Archive of Our Own

Liam’s father leaves them on a Sunday.

His mum had dragged him and his sisters to the church, just like she did every week ever since the girls had gone back home from uni. His father stayed home, always, and nobody bothered questioning that arrangement for years. The man would stay on the sofa all day usually, nursing a beer or five – a glass of scotch or six, and Karen never told him to get up and do something other than watching TV and complaining about whatever was getting to him the most that day.

(Most of the time it was Ruth. Ruth and her loudness neither one of her siblings had, Ruth and her know-it-all attitude and the way she wrinkled her nose whenever their father walked past her, even at eighteen.)

It’s walking back home from the church that Liam notices the fading purple marks tinting his mother’s wrists. He finds it weird, doesn’t remember seeing them there before and he’s always around her. From the outfit she had picked, it’s obvious, even for him, that it’s an attempt to cover her skin, to stop other people from noticing and commenting. At eleven, Liam doesn’t know better, Liam’s not aware that at times, he should keep his words to himself. He stops, eyes burning a hole into Karen’s skin and that forces the woman to a halt, seeing as her thin fingers are tangled with Liam’s own.

“Liam, love, what’s wrong? She asks, softness so familiar Liam still doesn’t know how much he’s gonna miss it when it’s gone. It’s on the words and on her face, expression curious but overall concerned. It’s not a vision he’s accustomed to, at least not directed at him since he’s always been a good boy. Ruth, though. Even Karen, on the epitome of her patience, loses her temper at her daughter from time to time. “Are you feeling poorly, love?”

He shakes his head no, letting go of the grip the woman has on his hand. Pushing the sleeves of her sweater up her arm, his fingers skim softly over the purple marks. Liam remembers the last time he had one of those and it was because he had hit his hip against the corner of a table. The fading mark is still visible whenever he’s shirtless, but it’s long gone yellow and soon enough it will have disappeared. The one on Karen’s wrist, though, is new and Liam doesn’t know, but if he takes a proper look, he will be able to notice an imprint of fingers.

The woman is quick to snatch her hand back, but it proves to be fruitless since, by then, Nicola and Ruth both have noticed what Liam had pointed out. Nicola has worry written all over her face and she reaches for Karen’s other arm, noticing a matching mark on her skin.

“Mum,” she whispers, and Liam reckons that, from the three of them, she’s the one that got most of their mum. It’s on her face and on her posture, her way of talking and caring, unconditionally. “Mum, you told us it had stopped.”

Karen doesn’t want to listen to her, clearly, as she simply takes Liam again and starts walking once again, their house still a couple of streets away. Ruth is the one to stop her, fingers wrapping around the older woman’s arm and holding her back before she can take another step.

“Come on, mum,” her tone makes the anger she shows on her face even more transparent and Liam simply doesn’t understand what’s going on. He’s used to being left out of the family’s problems because of his age, and it hadn’t bothered him at all since that moment. Even though he’s naïve, he’s not an idiot. He knows that the bruises were what they were – remains of some sort of violent abuse towards his mother, and he knows he has a right to know. “You can’t let that fucker-

“Language, Ruth, frankly.” Karen interrupts the girl before she can go any further, and to that Liam’s used to. His mother reprimanding his sister because of something she’s said or done, but it still doesn’t make sense why Ruth would use such a word without any proper context.

The younger girl only groans, letting go of her mother and turning to Nicola with a look of exasperation. Her sister only shrugs, letting out a sigh.

“What’s going on here?” Liam finally asks, finding his voice amongst the confusion that is probably obvious to anyone who even looks at him. It’s the first time the attention drifts towards the boy and he feels slightly unsettled because of it, but it doesn’t stop him from continuing. “What are you talking about?”

None of them answer him at first, as they exchange looks between each other. Ruth seems to be the first one to crack, throwing his mother a look of disbelief.

“So you’re not gonna tell him?” The girl asks with a shake of her head. She snorts, throwing her hands up. “I fucking quit, honestly. I can’t stay around while you pretend that everything is fine.” She resumes walking, this time at a faster pace and the other three have no other option but to follow close behind. Ruth’s always been like this – a timebomb always in the verge of exploding, the shortest fuse Liam’s ever seen in anyone. She might be fine for a moment, but it doesn’t take much to get her attitude to change, for her to lash out and every word that comes out of her mouth coming with the intention of hurting. Liam loves both of his sisters, he does, but Ruth is so different from him and Nicola that he can’t cope with her attitude most of the time without a must needed break.

(Little does he know that the main reason for Ruth and their father to keep clashing is the fact that they are too much alike.)

“I don’t know what you think you’re doing or what you’ve been learning at that university,” Karen’s the one to grab Ruth’s arm this time and the girl refuses to look at her mother in the eyes, brown eyes fixed on the sky, as Nicola and Liam stand there unsure of what to do or say, whether they should intervene or leave the two of them to it. “But I’m your mother. And I demand respect whenever you’re around me. You don’t get to comment on what I do or what I don’t. It’s my life, and the only thing you must give me is respect. I don’t care about what you think – I’ve been living this life for longer than you’ve been around. You don’t get to grow up and suddenly believe you have any say on what I’m doing. Because you don’t.” There are tears running down Ruth’s face. They are due to embarrassment, Liam assumes, since she’s never been fond of being called out, especially not in front of other people, regardless of the fact that the only two people standing around them are her siblings.

Karen lets go of her, taking Liam’s hand on hers once more before dragging the boy towards their house. It’s closer now, and Liam knows better than to glance over his shoulder to see whether Ruth and Nicola are following them or not. He reckons they are, though, since Nicola is more level headed than Ruth will ever be and if anyone’s likely to talk some sense into the girl, it’s their older sister. He pauses halfway through the path that leads towards the house and Karen lets out a sigh before turning to look at him.

“Are you okay, mum?” He asks, and that seems to quiet her since she pulls the boy towards an embrace. His arms wrap around his mother’s waist, face buried on the crook of the woman’s neck and she pats the back of his head.

“Yes, sweetie, I am.” She promises and Liam pretends not to notice the hesitancy on her words. She only pulls back when they hear Nicola and Ruth walking past the two of them, Nicola whispering reassurances to her younger sister who seems to have not stopped crying. The door opens and closes and Karen takes a step back, but not before leaving a kiss to Liam’s forehead, which prompts a kiss to appear on the boy’s lips. “Want to help me on the kitchen? Or would you rather I call Johanna to ask her if Louis can come have lunch with us?”

Liam nods, excitement filling his body.

(Louis never ends up dropping back on that day since Nicola has to sit down on the sofa with their mother in order to calm the woman down as Ruth brews them a cup of tea. Liam doesn’t understand, not until he realises his dad is nowhere to be seen and he walks upstairs, walking into his parents’ room to find all of his mother’s clothes on the floor, the drawers open and empty.)

||

Moving out of Bradford was never something Zayn thought would happen.

His father grew up there, his mother, as well as pretty much the rest of his family. All of them went to the same mosque, frequented the same places and the ones that had gone to school – unlike Zayn – had studied at the same place.  His father was kindly laid off his job after a budget cut, since, according to his mother, they started from the lower ranks. The hunting for another job had lead the family of six to move to a city an hour away from Bradford, a place called Wolverhampton which Zayn had never gotten anywhere near of. 

He loves it.

It starts from the change itself – Zayn’s never had many friends, not seeing as his mother had insisted on home schooling for him and his two younger sisters, after the hard time his older sister had had on her school. It doesn’t open many spots for social interaction, especially not seeing as Zayn doesn’t mind spending long periods of time by himself. Granted, in a house as small as the one they had in Bradford, it was almost impossible for him to be truly alone, but his sisters’ company wasn’t much of annoyance, at least not most of the time. Therefore, there was not true emotional attachment between him and Bradford. It was the city he was born in, raised for the good part of seventeen years, but he’s never seen anything special about it.

(Unless you’re speaking about that place he always went to with his cousin. Food, in Bradford, happens to be the best thing in the world.)

The house is also a great point in favour of this new place. While he was used to sharing his old bedroom with his older sister – not anymore, at least not since she had gone to uni– this time he has a room entirely for himself, as his parents had promised. A room he can decorate to his own desires, putting up posters and more posters that his sister had always frowned at and stopped him from hanging. Walls he’s allowed to paint unless it’s “none of that graffiti stuff” his mother is constantly criticising and dismissing. It’s his space, for once, at least until he’s off for uni on the next fall. He’d rather not focus on that yet, not until he’s completely decided which schools he’s going to try for, which ones are actually worth the time he’s going to spend filling out application forms.

When he’s finally done hanging the last of the posters, the one that goes above his bed, Zayn lets out a satisfied sigh, looking around his room with a smile on his face. It feels good, the notion that he gets to call something his for the first time in years. Besides his clothing – and that’s debatable – everything Zayn’s ever had it was mandatory for him to share with his sisters. He never truly minded and knew he wasn’t supposed to ask from his parents more than they could offer him, but it does cause him to be filled with a happiness that warms him up and makes him feel good, as if he’s accomplished something even though that’s all his father’s doing.

Satisfaction written all over his features, Zayn climbs out of his bed and walks towards the window. The pack of cigarettes is – thankfully – still sitting on the windowpane. It makes him believe that his mother hasn’t done any rounds on the rooms, in search for this exact type of thing that drives her absolutely insane. He’s going to put blame on Anthony for the rest of his life for telling him to try out that first cigarette and the second, the third, the seventh, but Zayn knows he could’ve avoided, could have listened to his mother when she told him that those things killed and were poisonous and he should be smarter than to associate himself with it. It’s a little too late for him now.

(He could quit, if he wanted to. He’s just seventeen. The catch is that he doesn’t want to.)

Zayn cracks open the window before lighting the cigarette and blowing the smoke out. His mother would yell at him for smoking, but she would kill him if he got the smell of smoke on the walls or his sheets. It’s chilly out, though, and Zayn regrets not putting on a jacket before the cigarette break. It’s while he’s studying the houses on his street that his eyes fall upon the only one that also has a window open, a boy moving around his room shirtless. Zayn doesn’t mean to be a creep though, so he diverts his attention somewhere else. He tries to count the cars that run past the street, but on the short period he’s looking, only a couple of them appear, one of them being his dad’s. Zayn smiles, flicking the ashes on the ashtray Waliyha had made for him out of a Coke can.

A knock on the door interrupts his moments of peace and Zayn has to stub out the cigarette and hide the ashtray behind the curtain. He falls to his bed and leans against the pillows, reaching for a comic book on his bedside table and flipping it to a random page. He adjusts the frame of his glasses, pushing the long strains of hair away from his face.

“Come in!” Zayn calls out, eyes fixed on the comic book. He’s too busy pretending to be interested on what he’s reading he doesn’t notice he’s reading through the same line over and over again.

“Sunshine, dinner is almost ready.” Patricia announces, walking into his bedroom. His eyes go to rest on his mother and she’s wrinkling her nose at him. “Zayn, have you been smoking?”

The boy smirks, tossing the comic book aside and walking towards his mother. He leans down to press a kiss to her cheek and she sneaks out of his reach, a frown carved into her forehead.

“I opened the window,” he offers, and she hits him with the dish towel.

“You’re on dishes duty now,” she threatens, pointing a finger to his face. “And stop smoking, Zayn, I’m serious.”

He rolls his eyes and leans down to kiss her once more and, this time, Trisha doesn’t duck, her hand going to rest on Zayn’s cheek. She pats it twice before turning around.

“Come help your sister set the table,” she asks him, making her way down the stairs. Asks is perhaps an euphemism. The woman’s tone suggests nothing but her demanding that Zayn comes down and help. After what happened, he’s not exactly inclined to saying no. “And I will have a chat with your dad about your disgusting habits.”

“What disgusting habits?” As if on cue, Zayn’s dad appears on the bottom of the stairs, halfway through taking off his coat and hanging it up. Trisha makes her way towards the man, who accepts the kiss she offers all the while keeping his eyes on his son who’s still standing at the stairs. “Are you smoking again, Zayn?” He asks once the woman draws back, turning around and staring at Zayn with arched eyebrows and a hand on her hip.

“For it to be again, I should’ve actually stopped,” he notes, walking past his father and patting his shoulder. “Which I haven’t, so your question makes no sense.”

Zayn hears his mother chastising him, but he’s already off to the kitchen, only to find his older sister by the stove, obviously having replaced their mum on the cooking. Zayn knows she should be at uni by now, but Doniya was trying to prove herself as the perfect daughter and offered to help with the move, telling her parents she’d be off to uni in a couple of days. He pads towards her and goes to dip his finger into the pan with the haleem, but Doniya slaps it away before he can get to it. Zayn throws her a wounded face, but retreats his hand anyways. Doniya motions to the dinner table with the wooden spoon, not even once looking at her brother.

“Set the table for me,” she asks, but it’s the same way their mother asks, too, tone demanding and authoritative, usual for the Malik girls. “I took the plates out of the boxes and washed them, now be useful.”

“Yes, boss,” he retorts, sneaking out of the way before she can hit him with the wooden spoon. “Where are Waliyha and Safaa?” Zayn asks, picking up the plates and distributing them through the seats.

“Upstairs fighting over who gets the top bunk and who gets the bottom bunk,” Doniya explains and Zayn snorts.

“Still?” He does cutlery next, eyes lifting from the table towards the living room where his parents seem to be having an interesting conversation. Probably about him. “Back on our day it was the oldest decides and the youngest accepts without questioning.”

He hears Doniya chuckle and she’s right next to him, untying the apron that rests on her waist.

“Mum, dad,” she calls, pulling the apron over her neck and hanging it over a chair. “Food is ready.” Doniya then turns to Zayn, folding the apron on her arms. “That’s because you had no pulse at all to fight me on it,” she teases him, nudging an elbow against his side which causes him to wince. “You’re weak, Zayn.” He’s not weak, thank you very much, but he is thin and an elbow against his ribs can do him no good.

Zayn sticks out his tongue at her, listens to his mother calling for his sisters as he sits down, followed by a door slamming and two very eager little girls storming down the stairs. Doniya takes the seat next to him, Yaser and Trisha on both ends of the table and Waliyha and Safaa still have a row over who’s taking the seat closes to mum and who’s taking the one closest to dad, until Yaser tells the two of them to settle down otherwise they will be going to bed without a dessert.

He’s hiding a chuckle with his hand when his dad calls out for him. Zayn tries to put on a serious face immediately, but his dad is too much of a nice guy to actually be bothered by the way the corners of Zayn’s slips still try to curl up in a smile. He is serious though, and he points at Zayn, eyebrows arched.

“Beta, you’re joining me for fajr tomorrow,” Yaser announces and Zayn groans.

“Baba-“ he tries, but the older man simply glares at him. He deflates, staring back down at his food and dreading having to go to bed earlier than usual and waking up way earlier than usual.

“And this is going to be a daily thing from now on.”

Zayn doesn’t bother questioning him.

-

Either because it’s the first time he’s done that in a while or simply because he’s tired beyond the actual point of exhaustion, Zayn doesn’t stride back to bed as soon as they are done. Instead, he sits by the windowpane, a sketchbook on his arms as he tries to draw the neighbour’s tree, leaves and all. Zayn finds that he often has an easier time drawing people rather than places. Maybe because he’s spent too long studying human anatomy when he was a bit younger and had just started drawing, in between his mother’s classes, or maybe simply due to a natural curiosity when it came to the human body. When he gave that excuse to his mum, Doniya had snorted and whispered that she was starting to understand why he made a point out of exploring as many bodies as possible.

(Luckily for him, Doniya had been the one to be hit by a wooden spoon that time around.)

It’s boring though, because the sun hasn’t even risen yet and there’s nothing for him to do, nothing interest for Zayn to draw. He supposes he could test the new watercolour pencils, see if he can get something out of it, but the lack of inspirational things to look at are getting the best of him. So he decides in favour of a walk. Changing out of his clothes, he puts on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt, together with a leather jacket, before fetching his sketchbook and the pack of cigarettes and making his way down the stairs. Yaser is there, sipping a cup of coffee and reading through the newspaper. He turns around on his seat when he hears Zayn and there’s a look of confusion on his face upon noticing the sketchbook underneath his arm.

“Where are you going?” Yaser asks, folding the paper.

“For a walk,” Zayn offers, suddenly becoming uncomfortable standing there under his father’s gaze. “There’s nothing to do here, I will be back for breakfast.”

Yaser only narrows his eyes at him for a moment, studying his son. At least Zayn hasn’t fucked up too much yet, to the point where Yaser suspects of his every move, and he knows he’s not the type to prohibit his kids from going out unless he has a pretty good reason for it. He eventually sighs, waving Zayn off and going back to his reading.

“Just be careful,” Yaser leaves it at that and Zayn smiles, closing the door softly behind him as so not to make much of a noise.

If last night was chilly, the morning is even worse, but Zayn is already used to this. He only tugs the leather jacket closer to his body, fishing for the pack of cigarettes from his pocket. He’s almost done with his second when he finally reaches the park he had seen when they had first arrived. Zayn stubs it out on a litter bin before walking towards one of the park benches and plopping down on it. At first, it feels just as boring as it did back in his room.

It is beautiful, though, what with the way the sun is just starting to rise, the rays hitting the water of the lake in a soft explosion of colours. It makes Zayn wish he was better at painting, but frankly? His talents lay in drawing and graffiti. He can paint a wall, sure, but there’s no way he could bring to the paper exactly the colours that he sees in front of him, a mixture of oranges and yellows, the colours blinding if you look right through them. Zayn lets out a sigh, opening his book and starting on a sketch of his own left hand, in an attempt of going somewhere and finding a reason as to why this impromptu trip wasn’t completely useless, until he catches onto something with the corner of his eye.

The boy is running towards him, or at least that’s what Zayn assumes he is at first, but he slows down enough until his pace is softer and he’s sitting down on a bench close to Zayn’s. He doesn’t seem to be paying him any attention as he just keeps staring straight ahead and Zayn notices the earbuds. There’s a strange sense of recognition, as if Zayn’s seen him somewhere before, but that’s impossible since it hasn’t been more than a few days since he moved here. So he shrugs it off, puts his focus back on the sketchbook and tries to start on something else, since drawing his own hand was proving to be fruitless. He can’t help it when he risks another look at the boy, eyes scanning quickly through his body. Zayn’s hands start before he can tell them to not and it’s not long until he notices the sketch next to the one he was working on before.

Even though there’s no way the boy can ever find out about it, Zayn feels the blood rushing to his cheeks and he’s quick to gather his stuff and walk away.

-

It’s a conscious decision for him to not go back to the park on the next few days.

So after the prayers are done, Zayn goes back to his room and tries his best to fall asleep. It never works and he finds himself sitting by the windowpane as usual, working on finishing the sketch that he had first started at the park. It’s an artist thing, that’s what he tries to remind himself. He’s bound to be attracted by things he deems worth it of his time, and that boy was no different. Granted, Zayn hadn’t gotten a proper chance of looking at the boy’s face, only his profile, but it doesn’t matter. He blames his treacherous memory for the fact that he’s got pages and pages of his notebook filled with the same profile. At one point, Zayn even tries using his imagination in order to draw a portrait, but he still believes he wouldn’t do the boy any justice with what he draws.

(Going back to the park at the same time was bound to happen eventually.)

Before he realises what he’s doing, Zayn is putting his jacket back on and lacing his boots. This time, when he walks down the stairs, his father is in the kitchen and doesn’t call out for him as soon as Zayn opens the door. So he goes without asking for permission, knows his baba won’t be bothered by it as much and that’s all about the trust Yaser deposits on his son, the one it took Zayn years of good behaviour for him to achieve, to the point where a handful of tattoos and his smoking habits haven’t managed to make Yaser let go of it.

When he arrives at the park, the boy isn’t there yet. It makes Zayn wonder whether it was worth it getting out of his house on a chilly Friday morning just in order to see someone he’s never even exchanged a couple of words with before. For all he knows, it had been a one-time thing. Maybe the boy just woke up a bit earlier than usual on that day and decided to take a run – maybe he runs somewhere else and was just a little bit tired of seeing the same things every single day, then decided to go somewhere else. Maybe it’s not even a routine, just a boy placating his mother or father when they yelled at him to go do some exercises. Zayn knows he’s done his fair share of that.

He ends up letting out a sigh before sitting down on the bench. Zayn scans through the pages in his sketchbook until he finds one that is somewhat empty, makes a mental note to ask his parents for a new one, before picking up a pencil and starting on a brand new sketch. This time, he tries working on the boy’s hair. It was curly and extremely tricky, but he’s somewhat managed to get the main structure of it done by the time he hears footsteps close to him, thanks to the dry leaves resting on the ground.

Looking up, Zayn’s heart speeds up when he notices that it is, indeed, the person he was looking for. The boy is once again looking away from him, eyes glued to the lake and the sun appearing behind it. He wonders what the boy would do or say, in case he knew that even though there was an explosion of colours to admire straight ahead, Zayn simply couldn’t keep his eyes off his face. He knows he’s being a creep though, and he’s quick to look back down at his pad rather than risk the boy finally looking to the side and seeing some teenager staring at him like he was edible.

(And Zayn quickly wipes that thought away from his mind. He doesn’t want Doniya to be right about him.)

Taking just one more shot and risking a glance, Zayn notices the lack of earbuds. So, basically, any sound that Zayn might do is passible of attracting some sort of attention towards him. He’s thankful that at least he hasn’t gone in one of those states where he starts mumbling to himself, wouldn’t want the boy to look at him and think he’s batshit crazy then run away from him. Zayn reckons he could perhaps try to talk to him, introduce himself, just get something out there in order to quit his misery. He rolls his eyes, nails digging into the centre of his palm as he ponders whether he should actually say something or simply walk away and force himself to forget everything about this silly boy whose name he doesn’t even know.

When there’s a shift on the boy’s stance, Zayn’s too scared that he might stand up and leave that he ends up blurting out, “What’s your favourite colour?” only to be hit by the sudden urge to hit himself with his sketchbook. He turns around though, staring at Zayn with curious – and not scared – brown eyes.

“Come again?” The boy asks, voice way deeper than Zayn expects, and it brings a smile to his face because this boy is beautiful and it might be just a single moment, he might not ever be able to talk to him again, but it’s already worth it.

||

Life becomes a bit easier at the Payne’s.

For the rest of the summer and then the year, Liam’s dad doesn’t appear again. During a small period of time they went through a rough patch, seeing as his father had managed to take all their money with him, as well as clear his mother’s bank account, but the rest of his family is supportive and they make do. Karen’s job as a preschool teacher pays well enough to support her and Liam, as well as his sisters whenever they drop by. Yet, the most important thing that he notices is that his mother is suddenly smiling a lot more, no purple bruises around her neck or wrists, no memories of what had been going with her that she had refused to tell anyone.

Sundays become some sort of tradition.

After they go to church, instead of going back home, Karen takes Liam – and the girls, whenever they are around – to the mall and he’s allowed to pick where they are having lunch that day. He gets to eat ice cream as well, even during winter, because there was never money to waste on those extra things, since Liam’s father was always using it for drinks and God knows only what else for. But now? Liam and his mum get to spend a lot of time together, mother and son activities that they never really got around to enjoy because of the man Karen was morally obliged to look after, which only retribution was making sure her skin would be marred with bruises.

This peace only rests a year, though.

It’s another Sunday and Liam and Karen left the girls at the mall since they wanted to watch a film neither of them had any interested in. So Karen had driven them two back home, radio blasting whatever station Liam felt like putting, and it had felt good, it had felt amazing, the knowledge that it hadn’t been a one-time thing the first time Karen told him about their Sunday’s outings, the first time it had happened. He’s telling her about this boy, Niall, who’s Louis’ neighbour and has just moved here from Ireland. Even though he’s just twelve, Niall’s already bleaching his hair, and Liam thinks that’s bloody hilarious since the boy looks even paler with the blonde locks. He’s a funny guy, though, and Louis’ told him that Niall will be tagging along with them as soon as classes are back.

Karen pretends to be fully listening to the talking, but she’s more concerned about the fact that she notices, from the pathway that leads to their house, that the door is ajar. Liam’s still talking, though, hands flailing around as he speaks with excitement, that until he notices the concerned look on his mother’s face. He’s silent then, but he tugs on her sleeve to ask for attention.

“Something wrong?” Liam asks, as they climb the couple of steps leading to the porch. It’s only then that the boy notices the door and he doesn’t remember leaving it open, especially not seeing as his mother always makes such a big deal out of guaranteeing that the door is probably locked.

She continues walking, pace slower, and opens the door with caution, keeping Liam behind her. Karen freezes at one point, when they are past the hall and standing in front of the living room, and Liam tries to peak over her shoulder, is thankful that, even at twelve, he’s not that much shorter than his mother. The sight in front of him is one he never thought he would see again.

His father stands there, in the middle of the room, a half empty bottle of whiskey in his hand as he points an accusing finger at Karen.

||

Zayn hasn’t told his mum about Liam.

There’s nothing to tell, he reckons, since the two of them only sat around after he came by and talked about random things, such as Liam’s friends and sisters, but mostly about Zayn’s family and the posters around his room as well as the CDs on the wall. So far, Liam has shown no sign of actually being interested in Zayn, and Zayn is perfectly fine with being just friends with Liam. Granted, it’s probably weird that he has a wall in his room mostly filled with Liam’s drawings, especially now that the other boy actually sits still, whenever they meet by the benches, and allows Zayn to draw him for an hour or longer. He did notice that Liam is uncommonly quiet, but Zayn finds that he doesn’t mind. Whereas he’s the one doing the listening with most people, Liam seems to be interested about anything Zayn has to tell him and, in order to keep the other boy around, Zayn definitely doesn’t mind talking a bit more than he’s used to.

He knows his mother wonders, though, because Trisha knows Zayn better than he knows himself, most of the time. She’s his mum, she’s seen him when he thought he was in love with that blonde girl from the market where he did a few shifts at, and she’s always been able to study his reactions, always keeping her thoughts to herself. So she goes on and on about Liam sometimes, how much of a dear he was on that day, how he offered to help her carry her bags into the house once when he came back from the store and he was getting the mail, and Zayn knows she notices the soft smile that appears on his face at those comments.

Zayn has no idea when she’s going to bring it up, but he knows she will. She will make a comment and watch the way he responds to it, then start asking him a bunch of questions, especially questioning him about whether Liam is his boyfriend or not, and frankly? Zayn thinks he’s too damn old to deal with those questionnaires. He knows he should expect one from Doniya, though, as soon as she visits from uni, because his mother has brought it up to her without a doubt, and his sister is not someone he can run away from.

When the doorbell rings and it’s an afternoon on a Saturday, Zayn doesn’t bother standing up and going to open the door. He just stays where he is, sitting on the sofa by the tv, pretending to watch whatever game his father had put on. The older man has his eyes glued to the skin, swearing lowly in urdu every once in a while, whenever there’s a fault or a misplaced card. Zayn understands little to nothing about football, but he indulges his baba anyways, sitting down to watch all the games the man wants him to watch.

He’s lucky he’s not paying attention because he quickly recognises Liam’s voice and he’s out of his seat, almost running towards the front door. He appears behind his mother before the woman can call for him and Liam has a polite smile on his face, but there’s a strain to his features. It makes Zayn’s heart sink and perhaps he shouldn’t be this invested on someone’s feelings, especially not someone he’s known for no more than a couple of weeks, but he can’t help it. Trisha is still talking but Zayn takes a step forward and tugs Liam by his wrist. It brings an almost smile to his face when the boy comes willingly, allows Zayn to pull him up the stairs.

“We will be in my room,” he calls behind his shoulder at his mother and feels like hiding his face when she answers.

“Keep the door unlocked.”

-

Liam’s been sitting on Zayn’s bed for half an hour and has yet to say more than a handful of sentences. Zayn himself is by the window – drawing Liam, as per usual – but he also has a cigarette between his fingers, one that he had only lit up after Liam promised him he didn’t mind. He watches Liam for a bit, as the boy keeps scanning the room, in search for something that he hasn’t seen yet. It’s unlikely, since Zayn had given him a proper tour of his room the last time he’d been there, talking about most of the things he owned. Since then, not much has changed. Perhaps there are more drawings on the wall, but most of them Liam has already gotten a chance to take a peek at, since Zayn has made a point out of always showing his sketches to Liam before ripping them from the book and pinning them to the wall.

After a couple of moments, Liam looks back at him and smiles, but it’s still not his usual, relaxed smile. Zayn’s curious about what is troubling him, why he has yet to be honest about the way he’s feeling, even though Zayn’s asked him already if everything was fine to which Liam had replied with a nod of his head. He knows better than to pry, though, so he blows out the smoke before turning his attention back to the drawing and smudging a few lines on the charcoal drawing he’s been working on since Liam started showing no signs of wishing to move from his spot anytime soon.

“Why do you have so many vinyl records?” Liam asks and Zayn’s eyes drift towards the other boy. His head is tilted slightly to the side and his eyes are still fixed on Zayn, so he doesn’t shy away from the question.

He does take his time to answer and shrugs, picking up the cigarette and taking a hit before snuffing it out on the ashtray. Zayn closes the sketchbook softly and stands up, leaving the book on his desk. He goes to take a seat next to Liam, dropping back to his elbows and looking up at the boy. Liam shifts so he’s facing Zayn, knees pressed against his side.

“Why do you think?” Zayn asks, hand tentatively sliding its way down the bed before going to rest on Liam’s thigh. He feels Liam tensing underneath it, but before he can draw his hand back, Liam’s own goes to rest on top of it, fingers rubbing softly against the back of his hand.

“I dunno,” Liam says and he’s serious once again, eyes falling to the point where their skins are touching and it’s soft, innocent, much like the boy himself. It doesn’t make Zayn want to ruin it, like he knows some people would assume of him. On the contrary, he wants to preserve it. Wants to keep Liam as he is, without changing any detail about the younger boy. Starting from his hair, the curls that rest against his forehead, giving him a sweet look that matches the rest of his features. His nose is another thing Zayn particularly adores. It’s something about the shape of it, the way it turns redder than the rest of Liam when it’s too cold in the morning and Liam’s only wearing his running clothes. There’s also the birthmark on Liam’s neck and Zayn wants to fit his mouth not over it, but on the skin right opposite to it, giving him another mark to look at in the mirror and remember.

He pushes those daydreams to the side, knows he’s supposed to take everything easier than he normally would with Liam because of who he is and what he is not, because he’s not sure about his feelings, much less Liam’s and he wouldn’t want to make a mess out of the thing he’s built so far. No. Zayn’s good, this is good and he wouldn’t trade this moment for anything else within his reach.

“Records are better than cds, Liam,” Zayn tells him, turning his hand slowly and fitting his fingers between Liam’s carefully. When the boy doesn’t pull back, he lets out a satisfied sigh. “You have to learn that if you plan on coming here all the time.” It’s teasing, he knows. Liam looks up, most likely to guarantee that it is, indeed, mostly a joke, but the younger boy only smiles instead of looking offended by it, which causes Zayn’s heart to flutter.

“Ok.” Liam says, before looking away, and there’s red tinting his cheeks. It makes him look even younger and Zayn is- Zayn is enamoured by this sight. Fuck it if he’s too young for expressions like that. He knows this is nirvana for him, and there’s nothing in the world he wishes more than being able to touch, instead of only looking, but Zayn’s self-control is something that has always impressed him.

He digs his teeth onto his lower lip, has half a mind to pull back and stand up, offer to walk Liam home – ridiculous, really – when Liam is tugging on his hand. Zayn sits up, legs stretched in front of him, and his heart starts beating faster when Liam’s hand goes to his hair. Eyes fluttering shut, he notices Liam struggle with the hair tie that keeps his locks on a tight bun, but it’s over quickly and Zayn feels his hair falling down the back of his neck, almost reaching his shoulders. Fingers start carding through it and he leans into the touch, letting out a humming sound from the back of his neck.

“It’s pretty long,” Liam notes, and Zayn chuckles, nodding.

“My ammi wanted to kill me at first,” upon noticing his choice of words he clears his throat, before continuing. “My mum, I mean. But I guess it grew on her, and she doesn’t want me to get a haircut until it reaches my shoulders, at least.”

“It’s beautiful.”

Zayn doesn’t know what to say to that so he remains quiet as Liam’s long fingers keep playing with his hair. He’s usually annoying about it, only lets a few people near it – them being his mother and his sisters – but he doesn’t have the heart to tell Liam that. Besides, it feels good and it’s keeping Liam close to him as well as entertained enough the younger boy won’t want to get up and leave. He craves this type of intimacy all the time, warms him up inside and makes him stop wondering whether his feelings for the other boy are as strong as he assumes they are. Zayn is weirdly okay with that thought.

When the touch is gone, Zayn almost lets out a whine but he bites down on his lower lip to keep it from coming. His eyes do flutter open, though, and Liam isn’t gone, unlike Zayn expected. His face is still close to Zayn’s and he doesn’t show any sign of being uncomfortable there. If anything, there’s a glimpse of nervousness on his eyes, but it’s barely there. Eyes roaming over Liam’s face, they fall on the boy’s lips and his heart skips a beat as he allows himself to picture the possibility of leaning forward and pressing their lips together.

“Hi,” Zayn whispers, breath fanning over Liam’s face. The younger boy’s smile grows bigger and he doesn’t shift away. The grip he has on Zayn’s hand is tight, enough so that Zayn assumes that perhaps Liam actually wants him to close the gap between them.

So he does lean forward, but before Zayn can kiss him, the door is barging open and Safaa’s voice is filling the room.

“Zayn, Zayn, Zayn,” she calls and Liam is gone, moving away from Zayn and taking his warmth with him. His hand falls to the mattress as Liam goes to sit across the bed, eyes staring down at the hands resting on his lap.

He has half a mind of killing his sister.

“What do you want?” He asks her anyways, eyes leaving Liam to rest on the girl’s face. There’s shifting on the mattress and Zayn knows Liam’s putting his shoes back on.

“Mum told me to come here and ask you to let me braid your hair,” she says and Zayn groans.

“Can’t you ask Waliyha for that?” He asks, shoulders slumping.

“She told me she won’t let me anywhere near her hair.”

Zayn throws his head back, muttering a few curses under his breath, before allowing his eyes to fall back on his sister.

“And what makes you think I will?” That gets Safaa to scoff and he arches an eyebrow at her, before pointing at Liam. “Can’t you see I have company?”

Liam is the one to speak next, as he stands there next to Zayn’s bed with a hand behind his neck.

“I should probably go, actually,” he says, smiling at Safaa before glancing back at Zayn. The wounded look on his face is probably pretty blatant because Liam sighs before kneeling on the bed and pressing a kiss to Zayn’s cheek. He only draws back a bit, so his words don’t come out louder than a whisper. “I will see you tomorrow morning, right?” Zayn nods, probably too eagerly.

Before Liam can pull back completely, Zayn reaches for his wrist. “Come over later, too,” Zayn asks, almost pleads, thumb rubbing soothing circles against Liam’s skin. “You can have dinner with us and I can show you a few records.”

Liam is the one to nod this time and he’s out of the room with a quick wave to Safaa, who seems pretty much annoyed at the whole exchange. Zayn pats the spot on the bed next to him, smiling at his sister.

“Was that your boyfriend?” Safaa asks, climbing onto the bed, and Zayn rolls his eyes as he turns around.

“No,” he says, feeling her small hands on his hair and immediately missing Liam’s. “That’s my friend, Liam.”

“Mhm,” his sister says, dividing Zayn’s hair as she starts braiding.

It’s quiet for a bit, that until Safaa is done with the first braid and starts singing.

“Zayn and Liam sitting on a tree, s-n-o-g-g-i-n-g.”

He doesn’t deserve this, really.

||

“You bitch,” he spits, speech slurred and a manic look on his face. Liam’s never seen his father like this before, but something tells him that the sight is not a novelty for his mother. She shrieks, but only a little, and fits a hand between her and Liam in order to push him back as she takes a step forward.

“What are you doing here?” She asks, voice cautious and low, but Liam notices she’s shaking. He’s frozen on the spot, though, has no idea what he’s supposed to do, if he’s supposed to help her or not.

“This is my house too!” The man screams, and he looks like a madman. It’s the first time Liam experiences actual fear, and it should be something seeing as the feeling is being triggered by his own father.

Liam might still be a kid, but he’s old enough to understand the peril of this situation. He takes a step forward, opening his mouth to speak, call his mother back to him, when his father surges for the woman, hand grabbing her by her hair and dragging her to the centre of the room. He’s too in shock that, even though his mouth shots open, he can’t bring himself to scream. Meanwhile, Karen’s almost kneeling on the floor as she cries out, hands wrapping around Liam’s father wrist, trying to get him to stop.

||

Even though he hasn’t had the urge to go trick or treating for the past seven years, Zayn still finds himself getting into a different costume every year and walking from house to house in their neighbourhood to escort his two younger sisters. Waliyha, as of lately, seems reluctant to go out as much as he is, but the twelve-year old keeps indulging the youngest of all of them simply in order to avoid any sort of discussion later on.

He leaves his room and walks down the stairs to find Safaa standing on top of the sofa with his mother doing last minute repairs on her costume. A very bored Waliyha sits next to them, scrolling through her phone – Zayn’s still trying to understand why she even needs one, but it works wonders to make her stop complaining and he’s betting that Yaser and Trisha have caught on to that as well. Clearing his throat, he leans against the wall.

“Didn’t you dress up as a princess last year, Saf?” Zayn asks with a smirk on his face as his sister rolls her eyes at him. Had Trisha been watching the girl, she would have probably lectured her for the act then proceeded to lecture Zayn for giving his sisters bad habits.

“I’m not a princess,” she says, pointing to the crown on the top of her head. “I’m a queen.”

Both him and Waliyha snort at that, and his mum appears from behind his sister’s skirt to glare at him. The look on her face implies that he’s not supposed to make any comments on that fact, that he’s simply supposed to indulge the little girl. So Zayn does exactly what his mother expects him to do, because even though teasing his sisters is something he adores from time to time, he’s always been aware of the fact that it’s even easier to put a smile on their face than it is to annoy them.

“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Zayn apologises, bowing down and glancing at her to find a pleased look on Safaa’s face. “Of course you’re the queen.”

That seems enough to settle the girl as she’s taken over by a satisfied smile. His mother is also smiling when she stands up, pulling the pincushion from her wrist.

“Now, don’t run too much, just in case,” she tries to warn Safaa, but the girl is not even paying attention, too busy looking down at her skirt and being fascinated by her costume. Trisha turns to Zayn then, hands on her hips. “Don’t let her run too much, I had to do some last minute adjustments and I don’t want her to hurt herself with the pins.”

Zayn nods, walking towards Safaa and picking her up then putting her down on the ground. The seven-year old girl takes his hand on hers and starts tugging him towards the door. On the other hand, Zayn notices the bag for the candies as well as a sceptre and he can’t help but admire his mother’s wishes to please her kids as much as she can, within their not all that big budget. He picks up the keys, turns around when Trisha calls for him once more.

“Don’t come back too late,” she says, and it’s the same thing every year. Zayn listens though, as Waliyha takes Safaa by the hand and starts walking her out. Trisha takes a step closer, lowering her voice just to make sure the girls aren’t going to listen to the next words. “If anyone is too nasty with them, just come back home, okay? Don’t let them get upset, especially not Saf.”

“Of course, mum,” he promises, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.”

When he goes to join his sisters, they are waiting for him on the sidewalk. Zayn fixes the lapels of his jacket, goes to run a hand through his hair until he notices he was forced to put it up with pretty much all the hairspray he could find in the house and lets out a groan. Ever since he let his hair grow, he hates stylising it like this, mostly because it’s too much job and too many hours in front of the mirror. He’d rather put it up on a bun or a ponytail, or simply leave it down, than to go through that amount of struggle.

There’s judgment in Waliyha’s eyes when he reaches them and she seems to study him up and down. Zayn much preferred when she was a little girl like their youngest sister, simply because one Doniya is already too much. He was celebrating when he found out he would only have to see his older sister during holidays and summer, but now it seems like Waliyha wants to compensate for the lack of Doniya’s presence.

“You know you were supposed to dress up as something, right?” She asks him when he’s close enough and Safaa starts tugging on her hand so they can go for the first house. “You just put on a leather jacket, a white t-shirt and put your hair up. Who are you? Danny Zuko?”

“Listen,” he starts, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Halloween is a time for you to express yourself, dressing up as anyone you feel like dressing up as. If I so wished, I could’ve put on one of dad’s suits and said my father is my biggest inspiration therefore I’m going to dress up as him.” Zayn bumps his hip against her side when Waliyha starts laughing, but he’s also smiling. “I’m serious. And no, I’m not dressed up as Danny Zuko. I’m dressed up as the amazing character that was Cry Baby.”

“Cry who?” Waliyha asks, arching her eyebrow at him as if he’s insane.

“Cry Baby,” he repeats, eyes falling on Safaa as she drops Waliyha’s hand and starts running towards the door of the first house. “Don’t run, Saf,” he reminds her and the girl turns around, throwing him a glare. “Mum’s words, not mine.” She groans but doesn’t run the rest of the way, rings the doorbell as her older siblings watch her. “But seriously, when you’re old enough for it, I will show you the movie.”

Waliyha’s reply starts with a scoff. “You’re literally five years older than me. What does this movie have that makes it watchable for you and not for me?”

“Clearly in five years you will find out,” Zayn says, much to her dismay. “Also, why are you saying anything about my costume? You literally put bunny ears on your head and painted your nose pink and said you’re a bunny.”

“I’m expressing myself as a mix between a bunny and a girl.”

Zayn wants to be annoyed by it, but all he does is laugh.

-

He purposely leaves Liam’s house for last.

They walk past it at one point, but he tells the girls that they are going back there later. Waliyha seems to know whose house it is because she immediately starts laughing at him, but Safaa is too busy making her way to Liam’s next-door neighbour’s house. It’s on purpose because he has plans, and it basically means he wants Liam to drop by as soon as Zayn’s done with the whole trick or treating thing so they can do what they’ve been doing pretty much every night for the past month – listening to music and talking. Granted, Zayn still does most of the talking, but he knows Liam’s starting to ease into it, starting to get a lot more comfortable around Zayn than he was at first. It’s a process, one which Zayn’s not eager to speed up and risk losing the small part of Liam he’s already reached.

So there’s a little bit of kissing as well. It’s extremely innocent, just close mouthed kisses they share when Liam arrives and then when he leaves. Sometimes the younger boy closes the distance between them to press his lips to Zayn’s real quick, and then draws back, red colouring his cheeks. Ever since the first time they had properly kissed, back in the end of September, they still haven’t gotten around to doing it again, but Zayn’s weirdly fine with this. He’s taking whatever he can get from Liam, at this point, would much rather ease him into it than to pressure him to do something he might not be entirely comfortable with. Besides, even if Liam hasn’t brought it up, Zayn suspects Liam’s never done anything like this before.

It’s in the hesitancy that comes before every single one of Liam’s touches, even something as simple as tangling their fingers together. He does it, most of the time, but Zayn notices it takes him a few moments of self-reassurance until Liam crosses those bridges. It spikes Zayn’s curiosity, but he knows better than to ask and risk Liam retracting back into himself and leaving Zayn to make up for the damage done.

When they reach Liam’s house again, Zayn notices the look of pure annoyance in Safaa’s face.

“Last house, Saf, go,” he tells her, but the girl doesn’t move.

“I’m tired and I already have too many sweets,” she says and Zayn glances to the side to notice the amusement in Waliyha’s face. “Can we go home?”

“No, come on, Saf, it’s literally the last one in our street,” he repeats, pushing her towards the house. “I will even knock for you, if you want me to.”

The girl groans but keeps walking – dragging her feet towards the front door. It’s probably because she will never really be able to deny more sweets, and Zayn’s hoping that Liam will still have them. He rings the doorbell, is immediately taken over by those annoying butterflies in his stomach until the door opens and his heart sinks.

It’s Liam’s mum, Mrs. Payne, and there’s no real sign of Liam anywhere. His shoulders slump, but he forces a smile to his face as his sister takes a step forward and shows her pretty much full bag to the older woman.

“Trick or treat?” She asks, voice dead and terribly bored, but Mrs. Payne gives the girl a small smile before reaching for a bowl and grabbing a handful of sweets and putting them in Safaa’s bag.

His sister thanks her before running away and back towards Waliyha. Zayn doesn’t really move at first, and Liam’s mum is left standing there, watching him as the boy scans the room behind her over her shoulder.

“Can I help you?” Her tone is not as nice as it was when she was speak to Safaa, but Zayn understands her, really, since he’s acting a lot like a creep.

“Is Liam there?” He finds himself asking before he can hesitate,

“He’s upstairs, do you want me to call him?” The woman asks and Zayn shakes his head, taking a step back.

“No, it’s okay, I will talk to him tomorrow,” he reassures her. “Thank you, have a good evening.”

Liam’s mum nods and Zayn turns around, starts walking back towards his sisters until a voice calling for him interrupts him. He turns back and immediately smiles at the sight. It’s Liam, standing by the front door of his house in only his pyjamas, arms crossed over his chest. Zayn hasn’t seen him in a couple of days and he’s taken over by this feeling of relief, of knowing that the boy he’s very much infatuated with is finally standing there in front of him. He runs his eyes over Liam, taking him in. He looks good, comfy, but most importantly, he looks relaxed, face and body free from the tension he usually cares around.

The last thing Zayn notices is that Liam’s cut his hair. It’s not that short, but he doesn’t have the curls Zayn is used to worshipping so much and it makes him slightly sad. It’s a short-lived feeling though, since Zayn is walking in the boy’s direction, stopping at a small distance from him.

“Hi,” Zayn says and it coaxes a soft smile from Liam.

“Hey,” he notices Liam’s bottom lip is shivering a bit, and he has an urge to take a step forwards and wrap his arms around him, pull him into a hug and let Liam bury his face on the crook of Zayn’s neck, anything to give him a little bit of warmth. “Thought I heard your voice, came to check it out.”

Zayn perks up at that, at how easy it is for Liam to recognise him as well. It’s probably nothing and he feels silly, but he’s also very much charmed by everything Liam is.

“Yeah, I had to come trick or treating with my sisters,” Zayn explains, trying to seem nonchalant about it. He’s probably failing, miserably, and he’s glad Liam is oblivious to that sort of stuff, otherwise the other boy would have so much teasing material to last him an entire year. “Do you want to, erm, drop by? We could watch a movie or something.”

Liam seems to think it over for a moment, glancing behind his shoulder to something inside his house – someone, most likely -, before turning back to Zayn with a nod.

“Sure,” he agrees, though he takes a step back instead of forward. “Just gonna change, yeah?”

Zayn nods, overly eager probably since it prompts a laugh to slip from Liam’s lips. It’s short, Liam covering his mouth with the back of his hand next, and Zayn wants more, more of that side of Liam that lets go of whatever is holding his emotions back, more of that side that keeps those social inhibitions to get in the way of any interaction with Zayn. It’s gone too quickly, and Liam is waving at him with a promise that he’s going to be there in five minutes, and then closing the door.

The happiness in his face is probably too evident because Waliyha shakes her head at him, looking more amused than she is irritated, when he gets back to the girls. To compensate for the extra time outside, Zayn picks Safaa up, ignoring the fact that he probably shouldn’t since she’s not a baby anymore. His sister seems content by it, and all the good things put together stop him from getting annoyed at Waliyha’s next comment.

“Zayn and Liam sitting on a tree, s-n-o-g-g-i-n-g.”

-

They stop pretending to watch the movie halfway through it.

A Nightmare Before Christmas is actually one of Zayn’s favourites. It’s a movie he watches every Halloween and every Christmas, simply because he’s delighted by everything it has to offer. With Liam sitting next to him on the bed, a bowl of popcorn between the two of them, and furtive glances here and there, he knows he can allow himself to not pay attention to it this time. He ends up talking a bit more about his sisters, about Doniya and how much fun she’s having at school, how she calls him more often than not to share some cool university stories. He tells Liam about the records he bought the other day, then apologises for not being there to meet him at the benches for the past couple of days.

“We had to drive up to my grandma’s,” Zayn explains, sitting cross-legged facing Liam as the younger boy is lying on his side. “She had a scare, but it’s nothing serious at least. She’s mostly okay again.”

Liam nods, head propped up on one hand as he chews on a popcorn slower than anyone Zayn’s ever met. There’s more to his grandma’s story, for sure. There’s the fact that she’s been kind of lonely ever since his grandfather passed, the fact that she doesn’t even have her daughter’s company around since they now live too far from daily visits. He sees the worry in his mother’s face every day, something that got only bigger when they were making the drive towards his aunt’s, where his grandma is staying for the time being.

He tells Liam everything, and the boy listens, nodding here and there and encouraging Zayn to keep going. There’s no contrived interest in Liam’s eyes, he doesn’t seem bored or annoyed by anything Zayn is saying and it’s sort of renovating, knowing he has someone that listens to him so intently. It’s not that his parents never let him know that they are there for him. On the contrary, his mum is his biggest supportive system, but he knows it’s hard for them to focus on Zayn’s problems when there’s so much going on in their own lives. And Zayn doesn’t blame them, especially now that he’s older and definitely understands what they are going through.

But having someone willing to listen to what he has to say? Someone who won’t judge him and just be there, ears open, heart open and arms open? That’s something Zayn’s needed for so long yet has just now begun to find. And it’s on the boy who’s currently sharing the bed with him, the boy with soft features and softer personality, the one that runs every single day on the same time and drinks way too much coffee.

“Why did you cut your hair?” Zayn asks once he’s done talking about his family and Liam doesn’t show any sign of wishing to share the same sort of things with him. The question makes the younger boy frown, bringing his free hand to his shorter locks.

“Why?” Insecurity is screaming in the question and Zayn wishes he could draw his words back, put his curiosity out on a way that doesn’t make Liam second guess himself or his looks. “Don’t you like it?”

“No, no, no, of course not,” Zayn says and then realises his mistake. “I mean, no, I like it. I liked the curls, yeah, but this one looks good on you. I can see your face better.”

The room is too dark for him to know whether Liam blushed under the compliment, but he’s seen the boy’s reaction to those too many times to know that he’s probably not wrong by assuming Liam’s cheeks are tinted red.

“The curls were too much of a hassle,” Liam explains, running his fingers through his hair. “So I cut it off a bit. They will grow back fast, though.”

His hand falls to the bed and Zayn is quick to replace it on Liam’s hair, his own fingers carding through the soft strands. His eyes go to scan Liam’s face, to see whether he’s bothered by it or not, but the younger boy has his own eyes closed and blissed out features, frown wiped away from his forehead. He strokes Liam’s skull softly, does his best not to messy the hair up too much, but the temptation to just do it is too big. Zayn won’t, though, not if making any sort of joke means he’s going to ruin this little moment between the two of them.

Zayn knows Liam is not a touchy-feely person. He knows he’s a lot more reserved, that his touches are, most of the time, ways of reassurance. He’s even worse with his words, though, so Liam’s touches end up being his way to make it up for the lack of spoken support. Zayn wishes he was that good at transmitting his thoughts through touches, but he’s always been one to rely on his words, doesn’t know how to make himself understood without the aid of them.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks, abruptly. Since he wasn’t expecting, it prompts his voice to go a bit higher than he’s used to and Liam’s eyes shoot open. There’s no anger in them – if anything, Liam looks slightly confused.

“You kiss me all the time, Zayn,” he says it as if it’s obvious, as if Zayn is a toddler that doesn’t really understand basic principles. And Zayn knows Liam is technically right, but that’s not what he means.

“Yeah, but we only really kissed that first time?” Zayn offers, hopes Liam is going to understand what he means.

There’s even more confusion in Liam’s eyes, and he tilts his head to the side a bit. It takes him a couple of beats, but then he finally gets it. Contrary to the reaction Zayn expected, a grin breaks on the boy’s face. He then purses his lips, free hand hovering over Zayn’s face, index finger brushing against Zayn’s lower lip.

“So you’re asking for a French kiss,” he says, and Zayn chuckles. It’s nervousness taking over his body, and Liam must sense it since his breathing is coming out faster.

“Just how innocent are you, Leeyum?” Zayn asks and Liam rolls his eyes. Rolls his eyes, as if that type of response is something he’s used to doing all the time.

And maybe he is, Zayn reckons. He knows those parts of Liam that are softer, but he never got a chance to see Liam around his friends. Louis, Harry and Niall. Zayn’s been told that Louis is the one Liam’s known for longer, ever since he was a little kid and lived on a house five streets away from the one he’s current living in. They are best friends, and Louis probably knows a lot more about Liam than Zayn ever could, so there is another part of Liam that Zayn still hasn’t gotten a chance to interact with.

(He hopes he will, though, one day. Hopes Liam will want to introduce Zayn to his boys as Liam’s boyfriend at one point.)

“Don’t patronise me,” Liam complains and perhaps it’s supposed to sound annoyed, but it only comes out fond and Zayn wonders if Liam has just as much of a hard time dealing with his feelings as Zayn does.

He doesn’t say anything, only stares at Liam with a pout on his lips. It’s a little bit petulant, but Liam must think it’s cute because he’s grinning once more, the corner of his eyes crinkling up a bit on the same way they had done when they were at Liam’s door, when he had laughed.

“Kiss me, Zayn,” he asks, finally, and he doesn’t have to repeat himself.

Zayn leans down, presses their lips together, eyes falling shut. It starts like their usual kisses, just closed-mouthed and not crossing any lines, so it’s tentatively that Zayn opens his lips, tongue darting out and licking over Liam’s lips. There’s a beat before the younger boy reacts, but he eventually parts his own lips, allows Zayn to go deeper, kiss him further. His fingers are tangled in Liam’s hair and there’s the soft touch of Liam’s palm against his cheeks, so Zayn breathes out, knocking their noses when he attempts to tilt his head to the other side, but the angle is too awkward.

He draws back, much to Liam’s dismay, he reckon, since there’s a groan of protest, and Zayn’s eager to kiss him again, but doesn’t. Instead, he pushes Liam’s shoulder until he’s lying on his back on the bed, then moves so he’s on his fours on top of him. He gives Liam time to adjust to the new position, nods at him in look for some kind of confirmation that they can keep going. Liam nods back, even if he can feel the way his hands are shaking where they are resting on Zayn’s waist.

Diving back in, Zayn wastes no time to move the kiss further. He flicks his tongue into Liam’s mouth, swallows all of Liam’s quiet moans, and the younger boy slowly starts kissing him back. He’s sloppy, no real finesse behind his doings, but he’s eager to please, eager to impress, and it kind of compensates. Zayn notices that he’s trying to follow his lead, keep up with everything Zayn does. When he bites on Liam’s bottom lip, Liam retaliates with a gentle nibble. When one of Zayn’s hands cradle Liam’s face and he’s mostly lying on top of Liam, the younger boy wraps his arms around Zayn’s waist, pulling their upper bodies closer.

Zayn’s the first to break away from the kiss, after a while, but not before pressing one, two, three, four pecks to Liam’s lips. He trails his lips up Liam’s face, leaving kisses on his cheeks, the tip of his nose, his closed eyelids and then his forehead, prompting giggles from the other boy. When Zayn’s face is back in Liam’s level, Liam has a smile on his lips that Zayn’s never seen before. It’s an image of pure happiness, one he wants to associate to Liam forever and Zayn’s extremely glad for his great memory, because he will need to draw this later on.

“You’re cute when you’re laughing,” Zayn whispers to him. His lips feel sore and he’s sated.

“Shut up,” Liam whispers back, pinching the skin on Zayn’s lower back where his shirt has ridden up.

Zayn yelps, mostly because Liam’s hands are extremely cold against his skin and he hadn’t bothered to notice it before, when they were still kissing. He hits Liam’s chest, but it’s playfully, and Zayn leans in to kiss Liam once more when the door is flying open and his mother’s voice is filling the room.

“Zayn, it’s late, Liam should- “, she cuts herself when she notices them, and Zayn’s quick to roll away from Liam, landing on the mattress with an oof. He can feel his cheeks burning and he’s quick to sit up, pulling his t-shirt down. “Oh, I see.”

It’s weird, but Zayn is not feeling embarrassed for being caught by his mother while kissing someone else in his bed. No. If anything, Zayn is scared. Granted, his parents never showed any sign of being homophobic, but he hasn’t seen anything from them that can make him believe that they are okay with it. Doniya is nothing but supportive ever since she found out about the couple of guys Zayn’s been with, most of them he’s met in parties his childhood friends, Anthony and Danny, have dragged him to. Her reaction to this though, even if Zayn knows she already suspected something about his feelings, is a mystery to him, and Zayn doesn’t even want to get started on his father.

So he keeps his head down, even though he should probably say something that he should show his mum that this doesn’t change anything, he’s still same old Zayn and she shouldn’t think of him as anything but. He feels the bed shift, knows Liam’s just climbed out of it and probably needs Zayn to do something, to reassure him somehow, but he can’t move from his seat in the bed, can’t even dare looking up and seeing the possible judgment in his mother’s face.

“Liam, you should probably go home, sweetheart,” Trisha says, and Zayn cringes. Her tone is soft, but he’s not looking at her face to know whether she’s implying something else with her words. “Your mum is probably worried, it’s already late.”

“Right,” he hears Liam’s voice then sees the boy walking towards the door by the corner of his eyes. Liam stops, though, before leaving, and turns around. “I told my mum I would be staying here tonight, though.”

It’s only then that Zayn looks up, but he’s still not brave enough to face his mother. No, his eyes fall upon Liam and he notices the boy is fidgeting and refuses to look at Zayn. He knows it’s not a lie, Liam had told him that when he had arrived, as well as mentioning that he forgot his keys at home so there’s no way he can go back without waking his mother up and Zayn knows how much he hates being a bother. Not that he sees that as bothering, but Liam’s reasoning is one he doesn’t contradict very often.

“In that case,” his mum speaks once again and Zayn lets out a sigh before turning his head and finally looking at her. The woman has a smile on her face, though, and it doesn’t look strained. “I will ask you boys to leave the door open. Your sister had this rule, so you’re getting it too, Zayn.”

Zayn is surprised but he doesn’t allow himself to be hopeful. Maybe she’s just being nice because Liam is there, so he waits until she’s left with her goodnight wishes before climbing out of the bed. He passes Liam, hands brushing for a second, before he’s talking to him over his shoulder.

“I will be right back,” he says as he follows his mother down the stairs.

She’s in the kitchen, her back to him as she picks something up from the fridge. He doesn’t say anything for a bit, not until she turns around and startles when she notices him there.

“Zayn,” she berates him, picking a glass from the cabinet and filling it with water. “Don’t sneak on my like that.”

“Are you mad?” Zayn blurts out, fingers tapping against the kitchen counter.

“Why would I be mad?” Trisha asks, taking a sip from the water and staring at him.

Zayn groans, shaking his head. He wishes he had already washed his hair, because he misses being able to run his fingers through it when he’s nervous, when he finds himself in a situation he doesn’t see any escape from.

“Liam is a boy,” he points out and Trisha nods. “I am also a boy.”

“Thanks for clearing that out,” is his mother’s only answer before she lets out a sigh. She holds her finger up for a moment, stopping Zayn from saying anything as she downs the rest of the water before putting the glass back on the sink. “What exactly are you trying to ask me here, Zayn?”

He watches as she turns around, opening the fridge and putting the glass bottle back inside. When Trisha is finally standing in front of him, Zayn still has no idea what he’s supposed to say, so she beats him to it, her tiny hands going to rest on Zayn’s shoulder.

“You know your father and I are going to love you no matter what, right?” Trisha asks, as if that should be obvious for him right now, and Zayn nods. Of course they are, he shouldn’t have doubted than for even a second. “You’re still our son and nothing you could ever do would change that.”

“Is that true even for dad?” He questions it because he knows his father tries to be a modern type of father, but that he finds himself caught up in some ancient values sometimes.

“Of course, sunshine,” Trisha reassures him, her hands moving to his cheeks. “Your father thinks very highly of you and your sisters. Who you choose to be with is never going to change that.” Zayn nods and his mum smiles at him. “Now go brush your teeth and see if we have any spare toothbrushes for Liam. Believe me when I say I’m going to kill you if I wake up tomorrow and the door is not open. Do I have to get your father to give you some sort of sex talk?”

Zayn groans, pushing her away slightly. Patricia laughs, but doesn’t leave without pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“Liam is a good boy,” she tells him and Zayn smiles. “Go, you need to sleep. You have your prayers with your father tomorrow.”

When Zayn gets back to his room, Liam’s sitting on the bed, staring down at his hands. The TV is off, the only light in the room being the one of the lamp next to Zayn’s bed, so he assumes that Liam’s probably done a lot of walking around in the short minutes Zayn’s been away. He looks up when Zayn walks in, and there’s concern all over his face.

“Are you okay?” He asks and Zayn nods. He tugs his shirt over his head, leaving it on the desk. He starts kicking out his jeans then folds them as well as he can before putting them next to the shirt. Liam is still on the same spot when he looks back at the younger boy, and he’s keeping his eyes away from Zayn, clearly embarrassed.

“Come on,” Zayn tells him, walking towards Liam and taking his hand so he can pull the boy to his feet. Their height difference is not that big – Liam is only slightly taller than Zayn, just enough so he has to tilt his head back a bit to look into Liam’s eyes. “Take your clothes off so we can sleep. Or do you want me to lend you some pyjama pants?”

Liam shakes his head and kicks off his shoes. Zayn climbs into the bed and shuffles towards the other side, lying underneath the comforter. When he looks back at Liam, he’s in his boxers but he still has his t-shirt on, doesn’t look like he’s going to get rid of it anytime soon, so Zayn simply pushes the comforter back, smiling at Liam in a way to encourage him to join him. When Liam hesitates, Zayn’s face softens.

“We have a guest room,” he offers. “It’s my sister’s room when she’s around, but she’s at uni and you can sleep there if you want.”

He notices Liam ponders it for a moment before releasing a breath and climbing into bed. He keeps a safe distance from Zayn, lying on his back as he takes deep breaths. Slowly, Liam seems to get more comfortable, as he shifts around until finding a spot that seems to please him. He rolls to the side, though, so he’s facing Zayn, and there’s a slight curve on the corners of his lips.

“Can you wake me up at five twenty tomorrow?” Liam asks, hand crossing the small distance he’d settled between the two of them before taking Zayn’s hand in his. “I have to go run.”

Zayn nods, ducks his head so he can press a kiss to the back of Liam’s hand.

“Goodnight.”

“Night.”

-

(Yaser asks him if it’s Liam that he sees walking out of the house at five am on the next morning and Zayn tells him the truth.)

(His father doesn’t look upset.)

||

“You thought you could get away from me this easily, didn’t you, cunt?” He only stops to drink from the bottle, but he puts it away on the floor, so he can bring the back of his hand against Karen’s cheek. “We’re married, you little bitch,” he adds, hand coming down for another slap and Liam can’t bring his feet to work, can’t bring himself to walk towards them and do something. Anything. “What’s yours is mine, isn’t it, honey?”

He lets go of her hair and throws his head back, laughter echoing through the room. Karen’s trying to crawl away, but a boot hits against her ribs and she flails, losing strength on her arms and falling to the ground. The man grabs her by the back of her shirt, forcing her to stand up, and really goes at it, slapping her face over and over again.

“You can’t,” his words are only stopped when he hits her, and Liam can hear, from across the room, the sound of the slaps, strong against his mother’s face. “Run away from me,” he adds, grabbing her by the collar and spitting on her face. “I thought you should know that by now.”

||

Sometime by the end of November, Liam texts him an address with these words attached – the boys want to meet you, come over at around seven?. Needless to say, Zayn starts freaking out.

The only subject besides movies he’s seen and bands he likes that Liam actually talks about is his best friends. He brings Louis up at every possible conversation, some sharp remark that the boy has made over whatever topic that is in discussion. He tells Zayn about Niall and his particular passion for beer even though they are all technically still underage – minus Louis, Zayn also learns, because his mum asked for him to fail a year a few years back. He tells him that Harry is the type of person you have to have a lot of patience with, simply because he thinks a lot before talking. And during, and after, and he relies a lot on dramatic pauses in order to get his thoughts back on a certain track.

It’s obvious to him how important they are to Liam, seeing as he speaks about them way more than he speaks about his own family, unlike Zayn. Of course he brings Ant and Danny up sometimes, but the two boys had been gone, over at uni, for a while before he moved to Wolverhampton. Even if the contact still exists, it’s not as deep as it was when they were younger. Zayn doesn’t consider them less, obviously, but they are not the first people he talks to whenever he’s seeking for advice or any sort of reassurance. Those three boys, though, especially Louis, seem to be exactly it for Liam.

At the same time he’s scared, Zayn knows it’s got to be important for Liam that he’s introducing Zayn to people that mean so much to him. He can’t say no, he can’t chicken out because he’s scared they are going to hate him the minute the lay eyes on him, deem him not good enough for their precious Liam. So he texts Liam back letting the boy know he will be there and whether he should take something with him or not.

His mum drops him off at the address when she goes grocery shopping, and Zayn ends up finding out that it’s not far enough from his house that he has to worry about going back home walking. Besides, Liam will probably go with him, so Zayn reassures his mother that he will be just fine without a ride back before kissing her cheek and leaving the car. He immediately regrets the fact that he didn’t listen to the woman when she had told him to bring something warmer than a leather jacket because it’s freezing out. Zayn grew up in Bradford, though, so he will just get over it.

Zayn checks the house number before ringing the doorbell, then proceeds to duck his head, hands buried on the pockets of his jacket as he looks for any sort of warmth. It doesn’t take long before the door is opening and Zayn almost sighs out of relief until he looks up and notices two blue eyes narrowed at him.

“Erm, I’m Zayn?” He offers and the boy keeps his arms crossed around his chest, protective screaming from his stance.

“I know who you are,” he replies and Zayn suppress the urge to roll his eyes. It’s Louis, he assumes, since Liam’s already talked him about the boy’s personalities and who would be more likely to act with reluctance around Zayn.

“Can I come in, mate?” Zayn asks, as nicely as possible seeing the circumstances. “It’s bloody freezing.”

Louis narrows his eyes even harder, but he takes a step to the side, allowing Zayn to walk in. He does it, immediately pleased by the rush of warmth coming from the heaters. The other boy closes the door, and walk towards the stairs, motioning for Zayn to follow him.

“They are all upstairs,” Louis explains as Zayn follows him. He subtly stops and Zayn has to grab the handrail in order to avoid hitting Louis’ back. “You and I are going to have a little chat later, though.” Louis warns him, trying to sound threatening, but frankly? He’s smaller than Zayn and doesn’t look like he can actually hurt someone. Zayn indulges him by nodding, letting the older boy know that he’s well aware of his warnings.

He’s lead towards the last door in the corridor, bypassing a bunch of closed doors that seem to have noise coming from them.

“I have five sisters and one brother,” Louis tells him, probably catching up to Zayn’s surprise at the size of the house now that they are walking side by side. “The youngest are just a few months old, but my step-father wanted to buy a bigger house when they were born, so here we are. I’m not exactly complaining – at least my room is bigger here.”

He winks at Zayn and Zayn is extremely confused by the subtle change in Louis’ behaviour. He knows better than to voice his concerns and risk Louis having some weird reaction to it. When the door opens and he’s being ushered into Louis’ room, he understands what the boy had just told him. The room isn’t huge, but it’s far bigger than Zayn’s, could easily fit his and Doniya’s inside without much trouble. As well as his bathroom, now that he stops to think about it. He wonders if Louis’ parents are actually rich or if they were just lucky – this is not the type of thing Liam’s ever brought up to him, and he doesn’t really expect him to.

“Oi, Hazza, I can’t fucking believe you’re losing to Payno,” he’s brought back to reality with Louis’ loud voice next to his ear. It’s only then that he stops to notice the people as well as everything Louis has inside the room.

For starters there’s a tv on the wall, screen larger than the one back in Zayn’s bedroom. There’s also a king sized bed, where Liam is sitting next to a curly haired boy. Harry, Zayn adds mentally. The third boy is lying on the floor, a bag of chips on his lap as he scrolls through his phone. Niall, Zayn also notes, simply because he’s the last one.

“Don’t be rude,” Harry says, pressing pause on the game and standing up, noticing that Zayn is still standing by the doorframe. “He’s better than me, it’s not my fault.”

“Not your fault?” Louis seems genuinely offended by that, if his tone is any indication of that fact. “I had three goals of advantage on him when I went downstairs to answer the door for his boyfriend and now I come back to find out that my boyfriend can’t even hold his ground?”

Even though their exchange is amusing, Zayn’s eyes drift towards Liam, who still hasn’t moved from where he was sitting, but there’s a smile on his face. He’s looking at Zayn, too, and his heart flutter a little bit at that. He doesn’t look like he is going to move either, and Zayn assumes that it is because he want him and Liam’s boys to properly introduce themselves without his aid, so Zayn indulges him.

It’s not too hard, because while Harry and Louis still have that discussion going, Niall stands up and walks towards Zayn, cleaning his hand on the side of his jeans before offering his hand for Zayn to take. His smile is big and intoxicating, it makes Zayn wonder how the boy manages to look that happy without a proper reason for it. He finds himself smiling too, as he shakes Niall’s hand.

“Hi there,” he says, Irish accent strong and evident. “’m Niall, it’s nice to finally meet you.”

“I’m Zayn,” he offers, drawing his hand back still unable to wipe the smile off his face.

“We know,” a different voice replies to him and Zayn notices that Harry’s finally stopped arguing with Louis, who’s replaced his boyfriend on the bed and is back to playing against Liam. “Liam’s told us a lot about you.”

His eyebrows shoot up at that and he glances across the room towards Liam. Even though the boy is still playing, Zayn notices the soft blushing on his cheeks. It fills him with warmth, knowing that Liam actually does talk about him, that he’s talked to his best friends about Zayn. It makes him slightly curious, too, wanting to find out exactly what Liam had told them.

“Really?” He asks, biting down on his lower lip. “Good things?”

“Haz, shut up,” it’s Liam and the two boys standing in front of him turn around to look at Liam. His forehead is furrowed and he seems to have paused the game since Louis is lying back on bed and grumbling nonsensical things.

Harry turns back to look at Zayn, hands raised in front of him. “Guess you will have to ask him.” He says, before making his way back to the bed, sitting behind Louis and pulling the boy’s head to his lap. They seem to start a whispered conversation between the two of them and Niall’s not standing in front of him anymore, back to his position on the fluffy carpet in front of Louis’ bed. Zayn doesn’t pay attention to any of them, too busy looking at Liam. The younger boy beckons him over with his head and Zayn kicks off his shoes and jacket before complying.

He avoids stepping on Niall and the console as he makes his way to Liam. Harry and Louis seem to be having some deep conversation and Niall is too busy with his phone to be paying them any attention. Liam seems comfortable enough with their surroundings to take Zayn’s hands in his and tug him lower until Zayn is hovering over him, their tangled hands resting on the bed. Liam’s grin is permanently etched onto his face, and Zayn lets go of one of Liam’s hands to brush Liam’s fringe away from his eyes.

It’s a privilege, he reckons, that he gets to do this with Liam. He knows about Liam’s lack of experience, knows he doesn’t trust easily. Getting to participate in Liam’s life the way he is, getting to kiss him and hold hands with him as much as he gets to, those are things no one’s ever been allowed to do before. It brings a smile to Zayn’s lips and calmness to his heart.

“Do you like them?” Liam asks, and he notices a falter in Liam’s smile. He’s nervous about it, wants Zayn to like his friends as much as he wants Zayn to be approved by them. So he nods, hand sliding to the back of Liam’s head and tangling on his hair.

“I do,” Zayn promises and Liam perks up at that.

Before Zayn knows it, Liam leans up, pressing their lips together. He’s getting bolder with kisses, beginning to start them without Zayn having to prompt it, and that’s exactly what he does now, free hand moving to the side of Zayn’s neck. It’s short-lived, though, because they hear someone groaning and they separate to find Niall staring at the two of them in disbelief.

“Don’t tell me I will have to deal with another Harry and Louis.” He seems genuinely scared by that possibility, and Zayn’s frozen for half a beat, wondering if maybe they’ve gone too far and Liam will want to pull back. That until Liam starts laughing, hiding his face against Zayn’s stomach and he joins him, fingers carding through the boy’s hair. He glances to the side and notices the fond look Harry is giving them, but Louis seems slightly startled by Liam’s reaction. It’s gone quickly as the older boy sits up, clasping his hands together as he stares at Zayn mischievously.

“Now that loverboy is here,” Zayn feels Liam groan against his front and he pats his head as some sort of comfort. “We can get him drunk and force some information out of him. Who’s in?”

The first hand up is Niall and he looks properly excited by it. Harry joins him, mostly because he seems to indulge whatever Louis has to say, but Liam draws back to glare at his best friend.

“Louis, you’re not going to drink,” Liam chastises him, tone all motherly like and Zayn realises that Liam acts like the oldest of the two in that friendship, not Louis. “You’re supposed to be babysitting your siblings, so I don’t even know why we’re in here.”

Louis rolls his eyes - that’s where Liam got it from, then - and climbs out of the bed, heading for his wardrobe.

“Mum took the babies with her and the girls are already old enough to look after themselves,” he explains, voice muffled as he digs through his stuff. “Besides, it would be rude not to offer my guest a drink.”

Looking back at Liam, Zayn notices the annoyance in his face. It’s too sudden and Zayn doesn’t remember ever seeing that expression in Liam’s face. He puts his finger under Liam’s chin, getting the boy to tilt his head and focus on him. Zayn raises his eyebrows, hand moving to Liam’s cheek, and leans down to press a quick kiss to his lips.

“It’s alright,” he promises, drawing back a bit and smiling so to show Liam he’s not bothered by Louis at all. “Don’t worry.”

It doesn’t seem to reassure Liam as much as he wishes it would, but that’s all Zayn gets to say before Louis lets out a cheer as he finds whatever he was looking for. His eyes go to rest on a bottle, full to the brim with some clear liquid, which Louis brings with him as he makes his way back to his bed. He offers Zayn the bottle with a challenge in his eyes and Zayn takes it, uncapping it and taking a gulp.

He winces and feels like spitting it out, but it’s already burning its way down Zayn’s throat and he offers it to Liam who shakes his head no.

“Liam doesn’t drink,” Louis explains, taking the bottle from Zayn’s hands and passing it to Niall. At least that’s what he assumes as he has his eyes fixed on Liam as the younger boy keeps his head down.

“Why not?” It’s not a pushing question, and he knows he sounds like an idiot only for asking. He knows Liam, how the boy acts and how neat he is about everything. Zayn also knows that drinking is not for everybody, that he shouldn’t have assumed he drinks just because his friends do. In fact, he should’ve been smarter than that. Taken by Liam’s stance and the look on his face, it’s more of a matter that he dislikes drinking in general than being bothered by Louis’ attitude.

“He just doesn’t,” Louis is the one to answer, not Liam, and there’s defensiveness in his tone, as if he knows the reason but is not allowed to share it with Zayn.

He ignores the other three, kneels down in front of Liam with his hands resting on Liam’s thighs. Liam looks away from him and it hurts, really, because in the short time he’s known the other boy, he’s never really had to deal with rejection coming from him. Zayn wonders if he’s done something particularly wrong, something that got Liam to be this cold towards him.

“Li,” he calls in a whisper, but the boy doesn’t look at him. There’s a serious expression on his face but he’s keeping his eyes glued to the window, ignoring Zayn completely. “Talk to me, babe. Please.”

It usually works, the asking for Liam to explain his reasoning to Zayn, whenever the boy gets caught up in his thoughts and doesn’t quite manage to use his touches to express how he’s feeling. This time, Liam simply grunts, shaking his head. Zayn tries leaning forward, pressing his lips against the boy’s cheek, but Liam shifts away from him before standing up and going to sit by the window.

Zayn follows him with his eyes, but there’s no indication that Liam’s going to come back at all. Louis seems to notice that as well, because he nudges Zayn side to get the boy’s attention and the look in his face is the softest Zayn’s seen all night.

“Leave him be,” he tells him as Harry and Niall pretend not to be paying attention by passing the bottle between each other. “He will explain it to you once he’s comfortable enough, don’t worry.”

Zayn nods, accepts what Louis is giving him because it’s far more than he’s getting from Liam at this point. He stands up, taking the seat that was Liam’s until a few moments before, and refuses the bottle when it’s offered to him.

“So,” Louis stars, smiling up at Zayn with that mischief glint in his eyes. “Let’s start talking, loverboy.”

-

It’s half past nine by the time Zayn and Liam are finally leaving Louis’ house. The older boy had been kind enough to let Zayn borrow one of his coats, with the promise that he’d be receiving it back as soon as possible. Louis had shrugged it off, told him not to worry too much about it. He then had pulled Zayn to the side and reminded him that he was supposed to be extra patient when it came to Liam, that the boy would start opening up sooner than he thought.

Zayn had thanked him, even though he highly doubted Louis’ words. Since Liam had walked away from him, he hadn’t said a single word to Zayn for the rest of the night. The only person that managed to coax more than a couple of words from Liam was Louis, when the older boy had joined Liam by the window and they started chatting in low voices. It had wounded Zayn more than he expected it to, but he had to force himself to remember that he’s known Liam for a couple of months while Louis has known him his entire life. That’s not something he’s going to beat anytime soon, regardless of Liam having feelings for him or not.

So he had kept his head down and his eyes away from Liam, chatting with Niall and Harry, learning the things that Liam hadn’t bothered telling him. Like the fact that Harry is pretty much convinced Louis and him are getting married and that his true calling is culinary school, to become the next Jamie Oliver. Niall had snorted at that comment and the two of them proceeded to get into a discussion over who was the best cook, with Louis joining them a few beats later to defend that Niall was a more consistent cook. That had prompted an argument between Harry and Louis and Zayn and Niall decided to simply turn the Playstation on and resume playing.

Not once had Liam joined the discussion. He had watched from afar, and whenever Zayn tried for some eye contact, his eyes diverted away from him quickly. Now they have an at least fifteen minutes long walk to go through together, and Zayn’s genuinely considering crossing the street if that means Liam’s going to look less miserable than he is by walking on Zayn’s side. Though the distance he’s keeping is big enough so that crossing the street wouldn’t make that much of a difference.

“Did I do something wrong?” Zayn asks, ten minutes into their walk, and Liam lets out a loud sigh. “I can’t apologise for doing whatever I did if I have no idea what I’ve done.”

He expects Liam to ignore him, but the response comes almost immediately.

“Just drop it, Zayn, alright?” Liam says keeping his eyes ahead, not once drifting them towards Zayn.

Zayn’s too stubborn for that, doesn’t want to get to his house without a proper answer, simply because he won’t know what to do if he appears at their bench tomorrow and Liam is still ignoring him. Or worse, if Liam walks past him and leaves, without sparing Zayn a single word or glance. He keeps quiet for a little longer, until they reach their street and get closer to Liam’s house.

“I can’t drop it,” Zayn begs, stepping in front of Liam and dropping his hands to Liam’s shoulders. The boy is clearly annoyed by it, but Zayn considers it a victory that Liam doesn’t push him away or shrugs out of his grip. He simply folds his arms across his chest, brown eyes finally going to rest on Zayn’s face. “Listen, I have no idea what I’ve done wrong, but you have to tell me so I can fix it.”

Liam rolls his eyes, as if the simple implication that Zayn can fix anything seems ridiculous. And maybe it is, Zayn reckons, because he doesn’t know what got Liam to react like that, what prompted him to completely ignore Zayn for two hours even though they were in the same room. So maybe Zayn can fix, the reason behind everything, but he can at least try to make up for his doings. For that, though, Liam’s got to talk.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn tries, voice dropping to a whisper. “I’m sorry if I’ve done or said something to offend you.”

The younger boy seems to take pity on him them, because he lets out a breath before dropping his hands to the side, shoulders slumping as the fight seems to leave his body. He does look away from Zayn, but this time it seems to be more due to embarrassment than to actual anger, and he can already feel the relief flooding through his body.

“I just don’t like it when people drink,” Liam explains and Zayn frowns slightly. “That’s all.”

“The boys were drinking too,” it’s obviously the wrong thing to say because Liam groans and shrugs away from Zayn, starts heading towards his house in an angry pace and Zayn has no other option but to follow him. He stops Liam, grabbing him by his arm and that prompts an even worse reaction from the younger boy as he pushes Zayn away, a livid look on his face.

“Don’t-,” he starts, taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, eyes falling shut. “Don’t do this, don’t grab me, I hate it when people grab me.”

So Zayn keeps fucking up and he has no idea of what he’s supposed to do or say now. That’s it, he figures, Liam hates me now. But the younger boy proves him wrong once more when his flutter open slowly. He seems to have calmed himself down enough so that he takes a step forwards instead of away from Zayn.

“I’m used to seeing them drinking,” Liam clarifies, tongue darting out and licking over his lips. It’s slightly distracting, Zayn knows it, but he avoids thinking about that by keeping his eyes on Liam’s. “I know they drink and I also know they are never going to drink past a reasonable limit. I didn’t even know you drank. So I was just surprised.” Disappointed is not a word that Liam says but Zayn catches on to that.

Whatever bugs Liam about drinking must be pretty serious, Zayn reckons, otherwise his reaction wouldn’t have been like this. He’s noticed by now that Liam’s reactions to everything are usually mild ones, since he doesn’t like making himself seen. So Zayn doesn’t dismiss Liam’s words, not that he’d ever dare to.

He just moves slowly, being careful as he takes Liam’s hands in his. Liam doesn’t push him away this time and Zayn considers it a victory bringing Liam’s hands to his mouth and brushing his lips against Liam’s knuckles. It’s a thing he’s seen his dad doing with his mum before in order to calm the woman down during the time they were genuinely struggling because of money. He glances up and the touch seems to settle Liam a bit, face much more relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” it’s not that Zayn even cares about drinking all that much. No, he does it sometimes, did it when Ant and Danny dragged him to parties, but it’s not something he feels like he has to do. If it bothers Liam that much, Zayn doesn’t mind not doing it again.

“It’s okay,” there’s a slight curve on the corners of Liam’s lips, an indication that it is, indeed, okay and that Zayn shouldn’t worry about it as much. “I really have to go.”

Zayn nods. The two of them have to be up extremely early on the next morning, he knows it, so he lets go of Liam’s hands. Liam doesn’t let him, though, keeps one of their hands tangled as he tugs Zayn closer. Zayn goes, willingly, and smiles when Liam presses their lips together in a fleeting kiss.

-

His mother always makes a bigger deal out of Christmas than any of them expect her to. They don’t exactly celebrate it – the meaning of it defended by those who genuinely do is not there, but she makes a point out of putting up a tree and decorating the house. Patricia also spends the entire day cooking, often dragging Doniya and Zayn with her. That when the entire family doesn’t decide to drop by at their house and make it a huge family dinner. Zayn loves his family, so he doesn’t mind the extra time he has to spend with them. It doesn’t mean he’s big on the idea of decorating and being useful, so he definitely expected the surprised looks his mother gives him when he offers to help with putting up the decoration.

“Are you sure?” Trisha asks, stirring something in the pan as Doniya is responsible for the vegetables on the counter.

Zayn nods, shrugging.

“I might as well help somehow since you two are pretty busy here,” he offers and the women exchange a look. Doniya scoffs – Zayn knows she’s probably already caught up with his plans, but at least she’s kind enough not to bring them up to their mum and risk the teasing that’s inevitably going to come out of it.

“Let him do it, mum,” she says, with a chuckle. “He’s probably only looking for excuses to hang mistletoe all over the house and kiss Liam whenever.”

Kind my ass.

He feels the blush that burns his cheeks and has to resist the temptation of flipping his sister off with their mother around. He doesn’t deny it – it’s a silly thing but it’s tradition, right? No harm can come from him using this tradition to his advantage, especially seeing as Liam hadn’t declined his offer of spending the Christmas over at his house, saying that he usually spent them at the Tomlinson’s.

(Louis was more than slightly offended – he threw a dirty sock at Zayn’s face, yelling at Liam about how it was his birthday and Liam was his best friend and they were supposed to spend said birthday together -, but Liam had just rolled his eyes and promised Zayn he would be there.)

Trisha is smiling when his eyes dart from his sister towards the older woman, and it’s that look she’s had ever since that day. It’s like she’s proud of him, for whatever reason, but he doesn’t understand why this is such a big deal. This is not Zayn’s first relationship and even though he’s trying to be as hopeful as possible, it might not even be his last, yet Trisha is making him feel like him and Liam are engaged, ready to be married, instead of being in a relationship for only a couple of months.

“That’s sweet,” she says, drying her hands on her apron before taking a step towards Zayn. He knows she’s going to pinch his cheek and he tries ducking, but the woman is faster than him and she ends up pulling him into a hug. “My boy is becoming a man now.”

“Oh mum,” Doniya starts and Zayn looks at her from over his mum’s shoulder to see the woman leaning back against the counter, watching the two of them with amusement in her eyes. “Zayn’s been a man for longer than you think.”

Zayn does flip her off this time.

-

Liam is late.

Granted, he had told Zayn he’d come over at eight pm, having to stop by at Louis’ first to hang out with the older boy for a couple of hours, but it’s almost half-past eight and Liam is not there yet. Perhaps he’s exaggerating – he knows he is – but Zayn’s not used to Liam being late for anything. Not to his morning runs or to their first date – which had basically been a movie night over at Zayn’s house – or any of the meet ups at Louis’ house. Zayn is always the one late, either because his nap took longer than he expected or because he was too lazy to go out of the house on the right time, but not Liam.

So yeah, he’s more than slightly worried, but he doesn’t want to come off like a clingy boyfriend, so Zayn doesn’t bother calling Louis to find out whether Liam has already left or not. Doniya is the first one to notice he’s antsy, not really paying attention to what Jawaad is saying or any of the conversations going on around them. She nudges his side with her elbow until Zayn looks away from the door and his eyes fall on his sister’s face.

“Are you okay?” She asks, worry in a way only older siblings can muster.

Zayn nods, but the anxiety is still there on the tapping of his foot against the floor, on the way his eyes immediately drift towards the clock on the clock above the fireplace. Doniya nudges him again, motioning with his head towards the kitchen.

“Go do the dishes so you can occupy your mind for a bit,” she tells him, and Zayn complies quickly than he normally would. The idea of doing any sort of chore is usually one he runs away from, but it seems like the only viable option at the moment, the only thing that is going to keep him from going mad as he sits on the sofa and waits for Liam to arrive.

He excuses himself with a couple of words and smiles before ducking out of the room and going into the kitchen. There’s not much to wash, but he gets to it anyways, taking his time scrubbing off the dirt from the plates and utensils. It doesn’t do a great job out of clearing his mind but it keeps his hands occupied and he feels himself relaxing slightly.

This feeling of always being on edge because of someone is not one Zayn is used to. He’s had relationships before, yes, a couple of them that hadn’t lasted more than a handful of months, but nothing like this. Perhaps it’s because neither of his ex-girlfriends were anything like Liam. Gender aside, they were the complete opposite of the younger boy. If anything, they reminded him a lot more of Louis than Liam. They were abrasive and loud and all over the place and Zayn liked them, he genuinely did otherwise he wouldn’t have started said relationships at all, but. It’s different.

Maybe it’s in the way that, for the first time, he’s not the one doing the listening. Or maybe it’s on the fact that they had to take things pretty slowly at first, until they had fallen into a zone of comfort for both of them, something he hadn’t had to bother on his past relationships. Maybe it’s on the fact that Zayn keeps finding reasons to believe that falling for Liam probably wouldn’t be a bad thing at all. He knows there are things Liam has yet to tell him, big and important things, but they aren’t the only things that define the younger boy. Zayn’s caught up with the fact that something has happened that got Liam to be this closed off, but that’s not all that is there. Liam is more than just one occurrence in his life, so he knows he’s allowed to fall for him without knowing about it.

When he’s done, he dries his hand on the dishrag before tossing it aside. Clearly he hadn’t heard when the doorbell rang or noticed the fact that he wasn’t alone in the room because as he turns around, determined to go to his room and stay there until Liam appeared or called him to let him know he couldn’t go, he finds his boyfriend standing by the door, leaning against the frame with a smile on his lips.

“Hey,” Liam says, and it prompts the corners of Zayn’s lips to curl up as well, relief washing over his body. He’s going to blame the sick feeling in his stomach to the fact that it’s still the beginning of their relationship, not because of some motive related to feelings he can’t quite comprehend.

“Hi you,” Zayn calls back, making his way towards his boyfriend in careful steps. Liam doesn’t move, not until Zayn is standing in front of him, and he stands up straighter, forcing Zayn to tilt his head back slightly in order to look at his eyes.

“Sorry I’m late,” Liam apologises and Zayn takes his hand in his, tugging him closer until their chests are pressed flush. Liam goes willingly, only slightly stumbles on his feet, but Zayn’s free hand goes to his waist in order to steady him. “Louis insisted I stayed for the cake and I can’t say no to him. Especially when Harry is also there.”

“It’s okay,” he whispers, even though it’s not, not really. He tries to be rational about it, and he’s definitely not a jealous guy, but come on, he’s allowed to want Liam to be around him at all times. It’s just a phase, he knows. He will be over this insane infatuation soon and he will go back to acting like good old Zayn, without this possessive streak.

(At least that’s what Zayn hopes will happen, but he’s not entirely sure about it.)

Zayn leans forward to press their lips together, but Liam draws back, eyes wide as he looks from Zayn to the living room where his entire family is at.

“Your family is here,” Liam tells him and Zayn knows that perhaps he should be offended by it, assume that Liam is ashamed of them, but he knows it’s not that. He knows it’s Liam looking after him, unsure of whether Zayn’s family knows about them or not and whether Zayn is comfortable with this or not.

His smile just grows bigger, the hand that was resting on Liam’s waist moving to the back of Liam’s neck, fingers pressing down gently against his nape. He lifts their tangled hands, finger pointing up towards the plant hanging above their heads. Liam looks up and lets out a snort, staring down at Zayn in disbelief.

“It’s tradition, pal,” Zayn tells him, and he’s chuckling when Liam’s the one to lean down and kiss him.

-

(They exchange gifts later, in the quiet of Zayn’s room. Liam’s comes in the form of a Drake vinyl, one Zayn had mentioned before that he was looking for everywhere and hadn’t managed to find yet. Zayn’s comes in the form of the first Scott Pilgrim comic, the one in the colour hardcover, because Zayn remembered when Liam had mentioned that he’d always wanted to read that series but never really stopped to buy any of the comics.)

(Zayn’s also comes in the form of a handjob later, much later, after his entire family has left and everybody is at their respective rooms sleeping. They disobey the locked door rule, but it’s so worth it when he feels Liam relaxing underneath him, face free from the usual tension that fills his features.)

(Trisha is less than pleased in the following morning, but Doniya winks at him.)

||

It’s on the next slap that Liam finally moves, striding towards the fireplace and picking up the fire iron. His mother is almost unconscious and he draws his arms back, hitting the bar against the back of his father’s head. It doesn’t do much damage besides making him loosen the grip on Karen’s shirt, which allows her to fall back against the sofa. So Liam hits him again, the amount of alcohol in his body slowing his father’s movements. He hits again, and again, and again, and doesn’t stop hitting when the man is on the floor, always on the same spot, and Liam doesn’t fail to notice the trickle of blood running down his father’s neck.

Liam only stops when he feels arms around him, a small hand pulling the bar from his hands, and he looks up to find Nicola standing there, whispering reassurances to his ear, getting him to calm down. Looking around the room, he sees Ruth with his mum on the sofa, her phone pressed to her ear. He thinks, it’s over, it’s over, it’s all over.

(Little did he know.)

||

The call comes in an early February night, a couple of days after the insane birthday party Louis organised for Harry’s seventeenth birthday. Zayn’s well aware that he’s going to be up sometime in the next three hours and he knows he could simply ignore it and go back to sleep, but it seems urgent. He knows no one would call him at two am unless it was some sort of emergency.

So he groans, rolling on his bed and reaching for his phone on the bedside table. He doesn’t check the caller ID before answering the call and falling back on the bed.

“Yeah?” He greets, voice rough with sleep.

“Zayn?” It’s Liam and he’s smiling for a second until he notices that Liam’s breathing is heavy, voice shaky. He immediately sits up on the bed, considers rubbing away the sleep from his eyes but he knows it was gone as soon as he realised that Liam sounds nothing but desperate.

“Li, babe, are you okay?” He asks even though it seems like a stupid question and he knows it, but he needs this reassurance.

“N-no, no,” Liam answers, a sob following his words and Zayn jumps out of his bed. He doesn’t know what he intends to do, whatever is happening Zayn knows he’s going storm out of his house and towards Liam in a blink of an eye if requested. If not, the pacing is good to keep his heartbeat down. “I can’t- he’s gonna find me, he is. I don’t- I don’t know what to do.”

“Babe, who are you talking about?” It’s a lingering doubt, one he’s had for a while, ever since the first time Liam slept around and Zayn woke up in the middle of the night to some whimpers and a distressed look in Liam’s face even in his sleep. He knows Liam has nightmares about something, someone, but he hasn’t asked and Liam hasn’t brought up, so he’s unsure of what to do or say.

“C-can you come here?” Not the answer Zayn expected, but he’s moving faster than expected, picking up the first shoes he sees and a sweater he can throw over his bare chest. “Just come, Zayn, please.”

Liam hangs up before Zayn can reply, so he puts his phone in the pocket of his sweatpants, putting the sweater on and kneeling down to lace his boots. Zayn’s careful as he walks out, making sure to jump over the step that creaks down the stairs and opening and closing the front door softly behind him. He runs towards Liam’s house, crossing the short distance in large steps. He doesn’t realise what he’s doing until he’s standing in front of the door and panting.

He considers calling Liam back so the boy can open the door for him, but he’s not even sure if his boyfriend is in any condition of going out of wherever he’s hiding at. Taking a deep breath, he knocks twice on the door before ringing the doorbell. Zayn hears shuffling inside, knows Liam’s mother is definitely not going to be pleased but he still doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do. Liam called him and asked him to be there and he hasn’t been able to say not to that boy since the first time they had a conversation, six months before.

The door opens and Karen is standing there with a robe over her pyjamas, staring at Zayn in confusion.

“Zayn?” His eyes don’t rest on the woman as he scans the room behind her in search for Liam. When he realises there’s no one in the first floor, he knows Liam’s hiding in his room. “Zayn, what are you doing here? It’s two am, go back to your house.”

She tries closing the door, but Zayn’s faster, holding it back as he sneaks into the house. Karen startles and he knows she doesn’t trust him yet, so he’s not surprised when she grabs the back of his sweater and stops him before he makes his way up the stairs.

“Liam called me,” Zayn explains, finally spilling out these words. “Liam called me, he asked me to come, he was crying, Karen, please let me go.”

The woman considers it for a moment, eyes running over his face in search of any sign that he might be lying. His despair must be too obvious because she lets him go, but doesn’t follow him. Instead, he watches as she walks in the direction of the kitchen, but he doesn’t stay long enough to find out what she’s going to do. He climbs the steps, two at a time, and doesn’t bother knocking before walking into Liam’s room.

His boyfriend is nowhere to be found. The bed is a mess, but overall, his room is just as clean and neat as the first time Zayn had walked into it, a couple of months ago. It doesn’t surprise him. He knows Liam has something for keeping things organised, can’t really stand the absolute mess that is Louis’ room and Louis’ overall but tries to keep his comments down for his best friend’s sake. He complains to Zayn, though, sometimes, that Louis is too old to keep acting like a kid all the time, but Zayn knows it’s half-heartedly.

“Li,” Zayn calls for him, and it’s only then that he notices Liam’s feet sticking out from under the bed. Zayn kicks his shoes off before following the younger boy down there, crawling under the bed and lying next to the younger boy on his belly. Liam is on his back, staring up at the wooden boards that support his mattress. For a quick moment, Zayn assumes he’s okay, but Liam lets out another sob, arm coming to his face in order to cover it.

Moving as much as he can in the restrict space, Zayn wraps his hand around Liam’s wrist, pulling his arm down. His free hand goes to Liam’s hair and he runs his fingers through Liam’s hair, tips pressing against the boy’s scalp in order to try and relief some of the tension. He’s crying, and Zayn’s never seen him doing it before, has never seen Liam showing this many amount of emotion, not since that time his burst of anger after he saw Zayn drinking. It scares him beyond compare.

It’s not that Zayn thinks Liam is perfect or even a robot, but Liam doesn’t show his emotions very often, neither does he talk about them. He bottles them up inside, only gives away a few touches in order to reassure Zayn and the other boys, but that’s about it. It scares him because he knows it’s got to be something very serious in order for Liam to lose the grip he has on his emotions and let them loose.

“Li,” he whispers, releasing the younger boy’s wrist to wipe the tears from his face. “Li, come on, talk to me, babe. Tell me what’s bothering you. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Liam is quiet for a few more minutes, but Zayn doesn’t mind. He doesn’t expect him to talk about it, only wants Liam to know that he’s there, always going to be there, whenever he’s needed. He knows this is him proving to Liam that the younger boy can trust him, that Zayn would never betray his trust and there’s nothing he wants more than to be allowed into his head, his thoughts and the things that haunt him.

Needless to say, he’s more than slightly surprised when Liam opens his mouth to talk.

“My dad,” he starts, stuttering the word out. It pulls at Zayn’s heart, but he doesn’t show any reaction. He just keeps stroking Liam’s hair, his other hand resting on Liam’s chest. “He wasn’t- wasn’t a nice person.” Liam hesitates before continuing, and Zayn’s hand falters with the younger boy’s next words. “He used to hit my mother. All the time. I didn’t- didn’t know because my sisters didn’t tell me, I was too young for them to tell me.” Zayn swallows dry, forces himself to restart his movements because he doesn’t want Liam to stop. “And then he left. And then he came back and he- he-.”

Zayn waits for Liam to finish his thoughts, but it doesn’t come. So he tangles their fingers together and scoots closer, until he can bury his face on the crook of Liam’s neck. The younger boy seems to appreciate it because Zayn feels his body relaxing, his breathing getting steadier. He only draws back when Liam’s hand is no longer shaking, his grip on Zayn’s back to the normal strong one.

“Don’t tell me, yeah?” He whispers, presses a kiss to Liam’s covered shoulder. “We don’t have to talk about it now, just calm down, Li.”

Liam nods, eyes slipping shut. Zayn keeps watching him, doesn’t dare moving or suggesting that they should get out of this hiding place. He knows Liam needs this, he needs this moment to calm himself down and he knows he wouldn’t be doing him any favours if he pushed him to go someplace else.

Slowly, Zayn starts nodding off. It’s due to the quiet and the lull provided by Liam’s calmer breathing. His eyelids flutter shut and his head falls back. He’s almost asleep when Liam speaks up again.

“Thank you,” it’s low but it’s out there and Zayn nods, hand sliding down Liam’s chest and wrapping around the younger boy’s waist.

-

(Liam eventually tells Zayn the whole truth, but Zayn notices he’s on the verge of freaking out so he doesn’t push it. He asks Louis instead, and the boy explains that Liam’s dad’s been in jail ever since he recovered from his injuries in the hospital.)

(It’s not long after that conversation that Liam finally starts talking about it with his therapist.)

-

Liam wakes up every day at thirty past five.

He stretches, he walks around his bedroom cracking his neck (twice to the left, twice to the right alternating). He does twenty push-ups and twenty sit-ups before putting his shorts and his t shirt on. His shoes are outside his door as well as clean socks. His iPod is already set on his favourite playlist, the only one that keeps up with his mood for his morning run. Unlike he’s used to, he completely ignores the sweater thrown over his chair. It’s Summer, finally, and it’s the last one before he starts at uni.

Liam thinks about it as he runs, about how his and Zayn’s universities are only half an hour away from each other and they are going to get to see each other more often than they would, had Liam chosen to attend some university back home.

Because it’s Summer, the Sun has long risen by the time he reaches their bench. This time, Zayn has some Starbucks frappuccino in his hands, had told Liam it was too hot for him to keep drinking coffee. He sits next to his boyfriend and Zayn wrinkles his nose.

“You’re all sweaty,” he pretends being annoyed by it, but Liam knows he isn’t. Not really. “Disgusting.”

“Mhm, sure,” Liam is bolder, so much bolder than he was when they had first started dating. So he leans forward, capturing Zayn’s lips in a kiss and effectively shutting the older boy up. Zayn’s free hand tangles on the back of his hair and Liam’s own go rest on the exposed skin of Zayn’s arm. He’s started wearing his tank tops all the time lately, but Liam is not exactly complaining.

When he draws back he does go far but he notices Zayn’s smiling at him and he has yet to grow used to the fondness in the boy’s eyes, completely directed towards him.

“I love you,” Zayn mouths, no words coming out, and it’s not the first time he’s said, or the second, or the tenth, but Liam’s not used to this. He’s not used to a relationship that is overall caring and genuine, so it’s sparkles butterflies in his stomach, as well as a blush across his cheeks.

“You too.”