Archive of Our Own

01. my heart in your hand is my heart on the floor

Louis calls him on a Sunday. It's a dreadful Sunday. The sort of Sunday where Liam feels entirely paralysed, unable to even make it to the corner shop for milk. Which he desperately needs, because he hasn't had tea in around sixty-five hours now. Not that he’s counting or anything, but. Well, he's fairly sure that this episode isn't exactly being hindered by the caffeine withdrawal. The furthest he can force himself is from his bed upstairs to the sofa downstairs, and even that's a battle.

Liam answers the phone. It’s not a number he recognises. He deleted Louis’ number a long, long time ago (well, alright, maybe it was just two months ago and maybe he still gets Louis’ tweets directly to his phone, but that's neither here nor there), and it’s not like he remembers Louis' number. Not even a few digits. But Zayn sometimes phones from his mum’s phone, or one of his sisters’, or just some other phone that’s not his. Because for some unknown reason Zayn frequently puts his phone down in obscure and unlikely places. Plant pot, kitchen cupboard, washing basket, anywhere but somewhere useful. So. Liam answers it.

“Liam, hey,” Louis says. His voice is grainy and cautious. It scrapes at Liam's skin like gravel.

Liam knows it’s Louis. Because even though he doesn’t remember Louis’ number anymore, and even though sometimes he forgets what colour Louis’ eyes are or the way he used to smile at him, he never forgets his voice.

Liam doesn’t say anything for a while, only does when Louis says again, “Liam?" a bit diffidently.

“Hi,” he manages back. Somehow. It's so many horrible shades of awkward that Liam only just manages to not snap out a, “Sorry, wrong number,” and throw his phone at the nearest wall.

“I—” Louis starts. Stops himself abruptly and takes an extended pause before breathing out, “I miss you,” so fast that Liam almost doesn’t catch it. He hears a sharp intake of breath on the other end and thinks that Louis might be just as surprised by the admission as he is. Okay.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, that was really stupid,” says Louis. Liam tries to picture him sitting in his L.A. apartment, anxiously twisting his face. Maybe a glass of straight vodka in his hand—maybe.

Before Liam can make any sense of the words in his head, Louis’ talking again. Hurried and manic. Liam misses at least thirty seconds of mindless blather, staring blankly at the floor and vaguely considering all of the terrible ways this conversation can go. He only manages to tune in again when Louis says, “Let’s just pretend this didn’t happen, yeah?” and then hangs up on him.

Liam stares at his phone for approximately ten minutes. As if it will inexplicably offer him up some answers to the thirty-seven questions ricocheting about his head like shrapnel. He briefly thinks about calling his therapist but realises that he doesn’t even really comprehend what just happened, let alone know how to explain it in actual words. Instead, he pulls himself up from his temporary home on the sofa and shuffles into the kitchen to flick the kettle on. Belatedly, after listening to the life-saving whirring of the kettle for almost a whole minute, he remembers he has no fucking milk.

Before Liam can have a real, actual emotional breakdown over the lack of milk — which he would, because it only seems to take the smallest of things anymore and No Milk is definitely one of them — his phone buzzes insistently in the pocket of his faded joggers that were probably once Louis'. He really needs to change, he thinks absently. He's not entirely sure when he last did that.

“Can I come over?” Louis asks barely a second after Liam’s hit the answer button.

Liam turns the kettle off regretfully and scrunches his eyes up before asking carefully, “Louis, are you drunk?” Because it seems like a fair fucking question, considering.

“No,” Louis responds, a little affronted. Liam believes him. Because if Louis were drunk, he’d probably tell him — well, he always used to anyway — and Liam has definitely spent enough time listening to Louis' Drunk Voice to be able to pick up on it.

“You‘re in L.A.,” Liam points out. Or last he heard (or read), Louis was in L.A. Taking some time off after his tour with Harry.

After One Direction made the hiatus official, Louis and Harry put together some sort of bizarre two-man-band side-project. Mostly, Liam suspects that Harry just needed a reason to keep watch on Louis all of the time. But he can’t be completely sure. The band are pretty good, though. They have a sort of indie-folky, nothing-like-One-Direction sound and hilariously called themselves What The Folk?. They’ve done pretty well, too, not One Direction well but well all the same. Partly because it’s Harry and Louis and partly because the music has drawn in new, hipster-type fans. Liam has the CD somewhere. Louis sent it to him, brightly-coloured post-it notes stuck all over the inlay and covered in soul-baring scribbled notes. Which is how Liam knows that approximately all of the songs are about him. He would have known it anyway. Louis wasn't particularly subtle in his lyrics. But Louis isn’t particularly subtle in anything he does.

He hears Louis take a careful breath. “I’m in London. Just needed to get home, you know? I’m here for, like, a few weeks or so before going up home home.”

“Oh,” says Liam for lack of anything else. He stands dumbly by the fridge, fingers picking idly at the edge of a photograph stuck in the corner. It’s one of the five of them in the studio. They were recording the second album. Zayn, Harry and Niall are sitting on the floor laughing about something or other, sheets of lyrics scattered around them like confetti. Liam and Louis are huddled together on a sofa. Louis' fingers are trailing over Liam's cheek, and they're sharing the sort of look that could probably contain a world or two, lyric sheets forgotten in their hands. If you squint hard enough, Liam thinks you would probably be able to see actual fucking hearts in their eyes.

Liam doesn’t remember what he was thinking when the photograph was taken. He doesn't even remember it being taken. But he's not sure he needs to. Zayn had given him and Louis the photo a few days later, citing that it was a bit too personal for the photobook release. Or whatever Limited Edition package it was they released. That was four years ago. Two years later everything went spectacularly to hell and One Direction went on indefinite hiatus.

“So,” Louis starts warily. It startles Liam out of the roaring chaos in his head. “Can I come over?”

“I—what? No, Louis. Absolutely not.”

Pause, and then, “I’m sober now, nine months,” says Louis, almost too quiet.

Liam backs away from the fridge. He does know that. But he doesn't know what to do with it. He sways and tips to lean against the breakfast bar. He briefly considers that he might need to sit down to have this conversation, because his legs feel a lot like they might just stop working. Body shutting down from the ground up. But he's afraid he might never get up again if he does.

“Louis, that’s not—that’s not the reason,” he manages finally.

“Then what is?” Louis' voice is a little desperate now, clawing. Steel tip scratching at skin.

Liam shuts his eyes. “It doesn’t work like that. We can’t just—”

“I’m not asking to,” Louis cuts in, and Liam marvels at how, after everything, Louis still has the nerve to be able to know exactly what he’s thinking. “I just want—I really want to see you. That's all.”

“Is this part of your twelve step thing?” Liam asks with a frown, realisation twisting up inside of him like some sort of thorny forest.

“No,” Louis replies, “well, yeah, but like. It’s not just that. Liam—”

“I can’t.” Liam sucks in a breath. He flinches a bit at how harsh and final the words come out.

Louis’ quiet for a while. Liam can just about hear his mind ticking over on the other end of the line. He chews nervously on his thumbnail before saying, for want of something to fill the silence with, “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. For either of us.”

“I miss you,” Louis says again, out of nowhere. Liam thinks that Louis really shouldn’t be allowed to say that. It should be a rule. “I miss you so fucking much.”

Liam sighs, tries not to let it work its way between the spaces of his ribcage. He sort of wants the ground to open up and swallow him, but he perseveres. “I can’t, Lou.”

He wants to say it would be counter-productive to his recovery, but he’s self-aware enough to know that he’s not in recovery anymore. Not even a vague sense of recovery. He's not even really trying.

“Right.” Louis' voice is distant now.

“I’m sorry,” Liam offers uselessly, but it sounds insincere even to his own ears. Except it’s not, it’s really, really not. “It's just—it’s been a year. I’ve been doing alright.”

It’s a lie. It’s a horrible, terrible lie and Liam is probably the worst person in the whole world. But he can’t think of anything else to say that will make Louis stop.

“Okay,” Louis says, compliant. Liam breathes out, knows the lie will hold.

“Okay. I should—well, I need to go and buy milk.” It’s a poor excuse, Liam's pretty sure, but also, stupidly, it’s true.

“Can I call you again tomorrow?”

Liam takes a deep breath and lets it go. “I’ll call you.”

“Alright.”

Liam hangs up quickly because he can’t face the unnecessarily lengthy and unpleasant goodbyes that were inevitably going to follow. He files away a mental note to forget to call Louis. It’s easier that way.

He waits five minutes and stares at the kettle mournfully before he breaks. Half an hour of dreadful crying later, he calls his therapist.

Liam never thought he would be one of those celebrities. The sort of celebrity who everyone watches in complete fascination and maybe even a little pity as they gradually self-destruct and just generally fuck everything up. Liam thinks, that if he’d been asked a few years ago, that he’d have been quite certain that he and Louis would be the least likely to be fuck-ups. One suicide attempt (Liam), one crashed car (Louis), and an extended stay in a psychiatric hospital (Liam) and rehab (Louis) later, Liam realises just how naïve he was then.

Krista-the-shrink happened when Liam was finally discharged from the psych hospital about six months ago. She’s young, relatively newly qualified and thankfully not a One Direction fan. Liam’s pretty sure she’s still not a One Direction fan anyway. Actually, he’s quite convinced that he has successfully put her off One Direction for life. In the first three months Liam called Krista approximately every day—sometimes to scream, sometimes to cry. Sometimes they were silent, Liam just needing to know that there was someone there at the other side. An impartial, grounding presence. Krista knows Liam almost as well as he knows himself now, and it’s quite horrible and terrifying but also kind of nice. She makes really lovely tea, too, which is always a good and necessary attribute, Liam thinks.

“Are you still in love with him?” Krista asks carefully, after Liam’s quietly attempted to sufficiently sum up his conversation (was it even a conversation?) with Louis.

“I don’t really think—well, it’s not really relevant, is it?” Liam tries. He knows it’s the wrong answer before he's even said it. He also knows that she's only asking because she wants him to say it out loud.

Krista sighs. She's heard it all before. “Everything is relevant, Liam. How many times have we gone over this?”

“A lot?” he guesses. He loses track.

“A lot, yes. Answer the question,” Krista says. But there’s a quiet patience to her tone. Liam knows that even if it takes him two hours to answer, she’ll probably sit there and wait.

He sighs, grip tightening on his phone. “I try not to think about it.”

“You need to, Liam, you need to think about it. You need to let yourself feel it.”

“You always tell me to do the exact opposite to what I want to do. You really get a kick out of this,” Liam accuses, eyes narrowed pointlessly.

Krista laughs, abrupt and loud. “I bloody wish I got a kick out of it. You’re too miserable for me to enjoy it, frankly.”

“Wow, thanks. Best shrink ever,” Liam says flatly.

“That’s why I get paid the big bucks, kiddo."

“Yeah, you wish, and you’re only five years older than me, shut up."

Krista laughs again a little briskly, then levels out and says, “Here’s what I know, Liam: you spend the majority of our sessions talking about Louis. You need to figure out what that means. So go, think about it. I mean it, I’ll have none of your ten-foot walls or your fucking barbed wire fences. You need to let this one through. Because you can't move forward until you do. You know you can't.”

“Alright,” Liam agrees after a hesitant pause.

“Alright,” Krista says. “Oh and Liam, how many times since we last spoke?”

Liam clutches instinctively, almost protectively — it's a force of habit — at his arm before he takes a breath and says, “Five.”

“Okay,” Krista says steadily. Liam's sure he can hear a little bit of disappointment seep into her voice, but he might be projecting. He thinks, thankfully, that at least she isn't yelling this time. She takes a breath and says, “Call me if you need me,” before hanging up.

Liam closes his eyes and sighs — his hands are shaking — and emphatically decides to go and buy some fucking milk.

02. and you’re pulling me down, so i can’t breathe

Liam categorically ignores Krista’s advice for almost two days. His next appointment with her is on Wednesday and he’s promised himself to make at least some headway by then. But for now he’s remaining perfectly defiant and holing himself up in his warm and safe four-bedroom house—which he really doesn’t need but is too fond of to actually leave. Or he is, at least, until someone insists on ringing his buzzer five times off the trot. He briefly considers ignoring it, but he knows that it’s Zayn. Zayn gets pretty antsy when he doesn’t hear from Liam in over forty-eight hours. Probably because there was that one time Zayn didn’t hear from him in over forty-eight hours and he found Liam on the bathroom floor covered in his own blood. Liam supposes he shouldn’t really resent him for being over-cautious.

“What?” Liam groans into the receiver.

“Let me in, Liam,” Zayn says, voice crackling but the demand still coming through pretty firm.

Liam leans his head against the wall. “I’m catching up on Hollyoaks. I’m fine, I promise.”

“Bullshit. Your mum called me, so let me in,” Zayn argues, and since Liam is pretty averse to making Zayn angry with him — mostly because Zayn is the only one who actually puts up with him anymore — he reluctantly hits the release button for the gate and lets him in. He lives in a gated house. He’s mildly embarrassed about it but it makes ignoring the world much easier. A physical manifestation of his ten-foot walls and fucking barbed wire fences. Or something.

“Mate, when did you last leave the house?” is the first thing out of Zayn's mouth when he sees him. Liam supposes he must look a bit like he's been dragged through a hedge backwards. He hasn't changed his clothes in days. He shrugs and stands aside to let Zayn through. “Um, two days ago? I ran out of milk so I had to go to the corner shop. It was horrible. My mum called you?”

“She hasn’t heard from you in a week, Liam.”

Liam frowns, confused. “Oh. Hasn't she? I must have lost track of the days. Also, Louis called.”

“Louis called,” Zayn repeats blankly. He blinks after a moment or two, his brain apparently catching up. “Louis called?”

“Yeah, Louis called,” Liam says impatiently.

“Our Louis?”

“Yes. How many Louis’ do we even know?”

Zayn whistles out a breath. “Wow, mate. Like. I mean, he called?”

Liam rolls his eyes. “Yeah, I think we’ve established that now, Zayn.”

Zayn stares at him, wary. Like he's afraid Liam is about to start shattering into small pieces in the middle of the hallway. “Are you alright?” he asks.

“I’ve been better,” Liam says, keeping his voice level.

“You’ve also been worse,” Zayn points out.

Liam frowns. “Funnily, that’s not comforting.”

“Did he—like, what did he say?”

Liam takes a shallow breath. “Mostly I miss you and can I come over?. Stuff like that.”

“Fuck,” Zayn exhales. He pulls gently at Liam's arm and drags him into a tight hug, swallowing him up carefully in his arms. Liam wishes he could stay there forever — hide away in the comforting curve of Zayn’s shoulder — but he thinks he might cry if he does. He’s so tired of crying. So he reluctantly peels Zayn off him like you would a plaster.

“Tea?” he asks a little shakily, and Zayn nods.

Liam busies himself with the making-of-tea. Methodical, ticking off the list as he goes: filling the kettle, flicking it on, picking out mugs, taking the milk (milk! he thinks, triumphantly) out of the fridge. It's a ritual that he holds on to. Sometimes he makes tea even when he doesn't want tea. Making tea generally keeps him that little bit more sane. It might also be why he has such a worrying caffeine problem. Swings and roundabouts.

“What are you gonna do then?” Zayn asks quietly. Careful.

“Uh, make this tea, finish catching up on Hollyoaks. Maybe start on a Doctor Who marathon?” Liam supplies stupidly.

Zayn rolls his eyes and smacks him gently over the head. In his usual sort of fond but despairing why-are-you-even-my-friend? kind of way. “What are you gonna do about Louis?”

"I don't know." Liam breathes out carefully. Listens to the calming bubble of the almost-boiled kettle. Even the sound is comforting. Finally, he says, “God, I don't know. Nothing? He asked me to call him, but I put that away in my To Forget box because I’m pretty sure nothing fucking good will come of it.”

“Liam, I love you to death, mate,” Zayn starts slowly, and Liam patiently waits for the but that is evidently going to follow. “But you’re a fucking coward.” And there it is.

He turns, looking Zayn in the eye. “I’m seriously going to invest in a new best friend.”

Zayn laughs, not unkindly. “Yeah, good luck finding one who’ll put up with your shit.”

“Point,” Liam agrees.

He stretches his arm to pick up the kettle and immediately realises his mistake. His sleeve rides up just that little bit too far and Zayn catches his wrist before he has the chance to jerk it away. Liam really needs to work on his reflexes. He watches and holds his breath steadily while Zayn carefully pulls down the frayed bandage, exposing the angry red gashes underneath. Zayn drops his arm as fast as he'd caught it, his eyebrows knitted in painful disappointment. Liam flinches back a little. He sort of wishes that for once Zayn would just be angry, that he would shout and scream and tell Liam that he’s a failure.

Zayn rubs his hand over his face and says quietly, “I thought you weren’t doing that anymore.”

“I’m not,” argues Liam, subconsciously pulling his sleeve down and resuming the tea-making. Because it’s the only thing he seems to be able to do anymore let alone do well. “Well, I mean, not as much, anyway?”

“Liam.”

Liam lets out breath and pours in the milk, then piles approximately ten spoonfuls worth of sugar into the mug. Maybe it'll help. He takes his time and stirs the tea slowly, hyper-aware that Zayn is waiting for him to elaborate.

“It just… happened,” Liam settles on eventually.

He doesn't meet Zayn's eyes. He’s not sure he can. Instead he plucks a chocolate digestive from the turtle-shaped biscuit barrel. Louis bought it for him for a birthday and after everything took the express train to hell Liam considered getting rid of it. He quickly realised though, that near-enough everything reminded him of Louis, and he wasn’t going be brought down by a fucking biscuit barrel of all things. Honestly, the thought of eating anything at all makes him Liam feel a bit sick. But he hasn't a clue when he last had something to eat and he needs something to focus on other than Zayn's disappointment. So he figures he should probably just eat the fucking biscuit.

“Does your therapist know?” Zayn asks, picking up his mug of tea and following Liam back into the living room with concerned eyes. His eyes are always concerned. Liam can't quite remember what they looked like when they weren't. He feels really, really terrible for him. No one should have to have Liam as their best friend.

“She knows. She moved on to taking the angry approach. Like, testing whether just yelling at me would work, I guess. It didn’t. I dunno, she’s probably running out of ideas. She was perfectly nice when I called her on Sunday though.” Liam shrugs, flicking Hollyoaks back on because it makes him feel relatively better about his own life. Life could always be worse, he could be a McQueen.

“Right,” Zayn says decisively, after a beat. He sets his tea down and yanks the remote from Liam’s hand. “You’re coming out.”

Liam blinks. “What?”

“You’re coming out. You need to get out of this house,” Zayn presses. The determination in his eyes is actually a little terrifying.

“But I just made tea,” Liam protests weakly.

“It’s Live Music Night tonight at that weird bar Niall likes and you’re fucking coming,” Zayn says firmly, resolutely pulling on Liam’s worn Spongebob t-shirt. Which has frankly seen much better days.

“I’m not going anywhere where there are people,” he argues irritably.

Zayn gives him a sceptical look, one that clearly says, "Don’t test me.” So Liam hastily shuts his mouth and allows Zayn to drag him remorselessly upstairs and into the bathroom, where he shrugs quickly out of his grasp and perches himself gingerly on the side of the bath. He watches with resentment as Zayn turns on the shower and bustles about in the cupboard, pulling out a towel — one of the big, white fluffy ones, Liam’s favourites — and throwing it at him.

“Take a shower,” Zayn says, “and change those bandages, they have blood on them, you tramp.”

Liam really, really hates this side of Zayn, a lot. But he wordlessly complies because he probably owes him that. He probably owes Zayn a lot of things, like a life and a functioning best friend. So twenty minutes later when he reluctantly gets out of the shower and Zayn tosses some clothes at him — checked shirt, deep blue jeans, classic Liam — he bites back the complaint and gets the fuck dressed.

Niall hugs Liam for approximately five hours, or thereabouts, when he and Zayn meet him outside of the bar. There are a couple of paparazzi milling about—not nearly as many as there used to be four years ago, but it still sets Liam’s nerves loose and frayed, his mind conjuring up all of the possible headlines for tomorrow’s papers. REUNION: Estranged bandmates heading back in the same direction? He holds tightly onto Niall though, and makes a conscious decision to have a good night in spite of everything. Or try to, at least.

“You have no idea how great it is to see you, mate,” Niall tells him happily, pulling away and grinning.

Liam lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “You too,” he says, and he really, really means it.

Zayn smiles at him like a proud mum and Niall grabs a hold of his hand. He pulls him along into the bar and says, “Come on, Payno, first band’s starting soon.”

It’s a relatively low-key bar and only a couple of people come up and ask for pictures—thank god—or autographs in eyeliner or lipstick. Liam lets his nerves calm a little, frayed edges fusing back together, and puffs out a breath of relief as the lights go down. The first band are called Treetops (the name itself should have probably been a warning, Liam thinks) and they’re hilariously awful. Parading around the stage in tie-dye, with banjos. Zayn and Niall make a point of dancing badly along. Liam smiles fondly at them. He feels weightless for a moment—maybe even okay. When the band finishes, heading off-stage to vigorous cheering and applause—Liam’s quite sure the poor sods don’t realise that the applause is more for how entertainingly terrible they were than anything else, but never mind—Zayn heads to the bar for another round of drinks.

Liam requests another fruit juice, and Zayn rolls his eyes dramatically and protests, “One drink won’t kill you, Liam.”

Liam just waves him off. He didn’t intentionally stop drinking. It was never something he had ever done in excess anyway. But. Well, he’d gotten so used to not doing it in solidarity with Louis when he was getting sober the first time around—they didn't keep any alcohol in the flat—and he’s also fairly certain that mixing alcohol with his current cocktail of meds and his current mental state can only end in disaster, so he just. Doesn’t.

Niall digs Liam gently in the side and asks loudly above the interim music playing before the next band (he thinks Niall called them Final Departures), “How're you holding up?”

Liam shrugs, nursing his empty glass. “Not good?”

Niall drops his head onto Liam’s shoulder. “You’ll get there, mate.”

“Yeah, maybe,” Liam says a little sceptically. “You should try telling my therapist that, mate.”

Niall laughs mid-swigging his beer. “Isn’t she, you know, supposed to tell you that?”

“Probably. Her methods are, like, eccentric or whatever,” Liam says, smiling. “But she makes the best tea, so I’m against firing her.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Niall agrees. Then he pulls Liam into another one of his tight, full-body hugs. Liam’s not entirely sure what prompted this one, but he goes with it anyway and presses his face into the warmth of Niall’s neck. It's nice. Liam likes Niall. Niall's Switzerland. Non-judgy.

“I’ve missed you a lot, lad,” Niall says into Liam’s shoulder. “Don’t drop off the face of the Earth again, alright?”

“Okay,” Liam mumbles.

“Promise? I want to hear you fucking promise, Payno."

Liam nods, lets out an exaggerated sigh. “Yeah, yeah, cross my heart hope to—well, you know what I mean.”

“Good,” Niall says happily, planting a kiss on his cheek and pulling away just as Final Departures take to the stage. He says something about them being really fucking good, mate—maybe—Liam’s not sure he heard him right above the guitars.

They are good, a little bit synth-y and a little bit of something that might be rock, Liam can’t really figure it out. Sometime during the first song Zayn returns, yelling over the noise that, "It's bloody mad at the bar!" and sloshing the drinks a little.

Every so often Liam can feel Zayn casting anxious glances his way. Checking that he still looks relatively sane, probably. Niall manages to coax him into the edge of the crowd for one of the dancier songs and Liam tries to let his inhibitions go for just a little bit, tries to shed them somewhere in the energy of it all.

Liam doesn’t catch the name of the band after Final Departures but they’re some sort of classical-punk fusion and he’s not really too fussed. By the time they’re finished it's almost eleven. Niall disappears through the throng of people for more drinks, giving Zayn a five minute window to interrogate Liam on his mental state and ask things like do you need to go home? and have you remembered to take your meds? Liam tells him he’s completely fine and reminds him kindly that he’s not his fucking mother and he can take care of himself thank you very much. He’s ninety-nine percent sure he hears Zayn distantly retort with a fond, “Sometimes I feel like your bloody mother,” and makes a face.

“Do you think Niall’s being weird with me?” Zayn asks a beat later, voice guarded all of a sudden. It throws Liam for a moment and he frowns, trying to catch Zayn’s eyes and gage, well, something, but his gaze is drifting hazily across to the bar.

“Um,” Liam says, “no, I don’t think so. Why would he be?”

“It’s just—it doesn’t matter. Forget it,” Zayn says, shaking his head as if he's not quite sure why he said anything in the first place. He’s purposely avoiding Liam’s eyes now. Which is altogether confusing because Zayn only ever does that if he’s incredibly sad or incredibly embarrassed,  and Liam’s not sure he's either of those. There’s something—almost anxious in the line of his body.

Liam opens his mouth to possibly attempt some sort of semi-interrogation technique when he’s stopped short by Niall finally returning with the drinks, and anything he might have asked Zayn dissipates in the air. Niall’s looking at him with worried and hesitant eyes, his forehead lined and concerned. Liam can hear alarm bells in the distance, louder with every beat of the music.

“Okay, don’t freak out, mate,” Niall says carefully, which is quite possibly the worst start to any sentence ever, Liam thinks but doesn't say. His stomach drops because he knew this feeling wouldn’t last. “But Lou’s here.”

Zayn takes a step towards him—Liam thinks probably instinctively just in case he does freak out. But he doesn’t. He takes in a breath and squeezes his eyes shut for a second, and well. Okay. It’s okay, it’s not like he has to stay. He can deal with this. “Where?”

“Bar,” Niall tells him, “to the left, with Harry.”

Liam narrows his eyes suspiciously at Zayn. “You planned this.”

“Of course I didn’t,” Zayn says quickly, looking mildly offended. “Come on, Liam, I’m not stupid. Not that stupid anyway.”

Liam concedes with a short nod and then summons up the courage to have a quick glance at the bar. Sure enough, there’s Louis. He's dressed plainly: black jeans and a simple t-shirt, hair somewhere between intentionally messy and just plain messy. Fuck. He looks barely any different to the last time Liam saw him. Properly saw him. Except he’s smiling. Genuinely smiling, Liam thinks, because he spent a lot of time learning to tell the difference. He nods enthusiastically at something Harry’s saying and Liam is abruptly jealous. Which he knows is completely ridiculous, but it burns like acid. Up through his chest and into his throat.

He notes the drink in Louis’ hand and says, “So much for being sober.”

“Liam, don’t." Zayn follows his gaze. “It’ll be juice, same as you.”

“What should I do?” Liam asks. He's quite sure it’s a bit of a moot question, because he doesn’t really think there’s anything he can do. Short of running away. Which, admittedly, he has always been quite good at. But he still feels the need to ask it.

“Pretend you haven’t seen him?” Zayn offers.

“Great,” Liam fires back.

“Look lads, I’m gonna—I said I’d chat for a bit,” Niall says, pointing to the bar. He looks apologetic, expression torn as if he has something to feel guilty about. Liam hates this. It really shouldn’t be this complicated.

So he smiles reassuringly and says, “Alright, see you in a bit.” Niall gives him a grateful look and squeezes his shoulder gently before pushing back through the crowd.

Liam turns to Zayn, carefully avoiding his eyes. “You can go too, you know. This isn’t a war, you don’t have to pick a side.”

Zayn shakes his head. “I picked a side years ago so don’t even try that one. I’m not leaving you alone.” The fuck knows what you’ll do if I leave you is left unspoken but Liam can feel it hanging in the air like lingering smoke. He gets it, he does, but it’s not like he’s planning on finding a bridge and jumping off it.

“You fancy getting some air?” Zayn asks. “I could do with a smoke.”

Liam nods gratefully.

Liam takes a deep inhale of the fresh air and probably a little bit of Zayn’s secondhand-smoke too. He tries his best to slow down his brain, which he estimates is currently working at nothing short of five hundred miles an hour. Creating various colourful and horrible roads that this night could potentially take. Zayn eyes him carefully in silence, allowing him a sort of reprieve, and Liam really appreciates it. His hands are on their way to shaking and his bones feel brittle in his body and he just needs a moment to let it all slow the fuck down.

When Zayn finally does speak, the last thing Liam expects him to say is, “I kissed Niall.”

Liam frowns for something like far too long. “I—wait, you what? When?”

“I kissed Niall,” Zayn says again, sounding a bit overwhelmed. Liam wonders if this is first time he’s said it out loud. “Couples of weeks ago, maybe longer. I can’t really remember.”

“Okay,” Liam says slowly. “Like a drunken kiss or a this-might-actually-mean-something and you have actual feelings kiss?”

Zayn shrugs, closing his eyes briefly. “I don’t know, mate, maybe both? We were pissed but, yeah, there’s actual feelings too. For me anyway.”

“Shit,” Liam says, eyes probably too wide. Because alright, what? Liam feels guilt twisting in his gut, because Zayn looks torn-up, jittery. Liam doesn't know how he managed to miss it. “For how long? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“A while,” says Zayn, shuffling his feet awkwardly. Liam has a feeling that’s all the elaboration he’s going to get on that one. “And because. Because sometimes you get too wrapped up in your own shit to deal with mine too, so.”

Liam flinches at that. He knows it’s true but it still stings to hear it out loud. Fuck, he really is an awful friend. “Sorry.”

Zayn smiles, lighting up another cigarette. “Eh, don’t be, mate. It’s—whatever. It is what it is, yeah? Can we just not talk about it now?”

“Yeah.” Liam forgoes pointing out that Zayn was the one who brought it up. “Alright.”

“Do you want to leave?” Zayn asks carefully. “I know I dragged you here, but I really didn’t know Louis’d be here. We can go.”

“I don’t know,” Liam admits, stretching his neck to look up at the black and blue sky, stars half-covered by dark wisps of cloud. He tries to get lost in the expanse of it for a moment, then manages, “I just don’t really know how to—it’s been a year, you know.”

Zayn takes a drag off his cigarette, puffing out the smoke and saying, “I know. But maybe it’s better this way, it being all—like, unexpected. If you’d had time to prepare you’d have driven yourself crazy, mate.”

“Crazier,” Liam amends, and then breathes out. “Yeah, I suppose.”

Zayn pulls him into a hug then, strokes his hands in circles down Liam’s back. Liam closes his eyes and sinks into it, tries to remember how to breathe properly. Shuddering breaths into broken lungs. He’s not sure how long Zayn keeps a firm hold on him, his fingers twisting up tightly in Liam’s shirt, but he’s also not sure he really minds. Zayn might be the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He’s the one who holds all of the fucking pieces together. All of the pieces that aren’t Louis’, anyway, but—there are a lot that are.

They stand there for a while longer, only parting when they hear the side-door behind them open, spilling music and ale-amber light out into the alleyway. It isn’t until Liam hears Zayn's inhale of a sharp breath that he turns around to see who it is and of course, of fucking course, it’s Louis. Something of a deer-in-the-headlights expression on his face.

It might be hilarious if it wasn’t horrifying.

Zayn drops his hand from Liam’s back and says, “Louis, alright mate?” before hesitantly pulling him into an awkward-angled hug. Louis blinks for a moment. Almost like he wasn't expecting it. But then he hugs Zayn back fierce and close. Liam's fairly sure he can hear Zayn mumbling words into Louis’ ear but he can’t make out what they are—isn’t sure he even wants to—so he stands there uneasily for a moment until Zayn finally lets his hold on Louis go and falls back to Liam’s side.

Louis turns to Liam then, and for one brilliant moment Liam thinks that Louis might just turn around and go back inside and pretend that all of this never happened. But instead he says, “Hi, Liam.” His voice stumbles over Liam’s name a bit, like it can’t quite remember how to say it, and Liam thinks, quite miserably, that his life is very, very unfair.

“Hey,” he offers quietly. Somehow managing to claw the word out of himself like a bullet embedded in skin.

“You didn’t call,” Louis says levelly.

“Yeah, I’m sorry, I just.” Liam takes a breath, lets it out, and finally apologetically says, “I can’t think of a good excuse.”

Zayn glances back and forth between the two of them carefully. Liam can tell that he’s weighing up his options—weighing up whether it’s safe enough to leave him alone with Louis or not. Liam shoots him a very stern look, one he really hopes says don’t you dare leave me. But either it didn’t translate all too well or Zayn actually hates him because immediately he stubs out his cigarette and says, “I’m going to—I’ll get another drink, yeah?” and disappears back inside. Liam watches his back resentfully and thinks traitor.

“Hey,” Louis says again. It’s hesitant and awkward, like they’re strangers, and Liam can hardly believe he used to be in a bloody boy band with him, let alone a relationship.

“I—thought you were sober?” Liam asks, tripping over the words. It’s not really what he meant to start with, but he probably needs to know.

“It’s just orange juice.” Louis holds up the glass to the light billowing from the street-lamp. “You can smell it if you want.”

Liam does want, because the last time he thought Louis was going to get sober he really didn't. But he doesn’t because it’s not really his place anymore and he thinks, a bit stupidly, that he trusts him. Louis might have been a lot of things, but somehow, despite everything, a liar was never one of them.

“It’s alright, I trust you,” he says carefully. Louis almost looks surprised at that. “Look, Louis, I—”

Liam briefly registers after a moment or so that his sentence has gotten lost somewhere in the warmth of Louis’ shoulder. Because quite abruptly, Louis has his arms around him. His hands are in Liam’s hair and he's holding him so close that Liam’s half-sure that might have now physically lost the ability to breathe. But he still finds himself closing his eyes and leaning into it. Because it’s Louis. It’s Louis. And very quickly everything that Liam has been defiantly not thinking about is all very fucking real—and in his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he hears Louis mumble. Only barely.

Liam frowns. He pulls back far enough so he can see Louis’ face but still much too close. “Sorry for what?”

Louis gives him a look then, one of his don't be dense, Liam looks. Liam almost wants to smack him.

“For dealing with everything in the stupidest of really fucking stupid ways,” Louis tells him quietly and not at all Louis-like. He looks small and very, very sad. Liam hates other people being sad, most of the time he feels like he’s sad enough for everyone in the world. The idea of anyone feeling as awful as he does is horrible. He supposes that's half the problem here really. He did this to him.

“I don’t. Louis, I don’t blame you,” Liam gets out somehow, because God. He really, really doesn’t.

Somewhere in his head Liam knows that part of this is Louis’ fault. He remembers the arguments: Louis drunk and angry and cold. But Liam brought this on them both from the start. He pushed Louis away so many times just to pull him back in again. He should have known better than to—

“You probably should blame me, though,” says Louis plainly. “I fucked it up, Liam. I knew what I was getting myself into and I still fucked it up.”

“Are we really doing this now?” Liam asks. He thinks his hands might be shaking. “Because my therapist’s probably in bed and I might need her if we’re doing this now.”

Louis smiles at that, small but fond, and it’s the first time Liam has seen that smile directed at him for—well, an amount of time that he doesn’t particularly care to figure out because it would be entirely awful.

“Do you want me to schedule a time when your therapist’s not possibly in bed?” Louis asks, amused. But Liam knows by the apprehension in his eyes that underneath it all he’s dreadfully serious. “Because, like, I can do that. I’ll absolutely do that if that’s what it’s going to take for you to—”

Liam kisses him then, and he’s pretty sure he didn’t know he was going to do it until he’s actually doing it. Because all of a sudden his mouth is on Louis’ and his hands are reaching up to Louis’ face, sliding into his hair. Then Louis is kissing him back. He slips his tongue past Liam’s lips and digs his fingers into the nape of Liam’s neck, sighing a little. Something that sounds a bit like relief and bit like heartbreak. Somewhere in his head, Liam’s vaguely aware of thinking well, shit.

“Louis,” he mumbles weakly against his lips. Something inside of his chest is fracturing. If his heart could climb out of his ribcage and into Louis’ he is fairly sure that it would. Liam pulls away just so, but it’s as far as he gets because his brain has very possibly shut off and Louis feels warm and so incredibly real under his hands. Christ.

Liam isn’t generally an impulsive person, is the thing. Not even a little bit. He thinks about things probably a bit too much and he can very logically talk himself out of anything given half the chance, so. So he doesn’t know what on Earth he’s doing right now except that it’s about nineteen different kinds of impulsive. The logical part of his brain is telling him that they need to talk about this—they probably need to talk until they run out of breath. But the thing is—and this has always been the thing really—Liam is so in love with Louis that he really, really doesn’t know how to do that without falling spectacularly apart. So he kisses him again because it’s easier, and Louis kisses him back again. Liam suspects it might be easier for him too.

Belatedly though, Liam remembers they’re in an alleyway and that regardless of the indefinite hiatus they are still part of a semi-famous band, and their semi-famous bandmates could probably also walk out at any given moment. Liam doesn't want to have that conversation. He's barely even had a conversation with Louis. Louis pulls back a beat like he’s reading Liam's mind, pressing their foreheads together and just breathing.

“This is a really fucking terrible idea, isn’t it?” Louis says finally.

“Really, really terrible,” Liam agrees quietly, “for so many reasons.”

Louis drops a kiss on his lips then, soft and deliberate. “Is it bad that I can’t remember any of them?”

“Probably?” says Liam, but he’s not really sure he can either. There's something desperate beating through his blood. Somewhere, Liam thinks it’s always been this way with them.

It’s Louis who kisses Liam this time, and it’s more desperate and more frantic and needy than before—fingers pressing into Liam's cheeks, lips yielding. Liam gives it everything he has because he thinks that if he stops, Louis might break in his hands, and he doesn’t quite know what he’d do if that were to happen. He loses track of the time passing—oblivious to everything that’s not Louis’ lips and tongue and hands—and when Louis abruptly pulls away, breathing deeply and resting his head on Liam’s shoulder, Liam makes a sort of broken sound that he really wishes he hadn't.

“I have to go,” Louis says, dragging out the last word regretfully.

Liam frowns, confused. “Why?”

“I’m onstage in about five minutes.” He looks up and twists his face in a way that implies that onstage is the last place he wants to be.

“I didn’t know you were playing tonight,” Liam says blankly. Loosens the vice-grip he had on Louis’ t-shirt.

“No one does, I don’t think. We didn’t until, like, yesterday.” Louis shrugs, arms dropping back down awkwardly to his sides. Liam takes the opportunity to breathe. “Last minute, secret homecoming show or something, I don’t know, we live crazy folk-band lives!” Louis smiles warmly, and Liam can’t help but smile back. Louis' always had that effect on him, smile contagious.

Liam makes a conscious decision to take a step back then. While he still knows how to. He stares hard at the ground as if the cure for depression is etched into the cobblestones. He can feel Louis’ gaze on him still but he’s afraid that if he looks up he might start shattering.

So he nods and says, “You should probably go then.”

Louis nods back. “Wait for me after the gig?”

“Okay, yeah,” Liam breathes, and Louis heads for the door.

“I listened to the album,” Liam says abruptly, before Louis even manages to get the door open. He’s not entirely sure where it even came from. The words hang awkwardly in the air between them.

Louis stops jerkily, hand on the flat of the door. He seems to take in a breath before he says, “I wasn’t sure you would, Harry said you would, but Harry’s really wrong about a lot of things. Don’t tell him I said that.”

“I did. It’s—it’s really good,” Liam settles on. He’s pretty sure telling Louis the part where it’s basically all he listens to anymore is neither sensible nor advisable. And also may come across as vaguely creepy.

Louis half-turns. “Yeah, well. Haz did most of the work.”

“But you wrote all of the lyrics,” Liam points out.

“Most of them,” Louis allows carefully, like he’s wondering where Liam’s going with this. Liam’s not even sure himself. “I guess I’m finally good at something?”

Liam rolls his eyes because they’ve been having this argument for years now. He thinks, a little sadly, that at least some things never change. “You’re good at singing, too.”

Louis shrugs. “I guess.”

“You’re good at being infuriating, too,” Liam snaps fondly.

Louis grins and says, “Yeah, you always loved that,” and then he’s gone, Liam watching helplessly as he disappears through the door.

Liam lets out a shaky breath and leans against the wall for some sort of leverage, trying to make sense of everything in his head. His brain feels numb and fuzzy and he can still taste Louis on his mouth. He takes a minute—or maybe five—to have a semi-panic attack in the darkened alleyway before heading unsteadily back inside.

Zayn eyes him suspiciously when he returns to their corner, exchanging glances with an equally concerned-looking Niall who’s re-joined them with questioning eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Get me a double vodka and coke please,” Liam lets out almost in one breath, and it sounds much more like a demand than he meant it to.

“What happened?” Zayn asks cautiously.

“Nothing,” Liam lies, “just, please?”

Zayn frowns hard but Liam can see the lines of his shoulders loosening in submission. “Okay. Alright, fine.”

“I’ll get it,” Niall says, a hand on his arm. Liam casts him an appreciative look before he disappears to the bar.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Zayn asks bluntly, just as the lights go down to signify Louis and Harry’s horrible, impending arrival. Liam’s not completely sure he wants to be here for this.

He says distractedly, “Not really,” but it probably gets lost somewhere in-between the roar of the crowd and the kick of the first song. Liam doesn’t look at the stage, instead he makes a bit of a face at Zayn.

“You sure you don’t want to go home, mate?” Zayn asks a little worriedly. Liam can see the fret in his eyes, but defiantly, he shakes his head no. No. Maybe he needs to do this. Like a therapy exercise.

Liam recognises the song as one of the few that Harry had written and he tries to calm his nerves and stop his heart from beating its way out of his chest. Breaking apart blood and bone as it goes. He gratefully takes the cold-misted glass of vodka and coke from Niall when he returns a moment later and gulps some of it down.

Triumphantly, he manages to make it through the second and third songs—somehow. Maybe it's Zayn’s hand a comforting weight on his back in some semblance of reassurance the whole time. He thinks I’m alright, and maybe. He's a little bit proud of himself about the whole thing. He's pretty sure this even warrants a Gold Star from Krista when he next sees her. But then the fourth song happens and he breaks hard. It catches Liam off guard and claws through his chest. He knows the song by the first few careful notes, recognises it as one he’s listened to on repeat for probably too long when he’s been feeling particularly dreadful and masochistic. He doesn’t breathe and he definitely doesn’t look at the stage. He squeezes his eyes shut tightly as if he can block it all out through sheer willpower alone, as Louis sings: “Fingerprints on the shards of empty broken bottles, and I’m suffocating on the words you won’t say.” It’s almost like he’s back there. On the floor. He can feel his fingers tightly holding onto the broken shards of a gin bottle, red dripping from the creases in his hands. “Fingerprints on the shards of empty broken bottles, they’re nearly always mine but not today.”

“Zayn,” Liam says as loud as he can muster, grasping at his wrist tightly. “I think I need to leave now.”

Zayn nods. His eyes flit to the stage and then back anxiously to Liam. “Yeah, alright,” he says, and he grabs tightly onto Liam’s hand, locking their fingers together and weaving them through the crowd towards the exit without another word.

Zayn texts Niall an apology for bailing on him and then calls a cab, because apparently it’s less conspicuous than having his driver pick them up. Liam doesn't have the energy to point out that probably no one really cares about them enough anymore to follow their car. They wait in the cold, dense air, not speaking. They don’t speak for most of the cab ride either. Liam quietly loses himself in his head, multi-coloured emotions swirling around and making him dizzy. He’s quite rudely startled out of his imminent breakdown though, when his phone jingles loudly, twice in the dead quiet of the car. The first message is from Niall.

sorry mate, had no clue lou and harry were playing tonight. hope youre okay ? ring me when you feel up to it, love ya xxx

The second is from Louis. Liam’s not entirely surprised.

Shouldn’t have done Fingerprints, it was stupid . I'm really sorry . xxxxx PS Harry said sorry he missed you and told me to put a heart on the end so ! <3

Liam stares at it for a long moment before texting back quickly its ok dont worry and tell harry me tooooooo x and then turning his phone off because he doesn’t want to do this now. His bones are straining with exhaustion and tiny broken shards of the past.

When they finally pull up to Liam’s house, he’s ready to crash, barely awake and maybe a bit hysterical.

“Niall wants to forget the kiss ever happened or something,” Zayn says quickly, shattering the dead silence.

Liam snaps his head up, and Zayn looks small all of a sudden—almost withdrawn into himself—and Liam thinks shit. Because god, how did he not know about this for so long?

“Is that what you want?” he asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

Zayn shrugs, eyes set somewhere out of the window. “Doesn’t really matter, does it?”

“I’m sorry,” Liam offers sadly, leaning over and resting his head on Zayn’s shoulder as a sort of comfort to them both.

“Yeah, well. At least I know where I stand, eh?”

“I don’t,” Liam mumbles into Zayn’s jacket. He really hopes the cab driver isn’t listening too closely. Not that it particularly matters. “I kissed Louis.”

“I figured,” Zayn says, and his arm finds its way around Liam’s shoulders.

Liam buries in closer and sighs. “I’m an idiot.”

“No argument there. Want me to stay over?” Zayn asks.

Liam shakes his head no. “I’ll be fine.”

Zayn nods slowly and presses a kiss to Liam's hair. “Okay, but you better call me tomorrow, Liam Payne, or there will be consequences. Like, scary ones.”

“I will,” Liam says, forcing himself upright and fishing for his wallet with shaking hands.

Zayn grabs a hold of his hands and holds them still. “I’ll cover it, don’t worry.”

Liam half-smiles, grateful, before hugging Zayn tightly and saying, “Thanks, I love you,” and fumbling for the door handle, almost falling out into the street. A regular fucking Bridget Jones.

When he finally gets in the house—after unsuccessfully entering the gate code twice and then dropping his keys in a flowerbed—he falls onto the sofa, pulling the throw over himself. He doesn’t move for the rest of the night.

03. did i ever think to tell you that i am a monster?

“So, do you want to talk about this?” Krista asks carefully. She throws a gossip magazine at him, open on a two page spread of grainy photos of him and Louis outside of the bar. The photos are dark but not dark enough that you can’t tell what they’re doing. Liam's honestly baffled that the paps have nothing better to do, surely someone much more famous was doing something much more interesting.

It catches Liam off guard, lulled into a false sense of security by two hours of useless prattle. Sometimes he wonders what he even talks about to Krista. He’s sure she probably does too because hours inexplicably pass and Liam’s pretty sure they’re no further ahead with, well—anything. He’s been here for almost two hours now and the only concrete thing he remembers discussing is Zayn and Niall and their whatever-it-is that’s going on.

Liam stares at the photos for a moment. The spread even has a LILO TIMELINE which apparently bullet-points all of the “pivotal moments of their relationship”. Liam immediately regrets not cancelling this week’s appointment in favour of burying himself under the covers and never, ever leaving his house again.

He sighs and then slowly looks up. “You read gossip magazines?”

Krista grimaces. “Well, I’m only human. But we’re not here to discuss my reading habits, honey.”

“I was going to tell you?” Liam offers.

Krista shakes her head sternly. “No, you weren’t.”

“No,” Liam agrees solemnly. “But only because I’ve decided it was a mistake, so it didn’t really seem, um, noteworthy?”

“Your logic never fails to astound me, truly,” Krista says flatly.

“I’m such an idiot,” Liam says sadly, covering his face with his hands.

Krista rolls her eyes and sighs sympathetically. “Okay, I’m going to give you an assignment. Imagine it as something of a challenge.”

Liam frowns sceptically. “Why do I get the feeling I’m going to hate this?”

“Because you’re Liam and you hate everything,” Krista says. “Just listen. I want you to talk to Louis, because until you do, I can’t help you. I don’t care how you do it, write a letter, create a fucking powerpoint presentation, I don’t know.”

“How did you ever get qualified?” Liam asks curiously.

Krista shrugs. “Probably my stunning good looks. Look, even if you just yell at him for an hour and it’s ugly and terrible, it’s necessary. We’ve discussed changing your meds, we’ve changed your meds, we’ve discussed every form of therapy under the sun, but ultimately Liam, how you’re feeling right now: it’s not the meds or the chemicals in your brain, it’s Louis on top of all that. It’s everything that you never said. So say it.”

“If I pass the assignment do I get a sticker?” Liam asks monotonously.

“Yes, and I’ll make sure it’s shiny,” Krista says seriously, standing up. “Now go, your hour was up an hour ago.”

When Liam gets back from his appointment with Krista approximately much later than planned—he often wonders whether Krista actually has any other patients—Louis is sitting outside of his house, cross-legged on the short stretch of grass on the off-property side of the gate. Liam probably should have seen this coming, but he really didn’t. So he sits dumbfounded for a moment and stares down at Louis out of his car window.

Well, there go his plans of finishing Series 1 of Doctor Who.

Louis looks up at him warily. Like he’s forgotten all of the good and logical—or at least good and logical in his head, probably—reasons he’s there.

“How long have you been here?” Liam asks eventually, window wound down half-way and the cold biting at his cheeks.

Louis glances at his watch and shrugs nervously. “Like an hour, maybe? I buzzed the buzzer a lot and then I did think about climbing over the gate, but was worried it might be electrically charged or something because that’s probably something you'd do. So, like, I didn’t. Then I realised your car wasn’t there and figured you weren’t in so, I waited. Here.”

Liam’s about to tell Louis that he didn’t actually need a step-by-step walk-through of the past hour, thanks. But then Louis says, “We should probably talk, yeah? Can I come in?” and he loses his trail of thought.

“Um. Get in the car,” Liam says after a brief pause. It comes out more like a question but he leans over and opens the passenger door with unsteady hands. Louis briefly considers him for a while and then jumps up and hesitantly slides into the front passenger seat as Liam punches in the gate code.

Liam drives the car up to the house slowly, pulling up by the garage and bringing it to a steady stop. He shuts off the engine but doesn’t move, hands still firmly on the wheel and knuckles whitening. Eyes blurring ahead out the window. He can feel Louis staring.

“We can talk in the car? If that’s better?” Louis offers carefully.

Liam shakes his head resolutely. “You can come in. It's cold.”

“Alright, are you sure? Because I’m fine with the car, really,” Louis says, drumming his fingers on the inside of the car door, and Liam’s really not sure at all. “Not like talking requires a house, is it? So here’s completely fine—”

Liam closes his eyes briefly. “Louis, shut up.”

Louis doesn’t shut up and Liam’s starting to panic a little bit as Louis blabbers on, “Or we could drive somewhere else? Like, is there a Starbuck’s nearby, I swear I passed one? Or—”

“Louis, please shut up,” Liam cuts in again. He means to open the door and get out of the car, he really does. But somehow he’s twisting his body and leaning across to the passenger seat. He briefly registers the look of surprise on Louis’ face before he presses their lips together.

Louis makes a muffled sound against Liam’s lips before breathing into it and opening his mouth to let Liam in, twisting his fingers into Liam’s shirt and pulling. It’s aching and desperate. Liam doesn’t know how to do this. But he doesn’t know how to not do it either. Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks about Krista’s assignment and how brilliantly he is failing at it already, trading kisses in the way of conversation. But the thought shuts off fairly quickly when Louis starts mouthing softly along his jaw and kissing a path down his neck and—

“This—isn’t talking,” Louis says suddenly, his voice vibrating against Liam’s neck. He presses his face to Liam’s chest and breathes.

“No,” Liam agrees, huffing out something that sounds a bit like a laugh and a lot like despair. He’s not entirely sure which he was going for, if he’s honest. He quietly untangles himself from Louis and gracelessly falls back to his seat. “Shit. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“We’re kind of rubbish at this,” Louis cuts in matter-of-factly.

“Yeah.” Liam almost laughs, and then, “You can come in?” he tries again. Louis glances at him, bemused, like he’s not really sure what coming in involves. “I mean, I could make tea and we could try to… not be rubbish?”

Louis nods slowly. “Okay, yeah.”

Liam only remembers when Louis is walking through the door and slowly closing it behind him that his house looks like it’s been turned over by wild animals. He doesn’t actually think Louis will mind all that much. But he uses it as an opportunity for reprieve. Mutters a, “Wait there,” and leaves Louis standing awkwardly in the hall.

He makes it to the middle of the living room and just. Stops. He considers texting Zayn an S.O.S. but thinks better of it. He can do this by himself. Zayn would only tell him to pull himself together and sort his shit out because Zayn’s actually a bit of a bastard sometimes. So instead he counts to ten and then half-arsedly stacks up the rogue DVDs scattered across the floor into a haphazard pile, throws the mishmash of cushions and blankets that somehow ended up on the floor back onto the sofa, and gathers up the innumerable mugs and plates and takeaway boxes and a variety of other shit from the living room and dumps it on the kitchen table. He vaguely notes that he should probably actually sort his life out and clean his house so it looks less like he’s squatting in it rather than living in it.

He flicks the kettle on nervously before pacing back through to the living room and sticking his head out into the hall. “Okay, you’re good.”

“Pretty sure it couldn’t have been as bad as our tour bus used to be,” Louis says, gingerly walking through into the room.

“I, uh—” Liam stutters, motioning for Louis to follow him into the kitchen, “you’d be surprised, actually.”

He takes a deep breath and focuses every ounce of his attention on finding clean mugs—which turns out to be a bit of a struggle—Louis’ presence a blur behind him until he reaches his arm past Liam’s head and pulls an old mug out of the far back of the cupboard.

“You kept my mug,” he says triumphantly, brandishing the mug fondly. It’s a stupid, lame personalised one that Louis spontaneously bought off eBay because he thought it was hilarious. It’s fan-made and terrible, a picture of the two of them on one side and their names in a badly drawn pink heart on the other. Liam hadn’t been able to bring himself to throw it away.

“Well, you know,” Liam says, taking it back off him and setting it down to throw in a teabag and some hot water. “A lot of time and effort clearly went into making it. Can you get me the milk?”

“Shut up, you hated it. Yeah, hang on.”

Liam waits quietly, letting the teabags steep. He pushes his fingers against his eyelids to try and make his brain co-operate. When Louis still hasn’t passed him the bloody milk at least a minute later, he turns around to find him standing by the fridge. Fingers ghosting over the photos Liam had almost forgotten were there.

“Oh, I—”

“That’s our first Christmas together,” Louis says. Like he thinks Liam might have forgot. His fingers trail softly, almost reverently, over the photo: Louis sitting by the terribly-decorated Christmas tree, eyes bright in the tree lights as Liam hands him a present.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees carefully, watching Louis’ fingers as they drift past it to one of the five of them in Times Square before their very first Madison Square Garden show. Full of bright, naive smiles and enthusiasm. Liam closes his eyes, because he knows which one he’ll get to next. It’s a photo of the two of them on stage at the show, pressed together, Louis' hands tangled up in his hair. Louis’ lips on his. Liam isn’t usually the type to put kissing pictures on display, or to even have them in the first place, why do people even do that? But this one—

“Madison Square Garden,” Louis says quietly. “This is—”

Liam nods. “When you kissed me in front of the whole bastard arena, yeah.”

Louis huffs out a laugh. “It just happened, alright.”

“Yeah, explaining to Simon how it just happened was really fun,” Liam says, twisting his face at the memory.

Louis laughs, almost like he used to. His eyes crinkle at the sides and Liam wants to trail his fingers over the creases. “Remember he sat us down in his office and gave us a Ten Ways In Which This Could Ruin Your Career speech. Then asked us how serious we were?”

“I’d rather not, it was horrifying,” Liam deadpans.

Louis makes a ridiculous face and Liam smiles a little despite himself. He remembers how good it had felt then, being part of One Direction. Being part of Liam and Louis when they hadn’t fucked each other up so bloody irreversibly. Liam keeps his eyes trained on Louis' back as he reaches the photograph in the corner, edges frayed. Liam and Louis on the sofa, lyric sheets in hand but eyes on nothing but each other. Louis stares at it for a moment, breath catching, before looking up at Liam.

“I don’t… remember that being taken,” he says finally.

“Yeah, me neither.” Liam shrugs. He looks at it, at those fucking hearts in their eyes, and realises that Louis still looks at him like that. Is still looking at him like that.

“Fuck this,” Louis says, stepping away from the fridge, milk forgotten. Liam barely has a moment to figure out what Louis even means before he’s crowding him up against the kitchen counter and kissing him. He coaxes Liam’s mouth open until he catches up and kisses him back properly, hands clinging too-tight to the fabric of Louis’ t-shirt.

Liam doesn’t really have time to process the actuality of it all. Louis moves a bit too fast, as if afraid they might run out of time. Or maybe he's just horribly aware that they might. That Liam could hit the brakes on this at any given moment and do what he does best. Run. Except he doesn’t think he’s going to.

Louis pushes him back against the counter, pinning Liam against it with his entire body, the edge of it digging into Liam's back. Liam makes a sort of fragmented, wanting sound that Louis swallows, lips tugging on Liam’s bottom lip a bit and it’s—Liam’s head feels fuzzy and wired and he wants everything and nothing all at once. He wraps a hand around the back of Louis’ neck, fingertips pulling at his hair, and he lets Louis take and take and take until their lips are bruised and they’re both fucking breathless. Liam’s hips jerk against Louis’ almost of their own accord and Louis groans, pressing his forehead to Liam’s and breathing out, “Fuck, Liam,” shaky and quiet into the thick air between them.

Liam feels every part of him react. He thinks that he probably needs to slow this down, because everything’s hazy and out of focus and he’s not sure how they even got here. But he must only voice the thought in his head and get no further, because Louis drags his lips across Liam’s jaw and trails wet kisses down his neck, one hand under his shirt and spread out over his ribs. Liam shivers at the contact.

Louis’ other hand fumbles a bit hopelessly with the zip of Liam’s hoody, and Liam only notices then just how much Louis is shaking, and—okay. Alright. He closes his eyes, tightly holding onto the edge of the counter as Louis, finally, finally masters the fucking zip, sliding the hoody off Liam’s shoulders, and then—stops.

Liam squeezes his eyes tight shut. He feels Louis' hands freeze against him, hears his sharp inhale of breath, and he thinks that he really should have thought this one through.

Louis doesn’t immediately grab at his arm, doesn’t pull down the bandages, not like Zayn. He probably realises that he doesn’t have that right anymore. But Liam can see his eyes wavering over it, expression twisted and pained.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Louis asks, a little breathless.

“I don’t know. I couldn’t figure out how to work by the way, I’m still cutting myself every now and again into the conversation?” Liam tries awkwardly.

“You told me you were doing okay,” Louis says quietly. His voice is strained, a bit like he's trying not to cry or just—scream. Or both. Liam's hoping for neither because he can't do this again.

Liam shrugs. “I lied.”

Louis gently tugs at his arm, hand trailing down softly and carefully loosening the bandage. He keeps his eyes on Liam’s, as if asking for his permission.

“Louis,” Liam breathes, an attempt at a warning. But it’s weak and it comes out a lot like he doesn't mean it. He's not sure he does. Louis continues, touch unbearably gentle, unravelling and pulling off the bandages completely. He presses his fingers to Liam’s arm, and Liam flinches. It doesn’t hurt. Just. Aches. In his arm and his chest. His lungs shudder with it.

“This has to stop, Li,” Louis tells him, whispers almost, his face just this side of too-close to Liam’s. His breath is fraught between them.

Liam feels something in him snap then, and quite abruptly his hands are pushing hard at Louis’ chest. His feet clumsily shuffle to the side, almost of their own accord, to put some distance between them. “You don’t get to tell me that," he says bitterly. "You've got no right. What I do to myself isn’t even your concern anymore.”

“I care about you,” Louis says helplessly. God. Liam really doesn’t want to do this now.

“Yeah.” He almost laughs. “Just never enough.”

Something flashes in Louis eyes. “What?”

“You care so bloody much about me, that you had to almost drink yourself to death to deal with me,” Liam snaps derisively. Alright, apparently he’s doing this now.

Louis stares back at him as if Liam has just slapped him hard across the face, or accused him of murder, or. Something. “That’s not fair.”

“No, not fair was having to live with the fact that you loved alcohol more than our band,” Liam spits out, digging his fingernails into his hands against the pain, “and more than me.”

Louis visibly recoils at that, and Liam instantly wants to pull the words back into his throat and bury them somewhere deep down, caged in his bones so he doesn’t have to see the anguish twisting at Louis’ face.

“Okay,” Louis says eventually. “I probably deserved that.”

Liam shakes his head, because it’s not even close to enough. “That’s it?”

“Do you want an excuse?” Louis asks, a bit too calm. “Because I don’t have one, Liam. Except, like, maybe that I didn’t know how to love you. I tried, alright. I tried, even though it made no difference. It didn’t matter how much I loved you, Li. You’d still tell me that you hated me or that I deserved better. I’d still find new scars every day, you still wanted to die. Do you get how scary that is? It's terrifying, alright. Maybe I should have left. Harry told me to so many times that we weren't good for each other anymore, but like, I knew that’s what you wanted. You wanted me to prove you right. You wanted me to walk away. So I stayed. You were so determined to make me hate you but I couldn’t, Liam. Sometimes I wanted to, I really did. But mostly I hated myself for not being enough, so I started drinking more and I know it was really, really stupid and it wasn’t the fucking answer. I made a mistake. But by the time I realised that, I—”

Louis stops dead and takes a breath, eyes a little wide, like he's only just realised what he's said. Liam can't breathe. Eventually Louis says quietly, softening slightly, “I fucked up, alright. I did. But I didn’t leave you, Liam, you left me.”

Liam stares at him. His hands are visibly shaking. He knows there are some truths there. Knows that he was the one who pushed, not Louis. Never Louis. It wasn’t that Liam didn’t love him, because he really, really did, God knows he did. It was that Liam didn’t really know how to love Louis either. He didn't know how to be with someone and be depressed all at once. It was exhausting, like trying to live as two different Liams all at once. Because what if Louis got tired of him being sad? What if he pushed Liam away because he didn’t know what else to do? What if one day he’d just had enough of Liam’s bullshit and left him? Liam wouldn’t have blamed him and maybe he didn’t give Louis enough credit but he just didn’t want that, he didn’t want Louis to end up hating him. Didn’t want to destroy the band. Just. Didn’t want.

So Liam pushed him away. Or he tried to, anyway. But he just couldn’t completely let go. He pushed him and pulled him back again, over and over and over and over, and Louis let him. Louis would always come back if Liam called. Then, eventually, Liam stopped calling. It’s a terrible sort of irony, Liam thinks bitterly, that he spent so long waiting for Louis to have had enough and leave, only to end up being the one doing the leaving in the end.

“Fuck,” Liam says. He picks up a glass from the drainer and throws it to the floor just to watch it smash on the bright-red tiles.

Louis stares at him, determined expression unwavering. He doesn't even flinch and it makes Liam irrationally angry. “It’s going to take more than a broken glass to make me leave.”

“I know,” Liam breathes. He picks up another glass and shatters it against a wall.

“Stop it,” Louis says, his voice sounding small and faraway.

Liam picks up a plate this time. Smashes it loudly against the tiles. He watches the broken white pieces skim across the floor and feels nothing but apathy. A small pang of regret somewhere, too, because he actually quite liked that plate. He grabs at another glass and he knows that he wants to stop, that somewhere, some part of him knows that this is just his defence mechanism's stupid last-ditch attempt at protecting him. But he can’t feel it now. He does, though, feel Louis’ hands clasp around his wrists, fingers pressing down softly over his pulse.

“Stop it,” Louis says again, louder this time. Liam can hear the concern in his voice now. “Stop doing this.”

Liam closes his eyes. “Doing what?”

Louis carefully lets go of his wrists and says, “Pushing me away. Because I don’t know if you noticed, but I’m a really stubborn twat, Liam. I’m not leaving you like this.”

“Alright,” Liam says. He sets the glass down pointedly on the counter. “Then I will.”

Louis frowns. “What? To where?”

“I don’t know, Lou, somewhere that’s not here.” Liam bends down, picking up his hoody from the kitchen floor and pulling it back on. He paces through to the living room, feet banging hard against the laminate. He can feel Louis on his tail.

“This is your house,” Louis points out helplessly, as if it’s a reason. Liam shrugs and grabs his car keys from the bowl on the coffee table.

“You can let yourself out,” he tells Louis levelly. “Just don’t be here when I get back.”

“Liam.”

Liam is careful not to look at Louis when he shoves past, just pushes down the door handle and says, “Please don’t follow me. The door auto-locks. Make sure you shut the gate, yeah?”

Liam wakes up across the backseat of his car, freezing at the edges and with a painful crick in his neck and his back and maybe his arm, too. He thinks this might be a new low. Excellent, it's been a while since he out-lowed himself. Blearily, he clambers across and into the front seat and allows himself a moment to rest his forehead ruefully against the steering wheel and feel incredibly sorry for himself. It’s not until he shakes himself awake properly to switch on the engine and Louis and Harry’s album starts blasting at an unnecessarily loud volume that he remembers why he’s here. Then realises that he has no bloody clue where here is.

So he does the only thing he knows how to do. He uses his last two-percent of phone battery to call Zayn.

“Are you alright?” Zayn answers after two rings, voice worried and sleep-heavy.

Liam sighs, winding down his window and breathing in the frost-bitten air. “Yeah, no. I just. I’m fine.”

“Seriously? I was sleeping. Liam, mate, it’s five in the morning,” Zayn groans, snappy.

"I know, I'm really sorry," says Liam. He takes a breath and rushes out before he loses his nerve, “I think I nearly slept with Louis.”

There’s a pause and a rustling — Liam thinks Zayn must be getting up — and eventually he responds carefully, “Almost meaning you didn’t, though?”

“Well, yeah, but I could have,” Liam presses, because he’s not exactly sure Zayn really understands the magnitude of the entire horrible debacle. “Except I really, really bollocksed up and then I left. I left my own fucking house, Zayn. And now I don’t really know where I am?”

“Fuck me, Liam, your life is ridiculous.”

“I know,” Liam agrees sadly.

Zayn exhales slowly. “Well, uh, vaguely where’re you at?”

“I don’t really know? I'm using the last of my battery to call you,” Liam says, glancing out at the unfamiliar surroundings. “I just sort of drove, then I think I fell asleep. While parked. Not while driving. Obviously. Or I might be dead.”

“Okay, alright. I’m making tea and then I’m coming to find you,” Zayn interrupts, a despairing sort of edge to his voice. “Can you find a street sign? Name of a building. Anything?”

Liam looks over to luminous-bright oranges. “Um, there’s a big Sainsbury’s down the road? I think I drove east, if that helps.”

“Alright, hang on,” Zayn says. Liam can hear a voice in the background — tones soft and familiar — but he can’t make out the words. There’s a clattering sort of sound, probably of mugs, and the distinct sound of a kettle boiling, and fuck, Liam could really use a cuppa right now. He briefly wonders whether the Sainsbury’s has a twenty-four hour garage that will take pity on him.

More quiet murmuring and Liam asks, “Who’s with you?”

“Uh—”

“Hi, Liam,” a voice Liam definitely recognises rings in the background, cutting Zayn off.

“Is that Niall?” Liam asks incredulously.

“Yeah, um, we’ll talk about it later,” Zayn mumbles, and Liam is sure he can hear him blushing. “When you’re less lost.”

“Oh god, I'm so sorry,” Liam says quickly with wide eyes. “I didn’t interrupt anything did I?”

“The only thing you interrupted was sleeping. Don’t worry, mate.” Zayn laughs a little. It's a wonderful sound. Liam lets out a grateful breath. Well, thank god for small mercies.

“Okay, I’ve got Nialler google-mapping Sainsbury’s east of yours. We’ll find you. Somehow.”

“Thanks. I’m really sorry,” Liam says again miserably.

“Shut up,” Zayn says. “You know you could have ended up in bastard France and I’d still come get you.”

Liam smiles, eyes a little wet. “You’re my favourite.”

When Zayn and Niall finally arrive, dawn is starting to break. Tiny beams of orange and pink light are poking out of the clouds, and Liam kind of wants to stay there — somewhere calm and unfamiliar where he doesn't have to be anyone at all — and watch the warm tones flood the sky. But Zayn’s slamming his car-door a little too loud and looks on the verge of Very Pissy, so Liam quickly quashes that thought.

“It took us three Sainsbury’s before this one to find you, so I hope you bloody appreciate it,” Zayn tells him, leaning down and peering at Liam tiredly through his open window.

“Sorry,” Liam says. Again. “I do.”

Zayn sighs. “You’re hopeless. Get in the other side, I’m driving us back. Niall’s driving my car.”

Liam does as he’s told, climbing across to the passenger seat and fastening himself in while Zayn pulls the door open, sliding in and banging it shut. Liam startles a little.

“You’re cross,” Liam says, and it’s not a question.

Zayn closes his eyes for a moment. “I’m not. Just. You make it so hard sometimes, Liam.”

“I know.”

Zayn turns on the engine and Liam belatedly realises that he never changed the CD over, Louis’ voice filling up the car and bouncing off the doors, raw and real and tearing at the pieces. Zayn eyes him up, frowning judgmentally.

“Exhibit A,” he says. He pushes the eject button, taking out the CD and almost throwing it at Liam's face.

“Yeah, alright,” Liam says defeatedly, “you’ve made your point.”

“I really don’t think I have,” Zayn comments after a pause, pulling onto the road.

Zayn carefully pulls the car onto Liam’s drive and shuts off the engine. It had been an hour-long drive. A dreadfully awkward hour-long drive, stilted silence broken only by the rain lashing down on the car and the wipers swashing back and forth in a half-hearted attempt to clear it away. It was awkward in a way nothing ever is with Zayn. Liam feels frayed and anxious, like thread unravelling.

Liam waits, because Zayn’s giving absolutely no indication of getting out of the car, which probably—usually—means he wants to talk. Or maybe yell a bit. Liam’s just not sure what about.

“Do you want to talk about Niall?” Liam asks, carefully reminding himself that Zayn has plenty of his own problems and he should probably stop being a dick and ask him about them every so often. Like a good friend is supposed to.

Zayn leans his hands on the steering wheel and stares blankly out of the front window at the red-brick of Liam’s house. “I think I might be in love with him?”

And that’s… not what Liam expected. “Oh. Shit.”

“Yeah. Right?”

Liam sighs in the calm-quiet of the car. He reaches out and holds onto Zayn's jacket sleeve. “Have you told him this?”

“Well, sorta invited him 'round mine tonight to talk and stuff, but. We ended up not doing much talking so. I don’t know, mate.” Zayn huffs out a frustrated sound. He presses his head forward against the steering wheel and the car horn goes off, shrill and dreadfully loud. Liam laughs, hysteria bubbling out into giggles. After a beat, Zayn joins in and then they’re both laughing, hard and desperate.

Eventually Liam catches his breath, managing to quell the laughter and blink away the tears. “So, you probably should tell him,” he says gently.

“I dunno, Li. I don’t think it’s mutual, so,” Zayn says, quiet. “Can we go inside? Because I’m freezing my balls off.”

“You do realise Niall’s still in your car behind us, yeah?” Liam asks, because Zayn and his existential crisis should probably be aware.

Zayn laughs dryly. “Oh god, fuck.”

“Just give him your house keys and tell him to take the car back to yours, it’s alright. You can stay here. Like, if you need to.” Liam already knows Zayn will stay. He would stay if he didn't need to sort his head out, too. He worries about Liam far too much than he should. Liam wishes he wouldn't sometimes. He's tired of dragging everyone down with him.

“Okay.” Zayn nods and Liam pushes open the car door, stepping onto the gravel.

He edges over to Zayn’s car a bit sluggishly, eyes downcast as Niall stands out and patiently leans against the open door. Liam gives him what he hopes is a decent apologetic look and Niall pulls him into a tight hug without hesitation. He presses his face into Liam’s shoulder and mumbles something that sounds a lot like, “You idiot.”

“I'm really sorry,” Liam says into his hair, “and thanks for, you know, making a daring mission to lots of Sainsbury’s to rescue me.”

Niall laughs, breath warm against him. “Anytime, mate, yeah? Preferably never again though.”

Liam nods and releases his tight hold on him. He lets his hand fall to Niall's wrist and stops, holding it there for a moment in the circle of his fingers. "Look, Zayn won’t say anything and I know I probably shouldn't either. I'm sorry. But I'm gonna try doing something for someone else for a fucking change. Zayn’s sort of not alright and he wants to talk to you. So when he gets home tomorrow, can you just. Maybe talk?”

Niall’s expression flickers momentarily, not long enough for Liam to figure it out, but Niall nods all the same and says, “I will,” and then: “You should call Louis. He left Zayn a bunch of hysterical messages and I’ve text him to let him know we found you. But, you know what he’s fucking like. He'll be in a panic.”

“Yeah,” Liam manages, because he doesn’t particularly feel like agreeing to anything too extreme right now. But he feels that’s maybe a vague enough response that it could be an agreement. “I’ll send Zayn back to you later, promise.”

Niall smiles. “You fucking better.”

Liam takes the easy opportunity to pull Niall into another hug and whisper another apology before he shuffles up to the house. He raises his eyebrows in a way he hopes is encouraging at Zayn as he goes. Zayn nods and drags his feet past.

Liam watches carefully. Zayn hands Niall over the keys and they exchange careful touches and murmured words that Liam can't quite make out. Niall nods with soft and understanding eyes. He leans over with a smile and kisses Zayn slowly, soft. His hands curving gently around Zayn’s waist and settling on his back. Liam averts his eyes to the ground and feels a little bit like an intruder in his own garden. But he doesn't mind.

He waits until Niall’s safely in Zayn’s car and driving out of the gates to say, “That looked quite mutual to me.”

“Shut up,” Zayn berates softly. “Open the door and put the bloody kettle on.”

Liam smiles and opens the door.

By the time they’ve made and drank (three cups of) tea, it’s just shy of ten am and everything is slowly starting to hit Liam in twisting, painful little bursts. Zayn spends at least ten minutes glancing at him with worried eyes before he drags him upstairs by his sleeve and puts him to bed.

Liam sighs, deep and tired, sinking into the pillows, and says, “Stay?”

Zayn nods and presses himself down beside him. He pulls Liam close and buries them both under the shelter of the covers.

“Stop thinking,” Zayn tells him. “Just sleep, yeah?”

“I’ll try,” Liam breathes. He pushes his head against the warmth of Zayn’s chest, the rise and fall of Zayn’s steady breath keeping him calm and grounded. It feels safe and warm in a way that reminds him a little of how it felt when the five of them would pile up together on the sofa at the infamous bungalow.

Sometimes he thinks about the bungalow. He tries his best not to most of the time because it brings to the surface a cold nostalgia that he often can’t shake for days. But sometimes he thinks about Louis trying to make them all breakfast and almost setting the kitchen alight. He thinks about singing without a care in the world around a badly constructed fire, Niall strumming on his guitar. He thinks about crowding around the television with a crate of beer and marathoning inane American sitcoms and America’s Next Top Model (not that they would ever admit to that. What happens in the bungalow stays in the bungalow and all that). He thinks about sitting with Zayn and Louis in the garden in the dead of night, watching the smoke curl against the pitch-dark sky and talking about just how far they’d come.

He falls asleep thinking about Louis. About the nights they spent there tangled up together in the sheets, the chaos of their crazy-ridiculous lives a million miles away.

04. if love is surrender, then whose war is it anyway?

The difference between Liam and Louis (or one of the differences, because Liam suspects there are probably a lot really), is that Liam is just plain, old-fashioned depressed. It's all to do with the chemicals in his brain. Or something like that, he never really understood any of it. He just knows that he’s been like this for a dreadfully long time. Before One Direction. Though he handled it much better back then. The part of his depression that involves Louis: that part came much later. But Louis—Louis is depressed because of Liam. Liam never quite lets himself forget that.

In hindsight, Liam should have never let it happen. But the trouble was that by the time Liam realised he was in love with Louis, he had already been in love with him for a little bit too long. Too long to turn back anyway. He knew it was going to be a problem the first time Louis kissed him. The two of them were pressed together in Liam’s bunk after the opening show of their very first actual own U.S. tour. High off the energy and giggling stupidly against each other. Liam remembers being acutely aware of all the places their bodies were touching. How small the space between their lips was. Then Louis pressed his mouth to Liam’s. He kissed him like it was a question, and Liam answered it by digging his nails into Louis’ arms and slipping his tongue between Louis’ lips. By then Liam was already gone, and at some point he belatedly thought well, fuck.

When Louis and Eleanor broke up mid-way through the tour, Liam shouldn’t have been surprised but he was. Louis gave the same answer to every interviewer asking the same question ("Why?"), citing that they were going in different directions (ha ha) or that the distance had made it too hard or that he wanted to focus on the band. When Liam cornered him and asked him why — really why — Louis rolled his eyes and looked at him pointedly and said, “You know why.” He left Liam standing alone in the tour bus kitchenette, the weight of the situation suddenly laying heavy on his shoulders.

One month later he broke up with Danielle. When Louis looked at him with a thousand desperate and hopeful questions in his eyes, Liam answered the only one that really mattered. “I’m probably a little bit in love with you.”

Louis kissed him then and that was that.

It worked for a while. Liam felt himself come alive every time One Direction stepped on stage. Every time they recorded a song, or filmed a music video. Every time Louis kissed him: sometimes slow and sweet like they had all of the time in the world when really they had far too little to spare, and sometimes hot and frantic, pinning Liam down on a hotel bed or one of their bunks. Bruising kisses that Liam could still feel hours later. Sometimes it was some of both. But Louis always kissed him like Liam was everything.

For a while it felt safe, even when Liam was at his worst. Louis would hold him and mumble words against his skin, I’m here or I love you, or sing Disney songs in exaggerated, stupid voices until Liam smiled.

But eventually the pressure and exhaustion hit them all, the five of them steadily getting more snappy and confrontational from too-much-touring and interviews almost every day and barely remembering what home even looked like anymore. Liam began to feel less alive and more like he was suffocating, and he pushed and kept pushing until there was nothing fucking left. Sometimes he doesn’t blame Louis for drinking. Thinks that if the situation were reversed and Liam had found Louis pressing a razorblade to his skin a few too many times, he might have done the same. But sometimes he hates Louis. He hates Louis for giving up on him even though Liam gave him every reason to.

In the end they both paid for it.

Liam sleeps for eight hours straight and doesn’t particularly feel any better for it. When he wakes up it’s to the harsh glare of the setting sun seeping in lines through the slats of the wooden blinds, and there's an empty space beside him where Zayn had been. Grudgingly, he pulls himself out of bed and shuffles downstairs into the kitchen. He finds Zayn sitting at the breakfast bar, typing a bit miserably into his phone. There are two mugs of tea sitting on the counter in front of him and Liam eyes them hopefully.

“I made you one,” Zayn says, not looking up. “I was gonna wake you if you didn’t get up soon.”

Liam stumbles across the kitchen and falls into the stool next to Zayn, mumbling his thanks. He cups the mug in his hands, the warmth comforting. Spreading up through his fingers.

“I charged your phone. But it’s been going off all fucking day, so I turned it off,” Zayn says after a pause, sliding Liam’s phone across to him. “Think you had about ten missed calls from Louis, and a few texts and voicemails.”

Liam lets out a distressed sort of noise and lets his head fall dramatically against the counter. Then he blindly switches his phone on and waits for the apocalypse to start. When it’s on, he dials the voicemail number, puts it on loudspeaker and sets it back down, because he’s fairly sure he doesn’t want to do this alone. He doesn’t really want to do it at all, but he can almost see Zayn’s disapproving glare if he chickens out of this. The voicemail lady with the grating voice mockingly informs him he has four messages and Zayn presses their shoulders comfortingly together.

Message 1, sent Thursday 24th of November at eight thirty-seven am.

Liam, it’s me. Um Louis. It’s Louis. Tomlinson. Pause, and then: I’m so bad at this oh my god. Niall let me know you’re home and. Look, just, please call me, or text, just a text if you want. Just let me know you’re okay, yeah? Well, not okay, that’s a stupid word. But yeah. Please.

Message 2, sent Thursday 24th of November at nine seventeen am.

It’s Louis. Again. Shit, Li, please call me back. You don’t have to speak to me ever again after, I just. Pause, then ten seconds later: We really need to talk, yeah? Like, properly. Okay.

Message 3, sent Thursday 24th of November at ten forty-two am.

Alright, look. I’m really not above one-sided conversations with your voicemail, Liam, if you won’t talk, like, I still will. I have things to—I need to say things. Important things. Please fucking call me back. Um, it’s Louis again by the way.

Message 4, sent Thursday 24th of November at two thirty-five pm.

Harry says this is probably, like, borderline stalking, but Harry’s stupid. I guess you’re not going to talk. Or maybe you’re sleeping? Pause. Pause. Pause. I’m really sorry alright, I’m sorry for what I said. It was—it didn’t come out right, but you didn’t give me a chance to— Pause. Fucking hell, Liam, call me back. Because I need to tell you—shit, I need to tell you how sorry I am and that I fucking love you so much and that. Another pause. That I want you back, all of you. I mean, if you’ll have me back. All of me, too. I fucking love you, alright? And I’ve said that already, but it’s important. So, yeah, like, please call me.

By the last voicemail, Liam’s standing in the middle of the kitchen embarrassingly sobbing out breaths into Zayn’s shoulder. He thinks stop, and says, “My life is so unfair,” quiet and desperate.

He wants nothing more than to leave. To drive, or board a plane, or even a bloody ferry if necessary, to somewhere faraway where he doesn’t have to deal with Louis and his stupid, stupid everything and how much he fucking loves him right back.

“I think you should call him,” Zayn says carefully, his hand rubbing circles on Liam’s back.

Liam squeezes his eyes shut, angry. “He doesn’t—he can’t just tell me that over voicemail.”

Zayn sighs. “Think he just did, mate.”

“He doesn’t even have the right,” Liam says furiously. He’s not even sure what he's saying anymore, but he can't stop his mouth from spitting out angry words.

Zayn pulls away then, looking Liam hard in the eye. “Call him.”

No. Liam shakes his head. “I think I. I need to work up to it. Because if I do it now I might yell at him and I don’t want to yell at him because. Just because.”

“Alright,” Zayn says slowly. “Okay, fine. We can—how about we chill out for a bit, alright? Calm down and watch Friends or something? With tea, loads of tea.”

Liam nods thankfully and asks, “Why aren’t we married again?”

Zayn shrugs. “Because it’d probably end in murder? Your murder, not mine.”

Liam digs him gently in the side and glares, and Zayn laughs, pulling him into a tight, brief hug.

“Go put the DVD on,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “I’ll make us some more tea.”

They’re partway through the first season and on their third cup of tea when Harry calls. Liam very seriously considers letting his voicemail pick it up. Because Harry never calls him. Which means whatever it is he wants is probably not something Liam wants to deal with. But Zayn is a traitor and hits the answer button, throwing the phone at Liam quickly.

Liam fumbles to catch it, then presses it reluctantly to his ear and hears, “What did you do?”

“Um, Harry?” Liam asks.

“Yeah, it’s Harry, hello,” Harry replies shortly. This is definitely not going to be a nice hello, how are you doing? catch-up conversation with his former bandmate. “What did you do, Liam?”

Zayn looks over curiously and Liam shrugs with a frown. “I didn’t do anything,” he tries carefully. Something in his gut is starting to churn.

“Really?” Harry says a bit desperately. “Because Louis hasn’t touched a fucking drop for nine months, Liam, and I just got a text off of him telling me he’s at a bar and not to wait up for him. So, what'd you do?”

Liam’s breath hitches. He’s pretty sure he finally understands what the expression blood running cold actually feels like. A bit awful, unsurprisingly. “Which bar?”

“If I knew that I wouldn’t be on the phone to you.”

“I’ll find him,” Liam tells him, his voice loud to his ears. Zayn sits up quickly beside him, tilting his head to the phone to listen.

Harry sighs, the line crackling slightly. “No, you won’t.”

“Harry, look—“

“Liam, I love you,” Harry says sincerely. “I know I can be a dick, but I do love you. I think you’re both fucking idiots, but he’s my best friend and he’s a mess. I’ll find him, alright?”

Liam covers his eyes with his free hand and relents. “Okay.”

“Okay. Do you want to tell me, like, I dunno, the cliff notes version of what happened? Because Louis hasn’t talked about it much, and. I didn’t really want to ask because I figured he’d tell me in his own time, because that’s what he does. But—I just don’t want to go in blind here.”

“I don’t—we just.” Liam takes a slow breath. “We’ve maybe kissed a bit, since that night at the bar, your secret gig thing. Well, and at the bar, too. Then we had a fight earlier and I. God, Harry, I said some stuff I really didn’t mean.”

“What kind of stuff?” Harry asks. His voice sounds torn and worried at the edges.

Liam closes his eyes, flinching at his own words as they come out. “You loved alcohol more than me kind of stuff.”

“Jesus, Liam,” Harry huffs out, but he doesn’t sound angry. Just incredibly fucking sad.

“I know, I know." Liam feels a bit like he might throw up. “I just. I didn’t mean to, everything happened so fast. Then he left voice messages today, I guess you know about that. And oh god. God, he told me he loved me and I didn’t call him back. I’m a terrible person. A terrible, terrible fucking horrible—”

“Liam, shut up,” Harry says, more pleading than anything else.

“Alright,” Harry says after a long pause. “I’ll call you when I find him and then you two are gonna have a long chat and sort this mess out. Understand?”

“Understood,” Liam says miserably.

"And Liam? You're not terrible," Harry says gently. Then he hangs up.

Liam stares at the phone blankly for a moment. He thinks about calling Louis but knows he won’t answer. He’s given him too many reasons not to. If he's at a bar — if he’s reached that point — it’s probably beyond a phone call. Louis has to stop himself.

Zayn watches him carefully for a moment, then says, “Talk to me.”

Liam looks at him a bit helplessly. “I’ve really fucked up, Zayn.”

“Mate, that’s not news.” Zayn sighs and rests his hand on the back of Liam’s neck.

“Lou’s—” Liam breathes deep. “He’s at a bar, somewhere, and it’s my fault. God. It’s like—like I’m actually trying to destroy his life.”

Zayn gives him a look then, one which implies that Liam’s maybe a bit of an idiot. Or something to that effect. “You do realise you’re still in love with him, yeah?”

“Yes, Zayn. Of course I do.”

“Alright,” he says. Shrugs like it was a completely necessary question. “Just checking, because like, you’re sometimes an idiot.”

“Shut up. It’s just. It’s not that fucking simple.”

Zayn rolls his eyes. “I really think it is.”

Liam shakes his head stubbornly, because no, it isn’t. It never is. Nothing ever is. “You don’t understand.”

Zayn sits quietly for a moment, picking idly at a string hanging off one of Liam’s checked cushions. He takes a breath and opens his mouth as if to say something but then closes it again. Liam frowns at him, because that doesn’t happen often. Zayn's definitely never careful with his words. Liam sort of loves that about him. He says it how it is, and sometimes that's exactly what Liam needs to hear.

“What is it?" Liam presses.

Zayn looks at him like he’s weighing up his options and then says carefully, “Look, mate, when you were in the hospital, after—you know.”

“After I tried to kill myself, yeah,” Liam says flatly. He really wishes people would just say it, he’s not going to break. It was almost nine months ago.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, expression grim. He takes a breath, then: “Louis was there every single day.”

“He—what?”

“He had it in his head that it was his fault, so he didn’t—” Zayn hesitates briefly. Like he's not entirely sure how much he should say. “But anyway, he’d come in sometimes when you were asleep and sit with you. He didn’t eat or sleep. He didn’t drink. Actually, he barely left the hospital at all, and if you tell him I told you any of this he’ll probably kill me. So don’t do that, yeah?”

Liam tries not to let his voice shake. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he really loves you, Liam. You have a chance here and I swear to god, mate, if you fuck it up,” Zayn says quite seriously. Liam’s a little bit terrified of the look in his eyes so he keeps quiet. “He didn’t drink for all of the time you were in hospital and then. Liam, he’s been sober for nine months, what do think made him stop?”

Oh, Liam thinks. Oh. He sits a bit staggered for a moment. Because how had he not added that up?

“I didn’t—I didn’t think,” he manages quietly.

“You never really do,” Zayn says with a little laugh. It’s not a dig so much as just. An observation, Liam guesses.

“He can’t fix me,” Liam says miserably. Because he learnt that one the hard way.

“No,” Zayn agrees sympathetically, “but you can’t fix him either. Look, mate, you need to fix yourselves. You’ve gotta want to get better, and I think probably the only way you’re going to want to do that, is with Louis right there with you.”

“I should have called him back,” Liam says uselessly. There's a desperate little voice in the back of his head telling him that he's a monumental fucking idiot on a horrible loop. And well, yeah, he is a bit. Because he’s been in love with Louis for over four years and he’s been fighting it for almost just as long and he doesn’t even know why anymore. He’s so fucking tired of it.

“I need to find him,” Liam says.

Zayn nods. “I’ll help you.”

“No.” Liam shakes his head. No one can do this for him. “I should probably. I think I know where he might be. You need to go home and talk to Niall, yeah? I should probably do this. Myself.”

“Alright,” Zayn agrees slowly, after a long and sort of considering pause. “You sure?”

Liam nods and Zayn calls his driver. Liam had kind of forgotten that Niall still has his car.

When the car pulls up not-too-long later, Zayn hugs him tight and says, “Call me when you find him, or whenever you can. Or text. Just let me know you're alright, yeah? Louis too,” and Liam nods silently.

Whenever Liam and Louis had a fight — a real, horrible, screaming I hate you sort of fight — Louis would always go to the same bar. Well, if they were at home, London-home, he would. It almost became a routine: tried and true. Liam knows because every time it happened he would text Louis a brief Where are you? and he would always get the same reply.

Liam pulls up outside of the bar but doesn’t move. He watches the neon lights flash and reflect brightly off the bonnet of his car, mesmerised for a moment by the colours bleeding into psychedelic patterns. Eventually, he summons up the courage to push open the door and steps out into the bitter winter-air.

The bouncer eyes Liam up suspiciously when reaches the bar door and Liam practically throws his I.D. in his face, terrified and impatient. He wants to scream, "Don't you know this is an emergency?" The bouncer — middle-aged, big and bald (Liam briefly and a little hysterically wonders whether that’s the criteria on bouncer application forms? Do they call them bouncers on application forms or, like, security persons?) — glances between the I.D. and Liam before bizarrely asking for his star sign. He reels it off quickly and snatches back his I.D. to head in and down the dark stairs and find Louis. His heart is hammering in his chest and he feels a horrible twist of nausea. He hates it here. He hates everything it represents to him. And he hates the horrible ripped linoleum floor that he's trying not to bloody trip up on.

It doesn’t take too long to find Louis. He’s sitting on a stool at the bar and he looks dog-tired, like he hasn't slept in months. He's hunched over, folding inwards, and staring carefully at the drink sitting in front of him. Liam suspects it’s a vodka and coke — maybe a double, maybe even a triple — but the glass is full and that stops his mind from racing for just a moment.

Quickly, he shoots off a text to Harry and Zayn.

Found him all ok call you later x

He shuffles over anxiously and sits down on the barstool next to Louis, trying to figure out what on Earth to even say. The barman looks at him a bit expectantly, but Liam shakes his head, trains his eyes on Louis. He can feel Louis go rigid beside him, shifting his gaze over to Liam with something like surprise and something like dread.

“Hey,” Liam says eventually. Soft and shattered.

Louis stares for a horribly long moment. Then says with a small smile, “Fancy seeing you here.”

Liam kind of wants to smack him. He wants to yell and tell him no. No, he doesn’t get to do that. Louis doesn’t get to be flippant about this when Harry has probably been trawling from bar to bloody bar looking for him. When Liam has been hysterical and conjuring up any number of horrible, terrifying states that he might have found him in. But he doesn’t say anything, just waits for Louis to.

Louis takes a breath and points carefully to his drink. His fingers are shaking. “I’ve been staring at it for the past, like, half an hour, I think the barman’s getting a bit annoyed. Can’t bring myself to drink it though. That’s good, yeah?”

Liam’s chest loosens slightly. “It’s really good.”

Louis stares at the drink a moment longer before turning to Liam, his hair hanging limply over his eyes. He searches Liam’s face for a moment and Liam really, really just wants to kiss him. Press himself close and make him understand that he is so much more than this. But then Louis looks away and Liam waits for him to find whatever words he’s looking for.

“You didn’t answer my calls and I thought. I just thought that was it, like, that must be it and I—” Louis takes an aching breath. “I didn’t want to deal with it, so. I came here.”

Liam sighs quietly. “I just needed some time, Lou, I just. You told me you loved me via voicemail.”

“Only because I thought it was the only way I could tell you,” Louis says desperately. Liam’s heart breaks a little bit in his chest. “You didn’t answer and I didn’t want to just show up again because that didn't work out so well before, did it? So, like, other than texting you it was the only option I had.”

“I was gonna call. I was,” Liam tells him, but he doesn’t even know if that’s entirely true.

Louis exhales slowly, shaking with it. He takes another glance at the glass in front of him before rushing out, “Do you want me to tell you not on voicemail, because okay, fine. I love you. Still. Because I never stopped, Liam. I’ve loved you since we went surfing together that first time in Australia and you—god, you looked so excited and proud that I caught that wave and you hugged me after like I was your favourite person in the world or something, and like. I realised then that I wanted to be, and it was, fuck, it was like being hit by a train. A really heavy train and. I still feel like that, all the time.”

Liam doesn’t breathe, just watches as Louis tugs the glass closer to him, watches him clasp his hands around it. He stays like that for a moment, and Liam doesn’t know whether Louis’ waiting for a response or weighing up his options, but he doesn’t trust himself to speak.

“I thought this was what I wanted but. It’s not. I don’t,” Louis says finally, as if he’s clawing out the words one by one. He pushes the glass just that little bit further away. When he looks up, Liam forces himself to meet his gaze. There's something painfully vulnerable in it. “I remembered it took you nearly fucking—dying. For me to stop and. Fuck, I don’t want it. I just. Want you.”

Liam stares for what he thinks might be too long, and then does the only thing he thinks makes any sort of sense and kisses him. It’s just a soft press of lips, a sort-of kiss if anything. Mostly, Liam just breathes, his fingers clinging to the fabric of Louis' t-shirt (his old Superman one, Liam notes briefly) to pull him just a little closer. Louis looks confused, a little bit hopeful and a little bit hopeless. Liam feels a bit like there are a worrying number of sharp and rusty objects stabbing at his heart.

Eventually, Liam says quietly, “Come home with me? Please.”

Louis looks sceptical for a moment, like he thinks Liam's going to take it back. But then he nods. “Alright.”

Liam kisses him properly then. He kisses him until the barman clears his throat loudly, and then pulls away, smiling a little bit. Louis smiles back, watery, and it’s the best thing Liam’s ever seen. He grabs a hold of Louis' hand, pulls them both up and says, “Let’s go, yeah?”

Louis nods and pulls back just a moment, pushing his still-full glass towards the barman and saying, “Here, you have it, mate.” The barman looks at Louis like he’s a bit certifiable but he shrugs and takes it anyway, setting it aside. Liam pulls on Louis’ hand and leads the way out.

Liam keeps his hands firmly on the wheel, eyes ahead and never once glancing across to Louis. Because he’s not entirely sure he can trust himself to not pull over just to kiss him again. He can feel Louis fidgeting nervously beside him, opening the window and closing it again, crossing and uncrossing his legs, making little impatient noises that make Liam half want to hit him and half want to quite terribly break the speed limit.

“The High School Musical soundtrack, you still have that,” Louis says abruptly. “Really?”

Liam glances over quickly and realises that Louis is going through his glove compartment. Why are they even called glove compartments, anyway? Liam’s not going put his gloves in it, he thinks stupidly, his eyes still dead ahead on the road.

“It’s one of the greatest films in cinematic history,” Liam says, almost seriously.

He at least expects a mocking reply but it never comes, a sort of heavy silence descending out of nothing. When Liam looks across to discern why, Louis is holding his own CD in his hands, expression unreadable.

“Um,” Liam says. “I told you I listened to it?”

Louis looks up. “I know. Like, how much, exactly?”

“A lot,” Liam says levelly.

“A lot like?”

“A lot like a lot,” Liam says, a little frantic. “Maybe every day? Shut up, you wrote it so you don’t get to—“

“Pull over,” Louis cuts in decisively.

Liam frowns. “Louis, we’re ten minutes away from my house, I’m not pulling over.”

“Pull over,” Louis says again, and Liam makes a frustrated sound and hits the indicator a little bit too hard, pulling into a darkened, narrow lane. It looks a lot like somewhere where people have probably been brutally murdered, but honestly Liam doesn’t have it in him to be concerned. He can feel Louis staring at him.

He glances to his left a little questioningly but Louis’ already there, closing the gap. He leans over and grabs at Liam’s jaw and presses their lips together, and even though Liam kind of anticipated it, it still takes him a stunned second to catch up and kiss Louis back. Louis kisses him deep and slow, a bruising sort of ache to it that Liam feels in his chest. It feels like Louis’ trying to prove something to him, but Liam’s not entirely sure what. He digs his fingers into the back of Louis’ neck hard enough to leaves marks and instinctively tries to drag him closer.

Louis breaks the kiss suddenly, and Liam makes a disapproving sound in the back of his throat, but Louis’ clumsily climbing over to him in a beat, and then he’s fucking straddling him and Liam’s a bit thankful his car’s relatively spacious. In the back of his mind Liam thinks that Murder Lane probably isn’t the appropriate place to be doing this at all, but he’s not entirely sure he cares enough, not when Louis’ pushing his hips down just so and, fuck. Liam sucks in a breath through his teeth and leans his head on Louis’ shoulder, his fingers curling around the neck of Louis’ t-shirt and stretching it down so he can drag his mouth over the skin there.

“Jesus, Liam,” Louis whispers, getting a hand between them somehow and palming at Liam’s cock through his jeans, and fine, they’re doing this is the car then, whatever. Liam is past caring, lifts his head to catch Louis’ lips in another aching kiss, gasping brokenly into his mouth.

When Louis’ phone rings a moment later, tone shrill, Louis tears away and jumps so far that he bangs his head on the roof of the car. So hard that Liam is briefly concerned about concussion before bursting out a breathless laugh. Louis glares at him, eyes narrowed.

“That hurt,” Louis whines.

Liam laughs harder, only stopping to slide a hand into Louis’ hair and pull him down for another kiss. Louis kisses him back, soft and warm. But he pulls away when his phone actually won’t stop ringing.

“Ignore it,” Liam mumbles.

Louis shuffles back slightly, enough to pull his phone from his pocket and check the screen.

“It’s Harry,” he huffs out.

Liam sighs, leaning his head back against the seat. “Alright, you should probably answer it.”

Louis twists his face and takes a breath before hitting the answer button. “Hi, Harry.”

“Yeah, no, I’m alright,” Louis says carefully, voice shaking a little. Liam strains his ears to try and listen but Harry’s voice is too distant and his ears are fucking ringing. “I know, I’m sorry, but I didn’t drink, I promise— I know, Haz, it was stupid and— I’m sorry— no, he’s with me now, we’re— we’re just driving— I will, yeah— no, like, we’re… sorting things— uh yeah, sort of?”

Liam’s pretty sure he hears Harry loudly exclaim a, “Holy shit,” then. Followed by something like, “You’re not fucking driving, you liar,” and he laughs a little. Louis hits him in the chest gently, glowering, and Liam makes a point of resting a hand on Louis’ thigh, slowly dragging it upwards.

Louis’ breath hitches. “Fuck. Seriously, Harry, go away—no, I’m not putting you on loudspeaker, shut up, you wanker—I’m hanging up now.”

Louis hangs up, huffing out a despairing laugh and shaking his head at his phone. When he finally looks up, he stares for a moment.

“Hi,” Liam breathes.

Louis grins, then ducks down, kissing Liam slow.

“Hi,” he mumbles back eventually, but it’s a little lost on Liam’s lips.

“I have a house,” Liam says pointedly.

Louis looks considering. “Yeah, we should probably—”

“Yeah.”

“Alright,” Louis says, letting his head fall against Liam’s shoulder.

Liam rolls his eyes, hands pushing at Louis’ chest. “I can’t drive with you sitting on top of me.”

“You can try?” Louis tries, leaning back against the steering wheel and smiling slightly, just a small curve of his lips.

Liam shakes his head fondly and grabs at Louis’ arms, pushing him off him unapologetically. Louis frowns and loses his balance, falling comically back into the passenger seat, arms flailing about. Liam smiles triumphantly.

“Alright, I’m bloody moving, calm down,” Louis says, untangling his legs from Liam and dragging them back over to the passenger side as Liam starts up the engine and pulls out of fucking Murder Lane.

“Oh, Harry said he’s getting us a Congratulations on Getting Your Shit Together cake,” Louis says casually. “I couldn’t figure out whether he was serious or not, but still. Cake.”

“Huh,” Liam says, eyes glancing over from the darkened road, “he should call Zayn, he’d probably make it and ice it.”

Louis laughs, bright and loud, and Liam feels his breath catch in his throat. He wants to freeze the moment, because he’d almost forgotten what Louis looks like when he’s happy.

When they finally get to the house, Liam half expects Louis to push him through the door and pin him against the wall or something equally dramatic and film-esque. But he doesn’t. Instead, he closes the door carefully behind him and stands hesitant and awkward in the hallway, as if he’s waiting for Liam to make the first move. He figures it’s something to do with the fact that Liam is a lot unpredictable and a lot fucking crazy. Maybe Louis thinks he’s going to change his mind and throw some more crockery. Or throw him out. But Liam’s not going to do any of those things. Which is, okay, a little terrifying.

“Um, tea?” Liam asks stupidly, because it’s his default question in any difficult situation.

Louis gives him a look like he can’t believe Liam actually just asked that. To be quite honest, Liam can’t believe he actually just asked that either. He scrunches his face up a bit and Louis has the audacity to fucking laugh at him. Which makes Liam kind of furious, so he pulls on Louis' t-shirt and presses their lips together just to shut him up. He feels Louis still laughing against his lips and pushes his mouth open as if to make a point, running a palm down his spine and then Louis does pin him against the wall, shoving his leg in-between Liam’s thighs. Liam’s hips jerk against him and all he can think is that this is going to be over far too fast.

Liam tears his lips away, sucking in a breath, and drops his head to Louis’ shoulder. He bites down against his skin a little, and Louis makes an undignified noise that’s almost a whimper and rocks against him, trailing his fingers down to the zip of Liam’s jeans, and fuck, okay.

“We’re not doing this in the hallway,” Liam protests breathlessly.

“Bed?” Louis questions, hand still dangerously close.

Liam shakes his head. “My room’s on the third floor.”

“Yeah, alright, fuck that,” Louis says. He drags Liam through to the living room, fingers twisting in his shirt as they manoeuvre clumsily to the sofa and fall down into the cushions, legs tangled up. Louis pushes Liam down beneath him and rolls his hips achingly slow, and Liam makes a choked desperate sound in the back of his throat and arches up. He curls his fingers into Louis’ hair and just breathes, gasping sounds against Louis’ lips.

He stares up at Louis’ eyes for a moment, focused and dark but almost glittering, too. He thinks of Louis like that a lot, maybe a little dark, but bright too. Always so fucking bright, even with the dark. Louis rolls his hips down again and Liam groans, squeezing his eyes tight-shut. He mumbles breathily, “Lou, Louis,” and “Please just—” and Louis covers his mouth and kisses him, swallowing down anything Liam might have been going to say. Liam doesn’t even know what he was going to say. Just. Don’t ever stop. Maybe.

Louis doesn’t stop anyway, he leans back, pulling off his stupid Superman t-shirt (how does he even still have that?) and throwing it to the floor somewhere before ridding Liam of his own shirt. Liam spreads his hands over skin as Louis kisses him hard and mumbles words into his mouth that Liam can’t quite make out. He rubs at Liam’s cock through his jeans and Liam tightens his fingers in his hair and whispers, “Fuck, you need to—“. Because he just really, really needs Louis to touch him now. He’s not entirely sure how much longer he’s going to last here. Louis seems to understand though, because then he’s popping the button on Liam’s jeans and pulling them down and off.

“I want—” Louis breathes, staring, and Liam frowns and says, “You want what?” strained and stupid and needy, but he doesn’t really care. Louis answers his question whole-heartedly, kissing a scattered line down Liam’s chest, his fingers digging little bruises into Liam’s hips. Liam lets his head fall back and barely even has a chance to breathe before Louis’ mouth is on his cock, licking a stripe up and then taking him in. He pushes his hips up as much as Louis allows, and he’s quite sure he’s babbling ridiculous, stupid things about how much he’s missed Louis’ mouth, fuck, and Louis, too, obviously, god. All of Louis. It really doesn’t take long at all until his vision goes hazy and he’s shaking everywhere, twisting his hands in Louis' hair. He comes with Louis’ name heavy on his tongue and Louis swallows down all he can.

Louis pulls off slowly and rests his head against Liam’s stomach. “Missed you too,” he breathes, and Liam closes his eyes and falls back into the cushions. He can hear his heart loud in his ears as he tries to breathe.

He waits a moment, until Louis’ crawling up and rocking against him, and then pulls him the rest of the way and kisses him slow and deliberate. Louis melts into it, pushing down his hips and mumbling a, “Please,” into Liam’s mouth.

Liam grabs at his arms and it takes most of his strength to clumsily twist them around and push Louis down beneath him, getting a hand between them to flick open his jeans and half slide them down. Louis helpfully kicks them off the rest of the way, and Liam wraps his hand around his cock, stroking slowly. Louis half-moans and half says something that sounds like it could be Liam’s name and presses his face into Liam’s shoulder, mouthing at the skin there. Liam speeds up steadily until Louis’ shaking and breathing out Liam’s name on a blurred loop. He tightens his grip and Louis jerks up into his hand and groans out something not entirely intelligible before coming all over his stomach. He grabs at Liam’s hair and finds his lips, sliding his tongue easy into Liam’s mouth and Liam kisses him through it, warm and wet.

Liam lets out a shallow breath, falling forwards into Louis’ shoulder. Just lying there for a moment, head fuzzy. He moves after a moment to grab for the throw-blanket-thing from the back of the sofa and pulls it over their legs. Then he rests his forehead against Louis’, breathes. Fingers soft in Louis’ hair.

There must be something in his eyes though, because Louis looks up and says a little shakily, “Don’t leave.”

Liam lets out a breath. “I’m not,” he promises. Strokes his thumb over Louis’ cheek in some sort of attempt to assure him. “But I do kind of need to—” He leans over, off the sofa and grabs for one of their discarded t-shirts, cleaning up the sticky mess from Louis’ stomach.

“’S my Superman t-shirt, you twat,” Louis mumbles as Liam tosses it aside. Liam laughs, quiet and breathless, before burying his face into Louis’ neck and closing his eyes, and they lie there silent for a while.

“I’m going to have to wash all my cushion-covers,” Liam says after a long moment.

Louis breathes out a laugh against his hair. “Tomorrow.” He shuffles over then, moving Liam off him and half sitting up. Liam makes a slow, disapproving sound and tries to pull him back down.

“Nope, come on, move,” Louis says.

Liam frowns. “Why?”

“Because,” Louis says, giving him a determined look, “I’m not sleeping here, this sofa’s dead fucking uncomfy and you have a bed, somewhere.”

“Is it?” Liam questions curiously. “Maybe I’m just used to it.”

“Get up,” Louis whines, pulling on Liam’s arm. Liam really, really doesn’t want to move and climb stairs, but alright.

“Alright, alright. I’m moving,” he says resentfully. He pulls himself up slowly and snatches the blanket from Louis to wrap around himself like a cocoon. Because it’s cold and if Louis’ making him move he can be bloody cold while he's doing it. Louis glares, but Liam pointedly ignores him and drags him to the stairs.

When they get to Liam’s room after a particularly taxing — and unnecessary, Liam thinks tiredly — trip up a lot of stairs (“Why the fuck did you decide your bedroom should be on the third floor? Where is the logic, Liam?”), Liam falls into bed clumsily, Louis crawling in and curling up next to him a moment later.

“You’re not—” Louis starts carefully. “Like, you’re not going to hate me in the morning are you?”

Liam pulls up the covers and presses himself into Louis’ side. “No.”

“Okay,” Louis breathes. He runs his hand down Liam’s arm slowly, feather-light touches over where the bandages are. Liam shivers involuntarily.

“Take them off,” Louis mumbles against him, his fingers tugging lightly on the frayed edges. Liam shakes his head though, closing his eyes.

Louis sighs, puffing out warm breath against Liam’s shoulder. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before, Li. Besides, your arms need to like, breathe or something. Do they even heal if they never see the light of day?”

Liam frowns. “It’s night.”

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Louis says, nudging his arm gently. Liam huffs, hazy and too tired. He opens his eyes, though, and twists around slowly, extending his arms out across Louis’ chest. Louis seems to get his meaning, and he pulls gently at the edges and unravels, carefully taking off the bandages. He lays his fingers just there and Liam doesn’t protest. His heart aches almost to the point of bursting. But, it's a good ache.

“There,” Louis says. “Better?”

“Better.” Liam hums sleepily, closing his eyes and pressing his face into Louis’ shoulder, and then whispers into the dark, “’m gonna stop, okay?”

He vaguely registers Louis’s quiet, “Okay,” and the soft kiss he presses to the inside of his wrist before he falls asleep.

Liam wakes up at half-three in the morning. Because now his body-clock is apparently very fucking confused, too used to not-sleeping until the very early hours. He blames Louis, mostly. Oh God. Louis. He blinks through the dark and scrubs a hand over his eyes, turning around, determined to not panic. Louis’ fast asleep. Curled into Liam’s side, hair sticking up everywhere. He looks stupidly beautiful and Liam wants to wake him up just so he can kiss him, and, alright. Okay, so, Liam panics just a little bit. He slowly unhooks Louis’ arm from around his waist and pulls himself up and out of bed, clambering around in the dark for some form of clothing and the nice, warm fleece blanket. It takes him approximately too long, but he finds a pair of probably unwashed jogging bottoms and the blanket on the edge of the bed, then he crosses the room in three strides and pads downstairs and into the kitchen where he flicks on the kettle and tries to quell the slow-rising fear.

He stands listening to the whir of the kettle for maybe ten seconds before he breaks, rushing through to the living room and grabbing his car keys—and he maybe needs to find some shoes, too. He can't go out without shoes. And a t-shirt, and probably a coat, as well, but. He gets to the front door and realises abruptly that this is completely ridiculous. He’s not doing this. He refuses. So against everything screaming at him, he goes back into the kitchen and makes tea. Because that’s good and familiar and not-life-changing in a way that makes his skin try to crawl away from him.

Five minutes later, he’s sitting at the breakfast bar, one hand nursing his tea, the other texting Zayn.

plz convince me not to leave Lou in my bed and drive somewhere farrrr and yes I no its 3:30am i'm sorry xx

Liam gets a reply not five minutes later.

if you were going to leave you’d have done it already. Xx

Liam stares at the text for a while. Huh. He gulps down some tea and frowns, typing a reply.

nearly did xx

He sighs and sets his phone down, drumming his fingers nervously on the counter until it vibrates.

but you didnt. so calm down have some bloody tea n fucking go back upstairs n tell him you love him so we can both go back to sleep yeah? Xx

Liam half-laughs at that.

ok maybe thanks and sorry for waking u <3 xx

His phone goes off again just a minute later.

Niall says hi n goodnite. also that he loves me? but think hes mostly asleep :/ xx

Liam grins, or more beams.

Congrats!!!!!!!!!!!!! love you both xx

“Hey,” Louis says from nowhere, standing tentatively in the doorway just as Liam’s setting his phone down. Liam jumps, almost knocking his tea bloody flying. “So there you are.”

Louis smiles small, and he’s trying to hide it but Liam can hear the relief ring clear in his voice.

“Thought I’d run away?” Liam jokes, almost. Louis crosses the room, carefully stepping over the bits of glass that Liam still needs to clean up and pulling out the stool next to him. He sits down and Liam can’t help but notice that his eyes are anxious, creased with worry at the corners. Sad, almost.

There’s a pause before Louis says, “Well, you know.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, quiet and serious, “I know.”

“You’re not…” Louis trails off, leaning forward and tapping his fingers nervously against his leg.

Liam frowns. “What?”

Louis takes a breath. “You’re not, like, going to run away are you?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Liam tells him. He doesn’t really mean for it to sound like a question, but it does anyway. Louis notices, his eyes getting steadily more sad.

“Okay,” he says slowly, “but you want to?”

Liam closes his eyes and takes a breath. Because no, he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to do this anymore. He doesn’t want to push and ruin. Doesn’t want to make Louis fucking sad.

“I thought about it,” he admits quietly. Because he doesn’t want to lie to him either. He figures lying about this is probably counter-productive to the whole working things out thing they’re trying to do here. So he just. Doesn’t. Because he wants to try, and to do that he probably needs to lay everything out. Cards on the table. Because alright, maybe he thought about running. Maybe even picked up his car keys and got as far as the front door. But he didn’t leave, and he needs Louis to get that.

“I think I just,” Liam starts, waving his hands about and trying to find the words. “I just needed to almost-leave to figure out that I don’t actually want to?”

Louis stares at him, like he’s not really sure what he should say. “So you… don’t want to?”

Liam shakes his head, and says with a certainty that actually sort of scares him a little bit, “No. I don’t want to.”

Louis lets out a breath and smiles, small but relieved. “Alright. Okay, well, that’s good, yeah?”

Liam doesn’t know what he thinks it is yet, other than a bit unnerving. But he smiles too because he wants Louis to know that he’s in this, whatever it is. He’s in it.

“It’s something, I think,” he says.

Louis considers him carefully. “I know all the shit’s not just going to, like, stop, yeah? Just because we’re working things out. I don’t think it’s going to make it all alright all of a sudden, for either of us. I’m not naïve, alright.”

Liam grins. “Naïve. Have you been reading a dictionary?”

Louis makes a face. “Fuck off. Says the one who can’t spell.”

“I can spell,” Liam protests, “I just choose not to.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Yeah, alright, whatever. Shut up, you’re changing the subject.”

“Sorry,” Liam says quietly. He wasn’t really intentionally changing the subject, but he’s willing to concede that he probably was on a subconscious level. Because this is territory he doesn’t really want to acknowledge even exists.

Louis seems to get that though, because his voice is careful and considerate when he says, “I don’t think it’s going to make everything alright, but maybe it’ll help some?” He pauses for a moment, fingers tapping nervously against his leg again. “I’d rather try and get to okay with you than try to get to it without you, if that makes sense.”

Liam nods slowly. “Zayn said something, I think he thought he was being profound or something, about how we can’t fix each other but we’ll probably only want to fix ourselves if we’re together.”

“Zayn can be profound?” Louis says, smiling. “Who knew?”

“I just don’t—” Liam starts hesitantly.

Louis eyes flash with something Liam thinks might be fear. “What?”

“I don’t know if that’s a valid reason to be together.” Liam shrugs, not even sure he’s making much sense.

Louis looks like he’s thinking about it for a moment, but then he shrugs too and says sincerely, “I don’t know either. But like, I love you, kind of a lot. So that’s maybe a valid reason?”

Liam stares at him for a long moment. He almost wants to say that it wasn’t enough before, so why would it be now? But he doesn’t really believe that, not this time. So instead he leans across, fingers gliding over Louis’ face, and touches their lips together. Louis opens up to it, lets Liam kiss him. Liam kisses him warm and real and certain just to make sure Louis gets it.

When Louis breaks the kiss, humming happily and almost starting to say something, Liam says a bit too quickly and probably a bit too quietly, “I love you too, you know.”

Louis laughs a beat. “I know.”

“Shut up, alright.” Liam buries his head in Louis’ shoulder and mumbles against his skin, “I just. Realised I hadn’t said it back yet and. Yeah.”

“Yeah,” Louis echoes. Liam breathes against Louis’ shoulder for a moment and waits for things to slow down. When they have, he lifts his head.

“I love you,” he says again, louder this time. Trying to make up for the not saying it, probably. He's not sure.

“I love you, too,” Louis tells him, standing up and holding out his hand, “but can we go back to bed now? Because it’s like four am and four am is sleeping time.”

Liam shrugs. “Is it? I’m usually watching really awful horror films and eating Party Rings at four am, so I wouldn’t really know.”

Louis laughs, stupid and sleepy. “You are the party, Liam Payne,” he murmurs.

Liam doesn’t even know what that means. But he’s too stuck on Louis’ laugh to even glare fondly. He grabs a tight hold of Louis’ hand and pulls himself up and thinks, as Louis leads him back up the stairs, that he wants to be able to keep making Louis laugh like that for maybe the rest of his life. But mostly, he wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him and keep kissing him until Louis understands that he wants to try. Even on the days when Liam feels horrible and miserable and doesn’t want to be alive, he wants to try to want to be, and that’s more than he’s ever been able to offer before.

05. don’t say it’s too late, if you blink your eyes the sun is rising

When Liam wakes up in the actual morning, where there’s sunlight and birds and other actual morning-like things, Louis’ wrapped around him. Face buried into his neck and mouthing small, soft half-kisses on his skin. Liam shifts, opening his eyes properly. He turns over, pushing Louis off him so he can kiss him properly. Slow and soft and lazy.

Louis hums against his lips and then pulls away and says, “So, hey.”

“Hey,” Liam mumbles, still not quite awake.

Louis pushes the covers down and shifts his weight, half crawling on top of him, and Liam achingly thinks I’ve missed this. Louis leans down and kisses him again, breathless and messy, pulling on Liam’s bottom lip. Liam’s definitely awake now. He leans up and wraps his arm around Louis’ neck, then makes an embarrassingly needy sound when Louis’ hands wander down his body. Out of fucking nowhere, Louis’ phone vibrates loudly on the bedside table, startling them apart. Liam makes a despairing sort of sound as Louis curses and leans over to glance at the screen.

“It’s like he knows,” Louis says hopelessly.

Liam laughs. “Don’t answer it.”

Louis tosses his phone to the carpet and grabs at the duvet, throwing it on top of it and smothering the sound a bit. “Wasn’t going to.”

Liam grins and pulls him back down, dragging him into another kiss. Except Louis’ phone insists on going off another three times and eventually Liam rolls his eyes fondly and says, “Answer it.”

Louis sighs exaggeratedly, but then hangs over the side of the bed, searching under the duvet, and answers it. Flicks on loudspeaker this time.

“Hello, Harold, Señor Cockblocker,” Louis greets monotonously.

“Oh,” Harry says loudly, laughing, “Sorry. You answered though, mate, your fault.”

“Because you rang four times, you arse,” Louis points out. “You’re on loudspeaker by the way.”

“Oh cool. Hey, Liam!” Harry says happily.

Liam smiles, even though Harry can’t see. “Alright, Harry?”

Harry makes a noise of agreement and then: “I’m calling because we’re coming over.”

Louis frowns. “Alright... we as in?”

“Myself, Zayn and Niall. We liaised,” Harry tells him proudly. “I’m going to Zayn’s now and I think Niall’s already there, then we’re coming over in a bit and we’re all going to bond over Top Model, like the old days.”

“Uh, alright,” Liam says. Because even if he says no they’ll turn up anyway. It’s who they are.

“Define a bit,” Louis says casually and grins at Liam.

“Oh, I see,” Harry says, knowing. “Hour or so?”

Liam frowns. “Make it two?”

Harry clicks his tongue. “Alright, fine. See you in two hours-ish, go do… whatever. I don’t want to know. In a bit, lads.”

Harry hangs up and Louis tosses his phone back in the general vicinity of the floor, and then he’s pushing Liam back down into the bed and mumbling something about two hours.

“Probably an hour, really, or less,” Liam says, because they actually have to get dressed and he needs to call Krista and there’s still glass all over the kitchen floor that he never bothered to clean up. Liam pulls Louis down into a kiss then and tries to shut his brain off, and Louis smiles against his lips, kisses him back like he’s accepting the challenge.

Liam calls Krista when Louis’ in the shower, lying across the bed and staring at the ceiling. He can distantly hear Louis singing something—it sounds suspiciously like a One Direction song, but he can’t really be sure, too far away to tell.

“Liam, what a surprise,” Krista answers after several rings.

“You took ages to answer,” Liam accuses.

Krista laughs. “Well, see, I have this thing called a life, you should try it.”

“I maybe am?” Liam offers.

“Is this about Louis?” Krista asks carefully.

“Yes, no. I. Yes,” he finally manages, and Krista waits patiently. Liam takes a breath and tries to condense the last forty-eight hours into five minutes, because he honestly doesn’t want to have to talk about yelling and breaking glasses and all-too-familiar bars and I’ve loved you since Australia and sleeping with Louis who he loves really a lot, shit, for longer than he really has to.

“Okay,” Krista says when he’s done. “Alright, that’s—wow. And you’re calling because you, what? Want me to talk you out of panicking and running away or similar?”

“No, it’s just. He’s okay now, he’s singing in the shower, but what about when I have a really bad day, or he has a really bad day, and—”

“Liam, you’re going to end up going in circles,” Krista cuts in, “this is how it ended the way it did the first time.”

Liam sighs, he knows that.

“Alright, look,” Krista says determinedly. “I probably shouldn’t tell you he’s not going to leave you, because well, I’m not psychic and it’s probably not professional. But Liam, he’s not going to leave you.”

Liam doesn’t say anything for maybe a minute, and then slowly manages: “Okay.”

“I don’t know him,” Krista continues, “I don’t know anything about him other than what you’ve told me and what the internet’s told me. But I know that he’s never left you. He made a lot of shitty mistakes and I’m not condoning them, but even when he was suffering too and it was probably healthier for him to leave you, he didn’t. It was always you that did the leaving, and I know it was because you thought that he would eventually. But Liam, if he still hasn’t left after all this time, he’s not going to. If that’s not proof enough, honey, I don’t know what is.”

Liam opens his mouth but he doesn’t really know what to say, clinging tightly to the phone. He takes a slow breath and then says eventually: “Thanks. I probably needed to hear that.”

“Yeah, well,” Krista says dismissively, “it’s my job to know what to say, but also, I mean it, and it sounds like he does too, so why are you still on the phone to me?”

“Okay, I’m going,” Liam says, and then adds, “do I still get a sticker?”

Krista laughs. “I’ll go out and buy a pretty, shiny one especially. Go, and we’ll rendezvous on Wednesday at our usual place. Meaning my office.”

“Thanks,” Liam says again, and Krista hangs up.

Harry, Zayn and Niall show up almost on time, ringing the buzzer and all talking at once when Liam mutters a, “Do you really have nowhere better to be?” into the receiver. He buzzes them in anyway because they’ll only break the door down if he doesn’t, and Harry practically flies through the door, locking his arms tightly around Liam.

“You ever ignore me for a whole year again, Payno, and I will cut off your tea supply,” he mumbles into Liam’s shoulder.

Liam doesn’t really get a chance to reply before Harry’s pulling away and thrusting a plastic container in his face. “We made Congratulations on Getting Your Shit Together cupcakes instead of a cake cake.”

“By we,” Zayn says from somewhere behind him, “he means me and Niall.

Niall grins next to him. “Yeah, he just sat there and threw flour at us.”

Harry shrugs. “I don’t like baking.”

“You used to work in a bakery,” Zayn argues.

“When I was sixteen, and I didn’t like it much, I mostly threw flour about then, too,” Harry says, digging Zayn lightly in the side. “Where’s Louis?”

“I think he’s in the living room, he was on the phone to his sponsor,” Liam says.

Harry nods. “Oh, good.”

“Living room’s through there,” Liam says after an awkward moment, pointing the way, and Harry and Niall go ahead, animatedly discussing which cycle of Top Model they should start with.

Zayn hangs back a moment and then pulls on Liam’s arm, dragging him into a tight hug. Liam holds on and closes his eyes tight, breathing into it. “How you doing, mate? Really?”

Liam shrugs. “I feel calm at the moment, but. I talked to Krista for a bit before and it helped, I think.”

“Good,” Zayn says. “Just, you know, when you start to not feel calm, don’t shut him out, yeah?”

Liam leans his head against Zayn’s shoulder. “Yeah,” he breathes.

Zayn presses his fingers comfortingly against Liam’s neck and says, “You’re doing good.”

Liam lets out a breath. “I’m trying.”

Zayn smiles carefully and then pulls on Liam’s hand. “Come on. Top Model?” he asks with a grin.

Liam nods and Zayn drags him through to the living room. Niall’s lying across one of the sofas, already demolishing a cupcake.

“You’re eating Louis’ one, it’s stripy,” Harry protests.

“I fucking made them,” Niall shoots back. Zayn mutters an agreement and then all but falls onto Niall, grabbing for a cupcake, and Liam smiles.

Louis’ stretched across the other sofa with his head on Harry’s lap, tapping into his phone, and Liam grabs at his arm, pulling him up off Harry so he can squeeze into the space between them. Louis lies with his head in Liam’s lap instead. Harry makes a face at Louis and says, “Oh, I see how it is now.”

“Oh, shut up, Harold,” Louis says, and then a moment later: “Brace yourselves, lads, I just tweeted.”

Liam frowns, and not a minute later his phone vibrates with a notification.

@Louis_Tomlinson: Hang time with @Real_Liam_Payne, @Harry_Styles, @zaynmalik and @NiallOfficial !! Been too long !! #1DHangs

“And twitter explodes in five, four, three…” Harry says, peering over at Louis’ phone.

“Did we decide on a Top Model cycle?” Niall asks.

“Dunno, but I vote cycle two,” Louis comments.

Harry shakes his head. “But All Stars, mate.”

Louis and Harry argue their corners for about a minute before Louis turns to Liam and tells him to decide because it’s his house, and Harry protests loudly because unfair advantage. Liam mostly doesn’t care so they end up watching cycle two anyway, because yeah. Louis has an unfair advantage.

Mostly though, they half watch it, talking over it and pausing their conversation every so often to mock the really terrible photoshoots or to yell at Tyra, because she tells them every single week, they know what the fucking prizes are, okay.

They’re on maybe the fifth or sixth week when Zayn asks happily: “Anyone fancy another cuppa?” They're already on their third.

Liam watches Zayn and Niall communicate with their eyes. He stupidly feels a little put out, because that’s his and Zayn’s thing, but he figures he can maybe let Niall have that, too. Liam has enough of Zayn really.

Louis and Harry both answer a sound yes and Liam nods, stuck a little on being flat out confused, because he’s the one who makes the tea. He always makes the tea. It's what he does. Or at least it confuses him until Niall puts in an emphatic. “I’ll help you!” and then it makes sense.

“Oh, come on,” Louis yells at the television as Zayn and Niall hastily vacate the room. “You know that was the wrong fucking decision, Tyra.”

Harry rolls his eyes next to Liam. “We’ve watched this cycle about five times, Lou, I don’t know why it still surprises you.”

“Well, because,” Louis splutters. “She didn’t deserve to go home, did she? She was robbed.”

Liam laughs against Louis’ shoulder and lays a comforting hand on his back. “Maybe next time we re-watch it she won’t be eliminated.”

“You say that every time,” Louis says sadly, and it’s almost funny, but it aches too, because Liam thinks the last time they re-watched it was probably three years and a lot of shit ago.

“I can’t watch,” Louis says, dramatically covering his eyes. “I’m going to go get food, do you even have food?”

“I have biscuits?” Liam offers. He thinks they’re probably the only thing he does have, though. He makes a note to do some shopping because he concedes that if this thing of maybe hanging out together again is going to be a regular thing, he should shop and make his house vaguely liveable. Clean, too.

Louis says, “They’ll have to do then,” and pulls himself up, leaving Liam’s side cold and he and Harry alone, which Liam doesn’t want to admit makes him uneasy but it kind of does. A lot.

“Louis’ right,” Harry says carefully, “she shouldn’t have been eliminated.”

Liam is going to respond with a casual agreement but what comes out instead is: “Is this—I mean, are we alright?”

Harry peels his eyes from the television and looks across at Liam questioningly. “Eh?”

“I just didn’t know whether you’re angry with me, maybe,” Liam says quietly.

“I’m not. Liam, don’t be an idiot, we’re mates,” Harry says, eyes soft. “We always were. I was never angry at just you, I was angry at both of you. Well, no, I was probably more sad than angry. Yeah, Louis’ my best mate, but you all are, and watching two of my best mates break and knowing I could only help one was… really shit, actually. Don’t think it was easy just because I was that bit closer to Louis.”

“Okay,” Liam says, breathing out the word gratefully.

Harry wraps his arm around Liam and pulls him against him then, and Liam lets his head fall on Harry’s shoulder, closing his eyes and leaning into him in a sort of side-hug.

Harry sighs and rests his head against Liam’s. “I’m not stupid, Liam. I mean, I’m glad you idiots are figuring things out and stuff but I know it doesn’t magically fix everything and make it all better. But, mate, you’re both stronger than you think you are.”

Liam shrugs. “Maybe.”

“You are, so shut up, you’re here and you’re together and you have us, all of us this time. Baby steps, yeah?” Harry tells him.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, just as Louis bounds back in carrying three packets of Party Rings triumphantly. He takes in Harry’s arm around Liam and stops.

“Am I interrupting a moment?” he asks lightly, a small, pleased smile on his lips.

“Nope,” Harry says, “no moments. Just Liam being an idiot.”

“Oh,” Louis says, frowning. “Okay, well, good. I don’t really want to have to go back in the kitchen because when I walked in, Zayn and Niall were kissing. Is that a thing now?”

Harry’s eyes go wide, and Liam laughs and says, “Yeah, I think so?”

“God. We’re the gayest band ever,” Louis comments, opening a packet of Party Rings and sitting back down, curling up against Liam and feeding him a purple Party Ring with his mouth, as if to prove his own point. He's ridiculous. But Liam doesn’t complain.

Louis smiles, then says, “Oh, and #1DReunion’s trending worldwide on twitter.”

Louis corners Liam later when the sky’s pitch-dark and Zayn and Niall have retreated to one of the spare rooms, Harry stretched asleep soundly across the sofa.

They’re in the kitchen, Liam staring at the kettle blankly while it boils.

“You’ve been quiet for the last two hours,” Louis says from behind him, resting his head against Liam’s shoulder.

“Just tired,” Liam tells him.

Louis shakes his head against him. “Liar. Try again.”

Liam turns around. He probably should have known Louis wouldn’t accept that answer. Louis tilts his head, waiting, and leans his hands against the counter either side of Liam, blocking him in.

“Mentally tired?” Liam offers as an amendment.

Louis moves like he’s going to kiss him but he doesn’t, stopping just short, foreheads pressed together. Liam’s almost disappointed.

“It’s just weird,” Liam says finally into the small space between them, “being the five of us again, you know? I think I got too used to just me and Zayn, and well, sometimes Niall and now—now it’s like it’s all back to how it was and we’ve all made some kind of weird silent agreement to not talk about what happened and. I don’t know.”

“Why do we need to? Shit happened, we split, well sort of, and whatever. It happened and no one wants to talk about it because it was shitty and horrible,” Louis says, shrugging, and Liam gets that. He’s not really sure they need to talk about it either, it’s just weird that they don’t. But then, they’ve always been that way, Liam thinks.

“We could probably all say sorry and hug it out though,” Louis adds as an afterthought.

Liam smiles. “Yeah, maybe. It’s just, it feels like a lot of pressure, being One Direction again.”

Louis frowns. “It’s not—no one’s expecting us to go into the studio tomorrow, you know. We don’t have to figure all that out now, we’re not even being 1D now, we’re just being us. Bros before… bandmates.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” Liam points out.

Louis shrugs. “It did in my head.”

“Everything does,” Liam says fondly, and Louis does kiss him then, mumbling a, "Shut up, Liam," against his lips.

Louis breaks the kiss after a moment but doesn’t completely pull away, hovering close. He opens his mouth as if to speak but then closes it more or less immediately. Liam almost doesn't catch it. He looks a bit like he’s having some sort of difficult internal debate with himself.

“Do you want to come home with me for Christmas?” he asks eventually, breathing the words out quickly.

“Um,” Liam starts but then stops just as quick. Because he’s not really sure what the right answer is. He knows what he wants to say, but he thinks that maybe Christmas with Louis’ family (who probably don’t hate him, because well, it’s Louis’ family, but he figures they maybe at least hold a little resentment) might be a bit too much.

“They don’t hate you,” Louis says carefully, and okay, Liam forgets sometimes that Louis has a fairly uncanny ability to read his mind.

“You don’t have to,” Louis says, quickly backtracking, eyes down, and—

“No,” Liam says certainly, because if they’re doing this they’re going to do it properly, “no, I want to.”

Louis smiles hopefully. “Yeah?”

Liam nods. “Yeah.”

Louis pulls him into a slow kiss then, and Liam kisses him back softly and thinks: alright, this isn’t going to be easy. Maybe they don’t know if they’ll ever make music together again. Maybe he and Louis will have to spend the rest of their lives going to weekly (bi-weekly, monthly, who even knows) therapy sessions or AA meetings. Maybe they’ll have more bad days than good days. Maybe they’ll even fight and fuck it all up again, but Liam knows that he’d rather be here with Louis and the uncertainty, than back where he was without him.

Four months later.

In 2012, One Direction were taking the world by storm, with a Number 1 album, and a sold-out world tour, they were almost unstoppable. But two more Number 1 albums and too many tours later, the strain got the better of them, and just a year after the world-famous boyband announced an indefinite hiatus, members Liam Payne and Louis Tomlinson were hospitalised and admitted to rehab, respectively. Now, for the first time since their sort-of split two years ago, we talk to all five of them about their past, their present and their possible future.

Q: Hello lads! It’s good to see you back together and smiling. How are you all?

Louis: It’s good to be back together.

Harry: Yeah, good, we’re good. We’re—

Zayn: Getting there.

Harry: Yeah, we’re getting there.

Liam: Still getting used to it being the five of us again. But it’s really great.

Niall: We missed each other quite a bit, I think.

Harry: Yeah, took us a long while to admit it but. Yeah.

Louis: Stubborn ****s, the lot of us!

Q: There’s been many a rumour that One Direction will soon be officially off hiatus. Can you confirm that?

Harry: We’ve talked about it. We all went back to the bungalow for a couple of weeks last month, which I think was good for us. It got us used to being back together and, it’s just a really special place for us. We talked a lot of things through, had a good time, did a bit of writing, and yeah, I think it’s officially on the cards.

Niall: We’re getting the band back together, lads! I’ve always wanted to say that.

Q: You’ve been through a lot of hard times, both as a band and individually, do you think the worst is behind you?

Zayn: I don’t know if it’s as easy as that. But we’re hoping this is the start of better things, yeah.

Harry: We’ve all been through a lot, maybe some of us more than others, but I think it’s important that we have each other and this time we know what not to do. Hopefully this run will be smoother!

Niall: Yeah. We’ve definitely learnt a lot! It took us a long time to get to where we are now, so for now we’re mostly focusing on being friends again because that’s the most important part.

Harry: Awww.

Liam: Speaking for me, I’m not okay, but it’s something I’m learning to live with and I have the best support network in these lads. I think it’ll take some time to, like, balance it all, and realise that actually it’s okay to not be okay, it’s okay to have a bad day, and no one’s going to hate me for it.

Louis: I think we’re just gonna take each day as it comes, you know? Like, we’re not planning anything, just sort of doing some writing and recording and seeing where it takes us, we don’t want to jump back into touring and promo and all of that s*** straightaway and get burnt out before we’ve even started! Like Liam said, we’re not all okay but we’re living with it and learning how to deal with it better than we did in the past.

Q: You said you want to focus first and foremost on being friends again, implying there was a time when you weren’t, is that an accurate statement?

Niall: I wouldn’t say we ever weren’t friends. I mean, not in the sense that we hated each other or anything like that. Things were just a bit shaky for a while.

Liam: Because of what was going on with me and Louis, I think the other lads felt sort of split between the two of us. But it was never that any of us hated each other or didn’t want to be friends. The circumstances just made it difficult.

Zayn: It was a bit like we had to pick a side. But not in a horrible way, in a way that they both needed someone to support them.

Niall: I was the go-between!

Q: Louis, you’ve been sober over a year now, congratulations!

Harry: We’re all really proud!

Louis: Thanks! Yeah, it’s been a bit of an uphill battle, but I feel alright most days, and everyone’s really supportive. It’s something that I think’s important to talk about.

Liam: Yeah, we don’t want to shy away from the past. I think it’s really important to talk about what we’ve been through, and the response we’ve got from fans has been really incredible. We want to encourage people to talk about what they’re going through and get the help they need.

Q: Liam and Louis, there’s been a lot of talk that you have rekindled your romance, is there any truth to that?

Louis: You know, I think there’s only so much of your personal life that you should share with the world, and we learnt that the hard way, so I’m not going to say anything other than yeah. We’re working on it.

Liam: Yeah, I think back before the hiatus, we all kind of lost ourselves a bit to the pressure and the exhaustion and, you know, other stuff, and our relationship didn’t survive it, but. Yeah. I love Louis, a lot, and I wasn’t okay letting that go, so we’re definitely working on it.

Louis: Awww, stop, you’re making me blush!

Q: Is this the end of What the Folk?

Louis: I think so. Harry?

Harry: I think What the Folk? has served its purpose? It was something that we [Louis and Harry] needed at that point in time; it was a coping thing I think. I love the material we came out with and I’ll always be proud of it. But our hearts lie in One Direction.

Q: Louis, you wrote most of the lyrics for What the Folk? Does this mean you might be writing the new 1D material?

Louis: I think we’re all going to have a hand in writing. Like we said, we’ve already been writing some stuff and it’s been a joint effort, so I think there’ll be something from everyone.

Q: Louis and Harry, will you be incorporating any of your folk-esque music into the new 1D sound?

Louis: [laughs] Definitely not!

Q: You’ve matured a bit over the past couple of years, do you think your music will mature too?

Liam: I don’t know. I think, because we’ve been through a lot, there’ll probably be an element of it in the music and the lyrics. But really we just want to have fun. One Direction was fun for us once upon a time, and we want to bring some of that back too. I don’t know. Lads?

Harry: Yeah I don’t know. Obviously we’re all 22, 23, 24 now, but we’re still growing up, we’re still, you know, figuring life out, which is something you’ll probably hear in our music.

Zayn: Very philosophical, Harry.

Niall: [mockingly] Philosophical.

Q: So what can we expect from One Direction in the coming months?

Niall: We’re going on a skiing holiday soon!

Louis: 1D Ski. It’s the official trip name. We’re inventive.

Zayn: Yeah. So, expect lots of snow and slopes. We’re actually thinking of putting together a video diary while we’re there. Liam might even do a twitcam.

Liam: Haha.

Louis: The long-awaited return of Liam’s twitcams! Guest-starring Louis Tomlinson, maybe. Musically, though, I don’t know, we’re just seeing where it takes us.

Harry: Yeah, we’ve not got a schedule or any kind of plan. We don’t want to jump straight in at the deep end, I think we need some time to chill, so. It might be a year before we put anything out. The label’s given us free reign so we’re just gonna do what feels right, no rush, no worries.

Louis: [Singing Hakuna Matata from The Lion King soundtrack]

Q: Okay, I think we’re done here! Any parting words?

Louis: [singing] It means no worries for the rest of your days!

Niall: [singing] It’s a problem free philosophy!

Louis: [still singing] Hakuna Matata!

Harry: We’d also like to thank everyone for their continued support.

Liam: Yeah, the support has been overwhelming. We wouldn’t be doing this without the fans.

Zayn: Keep an eye on our Youtube channel for video diaries and updates or whatever, and twitter, if watching Liam talk about nothing on Twitcam for hours is your thing.

Louis: Why wouldn’t it be?

Liam: And if you’re going through a hard time, don’t give up, keep fighting, because you’re not alone and it gets better.

Louis: Over and out!

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