also I want to make it look the sketchy feel

a bit of last 1d concert sappy zayn-centric ot5-ness

Zayn keeps his head ducked, as he eases his way into the arena. He probably looks pretty sketchy, with his hood pulled low over his face, but he also feels a bit like a superhero, so he’ll kind of take it. And he’s fairly sure no security guard’s going to kick him out.

He’s less worried about that than his own safety, in all honesty. It makes him huddle in his seat, try to look as inconspicuous as possible. It’s not like anyone’s going to look from him here, in the audience—it’s the stupidest fucking idea in the world, to quote everyone he’d asked about it, so maybe that’ll help. Even he knows it’s stupid. Stupid on so many levels, because he hasn’t even really talked to the boys for months, no more than perfunctory sort of things—but he had to be here, today. It’s what he’d told Sarah, when he’d asked her just how bad it would be if he was seen here, in the most articulate way he could express the simple truth he knew. They’re his boys. He’d started it with them, he wants to end it with them, sort of at least.

She’d sighed, but in the end she’d told him it wouldn’t be the worst thing, might be seen as sweet, and she’d get him the tickets. He loves her, sometimes, the way she listens to these things.

So now he’s here, in the seats at the last One Direction concert. Or maybe not—he’s heard what they’ve had to say, it’s just a break and all, but he’s tasted freedom and he knows his boys. He’s not sure how much they’ll want to go back. It doesn’t even matter, really. It feels like the last show; he can feel it in the crowd, in all the signs.

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