, not combative or even bitter but matter of fact. 

“Well, I care,” Louis declares stubbornly. His fingers tighten around the strap of his football bag. 

Zayn turns to keep walking so Louis can’t see his unbidden smile, soft like the first flower of spring. “I know.” 

At the park, Zayn finds a lush patch of grass shaded by a copse of trees. He spreads out a blanket Louis produces from his bag and coaxes Rosie onto it. She’s about as interested in football as Zayn is, so they make a good pair. Zayn patiently tries to explain to her what a Phrygian chord is, and Rosie shows Zayn a dozen different techniques for stalking butterflies. 

Halfway through the scrimmage, Louis strips his shirt off, and suddenly football becomes a lot more interesting to Zayn, much to Rosie’s chagrin. She mews in annoyance and bats at his hand, where it’s stopped rubbing her belly. 

“Sorry, sorry,” he mutters distractedly. He steals furtive glances towards where Louis is dribbling the ball to…do something sporty, Zayn assumes. He’s less bothered with that than with admiring the flex of Louis’ thighs and the sweat dripping down his muscled back. 

He’s so distracted that he doesn’t notice someone’s stray goat familiar grazing closer and closer until Rosie lets out an ungodly shriek. She launches herself at it, claws first. The lead snaps taut in Zayn’s hands, nearly slipping through his fingers, and yanks him sideways. He shouts in surprise and barely reigns Rosie in while the goat bleats in fear and darts away. 

Rosie doesn’t give chase but plants herself firmly between Zayn and the retreating familiar, back arched and ears flat against her skull. 

“Rosie? Zayn?” Louis comes jogging toward them, headband slightly askew and chest gleaming with sweat because apparently Zayn’s newfound type is not just any jock. It’s dorky, heart-of-gold jock. 

“We’re alright,” Zayn groans and sits up from where he’d spilled onto his side. Rosie bounds eagerly up to Louis, tail waving like nothing had happened. “My knight in shining armor saved me from the fiercest goat you’ve ever seen.” 

Louis chuckles. “I told you she likes you. She’s usually only ever that protective with me.” 

“She must love you a lot.” Zayn takes Louis’ offered hand gratefully and stands up. He attempts to keep his face neutral despite the frisson of electricity that runs down his spine when their palms meet. 

“Yeah,” Louis agrees fondly. “She’s an absolute terror, but she’s my terror, you know?” 

He helps brush the worst of the dirt off Zayn, and in return Zayn reaches up to readjust the crooked headband holding Louis’ floppy hair back. If his fingers linger longer than necessary, Zayn doesn’t think Louis minds. 

At their feet, Rosie mews loudly until Louis scoops her up with a sigh. Zayn forces himself to step back despite the magnetic pull he feels towards Louis. 

“I should go—” 

“Let me make it up to you—” 

Zayn raises an eyebrow at Louis’ pink face. “You first.” 

“Er,” Louis fidgets nervously with his hair in a way Zayn can’t not find adorable. “I was just saying, I still feel bad about how today went, so… doyouwannagrabdinnerorsomethingsometime ?” 

“Uh, come again, mate?” 

Louis’ face goes even pinker, but Rosie meows encouragingly. “Did you, er, if you weren’t, like, busy or whatever, maybe wanna grab dinner…or something?” 

Zayn fights back the goofy smile threatening to take over his whole face. “I would really like that…or something.” 

Louis groans and punches him lightly in the arm. “Ugh, shut up. You make me nervous, okay?” 

Zayn just laughs. “Watch it, or I’ll sic Rosie on you.” 

In the three days between the coffee shop debacle and their first date, Zayn somehow convinces himself that Louis was just being nice, only wanted to hang out as mates, and actually despised Zayn’s familiar-less existence. Even to his anxiety-ridden self, the last one sounds like a stretch. But he can’t shake the irrational dread snowballing in his gut and telling him that he’s drastically misread the signs and is about to make a huge prat of himself. He calls Gigi half a dozen times and spends the night before the date at Niall’s flat for a pep talk. 

“Repeat after me,” Niall says sternly, “I am going on a romantic date with Louis.” 

“I am going on a romantic date with Louis.” 

“I will woo him with my fantastic bone structure, insane eyelashes, and general—” Niall vaguely gestures to Zayn’s face. 

Zayn rolls his eyes. 

But Niall swats at his shoulder. “This is serious, Zayner. We’re manifesting .” 

Zayn groans but dutifully repeats it back to Niall, who nods in satisfaction. “Good, now the most important one.” He takes a deep breath and clasps his hands together. “Derby will sweep the Champions League next year.” 

“You’re the worst person I know,” Zayn grumbles even as the worst of his nerves fade. 

By the time Friday rolls around, it turns out Zayn shouldn’t have fiddled with his hair for a solid hour and a half. At 9pm on the dot, Rosie picks a fight with an adjacent table’s fox familiar and gets them thrown out of the restaurant. 

“You weren’t kidding about her,” Zayn marvels as he holds a now-placid Rosie on his hip like a stroppy, whiskered toddler. 

Louis swears under his breath and pats his pockets looking for his car keys. “No I wasn’t,” he grunts, the tips of his ears pink with embarrassment, “and she’ll definitely be getting a lecture when we get home.” He shoots a glare at Rosie, who disinterestedly licks her paw. Louis turns back to Zayn with wide eyes. “I’m really sorry about this. I want to promise she’s not always like this, but,” he sheepishly scratches the back of his neck, “she kind of is.” 

Zayn shakes his head, hitches Rosie up with one hand, and uses his other to reach for Louis’ fingers. “Don’t worry about it. I’m fine with a chill night in.” 

Louis perks up hopefully. “I can do chill. Have you seen Disney’s new Marvel show yet?” 

“Which one? Aren’t there loads?” 

“Touché.” 

They greet midnight on Louis’ lumpy sofa, exploiting Liam’s allegedly-communal-but-don’t-tell-Harry-I-found-his-password Disney+ account, and shouting in each other’s faces about the merits and drawbacks of a vibranium arm. Zayn is gasping for breath, a stitch digging into his side from how hard he’s laughing at Louis’ abysmal Winter Soldier impression. With the credits rolling on the telly, he finally notices how close he and Louis have drifted—two planets lost in each other’s gravity, on the cusp of deciding if they’ll repel like magnets or collapse together into a brilliant supernova. 

Centimeters away, breathing hard with the force of their faux-argument and amusement gleaming in his eyes, Louis grins. His hand comes up to cradle Zayn’s jaw. His thumbs brush gentle stardust over the fine skin of Zayn’s cheekbone. Their lips slowly press together like planets aligning. 

Zayn sinks into the kiss, rests his hands on Louis’ narrow hips, and mumbles into his mouth, “Don’t think this means you’ve won, fucker.” 

Louis laughs so hard he wakes Rosie up from her nap in the other room. 

Zayn doesn’t find out until their third date that Louis was only in the Coffee Shop That Shall Not Be Named in the first place because Zayn hadn’t come into the bakery that day. 

“That’s so embarrassing,” Zayn smirks, swinging Louis’ hand while they walk. “You’re such a weirdo stalker.” 

“I’m not!” Louis squawks in protest. He carefully pulls Zayn out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian and their massive tortoise familiar. “I didn’t know you’d be there. I just remember Niall mentioning it before, and I wanted to check out the bakery’s competition. Can’t have them stealing our best customers.”

“Is that right? And it definitely had nothing to do with you having a crush on me.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay, babes.”  

Zayn’s relationship with Rosie isn’t quite so smooth. It’s one thing to be told his boyfriend’s cat doesn’t like other familiars. It’s another thing to live with it. She’s on edge wherever they go, ears perked and eyes alert, growling at anyone who gets too close and clawing at particularly heedless familiars. Louis takes it in stride and hardly notices the dirty looks people shoot him before hurrying their own familiars away, so Zayn does his best to accept that Louis comes with some furry baggage. 

It’s easier said than done when Rosie goes after a couple of parakeets at the shops and sends their groceries sprawling all over the aisle, or when she yowls like she’s dying whenever Zayn tries to get Louis alone in the bedroom. 

“Just ignore it,” Louis mumbles between frantic kisses, hands scrabbling at Zayn’s belt. “She’s fine.” 

“Yeah,” Zayn gasps when Louis nips at his jawline, “okay.” They stagger through Louis’ tip of a room and all but tumble onto the mattress. Zayn stretches out on his back to let Louis straddle his waist. He runs revenant hands up Louis’ firm thighs to toy with the button of his jeans and grip his hips. 

Zayn can’t help but giggle when Louis tries to peel his shirt off and gets his head caught. He props himself up on an elbow to lean up and help. When Louis finally flings the shirt away, Zayn swallows his triumphant noise with a searing kiss. 

They manage to get down to their pants, Zayn clutching at Louis’ arse and Louis grinding down shamelessly into his lap, before Rosie’s wails become unbearable—somehow piercing even through the door. 

“She’ll be fine,” Louis pants. He nibbles at Zayn’s earlobe and groans when Zayn’s fingers feel out his hole through the thin cotton of his pants. “Shit, where’d I put the lube?” 

In response, Rosie cries again, this time accompanied by the scrape of her claws on the wood door. 

Zayn winces and gently pushes Louis away, sitting up. “Maybe you should let her in.” 

Louis sits back on Zayn’s thighs, face scrunched in confusion. “You want her to watch?” 

Zayn splutters out a laugh. “No, I think we should put our clothes back on and then let her in. The last thing we need is her clawing a hole through your door. You’ll never get your deposit back, and Liam’ll kill you.” 

Louis pouts. “But I was gonna ride you.” 

Zayn’s cock twitches in interest at the thought of Louis bouncing on his lap, head thrown back with a bead of sweat running down his lovely throat. But Zayn regretfully shakes his head. “As much as I want that—trust me, I do—I really can’t stand her sounding so upset.” He leans up to press a quick, apologetic kiss to Louis’ lips.

Louis remains quiet for a moment, forehead wrinkled, and Zayn’s fingertips go cold with doubt. Maybe he overstepped and shouldn’t have assumed he knew what was best for Rosie. After all, he’s never had a familiar. What would he know about—

Zayn yelps in surprise when Louis surges forward to wrap his arms around Zayn’s shoulders, the strength of the hug nearly toppling them both off the bed. 

“Zayn fucking Malik, can you stop being so fucking attractive for one second?” Louis groans into the crook of Zayn’s neck. 

Zayn huffs in amusement and cards his fingers through Louis’ hair. “Really, that’s what gets you hot and bothered?” 

“Stop kinkshaming me, you twat,” Louis complains. He bites at Zayn’s shoulder. “Sorry, I like when my boyfriend cares about my familiar, my literal other half.” He holds Zayn tighter and whispers, “No one’s ever cared about her the way you do.” 

Zayn’s expression softens. He presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. “Yeah, yeah, go get your little demon before she deafens us.” 

From behind the door, Rosie whines. 

Four months in, Zayn dreams about Noor. It’s been over a year since he’s seen them last, but he falls into the familiar dreamscape like he never left. Three suns glow overhead, toeing the line of too hot where the rays kiss Zayn’s skin. Around him, rolling hills of golden wildflowers wave elegantly in a nonexistent breeze. No matter how closely he looks, the flowers never come quite into focus enough for him to make out what species they are. 

But he doesn’t have time to squat and investigate the mysterious flora for long. A sleek shadow glides along the ground, and Zayn cranes his neck upward. He shades his eyes with one hand to catch sight of the dark figure circling lazily in the air before landing on the crest of the nearest hill. Silhouetted against the crystal pink sky, their glimmering, obsidian scales take Zayn’s breath away. 

“Noor!” 

Zayn’s running towards the hill before he can worry about his smoker’s lungs or the fact the most athletic thing he’s done in months is let Louis fuck him against a wall. Luckily, dreams don’t care about physical fitness, and he reaches the top hardly out of breath. 

He only has a second to take in a flash of leathery wings and the ripple of scaled muscle before a huge equine head butts him hard enough in the chest he nearly topples over. He wraps his arms tightly around the first thing he can reach, their long snake-like neck, and relishes the gentle hum of delight emanating from their chest. It reverberates through his whole body, comforting and familiar despite how much they’ve grown since Zayn last saw them. 

He closes his eyes briefly and rests his forehead against their smooth scales. He can still remember when he first met Noor in his dreams, when they were barely larger than a kitten with stubby wings still too weak to be functional no matter how hard they flapped them. 

“You’re so big,” Zayn mumbles. He leans back just enough to take stock. Noor is nearly as big as a horse now. They have to dip their head to meet Zayn’s eyeline and blink at him with big green eyes. Their swishing tails flattens wildflowers in their excitement, and faint tendrils of smoke drift from their flared nostrils as they lean in to sniff Zayn’s shoulder. 

“I missed you so much.” The tears come abrupt but not unwelcome as Zayn reaches out a hand to rest on Noor’s dark snout. 

They nudge into Zayn’s palm eagerly, nibbling on his fingertips. A taloned claw comes up to curiously tug at Zayn’s shirt, a ratty band tee of Louis’. 

Zayn smiles and smooths his hand down Noor’s side. He feels their ribs expand with each breath. “I have so much to tell you.” 

Zayn wakes with the feeling of dragon scales under his tingling fingertips. He stays statue-still, trying to savor the memory until it fades into mist beneath his subconscious. 

Finally, he sighs and rolls over only to find the other half of the bed empty and cold. Frowning, Zayn sits up and checks the time. His phone is dead thanks to the finicky charger cord that Louis refuses to bin for a new one, but the bedside clock says it’s not too much past when he would normally get up anyway. 

Throwing on a pair of sweats, Zayn wanders into the kitchen to find Louis putting on a brew. He doesn’t have to say anything for Louis to pour a second mug, bring them both to the table, and peck Zayn on the cheek because he knows Zayn hates kissing before he’s brushed his teeth. 

“Morning. Sleep alright?”

Zayn nods. “Where’s Liam?” 

“Gettin’ brekkie with Harry at that place near the cinema.” 

Zayn pauses, cup halfway to his lips. “That’s your favorite breakfast diner.” 

Louis shrugs, cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “Well, I couldn’t just leave you here, could I? What if you robbed us while we were gone?” 

Zayn snorts and kicks at Louis’ bare feet under the table. “You’re onto me, Tomlinson. I’ve invested months into seducing you so I could steal your shit telly.” 

Louis grins into his own cup. “I fuckin’ knew it.” 

They sit quietly until they finish their tea, Louis scrolling aimlessly on his phone and Zayn staring out the window holding Louis’ phone-free hand. 

At last, Zayn says, “I had a weird dream last night.” 

Louis immediately looks up and pushes his mobile away. 

“Not a weird dream,” Zayn corrects himself quickly. “A recurring one that I’ve had on and off since I was a kid, but you might find it kind of…odd.” 

“Try me.” When Zayn hesitates, the corner of Louis’ mouth quirks up. “Love, yesterday, I had to watch Niall show Liam a TikTok about whale penises.” 

Zayn snorts out a surprised laugh. 

“I promise, whatever you’re thinking about doesn’t even come close.” 

“Not even if I tell you I consistently dream about my imaginary familiar?” 

Eyes soft, Louis squeezes his hand. “Not even then.” 

“I don’t think they’re real or anything,” Zayn says, even as tears leak from his eyes to drip down his cheeks. He wipes them away, frustrated with himself for not being able to talk about Noor like a rational human being. It’s just been so long. “They’re probably just a projection of what I wanted so badly as a kid, right? They’re just in my head.” 

“They’re real to you.” 

That punches the breath out of Zayn’s lungs. It shatters the way he’d braced for the typical spiels his last three therapists had cycled through: he’s twenty-eight and it’s time to let go of his childhood trauma, he needs to focus on being grateful for what he has, it’s not healthy to fantasize about fictional familiars. 

“I talk to them.” The confession spills out of Zayn before he can stop it, like he can’t resist prodding at the door Louis has cracked open. He lets go of Louis’ hand to wipe at his eyes. “I told them about you.” It comes out muffled from where he’s buried his face in his hands, afraid to look at Louis. 

“You did?” 

Zayn nods shakily. “I try to tell them about all the big events in my life, isn’t that ridiculous?” When Louis doesn’t respond, Zayn squeezes his eyes shut and whispers, “Do you think I’m crazy?” 

“Not in the slightest.” 

Zayn makes a sniffly, disbelieving noise. 

But Louis gently pulls Zayn’s hands away from his face until Zayn looks at him. “I told you, mate, whale penis TikTok. That’s where our friends are at. This doesn’t even make the top ten weirdest things I’ve heard this week. You’ve gotta try harder next time to get rid of me.” 

From the top of the fridge, Rosie mews in agreement. 

A month in, Zayn meets Eleanor, Bruce, and Clifford. 

“Two familiars?” 

“Double the fun,” Louis says while the dogs bounce around Zayn, barking and nearly knocking him over in their excitement at meeting someone new. 

Eleanor rolls her eyes. “More like double the poo.” 

“So two soulmates?” Zayn asks. He kneels to boop Bruce on the nose.

“I’m not sure,” Eleanor admits. “The whole familiar-soulmate system gets pretty wonky for anyone…atypical, so I try not to get too worked up about it. When I meet someone, I try to get to know them without the huge pressure of soulmates looming over us, you know?” 

Zayn watches her carefully. He notes the stubborn tilt of her chin and defensive hunch of her shoulders, like she’s used to being dismissed. “I know,” he says quietly. “I haven’t got a familiar at all.” 

Eleanor’s posture relaxes. “Want one of mine?” 

Clifford barks in reproachful protest. 

Zayn chuckles. “Thanks, but no thanks. I think,” his gaze instinctively slides to Louis wrestling with Bruce and Rosie watching from a distance, “I’m good as I am.” 

Eleanor nods thoughtfully. “Me too.” 

“I think I really like him, Gi,” Zayn says in a quiet voice like he’s scared of being overheard despite the fact it’s 2am and he’s alone on his balcony. Well, almost alone, save for his trusty late night companion. Since the first time he saw her, the stray cat has been hanging around more often than not. Some evenings, she waits for when he goes out for his last smoke of the day and begs for treats. Other evenings, she saunters over when he’s about to go to bed. Each time, she stirs a warm feeling in his chest with how much she reminds him of Rosie. 

Tonight, she curls up at his feet while Zayn remembers Louis visiting his flat yesterday afternoon after his shift, bearing leftover baked goods. 

“Babes, how can they be leftover if the bakery’s not closed yet?” 

“Hmm, alright,” Louis mused. “I guess they’re more like please-don’t-tell-Harry baked goods.” 

That had somehow devolved into Zayn on his knees between Louis’ spread thighs, suckling the head of his leaking cock and hollowing his cheeks to make Louis groan. Halfway through, Harry had rung. Louis had nearly dropped the phone while Zayn bobbed up and down in his lap, moaning every time Louis’ dick brushed the back of his throat. It’d been hotter than Zayn cares to admit, hearing Louis try to catch his breath and stutter through an explanation of why half a dozen of Zayn’s favorite biscuits had mysteriously disappeared. 

Biting back a fond smile at the memory, Zayn switches his mobile to his other ear in time to hear Gigi reply, “Yeah, Z, I know.” 

“You do?” 

“You’ve never talked about anyone the way you talk about your boy.” 

Zayn scans the glittering London skyline. “He makes me really happy.” He can’t find the right words to explain exactly how Louis makes him feel—whole despite his lack of a familiar, understood in a world built on familiar-soulmate ideology. 

It’s not his most eloquent moment, but he thinks Gigi understands anyway. 

He lets Gigi go soon after that to get on with her very important supermodel life. Taking one last drag of his cigarette, he ashes it and turns to head back inside. To his surprise, when he slides open the balcony door, the cat—who usually has scarpered off by now once she realizes Zayn hasn’t got any food—darts inside. 

“Hey!” He gives chase, but before he can Google how to lure a stray cat out of his flat, the front door jiggles. 

The sticky lock clicks, and Louis opens the door. 

“Louis?” 

But Louis has eyes only for the cat, who races towards him. “Rosie?” 

“Rosie?” Zayn parrots in disbelief. He takes a closer look at the black cat, who’s now purring and twining around Louis’ ankles. 

“Yes, obviously, it’s Rosie,” Louis huffs. He kicks off his shoes, stuffs his key into his pocket, and kneels down to scratch between her ears. “I’ve been looking for her all night.” 

“Well, how am I supposed to know it’s her?” 

“You spend every day with her. How can you not tell it’s her by now?” 

“She looks like every other black cat in the city.” 

Louis gasps, scandalized. “You take that back!” 

“You’re the most ridiculous person I know.” 

“But you love me,” Louis smirks as he attempts to finagle a wriggly Rosie onto his shoulders like a furry scarf. 

Zayn lets out a long suffering sigh before agreeing, “But I love you.” 

Both Louis and Rosie look unbearably smug.