Chapter Text
"Heads up!"
Zayn cranes his neck to see a baseball hurtling towards him, jumps away just in time for it to thump onto the grass and roll to a stop in front of his boots. The movement jerks the cigarette out of his hand at the same time, and it falls into a puddle of a tipped over Pepsi can.
Fuck. That was his last one.
"Shit, sorry man. You okay?"
Zayn picks up the ball, and looks towards the fence. There's a boy hanging over it, smiling lazily and wearing a baseball jersey, with an Under Armour long sleeve peeking out from the neck to combat the bitter February air. Zayn runs a thumb along the red stitching, shrugs.
"I'm fine."
"Sorry," the kid repeats, scratching under his cap. "We're doing pop flys, but Liam gets out of hand every time."
"I don't know who Liam is."
"I don't know who you are."
"Zayn." He lobs the ball into the air, catches it. "I'm new."
The boy grins. His eyes turn into crinkly little half moon crescents. It's possibly the cutest thing Zayn's seen in weeks.
"Niall."
Zayn shrugs again. "Whatever."
Niall watches him lob the ball into the air over and over, and he sniffs suddenly, looks down at the grass. "Were you smoking?"
"Why? You gonna tell on me, Blondie?"
Zayn's mouth is curved upwards at the question and Niall waves behind him, at the half dozen other kids on the field (at the distinct lack of adults). "None of us give a shit. Guessing you don't play sports, then?"
Zayn eyes the ball's arc in the air with a smile, unconcerned as he asks, "And why do you say that?"
"Bad for the lungs. When do you start?"
"What?"
"School? You said you were new."
"Oh. Tomorrow."
"Cool." Niall adjusts his cap. "You should find me, I can show you around."
"Sounds like a proposition, Niall," Zayn says with another lazy finger roll up.
"Maybe it is, Zayn," Niall says with another grin.
"Niall!"
Niall looks over his shoulder, and Zayn leans to the side - there's a guy in catcher gear, standing over home plate with his mask up and his arms held out to the side.
"What, Lou!" Niall yells, and the guy, Lou, whatever, waves his arms.
"Any fucking day now, Sunshine! That's the only ball Liam hasn't sent into someone's yard yet!"
"Louis, I said I was sorry!" someone - Liam, Zayn guesses - says from the pitcher's mound.
"You're like that kid from The Sandlot, except a better hitter," Louis snaps, and a boy in right field with a mass of curly hair barely contained under a baseball cap calls out, "You're killin' me, Payne!"
Liam throws his mitt in the direction of the right fielder and he sounds close to laughing as he says, "Shut up, Harry, you were making grass angels like twenty minutes ago!"
Niall snorts and Louis waves his arm again.
"Ball! C'mon, Ni, we’ve still gotta work on sacrifice bunts before it gets dark."
Niall shakes his head, still grinning, and holds his glove out to Zayn. "Can I have the ball now? Rather not have Louis spend the whole drive back to his lecturing me about flirting with mysterious new kids."
"Oh, so it was a proposition," Zayn says. Niall snorts. "I'm not really that mysterious."
"Jesus Christ, by the time we can play again, I'll have graduated!" Louis shouts. Niall rolls his eyes, but opens and closes the glove in his hand.
Zayn tosses the ball into the air one last time, catches it, and lifts a brow. "Duck," he suggests, waving his left hand down. Niall does as he's told.
Zayn picks at the red stitching of the ball with a blunt fingernail once more, then gets into his stance. He can see the catcher watching him, arms crossed impatiently, mitt dangling off one hand. It's harder to go through his wind up while out of uniform but Zayn smiles regardless. He adjusts his shoulders and swings his arms overhead, hiking his left knee before he dropping it and extending his right arm over in a flash. His right leg swings out behind him from the momentum as the ball whips towards home plate, aimed high.
It’s too farther than he’s used to so the ball veers a bit once it passes over second. Still, the kid on the mound kicks off and catches it easily. The half-dozen kids on the field are all looking towards center, at Zayn.
The curly-haired kid in right field says: "Holy shit, is he part cyborg?"
Niall stands from his crouch slowly, scratching at dirty blond hair under his cap as he smiles. "Not that mysterious." He raises an eyebrow, glancing towards where ther catcher has flopped down on the ground over home plate. "Got a fucking cannon for an arm, though."
"Pretty good with my hands in general," Zayn tells him.
Niall throws his head back and laughs as he steps away from the fence. "Find me, yeah? Tomorrow? We’re here after school for -"
"Tryouts. Yeah, I know."
"You know?"
"Yeah." Zayn lifts a hand, waving once. He aims a smile over his shoulder. "I'm gonna be your new pitcher."
*
As it happens, Zayn doesn't have to wait until after school the next day to see Niall again. He’s in the first lunch period of the day, sliding his styrofoam tray along the elongated countertop that leads to the cashier at the end, when he feels someone clap him on the shoulder. Zayn glances up from his wilted salad and chocolate milk, sees a flash of clear braces and a smattering of freckles; he blinks, and Niall comes into view.
(His hand drags down over Zayn's back as he does this, and Zayn tries not to read into it too much.)
"I found you." Niall grins, and the line moves forward; Zayn slides his tray along.
"You were looking for me?"
"Nah - well, sorta." Niall falls into step beside him. "Didn't know your schedule, obviously. Figured I'd just keep an eye out for the cute kid in combat boots."
"Cute?"
Zayn can't remember the last time someone called him cute. Probably before his voice dropped. He pushes the tray forward again, watches a piece of wilted lettuce fall to the floor.
"There's children present, I'm keeping it clean," Niall tells him, and Zayn laughs and alright.
Maybe he can read into it a little.
"Hey, the food in this place is fucking awful, but seniors can leave campus and we got McDonald's, if you want?"
"Wouldn't wanna impose."
"It's fast food, not a three course meal " Niall laughs, and tugs on the sleeve of Zayn's jacket. "C'mon."
Zayn gives his lunch one more appraising look, and decides anything else sounds way more appetizing right now. "Don't eat burgers, but you got any of those little apple pies?"
Niall positively beams. "You can have one of mine."
He tugs on Zayn's sleeve again, and Zayn hands his tray over the glass of the counter, smiling apologetically at the lunch lady who takes it, before he follows Niall across the room to a corner table that's overflowing with kids. Someone vacates the last seat so Niall can drop down, and he has just enough space to scoot along the bench for Zayn to slide in next to him at the edge. Niall digs into a pile of burgers in the center of the table and a balled up napkin whips across it and there's a cacophony of voices all trying to be heard but a few of the boys nearest him - the ones he saw yesterday - all seem to be waiting expectantly. Zayn waves once.
"Hey." Niall already has a mouthful of food and he waves a hand at Zayn. "Zayn, everyone; everyone, Zayn. He's new."
"Is this the guy from yesterday?" That catcher - Louis - asks. "The one who threw from behind center?"
Niall nods, and the curly-haired kid who was in right field lets out an impressed whistle. "I'm Harry - you're trying out today, right?" he asks Zayn, who shrugs.
"That's the plan." He eyes the one who was on the mound yesterday, squares his shoulders. "You their starter?"
"Liam," he supplies helpfully, "and Jesus, no, I wouldn't have a chance against you with that arm. I'm usually on first. Our pitcher - well, our ace, anyway - graduated last year. You came right on time."
"Looks like it. How did you all end up in the same lunch period?" he asks, and Niall shrugs.
"Tried it once at different times last year, it was awful. Now we just shuffle our schedules around at the start of every semester."
Zayn mouth twitches into a smile. “What, and that works?”
“We’ve perfected the art of looking tragic," Liam explains. "The ladies in the guidance office try not to separate us, if they can help it. But look at you,” he’s all smiles. “You got into our lunch period without even trying. Guess that means you’re meant to be on the team.”
"I think they just did it this year because I'm a senior and it means I can bring them food," Louis says. "Might just flunk on purpose so I have to repeat, how else will I be able to buy them things so they'll appreciate me."
"You're a senior - ?" Zayn starts, but Liam talks over him, sighing disapprovingly:
"Lou, don't joke, you're graduating on time and going to school, you know your mom will -"
"Okay, one," Louis says, looking at Liam, "shut up, it's too early in the day to talk about life after graduation. And two, I refuse to take advice from someone who still wears superhero pajamas with the feet attached."
"I haven't worn those in months," Liam says primly.
"He wears them all the time," Harry laments, head down on the table, and Niall laughs, nudges Zayn's shoulder to grab his attention, says,
"What're you doing later? After tryouts, I mean. You should come with us to Liam's."
"Ooh," Louis says, and Zayn somehow knows without even looking that he's smiling wickedly. "Yeah, Zayn, you should come with Niall. To Liam's, I mean."
"Hey, Lou," Niall doesn't turn away from Zayn, "have you come anywhere lately that isn’t into your right fucking hand - " He jumps again and narrows his eyes. "- stop kicking me."
"Sorry," Louis says sweetly, and Liam leans over to collect their wrappers.
"Ignore them - you should come. We like new people."
Niall slides an apple pie out of its box; he breaks off a piece and hands it to Zayn, who knocks his knee against Niall's in thanks as he takes it and conveniently forgets to shift his leg back. Zayn forces himself resist peeking when Niall reaches down to pat Zayn's knee and squeeze it gently, but he figures the grin on his face gives him away.
"I can't today," he says, apologetic. "Older sister is picking me up after tryouts. Should be free next time, though."
"Yeah, definitely," Niall smiles around a mouthful of apple filling. Zayn tries to find it gross and fails miserably. "Like I told you yesterday, I can show you around."
"I wandered around a bit all weekend after we settled in -"
"Oh, he means indoor settings," Louis interrupts, and Liam leans forward:
"Darker. More intimate."
"Sexier," Harry nods.
Niall wipes his fingers on his jeans and purses his lips with a kissed aimed at his friends.
"Fuck all of you."
"Oh, is this an orgy now instead of you just jumping on the new guy's dick," Louis drawls, and Liam chokes on his drink and spits up onto the table, hides a laugh behind his hand while Harry nudges napkins his way.
Niall cackles, even when his cheeks go beet-red.
Zayn's fairly fucking certain this is going to be the start of something great.
*
Zayn changes into his tryout gear immediately after the last bell, purposefully waits until the dugouts and bleachers are almost filled with other students before he steps out onto the field. They start off with basic skills: infielding and batting, rotation of positions, and by the time Doniya shows up with their younger sisters in tow, bundled up for the weather, the coach - Higgins - has called for all the new pitchers to start warming up.
Zayn's last - a conscious decision, on Higgins' part, since Zayn knows he’s already as good as in. He’d scouted Zayn when he found out Zayn was moving into the state; hell, he's the reason they even settled in this school district, because the only thing better than a nationally ranked high school pitcher is a nationally ranked pitcher on a team with half a dozen state titles already under its belt.
When Zayn's name gets called, he steps out of the dugout, finds his sisters in the bleachers in a flash - Doniya shoots him a thumbs up - and he can feel the eyes on him, hear a few of the kids trying out already murmuring from the dugout. He kicks at the pitcher’s plate when he gets there, his cleat bouncing off the rubber slab, and adjusts the cap on his head. He rests his glove against his hip, and cocks his head at their coach, waiting for instruction.
Higgins waves a hand towards him in an after you gesture. “What d’you got for me, Malik?”
Zayn’s mouth quirks up on one end. “What do you want?”
Louis laughs from home plate where he's pulling his mask on and kicking out his legs before dropping into a squat. “Cocky,” he says, voice slightly muffled. “I like it.”
Higgins looks like he’d be smiling, if he were the type of person to smile. “What’s your weakest pitch?”
“Curve.”
Higgins scoffs. “Shouldn’t be throwing curves that much anyway, son.”
Zayn shrugs. “I’ve always had decent ball control.”
"Yeah, I bet,” Harry calls from right. Liam stands on first and covers his face with his glove, shaking his head.
“Niall, did you hear -“
“Shut up, Lou,” Niall laughs from behind Zayn, on short.
Higgins points at him. “I don’t want you throwing curves unless I say so, you hear me? Let’s not overuse it and tire your arm out faster.”
“Sure,” Zayn nods. “But if you don’t want to see my curve, then I don’t have a weak pitch.”
Louis promptly sits down in the dirt and lifts his mask up. “God, can we keep him, Coach? This confidence is refreshing.”
“Ehh, calm down, Tomlinson,” he waves a lazy hand Louis' way. To Zayn, he says, “How’s your fastball?”
Higgins has never seen it in action before. Zayn smiles again. “It’s decent.”
“Let’s see it.”
Zayn nods shortly, turns away to get into his stance. Louis has his mask back down, and Zayn can tell he isn’t smiling anymore as he holds his mitt up.
“Four-seam?” Zayn asks, glancing at Higgins, who nods back.
Zayn drops his glove to his chest, runs his index finger down the stitching of the ball before adjusting his grip. He winds up, gives it all he’s got; it hits Louis’ mitt dead center with a satisfying thump and he closes around it and immediately drops his hand.
“Ah, fuck,” he's pulling his mitt off and shaking his hand out. “Jesus Christ, Malik. It’s decent.”
Louis’ mocking him, but he's grinning too and sounds vaguely impressed. Zayn smiles wide and peeks at Higgins, who has his cap pulled low and his hand covering his mouth. He rubs his chin, nods a little and says, “Good.”
Zayn tries not to let his shoulders slump at the lack of reaction. He’s thrown a fastball at 99 before - it’s a great pitch for a seventeen year old whose arm isn’t completely useless from overzealous Little League managers bent on fucking up the still-growing body of a kid just for a plastic trophy at summer's end.
“Don’t worry." It’s Niall’s voice from short, calming, and Zayn turns to glance at him. “'Good' is Coach-speak for ‘I’m so impressed I forgot how to use words properly.’ He said the same thing last year when me, Stan and Liam managed to turn a triple play.”
He gives Zayn an encouraging thumbs up, lowers his voice to add, “And Lou never drops his mitt, he's a fucking beast behind the plate.”
“Yeah?” Zayn murmurs back to him, and Niall tips his cap and scrunches his nose up. Zayn takes that as a confirmation.
“Malik!” Paul barks, and Zayn turns quick.
“Yeah, Coach?”
“Tell me you’ve got a change up.”
Zayn half-smiles, crooked and confident.
“I’m ranked for a reason, Coach.”
*
He can tell his sisters are starting to get bored sitting in the bleachers for so long; tryouts are over but the kids who already know they're in - last year's starters, the lucky few - are fucking around on the field still in a quick pick up game before the sun sets, and Zayn wants to see a few of their players. Safaa's asleep, bundled up and head pillowed in Waliyha's lap, and Doniya just visibly sighs and shakes her head when Zayn mouths ten more minutes at her.
When he gets back to the dugout to check his phone and pull on a hoodie, he's got a text from Doniya waiting for him:
From: Doniya
Gonna wait in the car
From: Zayn
I just wanna see a little more of their starting pitcher from last yr and then we can go, ten minutes I swear
From: Doniya
TEN MINUTES or I start telling the blond one u keep staring at embarrassing baby Zayn stories :)
Zayn rolls his eyes, stuffs his phone into the pocket of his hoodie, and drags himself up out of the dugout to stand next to Liam and watch Niall just as he steps up to the plate. He stands in the right side batter’s box and Zayn’s brows jump.
“Wait, he was throwing right earlier, wasn’t he? Is he a switch hitter?”
Liam nods. “Left's still his dominant, but yeah. Pride and joy of the team - ambidextrous shortstop who’s quick on his feet.”
“Cool,” Zayn says, and a grin pulls at his mouth when Niall taps the end of the bat to his cleats, lines up and stands with his legs shoulder-width apart. He bends his knees just slightly, but relaxes and drops the bat onto his left shoulder for a moment. He jerks his chin at the pitcher - Ed, Higgins had said earlier - and then points to left field.
Ed laughs good-naturedly. “Fuck you, Horan. I’d love to see you call it.”
“Scared, sweetheart?” Niall practically sing-songs the question, and then drops into his stance again, grips the bat with enough force that Zayn can see the muscles in his forearms clench.
Ed bends forward, arm folded over his thigh. Louis signals him from his place at home, and Ed shakes his head, shakes it again, and then nods. He’s not grinning anymore as he straightens, drops his mitt close to his chest. He winds up, throws a slider to the outside corner.
It’s a good pitch.
Niall hits a line drive to left field, anyway.
The ball smacks against the fence and leaves their outfielder scrambling, and by the time the ball is back infield and under control, Niall’s on second with his hands on his hips, breathing hard and aiming a shit-eating grin at Ed.
He looks like a menace.
Zayn’s a little bit in love.
*
"Hey! Hey, Zayn, hold up!"
Zayn's almost at Doniya's car when he glances over his shoulder; Niall's jogging towards him with a grin while Louis, Liam and Harry shamelessly look on from the other end of the parking lot in front of a beat up sedan.
"Hey," Niall says again, stumbling to a stop and tucking his hands under his armpits. "Fuck, it's cold - um, so - look, do you have a boyfriend back home? Girlfriend?" He raises an eyebrow. "Anyone even vaguely significant other-y at all?"
Zayn can't stop the smile that spreads across his face, and he looks down at his cleats. "No boyfriend, no." His gaze flicks up. "You have anyone here?"
Niall grins, shakes his head slowly. "Not yet."
Someone whistles sharply from across the lot, and when Niall and Zayn look, Liam and Harry are standing in front of the car clutching each other, staring wide-eyed and lovestruck, Harry's mouth puckered up and mashed against Liam's cheek; Louis’ sitting cross-legged on the hood, eyes closed, hands raised in prayer.
"Idiots." Niall says this with a sort of well-worn fondness, and scratches at his chin, rocks back on his heels. "Anyway, you're single. I'm single. This is an amazing coincidence. We should hang out sometime and talk about how coincidental it is."
Zayn laughs. "Yeah, we should -"
Doniya honks the horn, long and loud, for a solid fifteen seconds - Zayn knows, because every second it keeps going makes him wish a hole would open up underneath his feet and swallow him up. Niall tries very valiantly not to laugh, and when she finally lets up, Zayn stuffs his hands in his hoodie pockets and juts his chin out.
"I, uh. Clearly have to go."
Niall nods, gives in and laughs, just a bit, still squinting into the sun. "Yeah. I'll see you tomorrow. You have my number, right?"
"Yep."
"Good. Use it, yeah?"
Zayn hops up on his toes and nods, and then shuffles in quick and tucks his fingers into one of Niall's hoodie pockets to jerk him closer. He kisses Niall’s cheek, drags his lips a little so he catches the corner of Niall's mouth when he pulls away.
"I definitely will," Zayn tells him with a not-quite-smile, still close.
Niall pushes a gentle hand against Zayn's stomach so he has to take a step back. He's grinning so wide his eyes have practically disappeared into laugh lines. "Go, your sister's gonna kill you."
Zayn shrugs happily and starts off towards the car again. "Worth it!" he calls, and Niall laughs brightly as Zayn ducks into the passenger side.
"Okay, seriously, who is that?" Doniya asks as soon as she pulls onto the street. Zayn looks out the window, watches Niall lift a hand goodbye.
"New friend,” he says.
She turns the corner and snorts. "A friend, or a friend friend?"
Zayn just smiles.