Chapter Text
December
Liam tries everything. Well. Almost everything.
He brings Zayn coffee and snacks while he works on his final papers, spends inordinate amounts of time in Zayn and Niall’s living room, eventually giving up and retreating to Niall’s room to play video games when Zayn won’t come out of his own room for hours on end. He queues up all of Zayn’s favorite movies on Netflix and they have an all-day movie marathon, but Zayn falls asleep. (That’s not the strange part; the strange part is that Zayn falls asleep with his head propped against the arm rest, rather than against Liam’s shoulder, like usual.) He invites Zayn out for coffee, for mini golf, for real-sized golf, for paintball, for anything, but there’s always some excuse, some reason why Zayn can’t come. He makes plans to get a new tattoo and invites Zayn along, since Zayn can never resist tattoos. (Liam doesn’t understand why Louis insists that tribal tattoos are douchey.) (He cancels the tattoo appointment the next day.)
The one thing Liam hasn’t done is straight-out ask Zayn why he’s ignoring him. Except isn’t not quite ignoring – they still hang out, they still talk. But it’s not like how it used to be, back when they saw each other every day, when it felt like something was missing if they weren’t together. He misses Zayn – of course he does – but it’s not just that he really likes Zayn and wants to take him out on expensive dates and kiss him under the moonlight and all that. It’s also that he just misses his best friend, the person who would lounge with him for hours doing nothing. The person who he can talk about anything with, who never teases him about anything, not his problems or his insecurities or his irrational fear of spoons.
Liam’s not quite the best with words, because he’s not sure how to explain how he’s feeling. He remembers how Louis once described falling in love as ‘trying to run up a down escalator.’ He gets it, but Liam’s also not sure he’s that cynical about it yet. And sometimes, to be honest, he likes to feel the burn.
“It’s like,” Liam invites Harry over, because no one is more optimistic about love than Harry. He tries to think of a better way to describe it, “One step forward, two steps back.”
Harry’s quick to talk but slow to actually get the words out, “Well, that’s… not too bad. If you’re going one step forward and two steps back, then you’re still going somewhere, yeah?”
“In the wrong direction!”
“No, just a different direction,” Harry levels him with a poignant stare, “There isn’t just one direction.”
Liam waits for Harry’s word to sink in – sometimes he needs a minute – but he’s still not quite sure he’s getting it. What he wants is for Zayn to want him, for him to realize how much Liam cares about him. But he always seems to be pushing back. Liam can hardly remember the last time they got to be alone together, hang out just the two of them. He misses the fluttery feeling in his stomach, and the kind of jittery excitement he gets from being around Zayn, but he also just misses just being with someone, without worrying about keeping up appearances or filling empty space with forced conversation.
“Look, like, you miss hanging with him,” Harry says, reading Liam’s mind in the way he always does, “But maybe he thinks you’re just trying to be a good friend. And maybe he doesn’t want to be your friend.”
Once it’s been laid out, Liam understands instantly. And his excitement at the idea that Zayn might honestly like him, might actually want to be with him, is almost overshadowed by the idea that he’s out there thinking that Liam does feel the same. That Liam is just trying to do his due diligence as a good friend. Liam doesn’t know if he can go another second letting Zayn think that.
He pulls Harry in for a quick hug, “Thanks, Haz. You can be quite wise sometimes, you know.”
Harry spreads his arms out like some kind of benevolent prophet, “Love will lift us up where we belong.”
It’s been a rough couple weeks at the Casa de Horan-Malik. Zayn doesn’t want to admit that he’s been avoiding Niall, but he’s definitely been avoiding Niall. He wants to think that he’s made peace with the whole situation, but seeing Liam or Niall – it just hurts. And the worst part is that he’s not even mad at them, he’s just upset with himself for lying about his feelings.
But Zayn’s gotten practiced at dodging said feelings, and apparently he’s gotten very good at dodging Niall, because they haven’t had a proper conversation in weeks. Zayn thinks he might be in the clear until he comes home the night before Louis’ birthday party to find Niall waiting for him, dinner spread prepared, two places set at the table.
“Thought we’d have dinner,” Niall says, steering Zayn to his chair, “It’s been a while!”
Fuck Niall for being an amazing cook. Zayn knows he’s about to have an uncomfortable conversation, but his mouth is watering and he might as well get it over with.
They eat in silence for a bit before Niall finally clears his throat, “Look, I know I promised no more secrets. And I feel like shit, because I’ve been keeping something from you because I’m not quite ready for everyone to know. But I think you should know.” He pauses (for effect, Zayn presumes) before saying, “I’m kind of seeing someone.”
There’s barely a beat of silence, “I know,” Zayn wants to hit himself.
“You do?”
“Yeah,” Zayn croaks out, “You’ve been going out a lot, dressing up, all that stuff.”
“Do you know—“
“I know who it is,” he finally makes eye contact with Niall, who looks vaguely pained, “It’s fine. I know who it is and I’m really happy for you. Honestly.”
Niall looks like he’s just had the weight of the world lifted off his shoulders, “Holy shit, I’m so glad. I still don’t want everyone to know, you know, I’m pretty private about this stuff. But it makes me really happy to know you’re happy for us. You’re the best, Zayn.”
The whole conversation is over so quickly that Zayn barely has time to catalogue his own feelings. But there isn’t much to take stock of, in all honesty. Zayn just feels empty, like cavernous space has opened up inside his chest. By all accounts, Zayn imagines he should probably be mad at Niall. But he isn’t. Niall is the best friend he could ask for, because he’s always honest, always. And Zayn hates lying to him like this.
“You excited for Louis’ party tomorrow?”
“Yep,” Zayn lies again. At this point, he might as well keep on with it.
Liam’s never been sure whether to classify himself as spontaneous or inhibited. He thinks he must fall somewhere in the middle, though, once he decides that it’s probably better not to confront Zayn to talk about his feelings right at this very moment. He decides – after Harry talks him down for a bit – to wait until the party. It’s the last time they’ll all be together, everyone will be having a good time, and holiday starts the next day, just in case Zayn needs some time to think once Liam’s said his piece.
Beyond that, though, Liam makes no plans, no specifically chartered course he hopes will lead him to Zayn’s heart. Which is the beginning of his problem.
Liam, so good with intentions but so bad with delivery, can’t seem to say anything properly. “Talk to him,” Harry insists, watching Liam flounder around the party like a moony schoolgirl, but Liam’s just no good with words, not when Zayn’s around.
It doesn’t help that they’re an hour and a half into Louis’ birthday extravaganza and Zayn is keeping his careful distance from Liam, carefully skirting the perimeter of the party. Liam brings him drinks and snacks like some kind of golden retriever/party assistant, laughs what might be a bit too loudly at Zayn’s jokes, and keeps seeking him out during the party, trying to catch his eye. By the time he actually manages to rope Zayn into being his partner in an overly-complicated drinking game of Niall’s own invention, Zayn feels farther away than ever, even when he’s sitting right next to him.
Niall’s about ten minutes into describing the instructions when Louis groans in frustration, “This game is shit, Niall, why’d you have to make it so complicated!”
“I like it!” Harry says, beaming at Niall, who, god bless him, never really takes anything personally.
Liam nods his support, though he’s not sure he really understands the rules either, “It’s really cool, Niall. I feel like we never give you enough credit for how clever you are.”
“This is why I love Liam the most,” Niall says, pointing at him with a grin, “And why he gets to go first.”
And, to Niall’s credit, the game is pretty great, especially if the point of the game is to get everyone involved as pissed as possible. Niall and Perrie win, because of course they do, but Liam and Zayn come in a respectable second. (Louis and Jesy bicker the whole way through, and Harry bemoans his choice of Nick for a partner.) But Zayn doesn’t really crack much more than a slight grin, and as soon as the game is over, he bolts off, mumbling one excuse or another.
Louis pouts, looking every bit as put-off as Liam feels, “Oi, make sure he’s back soon, I’m about to make my birthday toast to myself!”
It’s Liam’s third year witnessing Louis’ birthday toast to himself, although it’s a bit more like a monologue. He claims not to take it seriously, but Liam knows better than that. “I’ll get him,” Liam says, bolting off after Zayn. He’s just coming out of the bathroom when Liam catches him, and he’s sure that the red rings around his eyes aren’t just from the spliff he and Louis had smoked before the party started, “Hey…” Liam mumbles, voice soft in a don’t-spook-the-animal kind of way, but Zayn seems to flinch away from him anyway, “You okay?”
“M’fine,” Zayn says, but it must be just on instinct, because he deflates a second later when Liam rests his hand on his shoulder, “No, sorry, I’m just a bit… out of it, I guess.”
On a couple instances, people have told Liam and Zayn that their eyes are the exact same shade of brown, deep and rich and unusually vibrant for brown eyes. Liam’s never really argued against it, but there are always times where he thinks that Zayn’s eyes must change color – sometimes they’re a dark rich brown, almost black, and sometimes they’re bright gold, like right now. “You have a freckle in your eye, you know.” He says, before he realizes it’s even coming out, “It’s quite cool.”
Zayn absentmindedly runs a hand across his own chest, “Yeah?” is all he says, looking up at Liam with the countenance of someone who’s not really sure how to catalogue how they feel.
Liam can relate, “Yeah.” He says softly, pulling Zayn in for a hug. The smaller boy doesn’t object, instead clinging to the front of his sweater desperately, with what Liam imagines must be white knuckles, like Liam’s the only thing holding him down. He rests his chin on top of Zayn’s head and feels Zayn hum contentedly against his chest. They stay like that for so long that they stop wondering how long they’ve been there.
(They miss Louis’ birthday speech.)
One by one, the partygoers drop off. Niall, still surprisingly sober, leaves with an apologetic goodbye sometime around 2AM, and Harry isn’t far after him. Louis and Stan are still doing shots in the kitchen by the time it hits half past 3AM, and Zayn’s still got a good buzz going, but he’s not sure he’s that committed to having a hangover.
“You can crash with me,” Liam says, when he catches Zayn eyeing the fading partyers crashing on the couch, “C’mon, it’s nearly four.”
“Shouldn’t we stay and help clean up?” Zayn betrays himself by yawning in the middle of his sentence, and Liam pats him fondly on the arm.
“I think us staying here is just making it worse,” he says, nodding to where Nick, of all people, is beginning to gather up trash, still drunkenly tripping over his own spidery limbs, “Might as well not make more of a mess, right?”
Zayn shrugs, “’Spose so.” He mumbles around another yawn, following Liam down the hall to his bedroom.
It used to be strange, Zayn thinks, the way they so wordlessly get ready for bed. It’s like they have their own routine – Zayn goes to pull the spare toothbrush that he’s claimed out of the cupboard only to realize that Liam’s already placed it out in the toothbrush holder next to his and Louis’.
“Figured you’d be spending the night.” Liam says, shrugging, a sheepish smile on his lips. Zayn nods a bit mechanically, trying not to think about how something as small as a toothbrush makes him feel like he’s floating six inches off the ground. (“Just like on Sex and the City!” he imagines Harry would say.)
They brush their teeth, Liam changes into his pajama bottoms, throwing a shirt over to Zayn for him to sleep in. It’s different than the one he usually wears when he sleeps over – Zayn mentally pauses to consider the fact that he has a usual shirt of Liam’s that he sleeps in – a bit bigger, falling all the way down to the tops of his thighs. He suddenly feels completely surrounded, by Liam, by everything, and it makes his head spin. It’s all he can do to just fall down on the bed, face first, smothering the redness of his face in a pillow.
He feels hyper-aware of the quiet sounds of Liam putting his clothes away, turning the light off, cursing under his breath when he stubs his toe, eventually falling down on the bed next to Zayn.
After a while, he feels more than hears when Liam chuckles under his breath, “No pants?” he asks, gesturing to where Zayn is clad in just his boxer briefs. He pokes at the soft bit of Zayn’s thighs not covered by the oversized shirt.
“Too tired,” Zayn laughs, swatting Liam’s hand away, propping himself up on his elbow, “No shirt?” He makes a sweeping movement with his right hand towards Liam’s bare torso, and he really should be used to Liam’s abs by now, considering that he’s been carrying around a shirtless picture of him for nearly four months now, but seeing them up close and personal is, well. Another story entirely. Liam doesn’t say anything in response, just grins down at Zayn in a way Zayn figures should be illegal by now.
It’s quiet for a while, and Liam reaches a hand over to rub between Zayn’s shoulder blades in the way he must know Zayn likes when he’s knackered, “You look good in my shirt,” Liam mumbles, “It suits you.”
Zayn’s eyes fly open at that, and he goes to look at Liam’s face, but it’s nearly inscrutable, the only light in the room coming in from where Liam forgot to close the blinds.
But Liam must read Zayn’s confusion on his face, because he laughs under his breath, “Yeah, check it out. I got it when I went to the Iron Man movie premiere, it was the only size they had left,” Zayn props himself up on his forearms and peers down at the shirt, dark blue, with a fading Iron Man logo on the front, “It’s still my favorite, though,” Liam continues, “Reminds me of you.”
As far as gestures go, it’s not overtly romantic or even tremendously unusual, but for some reason it makes Zayn feel like he’s just been lying in the sun, warmed all over. All he wants to do is kiss Liam. It’s like he can’t believe he ever thought of doing anything else.
Zayn all but pounces forward, and so his first kiss with Liam is pretty messy, primarily because he can barely see a thing, and ends up catching just Liam’s top lip between his own. But within a split second he feels a large, warm hand on his cheek, a thumb pressing lightly against his jaw and re-adjusting them into a proper kiss. And this is exactly how Zayn had imagined it. He wraps his arms around Liam’s neck and allows himself to press more insistently against the plush, soft warmth of Liam’s lips, breath hitching and his mouth dropping open instinctively when Liam nibbles at Zayn’s bottom lip. His head is heavy with alcohol and sleepiness and when Zayn feels the drag of Liam’s tongue against his he feels a bit like his brain is short-circuiting.
Everything starts moving very quickly after that – Liam pulls at Zayn’s waist with a touch that makes Zayn shiver, and the smaller boy climbs into his lap, straddling Liam’s thighs, shucking off his shirt, grabbing at Liam’s hair. Liam grasps Zayn’s hips so firmly that Zayn starts to see stars, white spots clouding his vision.
Eventually Liam trails his hand up Zayn’s torso – stopping to brush a thumb against his nipple, which makes Zayn squirm – and back around to Zayn’s neck, where he grasps very firmly at the hair at the back of his head, pulling sharply.
Liam pulls away from the kiss with a rushed I’m so sorry, at the same time that Zayn whines loudly, arching up against Liam’s lap in a way that suddenly makes it very, very hard to ignore their twin hard-ons, Liam’s a long, hard line trapped between their bodies, a spot that Zayn immediately sets about grinding against, in earnest.
Liam looks up at Zayn with a look of near-wonderment, and for a split-second Zayn imagines that he’s going to say something. About how this is wrong, about how he doesn’t like Zayn, about Niall. Instead, all the Liam says is, “Not tired anymore, are you?”
“No way,” Zayn says, after a quick bark of a laugh, “You – uh! – you’ve definitely woken me up.”
Liam mumbles something that Zayn doesn’t catch, pulling at Zayn’s hip to bring him as close as possible, one hand grasping wantonly at the waistband of Zayn’s briefs, pulling them down just enough that the fabric pulls against his length, the head of his cock finally popping over the top, shiny with precum. Liam grins like he’s just hit the lottery.
“Don’t looks so smug,” Zayn whines, but he’s smiling.
He snakes a hand in between their bodies, bumping clumsily against Liam’s fingers. He finally grasps the waist of Liam’s joggers, pulling them down haphazardly, his fingers finding purchase against the head of Liam’s cock, “Shit… you’re so wet,” Zayn whimpers, a sound he’d be embarrassed about if Liam didn’t immediately echo it. Using Liam’s pre-come to slick his hand, Zayn slides up and down Liam’s length, occasionally running a finger around the edge of his foreskin, carefully cataloguing the hitch in Liam’s breath when he twists his hand just under the head. After a few pulls, Liam grasps the back of Zayn’s head, tugging him down into an open-mouthed kiss.
They stay like that for a while, just breathing into each other’s mouths, hot and heady, Liam looking up through his eyelashes at Zayn like he’s looking at some kind of rare and beautiful phenomenon. And Zayn’s always considered himself a romantic, but he thinks Liam definitely has him beat, because he’s never felt anything like the electric shock in his heart when Liam smiles gently at him, whispering out a breathless, “Hey.”
“Hey,” Zayn whispers back, and he’s stopped his ministrations on Liam’s dick, just content to trail his hand up Liam’s abs, scratching against the curly patch of hair on the middle of Liam’s chest. The window shades let in just enough light to color Liam in stripes of moonlight. Zayn remembers when this was just a dream, when all he had of Liam was just bits from a photo he had to imagine into a real person. And even then, it was nothing compared to the real thing—
“F-Fuck!” Zayn’s caught off guard when Liam presses firmly against the small of Zayn’s back, driving his erection down to grind against Liam’s own, a delicious filthy drag.
Liam smirks before giving Zayn a kiss that is far too chaste considering the situation. He continues the trail of kisses around Zayn’s jaw, up his neck to where he nibbles the shell of his ear, breath hot, voice sounding absolutely wrecked, “Let me take care of you.”
And Zayn’s not going to argue with that, especially not when Liam pulls both of their lengths into his right hand, the massive spread of his fingers wanking them expertly.
“Jesus—“ Zayn collapses against Liam’s neck, sucking a mark right next to the birthmark that’s plagued his dreams for months and months.
He’s not going to last long now, and if the punched moans spilling from Liam’s lips are any indication, Liam isn’t going to last either. Everything in Zayn’s mind is just miles and miles of fog and haze and Liam, Liam Liam. He’s only duly aware of how he’s chanting Liam’s name quietly, like a prayer, as he gets closer to the edge, and Liam’s strokes get sloppier and sloppier. Zayn feels Liam’s free hand trailing down his back again, sneaking down towards his arse, and when Liam drags a finger against the dry rim of Zayn’s hole, Zayn’s entire brain goes blank, and he comes with a choked off moan, cum shooting onto Liam’s stomach, some dribbling down Liam’s hand onto his cock.
Liam’s not far behind, continuing to wank them through Zayn’s aftershocks, using Zayn’s come to lubricate his swift strokes. He finally comes with a quick grunt, biting at Zayn’s collarbone.
After, they lie there for a while – much longer than Zayn usually does after sex. He feels boneless and blissed out, rolling off of Liam but keeping his head tucked against the younger man’s chest. But because Liam is the eternal gentleman, he eventually gets up, fetching a flannel and cleaning both of them up, pausing only to shoot Zayn a conspiratorial wink.
Zayn loves the fact that Liam can’t wink properly. He loves the fact that he keeps trying anyway. He loves Liam.
He loves Liam and he wants to tell him, but the words get caught in his throat and his eyelids are drooping and his entire body feels like it’s floating two feet above the bed. Zayn thinks Liam must want to say something too – they should, shouldn’t they? They should talk? – because when Liam climbs back into bed, he pauses before closing his eyes, just running a thumb softly across the bite mark he’s left on Zayn’s collarbone.
Neither of them say anything, though. It feels as easy as breathing when they fall asleep facing each other, Liam’s hand still resting gently against Zayn’s chest.
In the morning, everything looks faded, hazy, like there’s a fog pressing down on every corner of the room. The empty thud in Zayn’s head finds its partner in the empty, aching feeling in the pit of his stomach. When he rolls over, Liam’s not there in the bed next to him, just a blank, empty space instead. The sheets are cold under his fingers. Everything around him looks just a bit off, and it might be his impending hangover or it might be that everything is wrong. Or maybe it’s not that everything around him is out of place, but that he’s the one that’s out of place. Either way, it all seems to say one thing: it was a mistake, it was a mistake, it was a mistake—
Or. At least that’s what Zayn expects when he wakes up. He writes a small novel in his head before actually waking up, going over everything in his mind, laying completely still. If he just doesn’t move, then he can decide what is and is not true. That’s the rule.
But when he opens his eyes… there’s nothing wrong. No oncoming hangover hammering at the inside of his head, no weighty fog settling over the room, making everything look crooked and out of place. Everything is the same as it’s always been – Liam’s pile of comic books in the corner, the bottles of water on the side table, the protein power that Zayn always teased him for still peeking out from his desk drawer.
And when Zayn rolls over, Liam is there, sleeping on his stomach, arms tucked under his pillow. He’s smiling in his sleep, because no one else but Liam can find joy in every aspect of life, including sleep. Liam makes a small, sleepy sound, and Zayn almost laughs, a bit nervous, a bit manic. Like he can’t believe what he gets to wake up to.
It all feels so… normal. If he wanted to, Zayn could just watch Liam sleep for a bit, probably fall back asleep himself, curling closer to Liam under the guise of seeking warmth. Liam would probably wake him up gently, the way he always does, hand running softly through the scruff on Zayn’s chin. He’d probably make Zayn breakfast, maybe they’d watch a movie or play video games. And everything else would just come naturally to them, the same way it always had.
It’s while he’s imagining this, his ideal day, that Zayn hears Liam’s text tone ding, a soft blue light coming up from the floor on the other side of the bed, where he’d probably placed his mobile on the side table. Without meaning too, Zayn thinks automatically that it must be Niall.
He feels sick. He needs to get out of there – he stumbles out of the bed, going to pull on his clothes as quickly as possible – he needs to get out of this room, this apartment, his own skin, if possible. How could he forget – Liam isn’t his. Liam never was his.
It takes Zayn a second to remember that the shirt he had been wearing late last night was Liam’s, and he rips it off like it’s made of fire. Eventually he finds his own sad, stained shirt, discarded in a corner of the room. He pulls it on, along with his pants, and snatches his wallet and phone off the table.
The tears pricking at his eyes blur his vision as he looks back at Liam, somehow still peacefully asleep, the stark white of the comforter and the fading tan of Liam’s skin swimming in front of him. Zayn hopes that Liam doesn’t beat himself up about cheating on Niall, but he knows he will. Liam’s too good. Zayn wishes he could be that good, wishes he could be above coming on to his best friend’s boyfriend, coveting what he’s not supposed to have.
Should he leave a note or not? Zayn wavers for a second, wonders if he should leave an apology, but there’s too much he needs to apologize for. At least, more than could fit on a sticky note. Maybe he could leave the photo of Liam on the bed, where he slept. Some kind of quiet admission, an explanation for why Zayn let things go too far. That would be poetic – right? Or crazy? No?
Liam turns over in his sleep, eyes still closed, but it spooks Zayn enough to get him to finally leave, pulling his shoes on and heading to sneak out the front door. The living room, as Liam had predicted, is still a complete mess, barely an inch of the floor visible. Might as well not make more of a mess, right? Zayn remembers Liam’s words a bit bitterly. Leave it to him to make an even bigger mess of things.
When he gets home, the flat is quiet, everything still perfectly in place just as he and Niall had left things. Nothing has shifted, but Zayn feels like everything has changed around him. Luckily, Niall isn’t home, but Zayn feels his presence everywhere – in the freshly cleaned shine of the countertops, the acoustic guitar left on the couch, the Eagles records stacked neatly next to the record player. Guilt washes over him so swiftly that he feels like he might boot, and he nearly sprints to his bedroom, towards the comfort of his own belongings, his own space.
Eventually, he’ll call Niall, talk to him, about what, he’s not sure. But for now Zayn just pulls the shades down in his room, falls on the bed, and lets sleep claim him.
(The bed is, of course, much colder without Liam.)
After months of being convinced that Harry doesn’t actually have a room of his own, Niall finally sees it with his own eyes the morning after he spends the night for the first time.
“And this guy is your real-life roommate?” He asks, jerking his thumb towards the red-headed man in the kitchen.
“Yeah, that’s Ed.” Harry says, stuffing a biscuit in his mouth, “He’s awesome.”
“Does he know that we’re…”
“Yep.” Ed says, winking at Niall, before returning to his omelet.
“I’m sorry,” Harry moans, “I forgot we’re not supposed to tell anyone yet.”
Niall has been feeling guilty about making Harry keep their real relationship private, so he sits next to him and runs a hand up and down his thigh, “Don’t worry about it. Actually, Zayn knows too. I didn’t even have to tell him,” he laughs, “And Liam already knows… We should probably tell Louis soon so he doesn’t give us shit about being the last to know. And then… I dunno. Might as well make it official.”
Harry’s face lights up, “Really?”
“Yeah of course, Haz. I really care about you. And I want people to know.”
The smile that Harry gives him looks like it could generate enough electricity to power a small town, and right when Niall feels a bit like he’s about to drop those three little words, his phone lights up, and it’s Zayn. He gives Harry an apologetic look before picking up, “What’s up?”
“I just wanted to say goodbye and Happy Christmas and everything,” Zayn says, words coming out frantically, “I’m heading out early so I probably won’t see you. I’m really sorry,” he almost sounds choked up, “Shit, I’m so sorry Niall.”
“Oi, oi, Zayn, it’s okay, just have a good holiday, okay?”
Zayn is still babbling about something when Niall sees Harry get a call. Liam, he mouths, moving away to answer it.
“Zayn, give your mum and the rest of your fam love from me,” Niall says, “I hope everything’s alright.” He’s never heard Zayn this frazzled and he barely gets the words out before Zayn is saying another quick goodbye and hanging up. He’s about to launch a full investigation about the source of Zayn’s odd behavior, but as soon as the call ends, Niall gets another one, this time from Louis.
“Louis! Just the guy I wanted to talk to! Do you know that the hell is up with Zayn?”
“Uh, yeah,” Louis deadpans, “He and Liam fucked and then he left and Liam is freaking the fuck out.”
“Shit…” Niall sucks in a long breath, looking over at Harry and wincing, “Harry’s on the phone with him right now, is it really bad?” The question kind of answer itself, because Harry’s holding the phone about six inches away from his head, and Niall can still hear Liam ranting in the background, sounding confused, upset, angry, and sad all at once, “Look, hold on, I’m going to put you on speaker.”
“What happened?” Harry says, cover the speaker of his phone with his hand, “Liam tried to explain but now he’s just reciting the lyrics of ‘Doing it Wrong’.”
“He and Zayn hooked up,” Louis says, his voice coming through the speaker muffled, “But Zayn left before he woke up and he’s not returning any of Liam’s calls or texts.”
“I thought Zayn liked him!”
Louis sighs, “I don’t know, I could never get a straight answer out of him about it.”
“Me neither,” Niall says, “But I know Zayn, and he wouldn’t purposely try to hurt Liam. I know he cares about him.”
They start talking over each other; Louis attempts to calm Liam down in person, with Harry talking him down over the phone. Niall borrows Ed’s phone and tries to call Zayn, to no avail. It doesn’t make sense to him, not under any circumstances – Niall knows Zayn had said he didn’t like Liam, but that was months ago, and he knows things have changed. He just knows.
“What is it so bloody loud for?”
The entire conversation halts when Niall hears another voice coming through the speaker phone, much deeper than Louis of Liam’s voice.
“Jesus,” Louis hisses, “Nick, go the fuck home.”
Nick?! Harry mouths to Niall, who almost wants to laugh at how terrible this entire situation has become.
“What’s Nick doing there, Louis?” Niall asks, at the same moment that Harry says, “Get in, Nick!”
“Oh. Morning, Niall. Harold.” Nick says, sounding smug. (To be fair, Niall thinks, there aren’t many times when Nick doesn’t sound smug.)
“Listen—fuck. Okay, I’m just going to—“ there’s the sound of Louis’ voice retreating from the room, and Niall surmises that he’s left his phone with Liam and has set about shuffling Nick away. Harry dutifully picks up Niall’s phone, holding it up to his right ear, his own phone held against his left ear, presumably so he can hear Liam’s emotional groaning through both ears. Niall spares a glance toward Ed, still calmly eating his omelet at the kitchen table, looking at them like he’s watching some kind of interesting reality program.
“Happy birthday, Lou,” Harry says, weakly.
+
January
All in the world Liam wants to do is talk to Zayn. He’s hurt, but more than that, he’s confused. He tries for weeks, spending every spare moment of the holiday trying to get in contact with Zayn. He gets nothing, and Liam heads home for the holiday feeling like he’s wrecked the best thing that happened to him in the past four months. He leaves endless texts and voicemails, dodges questions from his parents about his poor mood, and tries to meet his sisters’ new boyfriends with grace, without feeling bitter.
Liam only gets one call from Zayn over the holiday, and he knows before he even picks up that Zayn is drunk.
“It’s 3AM,” Liam grumbles. Probably not the best opening line.
There’s loud music on Zayn’s end, and Liam listens to the rustling as Zayn moves away from it, “I have your photo,” he says, without fanfare, “That you put in Harry’s basket thing. I have it. I’ve had it for months now.”
“What?”
Zayn’s accent gets even thicker when he drinks, and Liam can tell he’s trying to parse his words carefully, but they still sound a mess, coming out all in a slur, “I carried it around! In my pocket! Like a crazy person!”
Liam feels his heartrate pick up, and he’s not sure what to say, but he might as well triey to calm Zayn down, “It’s okay, hey. Zayn, why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I didn’t want to!” Zayn yells, “Are you thick? You would have thought I was insane.”
“I wouldn’t have!” Liam whisper-yells, not wanting to wake up his family, “You know that Zayn, you know me.”
There’s a bark of laughter, “Do I?” Zayn says sardonically.
Liam wipes his hand down his face. He’s too tired, and Zayn’s too drunk, “How did this even happen?
“I don’t know!” Zayn yells, “I saw your picture, thought you were fit, and I wanted to meet you!”
“Why were you looking for me? Because you wanted to fuck me?”
“Because I wanted to fall in love with you!”
For a while, there’s nothing but silence, stretching out like a long road before them that Liam can’t even imagine that they have the ability to go down.
“Did you? Fall in love with me?”
Liam’s ears are ringing, and he knows his voice is coming out soft and broken. He feels like he’s sinking, drowning, like he can’t find anything to keep him afloat, and despite the fact that Zayn hangs up immediately, he still holds the phone close to his ear, hoping in vain that he’ll get the answer he wants to hear.
The next morning, Liam texts Louis about the fight and goes for a run to clear his mind. It doesn’t work, and by the time he gets home, he’s got a string of messages from Louis.
Louis
I knew about the photo thing
He was embarrassed I think
But give him a break. Love is scary
Liam
i have his photo too… i stole it off nick
i shouldve told him
i just want to see him so bad
Louis
Nick?
Liam
no, zayn!!
Louis
I know, you idiot
Liam
i love him
like i really love him :(
Louis
Like I said
I know, you idiot
I think the only person who doesn’t know is zayn
Liam knows Louis is right, but he’s not keen about admitting it. Instead, he just sets about packing up his stuff and takes a sleeping pill before he goes to bed – he doesn’t want to dream, because all his dreams are of Zayn.
In a surprisingly responsible move, Zayn decides to turn off his phone after drunkenly calling Liam. He tucks it in the bottom drawer of his desk and leaves it there for the entire break.
His friends from home and his family can tell there’s something off, and he can bury it with alcohol and weed and half-assed excuses with Danny and Ant, but he can’t get anything past his mother. They have large family dinners nearly every night the week leading up to Zayn’s departure, and although he usually loves them, loves to savor every bit of family time he gets, this time all he can do is wince and mumble half-hearted answers when they ask about his life at uni.
“You’re growing up so fast,” his aunt says, sighing, “Soon you’ll be getting married and starting your own family, Insha’Allah.” Zayn just nods, hands rubbing up and down his thighs to distract himself from the image of Liam proposing to him traditional and down on one knee, hosting a huge, colorful wedding with both of their families, getting to see Liam as a father. He can’t imagine doing all those things with anyone else, and he wishes he could hate that.
The morning he’s planning to leave Bradford and move back on campus he gets up much earlier than usual, and his mother is waiting for him in the kitchen with a cup of tea, “I love you, sweetheart,” she says, pulling him in for a hug, “Whatever is bothering you… things have a way of sorting themselves out.” Somehow, he knows she’s right.
The flat looks particularly empty when he arrives back on campus, and he feels like he’s been away for years, not weeks. Zayn unpacks slowly, because he knows as soon as he finishes he’s going to have to deal with everything – he’s going to have to turn his phone on and see how many messages he’s ignored, he’ll have to deal with the fact that everyone was probably worried about him. And, worst of all, he’ll have to deal with what he did with Liam, that he made him cheat on Niall.
It’s not even noon by the time he’s fully unpacked, and he turns his mobile back on fairly unceremoniously, watching the screen light up with a dubious expression.
As expected, he’s got hundreds of texts and dozens of voicemails. He scrolls through the texts a bit, unable to stop himself from reading a few from Liam.
i know you’re probably ignoring me but i just wanted to say hi
Ruth just got a new puppy and i thought of u
the dog looked a bit like u, if u were a dog so basicly the most beautiful dog
Zayn laughs under his breath and smiles for what feels like the first time in weeks. Before he can think better of it, he sends Louis a text to meet him outside the building and finally starts listening to his voicemails, one after the other.
“So you do still have a phone,” Louis says when he shows up, less than an hour later, “And you were just ignoring us. I thought maybe you’d gone back to the Nokia.” (Zayn just shakes his head, because Louis is never going to stop giving him shit about that Nokia.)
They decided to head up the stairwell to the roof of the building to smoke. The library and the academic buildings aren’t open yet, so they can’t get to their usual spot, but now it feels weird to smoke anywhere other than a rooftop. The ascent is silent, but once they’re at the roof, Louis passes Zayn a spliff and they sit down, feet dangling off the edge of the building.
The sun is directly overhead, or so Zayn assumes, but there’s a heavy cloud covering keeping them doused in shade. Zayn looks forward to the spring. He likes the narrative of it, for lack of a better phrase. He likes the notion of the sun breaking through the clouds, of the flowers blooming from under the wet grass and dirt.
Louis lets their buzz set in before he finally speaks, “Do you wanna talk about it?”
Zayn, not for the first time, isn’t sure what to say. He wordlessly scrolls through his phone to get to the one voicemail he had saved, and puts it on speaker before playing it for Louis.
“Hey Zayn!!” It’s Niall’s voice, loud and unmissable, even with music in the background, “I know that I already talked to you about me and Harry… but I thought I’d let you know that we really made it official! Like, Facebook official! All the kinds of official – Twitter official, Instagram official, Pinterest official – whatever I don’t care. I’m just happy to have a boyfriend that I love and I wanted to thank you for being there for me and understanding why I couldn’t tell you at first. I love you, man. Please call me back, I hope you’re doing okay. And call Liam, he’s a wreck. Anyway, Happy New Year, love to you and your family. See you soon.”
After the message finishes, Zayn deletes it and places his phone back in his pocket. Louis eyes him carefully.
“I thought Liam and Niall were dating.” Zayn says finally, placing his head in his hands.
When he looks up, Louis is taking a long drag of the joint, and Zayn can tell he wants to laugh. Actually, he kind of commends him for not laughing, “Bro… you’ve been really fucked up about this, haven’t you?”
Zayn groans, digging his fingers into the side of his face in a way he knows must be unattractive, but he’s got so many thoughts and emotions running through his mind that he doesn’t even care, “I thought that – I thought Liam had cheated on him, when we. You know. I was trying to be distant after. I thought it would be easier, like? I wanted Liam to hate me.”
Louis snorts, “That’s an impossible task.”
“Yeah, well. I think I did a pretty good job of fucking everything up. God, I’m such an idiot,” he’s not high enough to be this talkative, but it all comes pouring out anyway, all the leftover adrenaline from after he had listened to Niall’s voicemail, all the puzzle pieces clicking into place, “He probably does hate me. I know it,” Zayn says quietly.
“Nope,” Louis says immediately, “Definitely not.”
“Why wouldn’t he?!” Zayn chokes on his own words, spits them out like he just wants to be done with them, “I treated him like shit all because I couldn’t get my own shit together. All I had to do was talk to him and I couldn’t even do that. He hates me.”
“No, he doesn’t!” Louis looks like he’s ready to rip his own face off, “Honestly, sometimes you are so fucking dense. It’s like I’m talking to a piece of fucking banana bread or something. What the fuck.”
Zayn opens and closes his mouth a few times before staring down at his own feet. To be able to understand his own feelings and word them as easily as he’s able to word the feelings of the characters in his stories… it’s something he’s thought about a lot, wished for a lot. But real life, especially his life, never seems to play out properly, despite all his carefully-planned attempts and numerous romantic missions. That’s part of the reason why he likes writing so much: everything gets wrapped up. Every loose end gets tied.
Louis sighs, “Look. Those aren’t your jeans.”
“… What?”
“Those jeans,” Louis jerks his chin at Zayn, “They’re Liam’s, I’m pretty sure. They’re huge on you, there’s no way you lost that much weight over break. Not that you really have weight to lose.”
Zayn’s not sure where Louis’ going with this, but when he inspects his jeans more closely he finds that Louis is right. They’re hanging off his hips, and they’re a much lighter wash than Zayn would ever buy, honestly, “I must have grabbed them by accident. After, uh.”
Louis smiles slightly at him, “Hey, look in the pockets. I wanna check something.”
Because he might as well, Zayn indulges him, reaching into the back pockets (nothing), the front right pocket (just his phone and wallet), and finally the front left. He feels a familiar sensation as he finger pricks against something, and when he pulls it out, it’s a photograph. A photograph of Zayn, the one he had put in the photo basket so many months ago. Zayn takes a deep breath for the first time in what feels like forever.
“That’s what I thought,” Louis says quietly.
It’s an immediate, instinctive reaction: Zayn scrambles up, dusting himself off, unable to tear his eyes away from the photograph. He reaches for the door to head back down the stairwell, “D’you mind if I—“
“By all means,” Louis laughs, giving Zayn a smile, “He doesn’t hate you. Not at all.”
Zayn flies down the stairs at a reckless speed, tripping over himself a few times, and nearly breaks down the door to get out of the building. He needs to see Liam, he doesn’t think he could wait even another second, and he never never runs, never really deigns to move at more than a snail’s pace, but he does start running, a jolt of energy running up his spine every time his boots hit the pavement. He veers left, past the library, towards Liam’s building, going so fast he almost misses it – a familiar broad-shouldered, sandy-haired figure leaning against the entrance of the library, eyes fixed studiously on the photo basket, still in place.
(“I can’t take it down now,” Harry had said, “There are still photos in there… I’d feel weird keeping them all when they’re supposed to be found by someone instead.”)
“What are you doing?” Zayn yells out, jogging up the steps, pausing to catch his breath, hunching over his knees.
When he finally looks up, Liam’s looking down on him with a soft expression, and he’s holding something up – a photo of himself. The same one Zayn had carried around in his pocket so ceremoniously for so many months. There’s a smile playing on his lips, and he reaches out a hand to cup Zayn’s cheek gently, and Zayn leans into it naturally.
“When did you find it?” Zayn mumbles.
Liam grins so wide that Zayn can make out the dimple on the apple of his cheek, “This morning. Tried to put on a pair of jeans that were way too tight for me, found this in the pocket.”
“I thought you and Niall were fucking behind my back,” Zayn blurts out, because he’s apparently in the business of ruining his own romantic moments. But he’s tired of not communicating with Liam. He wants him to know everything, everything in his past, everything he thinks, all of his stupid fears and insecurities, all his hopes and dreams, “It was dumb. I don’t know, I thought that I could just be happy for you two but I couldn’t. And then I thought I should just stop hanging out with you because it hurt so badly, but I should have just talked to you.” He notices that his eyes are filling up with tears, and he hates himself for it, but the way Liam is looking at him, like this is his first day on earth and Zayn is the first person he’s ever laid eyes on, it prompts him to ignore how choked his voice is getting, how vulnerable he’s being. Zayn hates, absolutely hates being vulnerable. It reminds him of grade school, a time before he put up the carful walls around his entire self, a time when kids used to poke and prod at his insecurities, at his skin color, at his religion.
Being vulnerable around Liam, though, it feels like everything else feels around Liam: as easy as taking a breath.
Liam grabs his hand, looking at him with his eyebrows furrowed, “Zayn—“
“Please,” Zayn’s voice cracks, “I don’t know, please let me explain. I was wrong and I shouldn’t have assumed. And I shouldn’t have hung up on you, when you asked me. When you asked me if I fell in love with you,” he takes a deep breath, “Because I did.”
“Me too,” Liam says, before Zayn can even finish his sentence, “I did too.”
They’ve still got a lot to say, a lot more questions to answer, but all of the mistakes and miscommunications suddenly feel like they’re being swept away with the cool winter winds. And the sun is finally breaking through the clouds.
This time, when they kiss, it’s slow and hesitant. Liam kisses him once, twice, a third time, and then they melt into each other, Liam grasping at Zayn’s waist, and Zayn wrapping his arms around Liam’s neck. The pictures they had both been holding are forgotten, falling slowly to the ground next to them, one on top of the other.
It is a bit poetic, Zayn thinks.
+
Epilogue
“So you picked up Jade’s photo, and she had Liam’s photo, and you switched. So you have Liam’s photo, Nick has your photo, but Liam steals it from him – “
“’Steals’ is a strong word – “
“ – Liam steals it from him, so Liam has your photo. I knew you had Liam’s photo, and Louis knew, but Liam didn’t know. And Louis knew that Liam had your photo, but you didn’t know.”
“And Harry didn’t know anything! And it was his project!”
Niall frowns, “Harry, don’t talk in the third-person, it’s weird. Michael, are you getting all this?”
There’s a high-quality camera trained soundly on Zayn, who’s slouching cross-legged on the couch. Niall’s proclaimed filming assistant, Michael, prods the tripod the camera is set up on with his pointer finger, “Yeah, I think I’m getting it.”
It had turned out that, after everything was said and done, Niall was the one who ended up being artistically inspired by Harry’s project. After getting a substantial grant from the film department, he decided to make his final film thesis a documentary about the photo project, and participants’ efforts to find out whose photo it was they had picked up. Zayn and Liam, obviously, made great subjects.
“Okay, next I want Liam on the couch next to Zayn,” Niall holds his hands up, framing the shot, “I want you guys to really sell it, look like you really love each other.”
Liam sits next to Zayn, “But. We do. Like, love each other.” He says giving Niall and odd look.
“He’s really into acting like some kind of, like, hard-ass director,” Zayn says, slipping his hand into Liam’s. Liam just shrugs, pressing a kiss to Zayn’s temple.
Dating Liam is a strange thing, Zayn’s discovered. A handful of months and he still can’t quite figure it out, how it manages to feel simultaneously like they’ve been dating for years and like it was just yesterday that they met. He likes staying in and just being together, without saying anything. He likes learning new things about Liam, and sharing things about himself. He likes the automatic comfort they fell into in the bedroom, an immediate sense of trust that made exploring their bodies feel like something natural and exciting. He likes hanging with the boys, the five of them, going on double dates with Niall and Harry (and Louis and Nick – although that was technically an accident). He likes always having someone to whine about his classes with, someone to love and someone to remind him he’s loved.
“Zayn, tell us about when you introduced Liam to your family,” Zayn goes red, but Liam’s got a tiny smirk playing at his lips. Niall continues, “You mentioned you’ve never introduced a boyfriend to your family before.”
“Yeah, no,” Zayn says curtly, “They liked him.”
“What did your sisters say?”
Zayn silently curses Niall, “They said I should break up with him so they could date him instead.” He watches Louis and Harry laugh at him from behind the camera.
“He has a lovely family,” Liam says diplomatically, fighting his grin. Of course Zayn’s family had loved Liam, even his baba – Liam was effortlessly charming and polite. They’re supposed to visit Liam’s parents the following weekend, and sometimes Zayn worries himself to bits about it, but he knows that it’s a good thing. It’s a good thing that he’s nervous, because he’s never cared this much. And that’s how he knows he’s really read fir it, ready to be in it for the long haul with Liam.
And Niall’s documentary has actually been fun, Zayn thinks – it’s been cool, checking up on the stories behind the photos, seeing what kind of different people had taken and left pictures. They find out that Jade and the other girl in the photo Zayn had originally picked up – Danielle – ended up getting back together. Nick and Louis do a particularly awkward interview where Nick says he never realized how fit Louis was till he picked up his photo from the basket. (Louis looks equal parts charmed and disgusted.) They interview one girl who had picked up a picture of her long-lost half-brother and Harry weeps through their entire interview.
Filming is almost wrapped up when Harry announces to the group, “I have something important to show you all.” Michael, ready to pack the camera away, turns it back on and trains it on Harry.
Zayn watches him reach into his front pocket to pull something out, “No he fucking did not…” He whispers, gripping Liam’s wrist.
“What? What did he do?”
When they look back, Harry’s holding up a photo of Niall that Zayn recognizes – a grey suit, a pink tie, and a spectacular quiff, “I picked this up from my own photo basket. I realized halfway through that I hadn’t picked one up, so. This was it.” He admits to Niall, who looks like he just hit the jackpot.
“That’s romantic as shit!” He says, lifting Harry up in a large sweeping motion, kissing him loudly, “I love you so much.”
The crowd around them coos, and when Niall pulls back he looks at Harry a bit sheepishly, “I wish I could say I picked up your picture too.”
“You might’ve!” Louis says, “The photos Harry put in were weird, they weren’t even of himself.”
“Let me see which one you did pick up!” Harry says, and Niall bolts to his room to pick up the photo of the drunken man – the photo that had started it all, Zayn muses.
“It’s literally just a drunk dude with a dick drawn on his stomach,” Niall says when he comes back into the room, “It’s actually been driving me mad, ‘cause I think I know him from somewhere.”
Harry plucks the photo from Niall, observing it carefully. When he finally looks up, he’s got a wide grin on his face, dimples slicing down his cheeks, “This is my picture. Well, I put it in there. It’s Professor Cowell. I snuck in a faculty party my first year and this was the only non-blurry photo that I took.”
“You’re shitting me,” Louis says.
“No, actually it inspired me to get into photography.”
Niall’s laughing so hard his face is beet red, and he and Harry go to kiss but end up essentially just laughing into each other’s mouths. Zayn thinks they’re probably perfect for each other.
He turns back to Liam and winds his arms around his torso, leaning into Liam’s collarbone, “I can’t believe they had each other’s photos the whole time,” he says, “Super romantic.”
“Reminds me of another couple I know,” Liam says through a smile, rubbing a warm hand up and down Zayn’s back, “Although, to be fair, we had to trade and steal and all that to find each other.”
“I think I liked that better,” Zayn says, grinning. He cranes his neck up to kiss the birthmark on Liam’s neck, and he thinks back to a time when he could only imagine doing that, so forlornly in love with some specter of a boy in a photo. The real thing is much different, and so, so much better.
“I’m glad Harry set that whole thing up,” Liam says, “And that Niall told you about it.”
“I’m glad that Louis helped me come to my senses,” Zayn looks over to where Harry and Niall are still wrapped up in each other, looking ridiculous and fond, Louis looking on with a laugh, “We have great friends.”
Liam presses a kiss to the top of Zayn’s head, “And now I have a great boyfriend.”
Well, he’s not wrong.