Archive of Our Own

He misses the taste of coffee on Monday mornings.  The sharpness as it touches the tip of his tongue, probably way too hot and scalding but the way it stung on its way down was always way too satisfying.  He misses the aroma, not that it woke him up instantly like it did for so many others but it was mind-settling, really.  The way he’d take a deep inhale, drown out all of the noises all around him and he can almost taste the almonds or possibly the swirl of hazelnut anytime he snatched that Styrofoam cup from Louis’ small fingers, lifting the lid and letting the billowing clouds of steam rise.  It was better than any silly Katy Perry song Louis sang too loudly on their way to school in that old Mercedes Louis’ parents bought him when he was in Year Twelve and making better than normal grades.

It’s around Liam’s own entrance into Year Twelve that he decides to be a little more conscious with his health decisions, though his mother had decided this around Year Nine – “One day you’re going to thank me for all these wonderful fruits and vegetables I slip into your lunch and dinner.”  He honestly doesn’t think so, but he still nods when she reminds him almost every morning he’s dashing out the door to catch a ride in the backseat of Eleanor’s car, Niall in the passenger side with the Eagles blasting and Niall wailing along, word for word.  It’s not that he’s banned coffee from his life to become some sort of health freak but coffee is reserved for Friday mornings now when things are a little less stressful and he can stop at just one cup.

It’s at lunch he misses the coffee the most.  Half of his day is gone and he’s certain he has no idea what happened during his Chemistry or History classes and no amount of notes he’s taken is going to help Eleanor catch him up on all the topics discussed in History because he’s shit at History, always has been.

He’s half slumped into his chair at the corner of the table, twisting the cap of his water back and forth idly while looking down at his paper bag lunch.  He doesn’t want to know what his mum has slipped in there today, doesn’t even bother toying with the edges while he listens to Cher go on about some random party she’ll be attending this weekend but she’s not really talking to him; she never is.  None of them ever really are, not on purpose at least and it’s not because they don’t like him.  He’s known most of them since junior school, mainly Eleanor and Cher, but they don’t sit with him during lunch because of his insanely attractive smile or the fact that he buzzed all of his hair off during the summer to draw more attention to his chocolate brown eyes or the way he can recite almost every line of The Dark Knight to them without missing a beat.

“I swear, I’ll trade a month’s worth of Nando’s to whichever of ya manages to pass my Biology class for me without me actually being there.”

No, they sit with him because of Niall, Irish accent thick and a smile so blinding it makes the sun look as bright as those street lights down on West Allen Street.  But Liam smiles up at Niall when he strolls up, one arm slung around Eleanor’s small shoulder while his other hand balances a tray piled high with various foods that Liam couldn’t imagine eating but Niall will most likely demolish well before their lunch period ever ends.  Liam scoots over instantly, makes room for Niall to slide a chair into their table and Cher’s turning to him instantly, retelling her story while Niall nods, blue eyes lively with a tickling grin bubbling over pinkish lips.  He’s absentmindedly sliding Liam an apple and a bowl of blueberries, nodding at him knowingly and Liam ducks his head some before taking a large chunk out of the apple and pretending once again to care about whatever vapid gossip Cher wants to go on about.

Niall transferred to their school just before Year Eight ended, all way too thick accent, shaggy blonde hair that was deep brown underneath the edges with braces and clothes far too big for his small body.  Liam’s head of the year left Liam in charge of dragging Niall around from class to class and, though it took Liam at least two weeks to understand half the words coming out of this insanely happy kid’s mouth, they seemed to bond instantly.  His mum clung to him instantly and Niall was at their house nearly every Sunday evening for dinner, his own mum working two jobs to support them and Liam remembers sitting on the roof of his house with Niall one night when he explained his parents’ divorce, his older brother being back in Mullingar while Niall’s mum moved to England to start over, dragging Niall with her.  Even then, Niall told the whole story with a grin so large it hurt Liam’s cheeks.

Liam’s not certain when it happened but somewhere between Year Nine and Year Ten, Niall became popular; insanely popular.  It was probably because Niall was nice to everyone and maybe some of the girls just loved his accent or the way his impersonations were almost always spot on.  He was still acutely small, unlike Liam who’d grown about a foot, but long gone were the braces and the hair seemed to be styled better.  His mum had lucked up on a good enough job that Niall was wearing high tops and hoodies with rosy cheeks that all the girls swooned over every time he laughed.  He was decent at football, better at rugby, and it made it easier for Niall to fit in with all the other sporty types while Liam sat on the sidelines, trying out for a dozen teams but only making the cross country team because that selection process was more about skill rather than who the team captain happened to like that year.

“Sounds fun.  I’ll bring Liam along,” Niall says out of nowhere and Liam shakes from his daze, half bitten apple in his hand when Niall slips an arm around his shoulders, shaking him.

Cher gives him a once over, upper lip curling a little and Liam can’t help but grin at her while chewing the remains of his apple, eyes crinkling.  She’s snorting before finally reply, “Sure, why not.”

It always goes like that; Niall making sure the world knew Liam still existed when he was always right there, in someone’s face, trying to make sure he was relevant.  Niall never treats him different like they do.  It’s not that Niall is oblivious because he sometimes gives Liam questionable looks when he runs over to him in the morning with flannel shirts on, a Batman t-shirt tucked underneath but Niall can clearly see the emblem and the way Liam’s all insecure grins rather than expected sunshine smiles like Niall.  He always tucks an arm around Liam’s shoulders and leads him in through the doors with the rest of the students, listening intently as Liam goes on about the trailer for Man of Steel or the latest song by Usher that Niall will probably never listen to but still nods along to when Liam sings it lowly.

“Oh, my, fresh meat coming in,” Jesy coos lowly, puckering scarlet red lips with her round cheeks pushed up.  She pushes sections of her wildly curl red hair behind her shoulders and jerks her head towards the cafeteria doors for Cher and Eleanor to join her.

“Fuck off, who is that?” Cher asks, biting down on the tip of her nail while batting those fake long lashes that Liam hates but she started wearing after Year Nine when Andy drunkenly said he liked Eleanor’s eyelashes.

Eleanor peeks past Cher and Liam’s not sure why he joins her but he’s certain he can see why Jesy was desperately trying to comb her fingers through her hair to fix it while Cher pulled at her shirt to make it slide lower and reveal more skin.

It’s the curls Liam notices first, unruliness seemingly tamed as soft locks swirl around his head, the bangs in the front swept across his forehead with little effort.  He has large green eyes, probably a speckling of blue in them if anyone got close enough with eyebrows set sharply.  There’s a defined dimple, left cheek, when he smiles a little at the tables he passes, red lips quirking and Liam thinks even when this kid’s brooding, those lips are probably still soft and smile-like.  His face is boyish, probably the way he and Niall looked in Year Ten but Liam’s almost certain this guy is older just by the way he’s cheeky without even saying anything.  He’s tall, not wiry and thin like most of the taller kids, but his build shows through that dark blue blazer he’s wearing with the low cut t-shirt beneath and was that a pocket square?  He’s a little too hipster in the way he carries himself but his jeans have a few holes in them and he’s wearing loafers that scuff along the cheap tile of the cafeteria floor.

“Oi, shit, forgot about him,” Niall hisses, bumbling in his seat as he tries to stand and he’s waving the kid over.

“The thought of food distracted you?” Eleanor teases, giggling behind her hand as Niall shoots her a twisted grin.

“Food doesn’t distract me,” Niall replies, waving her off, “it delights me.”

“Sorry, I know you told me to meet you in here ten minutes ago but I got a bit lost trying to find my locker,” the kid says and Liam’s chewing on his bottom lip watching him, smoky voice never matching that tangling smile on cherry lips.

Niall’s waving at him offhandedly, plopping back down into his seat while dragging a chair from another table over to theirs for him.  “Think nothing of it,” Niall says as the kid slides down into the chair wedged between Eleanor and himself.  Liam’s chewing on his bottom lip rather than his apple now, watching cautiously as an off kilter smile crosses over those red lips.

“Thanks,” he breathes out, dropping his tray and he’s glancing around curiously, eyes on him from every direction.

“Niall, don’t be rude,” Jesy hisses, reaching past Cher to offer a hand but Cher’s already scooting her chair closer, ten seconds quicker.

“Cher Lloyd,” Cher says coolly, brimming grin on her lips while Jesy scoffs from behind her.  She’s offering a petite wave that Liam sees mirrored by the kid and he’s trying not to roll his eyes, biting out a corner of his apple.

“Right, right.  Gang this is Harry Styles, transfer from Chapel Holmes.  Mum just moved this way with stepdad,” Niall says offhandedly, shoveling more food into his mouth as he speaks.  He makes a circling motion with his plastic spoon and Liam cringes a little, backing away.  “This lot is your new guide to success Styles.  Bunch of right mad wankers but your best bet around these parts.”

There’s a few pounds on the tables from the guys, the girls groaning but batting their lashes when Harry chuckles, nodding at each of them.  Liam peeks out a way too large smile when Harry looks his way but Harry doesn’t balk and Liam thinks he just might fit in perfectly.

He watches as Harry tries to keep up with all of the conversations, cheeks pinking when Jesy runs her fingers over the back of his hand, Cher leaning in and all Liam can smell is cheap perfume and the small plastic container of lime Jell-O Niall’s shoving into his mouth with Eleanor threading fingers through his hair playfully.

Liam fiddles with the blueberries, feeding Eleanor one when she winks at him, grinning back at her.  They’ve been like this since Year Six, when Eleanor ruffled his lengthy blonde-brown hair while sharing her fruit snacks with him at lunch.  It was an unspoken pact, their friendship, even when Louis left them for Uni and well before Niall reunified their threesome a few months later.

“I almost didn’t find my way down a few of the halls but thankfully this really quiet guy with a leather jacket on helped me,” Harry notes and it’s the first time Liam pays attention in ten minutes as Harry nods toward the side doors.  Liam twists his neck to get a glance and his brow lifts naturally just before Harry says, “Didn’t tell me his name though.”

“Zayn,” Jesy says dismissively with an eye roll.

“Zayn Malik,” Cher repeats with a little less disdain, nodding toward where Zayn leaned in the side door of the cafeteria, letting in cool breeze as he stares out the door thoughtfully.

“That was nice of him,” Eleanor says softly, tucking strands of wavy brown hair behind her ear.

“Not like him,” Aiden states, toying with the carrots on his tray.

“Not like him to talk to anyone other than his friends,” Jesy scoffs, another eye roll and Liam’s biting his lower lip, lowering his eyes.

“Good on him.  He saved Styles like some superhero,” Niall chimes, snatching a cup of applesauce from Harry’s tray with a grin, nudging Liam’s side with a belly-aching laugh.

Liam nods, doesn’t know what else to say until they’re all falling back into other conversations that feel meaningless.  His eyes lift, watch Zayn with a tad too much fascination.  He studies that gelled up quiff, thick blonde streak running through a section of shadowy black hair with just enough scruff along his jaw and above his lips that his baby face isn’t too neatly hidden.  He’s patting the bottom of his carton of smokes, gnawing at his bottom lip before scratching at that tight black shirt underneath his jacket.  He pulls a cigarette from the pack, twisting it between his thumb and forefinger, outline of a soaring dove on the back of his hand.  When he slips the cigarette between his full pink lips, he glances up and its shades of olive chasing the brown in his irises that draw Liam’s attention.  His lips quirk up and Liam feels the heat strike a flame against his cheeks, fiddling with a blueberry that never quite makes it to his lips.  Maybe he’s looking at Eleanor or some beautiful girl toward the back of the cafeteria that’s far more fascinating than Liam Payne because Liam was invisible as far as this school was concerned.  Zayn’s shaking his head, pulling his jacket tightly closed before ducking out the door, never really acknowledging Liam.

“… I was almost naked by the time I finished ‘Summer of ‘69’ and that’s how we won the battle of the bands contest,” Harry laughs out and it must’ve been the longest story ever because when Liam looks on the others, Eleanor’s nearly half-sleep on Niall’s shoulder, Niall’s finished all of his lunch and nearly half of Harry’s while Jesy and Cher pretend to nod along, cheeks pushed too far up to truly be genuine smiles anymore.

“Brilliant,” Niall sighs out, turning to Liam with wide eyes and Liam laughs, loud and proud while Eleanor shakes awake, wiping spots of drool from Niall’s Topman shirt with blush spotting her cheeks.

When the bell rings, Liam stands quickly, yanking up his books before pulling the chair out for Eleanor.  She’s all smiles and gentle shoves as he scoots past the others, nodding when Niall asks him to come by after school for his rugby practice.  He always does, the one day out of the week he doesn’t have practice for cross country.

He’s nearly hopping over chairs to get out because he can’t afford to be late to his Creative Writing class, the one class he knows he has to put the most effort into to make a good enough grade this semester to survive.  He’s down a few flight of steps, around the corner and nearly jogging to the classroom door before it gets too crowded.  He’s a little late and waits behind a few others with heavy breaths and eyes on the floor.  He’s nudged out of the way a little, fingers balling into a fist when he nearly drops his text book and he’s glaring upward when he spots a leather jacket and wicked grin.  Zayn slides into one of the chairs near the back, high-fiving Anthony who’s all hissing laughter before nodding at Liam, feet kicking up onto the empty chair in front of him.

Liam resigns not to say anything, deep breath inward as he slips into the vacant chair near the front next to Geneva who doesn’t do much to acknowledge him other than asking to borrow a pen halfway through the class.  He slouches into his chair, does his best to pay attention but he thinks he can feel Zayn smiling at him from the back of the class the whole time and the biggest part of him wishes he could be that cocky about every fucking thing he does.

**

“Oi, what’s wrong with this lot?  It’s unbearable out here and half of them are prancing around without a shirt on.  Fucking bullshit,” Louis calls out with a scowl, taking a lengthy sip from his cup of tea before making a face as Andy slams into a small kid on the field, collapsing in a heap of limbs and cold grass.

It’s not exactly tradition, he and Louis meeting on the bleachers to chat and watch Niall practice, but it kind of is.  Louis makes an effort to visit him at least once a week from Uni and Liam tries to return the favor on weekends when he’s not too boggled down with homework, studying, and papers he’s never very good at writing but gets his sister Ruth to look over when he’s done.  It used to be include Eleanor down at a local coffee shop she worked at before the summer came and she started putting more focus on getting an internship at some low budget fashion magazine.  But that was back when Louis was in Year Thirteen with nothing to do but pretend to care about classes and, really, he got good grades without much effort but he was far too focused on getting the hell out of secondary school and finding “a far more sensible life outside of these brick walls.”

“Are you more concerned about the weather or the fact that all of them are not shirtless?” Liam teases, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees to watch Niall soar past a few of the other players, laughing all the way.  Liam cheers on the inside, nose scrunching up with a smile.

“Oh fuck off,” Louis says with a scowl but it quickly melts into a grin, head shaking.  “I am not interested in little blokes with little willies.”

“Says the one who made out with a Year Ten boy three months ago at a Uni party,” Liam states, smug grin folding over his lips.

“Two months ago,” Louis clarifies, nose upturned.  “Besides, no one was checking identification and he acted mature, unlike you.”

“Whatever,” Liam laughs out, rolling his eyes as Louis blows on his tea before sipping again.  He pulls his worn out letterman jacket closer.  It used to belong to Martin, Ruth’s boyfriend, and the patches are starting to lose their threading, once soft leather now a bit rough and faded.  He doesn’t care because it’s warm and it makes him feel elite if just for a moment.

“Right, speaking of parties,” Louis sings out and that leer in Louis’ eyes makes Liam cringe, head already shaking.

“No, Louis,” Liam argues instantly, hands clasping together.  There’s a wide grin stretching over ruddy lips and Liam swears he can see the devil dancing in those greenish blue eyes of Louis’.

“Come on, Li.  It’ll be good for you,” Louis insists, fingers pinching Liam’s side.

“Like the last one where you got pissed out your socks and I had to camp out on some ratty couch for hours while you chatted some poor boy’s ear off,” Liam says, his voice a bit firm but he knew what tone to carry with Louis when the wheels started turning in his head.  Once Louis is settled on something, it would take a good lawyer or a swarm of cops to stop him.

“He was quite fit,” Louis says to himself, lips puckering sweetly.  “Too bad he wouldn’t let me blow him.”

Liam slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning.  He’s giving Louis a playful shove, turning his eyes back on the field just in time to see Niall waving at them wildly.  He waves back a little too late, one of the players tackling Niall from behind and it’s a portrait of hoots and howls with mud streaking Niall’s jersey and the ball flying backward.  Niall’s getting up with a laugh and Liam’s face is still scrunched up in pain, wondering if Niall ever broke something would he do anything other than laugh and limp it off.

“It’s next Saturday –“

“Not going,” Liam insists, turning back to Louis who’s dishing out a frown and sad eyes.  It always worked so well on Eleanor but Liam’s a bit tougher, a little less gullible.

“You have to,” Louis whines, tugging on the sleeve of Liam’s jacket.

“Why?” Liam asks outright.

“Because I’m going,” Louis retorts, brow scrunching.

“You’re going to have to do better than that Tommo,” Liam laughs out, kicking his feet up on the empty row of metal seats in front of him.  He chews on his thumbnail while Louis presents him a thoughtful expression, blowing softly on his tea.

“Because you need to.  All of you do.  So worried about what life’s going to be once you get the hell out of here but let me tell you, it’s not paradise on the other side Li.  It’s just more work,” Louis declares and it’s just like Louis to do that – go from unfiltered silliness to incredibly realistic.  It’s the best and worst part of him.

Liam whistles lowly, lips twisting to the side.  His fingers dig into the fabric of his jeans and he doesn’t know why he’s even considering the option.  He told himself he wouldn’t go to another party with Louis’ four parties ago when Eleanor was completely bladdered on some blue-colored shots and Aiden was hanging off the back of some fresher’s couch singing, more hiccupping, ‘Diamonds Are Forever’ way too loudly.

“Might as well live while you can,” Louis adds, his grin turning quite sinful once more and Liam knows what that means.  He knows he’s agreed without saying a word to Louis and Louis knows it.

“I’m bringing Niall.  El stays home,” Liam orders, throwing away his smile for a no nonsense look that Louis groans at.

“You know I need someone to make out with if I can’t find a dishy bloke to sleep with,” Louis whines but Liam’s raising a shaking finger, silencing him.

“Exactly my point.  She needs a break from being you’re one off,” Liam declares.

Louis sighs but he knows better than to argue with Liam.  He knows that relationship he and Eleanor danced through for nearly two years crushed her once she sorted out that Louis thought she was pretty, just not loveable.  Not by Louis’ definition which meant being completely unavailable as well as completely of the same sex.  It was by far the hardest summer of Liam’s life and spending weeks on ending comforting Eleanor while trying to mend friendships wasn’t exactly his idea of chasing the sun but things were better now, if not just a little less tense when the subject was brought up.

“Fine.  Horan it is,” Louis sighs out, gulping the rest of his tea before chucking the empty cup into the empty stands.  He smiles warmly, eyes narrowing before he says, “You know, you should really consider bringing a date for yourself this time.  There’s plenty of empty beds for you to shag a fit lad or attractive Uni girl in if you wanted.”

Liam gulps a breath of air, glaring at Louis before dropping his eyes to his lap.  He twiddles his fingers, biting down hard on his bottom lip to hide the shame but his cheeks are already painted red and he hates that he ever drunkenly admitted to Louis how much he liked guys as much as girls, maybe even more.  He hadn’t even settled into the thought before Louis was dragging him to a smoky club the next weekend with “Call Me Maybe” blaring through the cheap speakers, shirtless guys old enough to be his father and hands that tried to grope him around every corner he went, leaving him a sobbing mess an hour later when Louis found him huddled in a corner of one of the bathrooms.

“Not interested in anyone,” Liam finally replies with a shrug, lifting his head to watch the field rather than Louis.

“Bullshit,” Louis barks out, laughing.

Liam shoots him an incredulous look, eyes wide and mouth gaping.  Louis’ giving him a light shove, scrubbing a hand over Liam’s prickly hair.  Liam drowns out the sound of Louis’ laughing with the sound of a soft voice singing, rolling sigh from his lips as he looks away from Louis and tries to follow the voice.  He nibbles just on the edge of his bottom lip, leaning forward and that voice warms the inside of his chest the way it swoops in and out of tune, Liam mouthing the lyrics right along.

The leather jacket is long gone, black shirt showing off ink wrapped around a forearm.  That quiff is nearly hidden behind a small black beanie, tight black jeans hiding thin legs as Zayn moves slowly near the fence at the bottom of the bleachers.  His skin is a different hint of gold in the sunlight, highlighting every sharp edge of his jaw.  He’s dragging a hand along the wiring, fingers catching every once in a while, head down low with earbuds obscuring the sound of barking rugby players and the whistle the coach keeps blowing when a play goes afoul.  He’s rubbing his index finger along slightly chapped lips as he sings – And I’m so sick of love songs, so tired of tears. So done with wishing you were still here – with his head bobbing.  His other hand is clutching a skateboard by its axle, high tops kicking loose rocks across the ground.  He walks as if he doesn’t give a shit about the world surrounding him and, Liam thinks, he probably does but would prefer ignore it anyway.

Liam doesn’t know why he leans a little further in, sideways grin tipping his lips upward as Zayn bobs his head carelessly, his voice striking the right note this time – So why can’t I turn off the radio? – and Liam catches himself actually singing along this time.  His last note his choked because Zayn’s looking up curiously, already tugging an earbud from his ear and Liam’s panicked for a second, fingers itching over his jeans while his cheeks flush an unhealthy red.  He’s blinking, trying not to stare at Zayn who’s got an arched eyebrow and peering eyes right on Liam.  He’s frozen, which isn’t doing much to help his situation, and Zayn’s licking his lips slowly, brow knit.

“Oi, Malik, shove off.  You’re blocking a perfectly good game of Spot the Fit Bloke.  Obviously, you are not a contestant,” Louis barks out and Liam inhales deep, decides breathing is probably a good thing right about now.

Zayn rolls his eyes before flipping Louis off, stuffing the earbud back in his ear but not before glaring at Liam for a second too long, Liam’s shoulders slumping and he’s shrinking right there on the bleachers.

“Thanks babe.  Honestly, you’re not made of glass,” Louis adds, waving Zayn off and Zayn’s singing a little louder now to drown out the sound of Louis’ voice.

Liam slumps into the bleachers, ducks his head when Niall leans on the fence and looks up at them curiously.  If dying was a veritable option, Liam would be signing up, no questions asked.  He merely chews on his thumbnail, tapping an impatient foot along the bleachers while Louis shakes his head.

“Horan, party at Uni this weekend.  You in?” Louis asks loudly, shucking an arm around Liam’s shoulders and it does little to comfort Liam for the moment.

“Bloody right I am,” Niall cheers, fist thrown in the air with a howl.

“Smashing,” Louis calls back, nodding with a massive grin that Liam winces at.  Those two were a terrible combination and Liam was better off dragging Eleanor along now that he thought about it.

He sighs lowly, tipping his head back to watch the sun begin its slow descent behind the clouds.  He feels Louis rest his head on Liam’s temple and Liam wants to forget every inch of the last ten minutes before he has a complete panic attack for reasons he can’t explain.

“So you’re sure you’re not interested in anyone?” Louis asks but it sounds more like he’s telling Liam, teasing chuckle following his words.  “You fancy the bad boy type?  Didn’t know you had it in you, Payne.”

Liam’s certain all of those boxing lessons with Martin would pay off if he floored Louis right now but he merely groans and covers his face with his hands while Louis pulls away to snatch his buzzing phone from his pocket.  He curls up with horror when Louis shouts into his phone, “Hello caller, what’s your name and where are you from?” and he can hear Eleanor giggling loudly on the other side.

Some days he didn’t know why he even bothered to keep Louis around.

**

“I brought Harry.”

One day Liam is going to explain to Niall how painfully bad he is at overstating the obvious.  It’s more than apparent now when Niall bum rushes the car with Harry in tow.  Harry’s grinning boyishly behind him while holding up two six packs of some German lager that Liam learns later on, in the car ride to Telford, that he bummed off his stepdad Robin.  Liam doesn’t refute the suggestion of Harry tagging along though he’s weary.  Harry might be in their same level but he’s a full year younger, being quite brilliant enough to pass some of his minor classes early and have high enough grades to study a year ahead.  But Niall’s all goofy grins, holding up his own bottle of half-drunken Jack Daniels – their last encounter involving a party at Cher’s where Niall spent half the night puking up some green drink Andy concocted while Liam accidentally spilled most of his cup of Jack on Eleanor’s new pink dress.  His chest burns after the first swig and Niall’s thumping his own while Harry leans forward from the backseat, wide grin with bright eyes and Liam doesn’t deny the kid has enough charm to survive at least one Uni party with them.

His mum trusts him enough to borrow her car because he’s not much of a troublemaker, neither is Niall.  He’s always in for curfew during the week and, despite all common sense, his mum rather likes Louis and all of his eccentrics.  She’s not the only person Louis’ managed to fool but it works in his favor, especially weekends like this one.

Harry stretches pass them to crank up the volume on the radio when he hears Kings of Leon, Niall cheering manically and Liam can’t fight his own smile when Niall and Harry growl their way through half the song – You, your sex is on fire – playing air guitar like they’re in their own band.  It’s all heads nodding, the bottle being passed around the car like its liquid oxygen and Liam’s head is buzzing by the time they reach Louis’ University hall.

“And whose brilliant idea was this?” Louis asks, leaning in the doorway with red chinos rolled just above his ankles, a bright striped shirt and his hair is pulled back rather than that silly fringe over his forehead.

Liam hiccups out a giggle before jerking his thumb in Niall’s direction who’s pleasantly giddy, leaping at Louis with manic laughter and flailing arms.  Louis sighs loudly, pulling Niall into a hug before he’s nearly tossing the jovial Irish bloke across the room when he peaks over Niall’s shoulder to a quiet Harry.  He’s straightening his clothes, softer smile licked over his lips and Liam gives Louis a once over before groaning internally.  He knows that look, has studied it like some prehistoric form of art and he nearly grabs Harry and drags him back to the car before Louis can open his mouth.

“And this is…”

“Harry.  Harry Styles,” Niall answers before Harry can, tossing an arm around Louis and he’s too close to being sloshed to notice the way Louis immediately shrugs his arm off.

“Harry.  Harry Styles,” Louis repeats slowly, testing the way it tastes against his tongue as his eyes dance over Harry and leave the taller boy smirking nervously.

“Right, the very young Harry Styles who we mustn’t corrupt on his first outing,” Liam adds, easing an arm around Louis’ waist to pull him close.  He’s shooting Louis a determined glare but Louis’ ignoring it in favor of studying every inch of Harry.

“Lou,” Liam warns lowly but Louis’ already grinning wickedly, reaching out to shake Harry’s hand.

“And that we won’t Li.  I’ll be sure to keep him close and out of the hands of unlawful University chaps,” Louis declares, his grin still far too wide and unrelenting for Liam’s taste.  But then he’s leaning in Harry’s direction, the corners of his mouth turning up even higher as he whispers, “That is unless you don’t mind being in the hands on University chaps.”

Harry’s wide-eyed, surprised with a fumbling smile and Liam’s groaning, kneeing Louis’ thigh before he can continue.  Louis’ smacking him away and it’s just enough to take Louis’ attention off of Harry for a moment as Liam ruffles Louis’ hair and leaps back before Louis can jump onto his back.  He’s laughing hard, unsure if it’s from the playfulness or the Jack Daniels, but he’s breathless when Louis finally finds a mirror to fix his hair and then turn back to them.

“Oi, let’s get on with it, shall we,” Louis suggests, grabbing Liam’s hand and dragging him out of the room, Niall cheering as he follows while Harry trails a little further behind, mouth still gaping with large green eyes.

**

The party is across campus in another hall Liam’s never visited, not that he’d been to many portions of the campus on his trips to visit Louis.  He can spot the party before they even get close enough, small groups of people gathered across the lawn with red plastic cups already littering the grass and there’s a few shirtless guys chasing a football across the open space, stumbling as they go.  He can smell the scent of cheap beer mixed with marijuana and cigarettes and the music is thumping a little too loudly for Liam’s tastes but Harry’s rocking to the beat while Niall’s eyes get wide with excitement.

“Now boys, don’t wander too far.  I can’t say I’m spectacularly good at hide-and-go-seek after a couple of shots,” Louis teases, hand still clutched to Liam’s as they walk.

Someone’s passing Harry a red cup before they even get through the doors, Liam snatching it away just as quick and handing it to Niall.  Louis might be the wisest of the four when it comes to parties, but Niall can hold his liquor a lot better.  Harry’s pouting but Liam’s easing an arm around his waist, leading him in the direction of the tub full of the safe, unopened beer bottles while Louis greets a few people Liam doesn’t know.  Niall immediately spots Cher and another girl from school, a caramel-toned Leigh-Anne who’s a little more subdued compared to Cher.  Liam keeps an eye on Niall from the side as a rather large man snaps the tops off of their beers before shoving them to Harry and Liam, giving them a once over before sighing and watching the crowd some more.

Liam takes one sip before wanting to spit it out.  It’s a little warm and bitter and Liam knows his limitations but Harry’s nearly gulping half the bottle down, head bobbing to something blaring through the speakers down the hall – Now I should be thinking it over, instead of calling her over. Now she’s here and she won’t go quietly – while surveying the room.  Liam does the same, letting Harry pluck his bottle from his fingers after he downs the rest of his own.

Niall’s crowded in the corner, Cher and Leigh-Anne dancing on him with red cups sloshing blue liquid on the floor.  Louis’ seated on the arm of one of the leather couches, telling some wild story to a few of the not nearly buzzed patrons with a red cup in one hand and a shot glass filled with gold liquid in the other.  Louis throws it back, patting at his chest with eyes watering before falling right back into the conversation as if those thirty seconds had not just happened.  Harry slips off when he catches a table full of guys playing beer pong and Liam wants to tell him it’s not a good idea but it’s Harry’s first time, why should he be the one to ruin it?

It’s an hour later before Liam loses sight of Harry and Niall’s trying to outdrink another bloke from Ireland out on the lawn, both of them shirtless with a small crowd cheering them on as they take shots straight from a bottle of cheap whiskey.  Liam watches from the window for a while, laughing to himself because no one really comes up to talk to him even though he spots a few kids from school like Danny, who blinks at him for a while from across the room before turning to talk to someone else, and Amelia, who seems to be too busy trying to sing along to every song being played while toying with her blonde hair.  He tries telling a joke to a small group around the tub of beer but he messes up the punchline, repeats it twice before he stumbles through an apology, walking away when they snicker at him rather than with him.

Liam wanders down the hall after Louis cuddles up to some guy in the corner of one of the rooms, waving Liam off when he jokingly asks, “Where’s the loo Lou?”  He follows the thud of the speakers against the walls, eyeing a few of the Uni kids as they make out in the halls or take deep inhales from something being passed around like it’s Halloween candy.  There’s dizzying girls taking pictures on their phones with their friends, one too many red cups lined along the floor and Liam’s peeking into one of the rooms where a makeshift DJ booth is set up and there’s a small horde of people dancing with arms in the air and bodies grinding everywhere.

He glances over a few of the dancing arms to see a head bowed at the DJ station but he recognizes the bop in those shoulders almost immediately.  There’s some scratching, the song changing and a prerecorded “DJ Malik, DJ Malik” laced in with the beat before he catches a song he doesn’t know flooding the room – I just wanna see you strip right now ‘cause it’s late – and the girls are squealing and hands are moving everywhere over swaying bodies.

Liam manages to scoot into the room, nibbling his bottom lip as a few of the girls try to roll their hips on him before he finds a corner, brilliantly embarrassed when he turns down every drunken offer to dance.  He huddles into the corner, arms folded over his chest as he gives his attention to Zayn as he bobs from the booth, fingers moving slickly over the records as he scratches his way through half of the song.  He’s into it, jaw clenched when he’s concentrating but then his lips are twitching and he’s smiling as the room cheers him on.  His tongue peeks out, wetting those pink lips as he moves awkwardly along to the beat, laughing as his friends take a piss at him from the side of the booth.

Zayn’s tugging the on the hood of his zip up, hiding his unkempt quiff and mouth puckering as he folds into another song – Somebody said you’ve got a new friend. Does she love you better than I can? – and Liam catches the way a beautiful girl centers herself in front of the DJ booth, dancing in time with the thudding melody, eyes on Zayn.  She’s got skin that looks softer than velvet, glossy pink lips with unruly curls that whip around as she dances.  It’s a bit choreographed and Liam thinks it’s too much of a spectacle but Zayn’s smiling, nodding along as she moves.  He’s clapping, mild encouragement, but she looks as if she needs none, snatching a boy from the suffocating space of the room and dancing on him all while looking at Zayn.

Liam snorts, takes a sip from a random red cup someone handed him before squeezing into the space of the room.  He can smell it before his tongue tastes it and he knows there’s only a drop or two of Coke in there, all cheap vodka passed off as something special.  His face scrunches and the vodka burns in the back of his throat but he swallows it down to blur the way Zayn looks up there.  The room’s too dark for Liam to make out the colors in Zayn’s eyes but the dancing strobe lights catch his face occasionally and Liam can see the definition in all of Zayn’s features, the way his skin is still impossibly tanned and fingers long and thin as he works his way to another song, something by Usher, before he’s laughing at a few drunk girls making out in the corner.

He takes another long gulp of the alcohol, regrets it immediately because he’s nearly choking on it but maybe it’s because when he lowers the cup he sees Zayn’s eyes on him.  He’s not glaring, not like he does in school on some days, but he is staring at Liam with curiosity filtered through those brown eyes.  And Liam’s thumping his chest, nodding in Zayn’s direction because it feels like the sensible thing to do but Zayn’s not really doing anything but looking at him, blinking and chewing on his bottom lip.  He wants to duck down in the corner, maybe squeeze his way through the squirming bodies to escape the room but then the corner of Zayn’s mouth lift and he offers Liam a small smile, the smallest acknowledgement that makes Liam feel anything but invisible.  In fact, he feels a heat rush over him and he wants it to be the alcohol finally kicking in because he’s had a few more drinks than he intended.  But, no, it’s definitely the way Zayn smiles like he knows Liam, like Liam is a friend rather than that clumsy boy that he’s known since Year Five when they sat together in Science and laughed together when Danny peed his pants during a class project.

There’s sweat beading against his forehead and there’s far too many bodies in there now, all swaying and jumping when Zayn scratches into an all familiar anthem – So can we finish what we started? Don’t you leave me brokenhearted tonight.  There’s a smile slipping over his own lips as Zayn raises his brow, peeling back his hood and his eyes haven’t really left Liam since they first fell on him.  Zayn’s biting on his own bottom lip with a grin while Liam rubs at the back of his neck, avoids taking another sip from his cup.  His fingers twitch, heart somewhere lumped in his throat along with those last lingering drops of alcohol.

He leans back against the wall, tries not to slide down it and Zayn’s snickering, shaking his head.  He wonders if this would be considered flirting but then the girl from earlier is slipping behind the DJ booth, forcibly making her way into the small space and she’s tossing her hair back while smirking at Zayn.  She’s molded into his personal space and, no, that was flirting – the way Zayn’s eyes lit up, his smile slipping from polite to seductive and she’s got a hand on his shoulder, sliding it down his chest.  Zayn’s laughing, head tipped back and Liam doesn’t keep his eyes on them long enough to know whether she’s giggling too or where her hand might slip next.  He drops his head, passes the cup to a girl as she stumbles in before shoving his way through the small crowd.  He needs to breathe, doesn’t think he can in there with the sweaty bodies, head-aching music, and the attention he can’t seem to get from anyone, let alone Zayn Malik.

It’s hot, much too hot when Liam manages to escape through a side door and out into the crisp air.  It sends a shock to his system, a well desired one, and he hugs himself for a few moments before breathing in a deep breath of cool air and cigarette smoke.  He finds a seat on the steps leading down to the lawn, arms on his knees as he tries not to shiver.  There’s a few random strangers chasing each other around on this side of the lawn, one actually taking a wee against the bricks of the building, and Liam hears him before he actually sees him.

“You should probably check on that Styles kid.”

Liam rubs at his nose, turning his head slowly but Zayn’s already easing down onto the steps next to him, stubbing out his cigarette on the space between them with his eyes on the girls dancing to their own beat in the middle of the lawn.  The skyline isn’t bright enough but Liam makes out the amber in his eyes when Zayn finally looks at him, lips pursed and brow lowered.

“Yeah?” Liam wonders, turns his eyes away.  He hasn’t seen any of his friends in hours and maybe finding them would be best?  He could shove them into his car, wave Louis goodbye, and get back to normal life where he didn’t care if he existed in the eyes of people like Zayn.

“Saw him with Cher and a few others.  You know that’s never a good thing,” Zayn says, pulling his legs up like Liam’s, chin resting on his knees.

Liam did know that probably wasn’t a good idea.  Cher’s not Niall and, when it comes to alcohol, she’s somewhere between full on pissed and near alcohol poisoning at most parties.  But Zayn scoots a little closer and his warmth leaves Liam a little hot, that sizzling heat that he needs because it’s way too chilly out tonight.

“You were good back there,” Liam mutters, trying to look unimpressed but his eyes betray him when he looks at Zayn.

Zayn blinks, waits a beat, then a smile breaks against slightly chapped lips, cheeks coloring as he rubs at the material of his chinos.  He tilts his head some and how does he look impossibly softer now?

“Thanks,” Zayn whispers, chewing the inside of his mouth.

Liam nods, surefire grin spreading over his own lips.  He bobs his head to the music in his head a little, whispering “DJ Malik” over and over until Zayn snorts, amused expression tickling his face.  Liam knocks his shoulder against Zayn’s, tries to remember when they were younger and it was okay for them to run across the playground and swing together until one was so dizzy from the heights that they leapt off.

“You never speak to me at school,” Liam says, doesn’t know why and regret sinks in just as the last consonant breaks his lips.

Zayn’s a bit taken aback, leans away a little with his brow scrunching.  Liam wants to take it all back, just that easily taking away that side of Zayn he had not seen in years but then Zayn’s mouth quirks.  He rubs his index finger over it, thoughtful, before narrowing his eyes at Liam.

“You don’t either,” Zayn counters, confidence leaving Liam slumping over some.

“Didn’t think you’d want to chat with me,” Liam utters, eyes dropping.  He plays with a few small rocks near his feet, tossing them down the steps below.  He sighs, lips fighting against a frown before he says, “I’m not the kind of bloke you’d chat it up with.”

“And what’s my kind Liam?” Zayn asks, voice coiled with a hint of arrogance.

Liam shrugs, looks up and Zayn’s eyes are squinted, anger set into his brow.  He bites down on his bottom lip, thinks maybe he should walk away this time but he shuffles his feet over the ground and lets Zayn’s glare steady him into a small shell of confidence.

“I’m sorry.  It’s just that… Well, no one really wants to have a chat with someone like me.  I’m not funny like Niall or loud like Louis.  I’m not even cheeky like Harry,” Liam explains, leaning back and Zayn’s eyes follow his every stuttering move.  He feels small, such a common feeling, but he’s not invisible.

“I’m just Liam,” Liam finally shrugs out, stretching.

Zayn snorts, head turning away and he’s tucking his chin onto his knees once more.  “Not such a bad thing if you ask me.”

It pounds like fingers slamming against piano keys, his heart, and Liam feels a grin tug at every inch of his lips.  He looks down at the huddled Zayn, the softness of the overhead light bringing out every stitch of youth that Zayn’s done so well to hide over the years.  His eyes still crinkle at the edges when he smiles, teeth still secure over bottom lip when he’s thoughtful, cheeks still sharp but pushed upward when he laughs.

Liam spots a shiver ghost over Zayn, brow lifting and he’s not even sure this isn’t the most mental thing he’s ever done but he leans closer, rests his weight against Zayn’s.  He can see Zayn’s eyebrows lift from the corner of his eye, waits for Zayn’s lip to curl and to be shoved down the rest of the concrete steps but Zayn just chuckles lowly and stays in place, lets Liam half put an arm around his back to draw in that warmth.

“You’ve got a nice voice,” Zayn mentions, his voice hung low and Liam has to peek his head up to really hear what Zayn says.  “Still as good as when we were younger and you got most of the solos during the school concerts.  I didn’t even know you knew that song.”

Liam’s eyes are a little wide, but his smile is larger.  He thinks about burying his head in the crook of Zayn’s neck for a moment, settles those thoughts because that would be massively inappropriate and Zayn might be small, but he looks like he can throw a decent punch.  He merely exhales quietly, leans in again until Zayn adjusts his positioning and quietly offers Liam a piece of his shoulder where Liam rests his temple.

“I like that kind of music,” Liam says quietly, eyes closing because they’re heavy and the alcohol is still sifting through his system.  He inhales the spicy cologne Zayn wears, something like orange and cinnamon, and that strong scent of cigarettes that Liam doesn’t seem to mind when it’s bathed in Zayn’s scent.

He licks at his lips, eyes batting open as a few students shuffle by them laughing at their own drunkenness.  He nips at the corner of his bottom lip before adding, “Your voice is brilliant,” and the blush is careless now, splashing on his cheeks and leaving his fingertips burning.

Zayn snorts again, nudges his shoulder to knock Liam’s head a little off balance.  He almost freezes when he feels Zayn’s fingers tickling over the back of his but then feels Zayn tense a little and he melts into it, lets the buzz from the alcohol carry him just long enough that Zayn settles again and those fingertips remain for just a second more.  His skin singes when they drop away and he wants to quietly beg Zayn for more but that’s definitely the alcohol, yeah?  He might not be against a man touching him, treating his body like a prayer but Zayn?  He doesn’t think Zayn is that person.

“Harry,” Zayn says, stretching and Liam’s nearly falling off the steps when Zayn pulls away.  He grumbles lowly, fucking Harry Styles, but then he moves his eyes to where Zayn’s jerking his head.  Harry’s laid across the lawn, snickering uncontrollably as Niall laughs over him, doesn’t even bother to try and help him up.  He’s got a red clown nose on and his feet are kicking wildly with Cher and Leigh-Anne giggling and pointing over him.  His shirt is stained in blues and greens, probably the various shades of alcohol Harry’s managed to get a hold of, and Liam winces at the way Harry’s paler than earlier.

“Shit,” Liam hisses, pushes himself up quickly and he’s not even turning to say anything to Zayn.  He’s marching determinedly, hands balled into fists as he crosses the lawn quicker than he can get to class after lunch.

“Liam,” Harry drawls out, eyes glassy as he reaches out for Liam but he fails miserably, falling back quickly and Liam’s certain Harry’s head is going to hurt in the morning from that fall.

“Niall,” Liam says warningly when Niall burps out a giggle.

“Sorry daddy,” Niall snickers out, doubling over with his hands on his knees and Liam groans, his head shaking.  Liam wants to shove him but he knows if he does, he’ll have to figure out a way to get Harry and Niall off the grass.

“Help me with him, yeah?” Liam requests when Niall finally straightens again.

Niall hiccups a giggle out, nodding joyfully and if Liam wasn’t so angry, he’d tell Niall how irresistibly cute he is when he’s shitfaced.  He doesn’t, uses most of his own strength to get Harry up because Niall’s still a complete mess but he shoulders some of the weight when they walk, Liam a bit relieved at that.  They only make it halfway before Harry whines “I need to take a wee” but Liam refuses, would rather Harry wet his pants because he knows if Niall stops, there’s no getting him to help again and Liam’s still just a little too buzzed to shoulder all the weight himself.  And when they find Louis, telling another obnoxiously loud story to anyone who will watch him wave his hands around like he’s manic, Louis takes Niall’s place underneath one of Harry’s arms which isn’t so bad until Harry starts to go on and on about how blue Louis’ eyes were and Louis’ blushing, complimenting Harry’s smile and Liam thinks maybe ditching all three of them to drive back home alone wouldn’t be such an awful thing.

Liam knows better than to try and drive Harry and Niall back because they’re obscenely drunk now and he’d never be able to explain to his mum why Niall was passed out in the tub or why Harry had painted the walkway to their house in vomit.  Louis’ offers his dorm, or rather “You two can bundle down on the floor.  I think I should probably look after our dear Harry,” to which Harry smiled at before passing out while Liam rolled his eyes and kicked Louis out of his own bed to let Harry drool on his shoulder half the night.  He ignores Louis’ pout because he deserved the bed for putting up with Louis’ shit and coming to some stupid Uni party he didn’t want to come to in the first place where now he not only has to care for Niall and Harry, but a petulant Louis who seems to be just a tad bit too interested in everything Harry Styles with endless questions that Liam finally ends by throwing a pillow at Louis’ head.  Plus he was tired and, fuck it all, every time he tried to get comfortable on this far too cramped bed with an awkwardly tall Harry he thought about how at ease he was with his head on Zayn’s shoulder and he’s not going to be able to sleep that off now, was he?

**

Liam is more than a little tired at lunch on Monday.  He blames Louis because he wasn’t much help the morning after the party, sleeping in way too late and not even bothering to help Liam drag Niall and Harry to the car with their eyes pinched and faces deathly pale.  It took him forever to get each of them home and his mum wasn’t exactly smiling when he stumble into the house, shoulders slumped with a frown but she merely waved him off and offered his dad some far-fetched excuse about him having cross country practice on a Sunday of all things.  And Niall was calling him incessantly to check on him because Niall was always wonderful the day after drinking; all chipper smiles, bright eyes only slightly glazed over, and putting away two whole meals at Nando’s like an afternoon snack.

But Harry?  Harry was terrible with a hangover – rigid and moody and he snapped at any and everything anyone said, even the waitress at Nando’s who was asking Niall how his food was.  His curls were a mess, usually bright eyes dulled and small and every bit of that dimpled-smile was faded and worn.  Yet Louis texts him no less than five times to check on Harry, not Liam, and asks random questions that Liam had no answer for because, really, Harry was still technically more so Niall’s friend rather than Liam’s.

He was rolling an orange back and forth between his hands, head ducked as he tried to listen to Harry tell the story about their “crazy, wild, wickedly fun” weekend but Harry was incredibly slow when telling stories and maybe it wasn’t to miss any of the details but, as Liam is learning, that’s not the case as Harry misses several pieces about the night that Liam has to interject and try to tell the joke himself though nobody at the table really finds it as funny as when Niall tells it.  But Liam tries, repeats it over and over to El and Aiden until one of them laughs but it feels forced even though he laughs with them.  Niall gives him that look, not sympathetic and overdone, but it’s caring and he drops a hand on Liam’s shoulder, rubbing at it in a friendly way that makes Liam smile up at him.

Cher comes in a little late, some obnoxious petite girl named Becky following her because Cher has as many followers at their school as celebrities have followers on Twitter.  She’s making jokes, pointing and cackling a bit too loudly and it takes Liam a second to crane his neck around a few of the other students to see Cher gawking at Zayn and trying to imitate his walk but she doesn’t have half the cool stride or set in the shoulders that does make Zayn appear cool.

“What a prick,” Cher sighs out with a giggle as she and Becky squeeze their way in between Harry and Jesy, eyes rolling when Jesy squawks something at her.

“He’s not that bad,” Andy says from a corner of the table and Cher’s glaring at him, upper lip curling.

“And suddenly you’re not that great to look at,” Cher points out, tongue clicking against teeth before she’s spinning to grin at Harry, ignoring the “twat” that comes lowly from Andy’s mouth.  Liam watches the annoyance settle into Eleanor’s face, keeping his own mouth pressed together as Cher fills in the missing pieces from Niall’s outrageous story about he and “the bloody Dublin kid who was completely fucked out of his mind while we drank” as Niall tells it.

Liam’s eyes drift a little, chin on his knuckles, and he finds Zayn leaning in that doorway again, warmer breeze today scooping in.  Zayn’s not even wearing the leather jacket this time, loose fit Bob Marley shirt and when he tugs at the collar, curls of ink against sunglow skin make an appearance.  His hair is swiped up into that quiff again but he has glasses on, Liam noticing a book tucked underneath Zayn’s arm.  He’s pulling a pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, lighter from the front and he shifts a bit nervously for a minute, looking around.  Liam snorts to himself, wonders if maybe Zayn’s waiting on one of the teachers to admonish him for smoking but then his grin tilts sideways when Zayn looks at him, squinted eyes behind those black-framed glasses and his lips are twisting sideways.

Liam instinctively bites down on his lower lip, nearly loses the orange when he rolls it because Zayn’s staring at him long enough for Liam to realize that Zayn’s looking at him this time, not anyone else.  He shivers a little, thinks of cold nights and Zayn perched close enough for him to absorb Zayn’s body heat, and then Zayn’s shaking his head with a laugh.  He has that power, doesn’t he?  The one where he knows he’s better than the rest of them, nothing really getting in his way because, unlike Liam, he doesn’t have a plan in life.  He does what he wants, when he wants, and that’s how it’ll always be – a middle finger to authority with a spark in his eyes and a cigarette rolled between his lips.

“I wish he’d just go away,” Jesy hisses and Liam blinks, pulls himself out of his daze to see Zayn ducking out the door just as one of the English teachers barks at him about smoking.

“He’s just such a wanker.  Him and his piss ass friends.  Complete fucks,” Cher grumbles, fingers lacing through her hair with a curl to her upper lip.

“I don’t know,” Niall muses, leaning back in his chair.  He eases an arm around Eleanor’s shoulders, Liam catching the way blush kisses her cheeks so gently, before snatching a few chips from Harry’s plate and shoveling them into his mouth.

The things is no one dared define what Niall and Eleanor actually were.  Some think it’s just a one off thing, her way of getting over Louis or trying to make him jealous though Niall and Liam both knew very well that would never happen.  Some have whispered that it’s Niall’s way of furthering his status at the school because Eleanor was devastatingly beautiful, long sought after by many of the sports and geeks alike, and most of the girls wouldn’t admit it, but they wish they had some of her class and brilliance.  Liam asked El about it once and she turned a horrible shade of red, shoved him off, and pretended as if he hadn’t caught the two snogging at Jesy’s seventeenth birthday party in a closet with his top off and hers thoroughly unbuttoned.

“I like him,” Harry announces, daring to pluck a stray grape from Niall’s plate with a grin daring Niall to fight back.  He pops it in his mouth, staring at the now closed door Zayn once stood in before adding, “He’s quite cheeky when he does speak.  I’ve got a history class with him and he’s rather brilliant.”

“Oh fuck off.  The guy’s a twit,” Aiden hisses, face lowered with a scowl.

“Turned down one of your world famous blowjobs Aiden?” Jesy teases and Cher’s cackling, Becky following because, of course Becky, that’s what you’re supposed to do as one of Cher’s followers.

“Get bent Jes.  Everyone knows you’re passing off blowjobs like cans of food for the homeless,” Aiden boasts and it earns him an unopened water bottle tossed at him.

“Whatever.  Zayn’s a douche.  I don’t even bother,” Cher says, mock frown on her lips and Harry’s arching an eyebrow, disbelief in his face.

Liam sighs, debates on his actions seconds before they happen but he’s snatching up his paper bag from the table, leaving the orange behind but plucking the bowl of berries from Niall’s cluttered tray.  There’s a mild protest from Niall that Liam glances over his shoulder with narrowed eyes and lowered brows that quickly silence Niall because Niall need not be reminded how many times Liam’s bailed his ass out and then Harry and Eleanor are calling out to him but he blocks it all out.  He kicks through the side door and braves the gentle breeze, wishing he hadn’t left his jacket behind, to get away from everything that threatened to swallow him alive.

Liam doesn’t know what he’s looking for, well he does actually, and finds it perched underneath a large tree quite a few paces away.  He tries to look determined but he nearly trips on his own feet before reaching the tree, squatting down before sitting underneath it with Zayn looking down at him with a scowl, half-finished cigarette between his fingers and his other hand swiping through his phone.  He shrugs off the look, unwrapping his bag and he wants to die when he reads the note his mum tucked away in there – “Nothing but the best for my best. Enjoy the sandwich. Have a good day.” – and he’s yanking out the sandwich, turkey on wheat, tossing it before pulling out the banana, brownie wrapped in cling wrap, leftover lasagna his sister no doubt snuck in there, and bag of crisps she packed away as well.

“What on earth are you doing Payne?” Zayn asks, lips partly wrapped around his cigarette before he takes a deep drag, holding the smoke in before letting it curl out through his nose.

“Liam,” Liam corrects, peeling the banana before taking a small bite off the top.

“What?”

“Liam,” Liam repeats, dragging it out.  “It’s what you called me since we were kids right up until I didn’t exist at this school anymore and you didn’t talk to me.  Not Payne, not geek, not ‘Hey you’ or anything else the bloody bastards at this school direct at me.  You call me Liam.”

Liam swallows hard when he’s done because it’s the first time outside of Louis that he’s ever been so direct, forward.  He peeks up through his lashes at Zayn because, really, what right did Liam have to be so demanding of someone who didn’t even ask Liam to enter his personal space and sit down like they’ve been chatting at lunch for years.  But Zayn’s scowl softens and he has a smile curled around that cigarette dangling from his lips, breathing out smoke for a minute before nodding.  Relief passes over Liam but he’s more chuffed than anything, catching the way Zayn’s nod drags like he’s impressed.

“And we’re having lunch,” Liam adds, nodding to reassure himself because he’s certain he’s just walking the line before Zayn really lets him have it.

“I don’t do lunch,” Zayn mumbles, a short drag on his cigarette this time before he’s flicking it away.  He exhales through the side of his mouth, still eyeing Liam like he’s contemplating walking away.

“You used to,” Liam says, dodges the frown waiting to fall over his lips.  He rubs at the back of his head, another small bite of the banana just to avoid looking further into Zayn’s eyes.  “Back before you thought cigarettes and coffee were a brilliant diet.”

Zayn sighs long and hard, hands fisting into his pockets.  He gnaws at his bottom lip, the corners of his face pinched before he’s edging downward, sitting on the grass next to Liam with his legs spread and his head resting against the trunk of the tree.  A smile twitches over his pink lips, eyes looking out toward the sky as clouds chase each other in slow motion.

“Back when you used to chase me around the playground because I stole one of those delicious lemon bars your mum used to make for you every other Friday,” Zayn declares, tickling laugh following.

Liam grins, sliding more of the banana into his mouth.  “Or when you’d fake like you had a cramp when it came time to pick teams for football because you didn’t want to be picked last.”

“But you’d always pick me right after you picked Eleanor when they let you be captain,” Zayn laughs out, nodding but he’s still not looking at Liam.

“Louis used to give me such shit because you were awful,” Liam teases, flicking Zayn’s leg until Zayn’s smacking his hand away, sunstroke smile layered over Zayn’s lips.

“You weren’t that bad though,” Zayn mentions, arms folding over his chest.  He lowers his eyes, squinting behind those glasses.  “Why’d you stop playing?”

Liam swallows, hard, blinking at Zayn for a few beats before looking away.  He rubbed at the back of his neck, words fleeting and he’s got a hold of them before they slip past his lips.  He knew Zayn, sort of, but not enough to say it.  He chewed the inside of his mouth, watched the way his hands fidgeted and that was enough.  Zayn didn’t need to know, didn’t deserve to know because they weren’t friends like that, not anymore.  Not as much as Liam wants to believe as they sit there, Zayn remarkably close even though there’s plenty of space here around the tree.  And only Louis deserved to know, Niall too but only because Niall crawled into the passenger side of Liam’s mum’s car one night and sat there, arms wrapped around the knees pressed to his chest, looking out the window with tears lining his eyes and confessing how truly miserable he was some nights without his brother and dad around.  Not even El really knew though Liam played along very well, never being good enough to truly make any of the other teams and it’s just that simple when he’s invisible and no one else really pays attention to the fact that Liam is indeed quite good at other sporty things other than running.

Liam rubs at the end of his nose, chuckles lowly because the silence feels silly after a while, before tossing the brownie in Zayn’s direction, grinning when he catches it with one hand.  “Eat.  You need something other than that rubbish you keep inhaling.”

“I’m certain smoking is a part of one of the many major food groups,” Zayn notes, tipping his head back and even the sun can’t outshine the smirk on Zayn’s lips.

Liam rolls his eyes, pops a few crisps in his mouth and lets the silence swallow them again.  It’s not that he couldn’t talk to Zayn; hell, Zayn was probably the only person that would listen to him go on and on outside of Louis, but he likes the quiet with Zayn.  He likes the way it’s not awkward or filling time.  It blurs all of his senses, leaves him uncommonly calm and every little move Zayn makes he follows, from the way he flicks the flame on his lighter to the way he picks at the grass, insanely content with a shy smile that comes and goes just like the breeze behind them.

It takes Liam a moment to catch that Zayn is humming lowly but he slides into a less uncomfortable position and cranes his neck a little without Zayn noticing, placing together every note and beat and Liam licks out a sweet smile, eyes closing.  Even without the words, the tone of Zayn’s voice is calming in an earth shattering kind of way which feels a bit dramatic but Liam didn’t know how else to put it.

Zayn drums his fingers over the back of Liam’s head, Liam catching the grin spreading over Zayn’s lips but he’s looking straight ahead, watching the world move around them.  It leaves Liam biting at his lip, see-saw feeling inside of his stomach as Zayn’s fingers press into the bones of his knuckles.  He doesn’t know why, fights with himself once more, but his lips part and the words come – You showed me how to fight for now and I’ll tell you, baby, it was easy.

Liam watches the way Zayn’s fingers look against his skin; sharp gold and vanillas of Zayn’s skin looking delicately soft and smooth against Liam’s tanned skin but then he can feel the slight callous of Zayn’s fingers, likes the way they dip between his knuckles and almost fit themselves between Liam’s fingers.  His hand feels so large compared to Zayn’s but Zayn’s fingers are long and Liam catches his heart slipping right up his throat because, why was he thinking about all of this anyways?

He’s bobbing his head, imaging Zayn’s doing the same above him but he refuses to look.  He merely shuts his eyes, voice reaching for that falsetto while Zayn hums in the background and just when he goes for it – And now it’s clear as this promise that we’re making; two reflections into one – Zayn’s voice is right beside his, an octave lower but blending oh so wonderfully.  And he’s grinning, unabashedly, nose scrunching just a little and Zayn’s snickering above him, Liam finally righting himself to look on Zayn.

Zayn runs that tongue over his lips, careful and slow, a smile slick over his lips.  His cheeks are lifted, his smile almost sideways but Liam likes to think that’s the way Zayn smiles when he’s genuinely tickled about something.  And, for once, Liam doesn’t think it’s because someone making fun of him.  It’s because Zayn might, just maybe, like Liam’s company though he doesn’t plan to ask.  No, he merely reaches out unconsciously and traces a thumb over the larger tattoo inked on Zayn’s arm and the ‘ZAP!’ looks like something out of a classic comic, which he does mention to Zayn, and they’re lost in conversations about Batman, Clark Kent, the difference between Tim Burton and Christopher Nolan, and Zayn goes on for nearly the rest of the time about Green Lantern until the bell rings and Liam jolts up, ready to dash to class.

Zayn’s laughing, pushing himself up and dusting off his clothes.  There’s an ease about him, no definite rush because Zayn knows even if he’s late, no one is going to give him shit about it.  And that smile, wild and uncaring, that stays pressed on Zayn’s lips holds Liam in place.  Without thought, he actually takes his time getting to class today, walking side by side with Zayn as they tease each other about the dodgy haircuts they had when they were younger and Liam is shoved against a locker when he drags a hand through Zayn’s quiff, Zayn chuckling and playfully swatting at Liam’s arse until they tumble into class with a few weary eyes on them before they find their seats.  Zayn’s in the back again but Liam manages to steal a seat not too far away this time, peeking over his shoulder to find Zayn smirking at him before scribbling in his notebook.  Liam ducks his head, tries to pay attention to half the lesson but the feverish burn against his cheeks, he’s certain he’s an unhealthy shade of pink by now, and the way he’s thinking about convincing his mum to sneak a little more food in his lunch tomorrow distracts him pleasantly.

**

He doesn’t know how Harry ended up in the bleachers with he and Louis this time around, blowing warm breath into the hands cupped over his mouth with a scarf on and curls moving with the wind, but he’s not completely against Harry being there.  He’s grown fond of Harry, the way the kid is insanely cheery, loud and playful, but intense when it came to friends like Niall and Liam and even Eleanor is starting to fall over him when he starts into one of those long, drawn out stories that takes more than one sitting to finish.

Liam’s not so certain how he feels about Louis being anywhere near Harry though because they’ve spent more than one conversation on the phone chatting about everything under the sun until Louis brings up Harry and Liam politely changes the subject to avoid having to describe once more what Harry wore to school that day and how nice his curls looked.

“So next Saturday –“

“No, Lou,” Liam starts but then Harry’s turning toward them, ignoring Niall’s goal during practice to grin at Louis and Liam with bright green eyes.

“We’re going, right?  I heard Cher chatting it up,” Harry says with a tad too much enthusiasm that leaves Liam feeling sick and Louis’ eyes are getting far too intrigued for Liam’s liking.

“I happen to know a few of the chaps throwing the party and,” Louis lets his voice dip into a whisper that leaves Harry inclining further into them while Liam rolls his eyes, “I could definitely consider getting you in.”

“Lou,” Liam hisses, pinching at Louis’ thigh but he’s flicking at Liam’s forehead, eyes completely focused on Harry.

“Come on Liam,” Harry says suddenly and Liam jerks his head in Harry’s direction, brow lowered.  “We haven’t been to a Uni party since –“

“Since you got brilliantly shitfaced and made a pass at everything you could, including a few bushes and a tree, as we hauled your ass back to the car,” Liam finishes for him, content smile when Harry slumps back on the bleachers.

“He had beginner’s luck, that’s all,” Louis insists with all the charm that Liam despises.  Harry’s nodding along as if he gets it but Liam doubts highly Harry gets everything that Louis is implying with his eyes and the way his eyebrows waggle every time Harry’s eyes look his way.

“Beginner’s luck,” Harry repeats and Louis has a chuckle at that, sipping slowly on the tea he’s had simmering in that paper cup since they got down to the bleachers to watch Niall.

Niall.  Liam throws his attention there because he thinks if he doesn’t look at Louis and Harry long enough they’ll drop the idea all together and Liam won’t have to worry about who’s going to carry Harry to the car this time or if Niall will get lost somewhere on the campus, brilliantly pissed and getting thrown into jail because as happy as Niall was as a drunk, he was just a little too friendly with everyone sometimes.  But Niall’s waving from the field, mud smudged against his uniform and his hair is right tousled in every direction possible but he’s incredibly happy about it all.  Liam merely bites back a small smile and nods his way.

“I’ll only have as many drinks as Louis does this time,” Harry promises from over Liam’s shoulder and Liam’s jaw tightens, shooting Harry a glare from over his shoulder.  That was the worst kind of promise Harry could offer.

Louis clears his throat and leans in, Liam can already smell that too expensive cologne and melon-flavored body wash Louis bathed in.  He bites down on his lip, legs shaking not because it’s cold but because he knows he’s going to have to control himself when Louis starts.

“If it makes you feel any better, there’ll be a certain R&B singing, skateboard riding, prettier than any girl you’ve ever fancied student there,” Louis says, too close to Liam’s ear but Liam knows he doesn’t want Harry to hear, “and he’ll be DJ’ing for a while.  Maybe have a little time to chat with a bloke whose best mate got him into said party.”

Liam’s face is red, he doesn’t need a mirror to see the way his cheeks must be seven shades of pinks, and his leg is rattling the bleachers below with his shaking, fingers digging into his thighs to contain himself.  He can feel Louis’ grin more than he sees it, wants to drag Louis down to the row of bleachers Liam’s seated on and suffocate him with his own fancy scarf but he merely clenches his jaw tighter, grinds his teeth, and hates every fucking thing moving because he’s agreeing without even saying a word.

“See you Saturday Harry,” Louis smiles out and Liam wants to strangle the smugness from Louis’ tone.

Harry lets out a whoop that Niall stops for, collapsing when half of the team tackles him for the ball and Liam’s sighing, burying his head in his hands.

“And this time, you can simply ask me to stay in your bed with you rather than trying to pretend to care about my well-being while I’m pissed off my arse,” Harry adds and Liam’s grinning behind his hands, knows Louis’ probably wide-eyed with his mouth hanging open.

Maybe Harry can’t handle himself just fine against Louis.

**

The party wasn’t as bad this time.  Well, not entirely.  Partly because Harry and Niall only had two beers on the drive up, Niall forgetting the unopened bottle of vodka he swiped from his mum’s collection back at Harry’s and Harry really wasn’t looking forward to explaining that to his own mum when Liam dropped him off later.  And Louis intercepted the first three red plastic cups people tried to hand to Harry when they first arrived, instead dragging Harry over to a cooler where he pulled out two Pepsi’s, grinning when Harry groaned.

But then Louis drug Harry by the hand through the throngs of people, introducing Harry to various people Louis knew, none which Louis would call friends because only Eleanor and Liam, sometimes Niall, were that to Louis but Harry was impressively cheeky and kind and soft spoken in a way that had Louis’ eyes lit up like fireworks and Liam tried not to wonder what Louis was imagining.  Niall got lost not too long after that, letting Leigh-Anne grab his hand and the way she giggled while barely holding her red cup, Liam knew she’d been there much longer than them.

He’s used to this part, being alone at the Uni parties.  It’s not that Louis ever did it on purpose but Louis was popular wherever he went, even in secondary school.  People clung to him in a way that almost felt too much for Liam but Louis never gave it enough attention to see the effects it had.  He merely entertained whomever, used it to his advantage and left any and every one that didn’t matter in a heap of “what the fuck just happened?” when he got bored.  But Louis was never mean about it, not intentionally unless he deemed someone “a complete fuck-ass” to which he had no qualms about announcing it to an entire room of people if it meant he got his point across.

Liam takes a few sips off a drink he managed to mix himself with a little vodka, some rum he found stashed in a pile of unopened bottles, and a large heaping of apple juice he bought off of some girl for five quid.  He’s in and out of conversations that don’t mean much and only a few people actually laugh at his jokes this time, repeating them a third time just to make sure he gets the punchline right.  He avoids the room where Cher and Jesy are holed up with smoke swirling and far too many shot glasses being passed around.  He’s red-faced when he stumbles into a room he thinks is a bathroom but it’s really just another dorm room where some guy is struggling to pull his pants up the minute Liam swings the door open and Liam’s brow raising a little when he spots Aiden wiping the back of his mouth, on his knees, flipping Liam off.

There’s a pounding bass down the hall and Liam is drawn to it, twitching smile on his lips when he spots the strobe lights dancing off the hall’s walls and girls running in ad out, giggling and dancing with each other.  Liam rubs at the back of his neck, slips inside to the room bathed in red light and colorful lights dancing off of grinding bodies.  He takes a large gulp of his drink – This place is about to blow – before setting it down on the floor and squeezing his way into a corner of the room, eyes on the DJ booth with little concern for the few girls pulling at his shirt and trying to drag him into the makeshift dance floor.

Zayn’s bobbing along, fingers moving over buttons and switches and Liam wonders if Zayn even likes the music he plays at these things or if the reaction from the crowd is enough to yank out that gleeful smile with bopping shoulders, a dip in his knees, and a couple of thrusts that he looks ridiculous doing but, somehow, Liam finds it all rather cute.  But there’s some platinum blonde in the booth with him, hanging on every one of his words, rubbing pretty aqua-colored nails down Zayn’s shoulder and over his forearm, across tattoos like she has the right but, really, who was Liam to decide who had a right to touch Zayn?  He really wishes he hadn’t laid that drink down now, pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers as Zayn slips into some dubstep mixed with Jay-Z and it all sounds a bit more like Zayn rather than some random club music.

She’s got pretty blue eyes, a lot like Niall’s, except hers don’t have that natural fun and breath of life Niall’s carry.  Her skin looks delicate like Zayn’s fingers would leave bruises against it if he pushed her down into the mattress and kissed away half of that foolish lipstick she wore.  She’s glowing, head thrown back and forth while she dances and Zayn’s just laughing, hands clapping together and Liam wonders if it’s all for show because she’s just too much like one of those dolls his sisters played with when they were children – fragile -- and Liam is anything but that.

Liam takes in a deep breath when candle-bright gold eyes find his.  He’s a little lightheaded, hopes it’s from the liquor because Zayn is smiling at him again in that way he thinks only he can see.  It’s sideways, all teeth with a tongue pressing against them, and Liam waits a beat before returning it, red lights not bright enough for Zayn to see the way the look in his eyes is coloring Liam’s cheeks a perfect shade of rose.  And her hand goes over Zayn’s neck, tries to draw his attention, fingers too close to his hair and he jerks away, shooting her a glare before looking back to Liam.  Liam bows his head, doesn’t let Zayn see him giggle and he’s fucking giddy on the inside knowing that when he touched Zayn’s hair, Zayn didn’t balk.  When he lifts his head again, the room almost spinning but that was definitely the high he’s on, not the alcohol, Zayn’s jerking his head, waving for Liam to come closer.

Liam struggles to make it through the crowd, the wave of people getting thicker the better the music gets.  He spots Zayn leaning in the girl’s direction again, whispering in her ear with a devious smile, eyes never parting from Liam’s and she’s making a face, irritated, before she’s kicking at one of the speakers and stomping away from the booth.  Liam does let Zayn see him laugh this time, eyes crinkling at the corners and Zayn’s nose wrinkles with a snicker, mouthing something that Liam can’t understand but then he’s making motions for Liam to actually climb behind the DJ booth.  Liam’s more than a little weary until Zayn shoots him a frustrated look, pouting like a five year old until Liam figures a way to get past all the equipment, the chords and he’s standing next to Liam, satisfied grin slicking over Zayn’s lips.

“Hey,” Liam offers, a small shrug that Zayn smirks at.

“You ever done this before?” Zayn asks, stepping back some and waving to all the equipment.

Liam looks it over, bleeping lights, track numbers blinking on screens, vinyl and CD’s, knobs and buttons and he’s chewing his bottom lip before shaking his head at Zayn.  His shoulders drop, discouraged, when Zayn lets out a wheezing laugh but then Zayn’s grabbing his wrist, tugging him forward all while sliding behind Liam and Liam’s jittery when Zayn forces Liam up to the tables.

“Don’t be afraid,” Zayn whispers into his ear and Liam is now more than ever acutely aware how close Zayn is to him and, he’s sorted out, Zayn has to be because the space is incredible small and Liam’s not even certain how Zayn has anyone back here with him, let alone fits Liam’s too wide shoulders, bulky torso, and Zayn’s wiry but suddenly fit body into this space.

“I won’t let them laugh at you,” Zayn promises, still inched up against Liam as Liam stands completely stiff.

“I don’t know, I don’t know what to do,” Liam stutters out loudly because the music is incredibly loud where they are and Liam guesses it has to be.

Zayn nudges his cheek to Liam’s, forcing Liam’s head to turn and look at the laptop set up in the corner.  Liam’s breathing is uneven; he knows he must be physically shaking but he can’t concentrate on that when Zayn’s arm reaches over his to click a few things on the laptop, dropping down playlists and pulling up an immensely long list of songs, some he’s familiar with while others are just a scrambling of words meant to be song titles.  He can smell Zayn, cigarette smoke and orange-cinnamon with a mild hint of whatever perfume that girl had sprayed on and that sweet cologne Zayn wears sometimes, not that Liam noticed when he passed Zayn in the halls.

“Pick a song and it’ll drop in,” Zayn says a little loudly but he doesn’t have to because his lips are still rucked up against Liam’s ear and Liam would shut the whole sound system off just to hear Zayn’s accent.

Liam scrolls through a few random songs, feels Zayn dancing behind him but it’s more like Zayn moving his legs and trying to stay on beat, before he clicks on something and almost regrets it because he knows it’s probably not the type of music Zayn listens to but he figures the crowd might approve.  But Zayn’s nodding behind him the minute the beat swoops in, low and entrancing at first.  Zayn’s hands encircle Liam’s wrist, lead Liam’s own hands to the records spinning in front of him and Liam’s weightless for a moment when Zayn’s hands slide over top of Liam’s, showing him what to do, how to do it, and Liam merely moves with Zayn while euphoria swallows him alive.

“That’s it.  Let DJ Malik show you,” Zayn whispers and Liam snorts because it sounds so corny, a bad chat up line but Liam’s certain his own, which merely consists of him saying “Hi, I’m Liam,” is far, far worse.  He doesn’t care because Zayn’s hands are still on top of his, Zayn’s body still so close and practically draped over the back of Liam’s, and Liam hears the squeals from the crowd the moment Florence’s words smack against the walls – So I put my faith in something unknown. I’m living on such sweet nothing.

“They like it,” Zayn says, grinning over Liam’s shoulder and Liam watches the way the strobe light dances off of waving arms, bodies grinding, and howls of excitement that are almost just as liquor-drenched as it is joy from the music.

“They like you,” Liam disagrees, biting on a smile when Zayn’s fingers tiptoe over his, inching in the spaces between but he’s just guiding Liam’s.  That’s what Liam keeps telling himself even though the touches are soft, heart thudding like the overlapping lasers in the music.

“I like you,” Zayn whispers, Liam thinks he hears that but the music is deafeningly loud – But I’m tired of hope with nothing to hold – and Liam can’t imagine Zayn would actually say something like that.  He’s bold, but not mental.  No one likes Liam, they just tolerate him.

“Zayn,” Liam says, turns around in Zayn’s arm and Zayn’s a bit alarmed, wide-eyed but Liam’s grinning, praying it’s the alcohol urging on his actions when he digs his fingers into the fabric of Zayn’s shirt, giving a polite tug.  “Dance with me.”

“I don’t dance,” Zayn says flatly, brow dropping.

“Good,” Liam grins out.  He tugs again until Zayn’s closer, not too close but how could he not be in this close space.

“Huh,” Zayn mutters.

“I don’t not dance when good music plays,” Liam says, doesn’t give Zayn that chance to protest though his lips move to.  He merely starts moving his hips, eases into the beat and he knows he’s not the best dancer but he can stay on rhythm, he can stay in tune and Zayn’s face is pinched, annoyed, until Liam runs a hand over Zayn’s shoulder, down his arm and Zayn’s sighing out a smile, trying to move along with Liam.

Zayn looks completely uncomfortable, trying to move along and Liam grins, steps closer and they’re against each other now, moving with the pulsing beat – It isn’t easy for me to let it go ‘cause I’ve swallowed every single word – while Liam eases hands down to Zayn’s hips, directs him until Zayn’s almost grinding against Liam because it’s hard not to in this space with Liam trying to show Zayn how to dance.

Liam bites down on his lower lip, ducks his head when Zayn’s eyes run over the length of Liam’s torso, over his chest with the t-shirt he’s wearing now a bit damp with sweat from the alcohol and all the crowded spaces and Zayn’s look is so determined that Liam can’t help but blush feverishly.  He’s right flushed, Zayn really moving now, taking a bit of control while his hips roll and Liam doesn’t move too far back, eyes closing because he can’t stand the way Zayn’s looking at his face, at his neck like he wants to lay long kisses there and Liam doesn’t think that’s the worst thing Zayn could do right now.

“Come with me, yeah?” Zayn requests, right in Liam’s ear and Liam’s eyes shoot open, swallowing thickly as Zayn grins mischievously and he’s grabbing Liam’s hand before he can answer, dragging him from behind that DJ booth.  Zayn makes a motion to one of his friends, Danny Liam thinks, and he’s eyeing Zayn and Liam for a minute, brow lowered and lips pressed together before Liam catches him slipping behind the DJ booth while Zayn jerks Liam through the mass of bodies and out of the room.

Liam stumbles as Zayn snickers his way down the hall, still holding Liam’s hand and pulling him around corners and past drunken people who are either making out or recording someone stumbling around on their phones.  Liam spots Louis in one of the rooms, Harry hanging on his every word as he tells a story to a group of girls who are probably far too busy watching Harry with his sharp blazer, pocket square and tight red and white striped t-shirt that he incidentally borrowed from Louis earlier that night when they got to Louis’ dorm.  Liam’s almost certain Louis will probably sleep with that shirt underneath his pillow for a week once Harry gives it back; or if Louis manages to peel it off Harry’s fit chest himself, whichever happens first.

Liam ducks his head so that Louis doesn’t seem him, wants to ask Zayn where they’re going but doesn’t get a chance to when Zayn pulls him into a room drenched in smoke and it’s not very well lit but Liam can see a few people littered around it, not many, and Zayn knocks over a few plastic cups to find a corner for he and Liam to stand in.  Zayn’s reaching into his back pocket while Liam looks around, can barely see through the thick smoke and the flickering lights above them but he doesn’t recognize anyone in the room.  Not by face at least.  He’s trying not to choke on the smoke, nose turning up because he doesn’t mind the scent of Zayn’s cigarettes but everything in here is much stronger, too thick, and his eyes water a little when he looks back at Zayn flicking at lighter at something that’s not a cigarette.

Zayn pinches the end of it between his thumb and index finger, taking a long haul off of the blunt before exhaling through his nose, eased smile spreading across his lips.  His eyelids lower a little, leaning into the corner and Liam itches at his arm, looks around again because the sight of Zayn smoking weed and smiling at Liam shouldn’t make Liam want to kiss Zayn.  Not at all.  But then Zayn rolls his shoulders, cocks his head to the side and looks over Liam like there’s something he should be saying, something dirty and possibly inappropriate if Liam hadn’t thought at least twice about what it would be like to have Zayn’s cock against his tongue while they were dancing, but he just takes another drag from the blunt, tapping away the ashes and exhaling.

“You ever?” Zayn asks, holding up the blunt and Liam shakes his head instantly, rubbing at the back of his neck.  He hadn’t, not even those few times he saw Louis do it at one of Cher’s stupid parties or the one time Niall tried it, coughed violently, and made Liam promise he’d never do it himself.

“Great,” Zayn says suddenly and his voice is a little too bright for Liam in that moment, something reminiscent of Louis’ when he’s good and pissed.  “I don’t not smoke when I come to these things.”

Zayn bites out a grin, tugs on the bottom of Liam’s t-shirt until Liam slides forward, suddenly not bothered at all about invading Zayn’s personal space.  But Zayn eases a hand onto Liam’s hip, fingers slipping just beneath the hem of Liam’s shirt and sinking into Liam’s skin, the tips a little cold but Liam only shivers because those fingers feel incredible.  And Zayn’s grinning, turning Liam until they’re almost like they were in the DJ booth with Liam’s back to Zayn’s chest and Zayn’s chin on Liam’s shoulder.

Zayn holds the blunt up to Liam’s face, just away from his lips, and Liam eyes it like it’s a foreign threat.  Zayn chuckles, nice and low, before he’s whispering, “Nice and slow.  Don’t take in too much.  Just let it burn for a second then pull off,” and Liam doesn’t want to tell Zayn how he sounds like a recorded instructional video on how to give a proper blowjob but he bites at his lower lip and nods like he understands what Zayn is telling him to do.

Liam inclines, lips wrapping around the butt, and he does as Zayn tells him, eyes closing as that burn turns into pure fire at the back of Liam’s throat and he’s coughing instantly, pushing Zayn’s hand away.  He’s thumping at his chest, wanting to bend over just to breathe and cough out some of the smoke but Zayn secures an arm around his midsection, holds him against Zayn’s body and there’s cool fingers petting against his forehead.

“Breathe, Liam.  Breathe.  You’re okay,” Zayn hushes, oddly calm and, sod it all, the tone of his voice is actually soothing Liam.  “It’s okay.  I’ve got you, Liam.  I’ve got you.”

Liam nods, still coughing but it doesn’t hurt in his chest as it did before.  He sinks into Zayn’s hold, head tipping back until it rests on Zayn’s shoulder and he can hear Zayn’s breathing in his ear.  His head feels a little fuzzy and maybe he did inhale just enough to catch a buzz.  He doesn’t know but he likes the way everything feels a little tingly and the way Zayn’s rubbing at his belly, gentle and soothing like his mother did whenever he had a stomachache.  Zayn’s fingers are still on his forehead, sweeping back some to run over the hair Liam’s let grow at the top of his head, grinning out, “I don’t know about this.  It’s different but I kind of fancied your hair short.”

Liam nods, warm and cold all over but his head his hot and he knows he’s sweating but that’s partly because Zayn won’t stop touching him.  He exhales hard, head lifting quickly and that wasn’t such a good idea because things start to spin for a moment.  Zayn’s lips are just at his neck, almost kissing as he speaks.

“Careful.  Don’t go mental on me,” Zayn chuckles, lips soft and Liam wants to spin around and fasten his own to them but moving quickly isn’t such a brilliant idea right now.

He’s glad he’s not one of those paranoid smokers who’s looking around every corner or one of those hyperactive, talkative ones like he suspects Harry would be.  No, he’s a little more like Louis, calm and a little too chilled which he expects from Louis because he knows weed makes someone the complete opposite of what they normally were but that would mean Liam would be loud, outrageous, and no longer invisible to the world.  Liam doesn’t feel invisible to Zayn, no, he feels quite visible and vibrant and colorful and the way Zayn looks at him, like he glows, makes Liam’s skin hot and he’s maddeningly in love with the idea of never leaving Zayn’s sight again.

“Can we… can we get some air?” Liam requests, throat a bit dry and he feels Zayn nodding against his shoulder.  But Liam doesn’t move, doesn’t know where to move to so Zayn’s easing a rough hand down his arm, dragging small nails against his skin until Zayn’s soft again, threading his fingers in between Liam’s and Liam thinks he might be suffocating.  He must be because his breathing is a little quicker and there’s sweat beading against his forehead but it’s not because of the weed or the alcohol.  It’s because he’s actually sinking into the feeling of Zayn holding his hand, guiding him out of the room quickly with little giggles, and Zayn’s taken at least two more hits off the blunt before stubbing it out, but Liam feels his fingers squeeze Zayn’s hand and Zayn doesn’t pull away.

He breathes a little easier when they’re outside, somewhere ducked behind the University hall, and he takes deep breaths while Zayn snorts, still holding his hand like it’s just the thing to do.  He watches Zayn slip a cigarette behind his ear, probably for later, and Zayn’s leading them down a path on the lawn, ducking past a few students from their school because maybe Zayn doesn’t want to be seen with him?  Or maybe Zayn doesn’t want to be seen holding another guy’s hand because Zayn’s not exactly forefront with his sex life, or any part of his life, to anyone at school.

Zayn pulls him through a few bushes that Liam balks at and then they’re somewhere near another building where it’s quiet and Liam can’t spot any of the party goers dragging their feet across the lawn or a pile of red plastic cups scattered everywhere.  Zayn’s grip gets a little tighter, his palm so soft though Liam’s is sweaty.  He pulls Liam until they’re against a brick building and Zayn’s leaning against it, slipping the cigarette between his lips before lighting it, blowing the first puff out the side of his mouth and away from Liam.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, giving Liam a sideways glance with peering eyes.

Liam nods quickly, doesn’t feel as dizzy or overloaded, but there’s still something buzzing inside of him and he takes a glance down to their hands, studying the way they fit like they were missing pieces to a locket they both owned.  He feels quite daft because he’s staring so long, studying the small bruise right along Zayn’s hand, the pinkish skin on Liam’s knuckle where a branch from the bushes scratched it, the outline of that dove on Zayn’s skin, the way Liam’s fingers look big while Zayn’s are slender but strong, that he doesn’t notice Zayn almost glaring at him.

“Is this a problem?” Zayn inquires with a tinge of annoyance running through his voice, lifting their hands and Liam’s chewing on his bottom lip, blinking at Zayn.

“No.  No, no,” Liam says briskly, cupping his free hand over theirs.  He looks up through his lashes, feels incredibly small even though he’s taller and bulkier than Zayn.  “I like this.  I… I don’t know if I should or if that’s okay, but I like it.”

Zayn nods slowly like he’s examining every one of Liam’s words, lips fixed into a half-smirk.  He takes a deep drag from his cigarette, exhaling through his nose this time.

“You like boys?” Zayn wonders, watching Liam’s every fidget and Liam’s skin is hot under Zayn’s examination.

Liam takes in a deep breath, for some reason wishes Louis was around because he’d end this silly overwhelming feeling inside of Liam by shaking him or he’d simply say something rude enough to draw Zayn’s attention away though Liam wonders now if a small forest fire would even take Zayn’s attention away now.

“I don’t know,” Liam finally whispers, head lowering because that was probably the wrong answer.  But Zayn’s fingers squeeze his hand and there’s a finger tucked underneath his chin, lifting it as Zayn holds the cigarette between his lips tightly, studying Liam.  It pulls a sigh across Liam’s lips and he’s stumbling out, “I don’t know, Zayn, but I, I know I like being around you.  Like, I don’t know, it’s nice.  And you’re rather brilliant, fantastic really.  So, yeah, I like you.  You’re a boy and I like you.”

Zayn’s nodding again, a small snort as he pulls the cigarette from his lips and blows out the almost blue smoke into the night’s air.  He sniffs, chucks the cigarette before he finishes, and pulls Liam a little closer until their arms are touching, thighs pressed to each other and it’s so dark Liam can’t see a single color but brown in those dark eyes.

“I don’t have a problem with that Pay– “ Liam narrows his eyes and Zayn’s grinning, “Liam.  I don’t mind that at all.”

Liam nods just as slow as Zayn did, still hoping its dark enough on this side of the building that Zayn doesn’t see his cheeks flush scarlet when Zayn lifts his free hand to run his thumb down the side of Liam’s cheek, careful and cautious.  Liam wants Zayn to throw that caution away, touch him roughly like Liam can handle it and Liam really thinks he could handle it all.  He thinks he could handle rough kisses from Zayn, finger prints all over his arms and back from where Zayn’s fingers got a little more forceful when Liam fastened his lips to Zayn’s neck and sucked a pretty little burgundy mark.  He feels the shift in his pants and he ducks his head, doesn’t want Zayn to spot it so he’s leaning against the wall with Zayn now, staring straight ahead.

They talk for a while about meaningless things, well things Liam assumes Zayn thought were meaningless, except he catches the excitement in Zayn’s voice when they talk about The Amazing Spider-Man and Liam doesn’t know why he goes on about West Bromwich Albion but Zayn nods along with a small smirk, adds his own thoughts because his father watches from time to time and even bought Zayn a Manchester United jersey once when Zayn actually showed an interest in any sort of sport.  Zayn laughs at all the stories Liam tells about Niall and even the few he has about Harry, biting down on his lower lip when Liam talks about the days of primary school before Zayn moved there, when he was bullied, and Liam thinks he sees anger rise when Liam explains he still sees some of those kids and speaks because that’s what he does, that’s what good, responsible little boys do.

He tries not to tense up when Zayn asks about classes, Liam admitting he’s decent in most subjects but he’s shit at English.  Zayn offers help and Liam’s eyes get a little bright, glossed over, and he’s just nodding and wanting to kiss Zayn all at once.  Zayn asks about the year before, when Zayn didn’t really see Liam though Zayn really wasn’t looking because who paid attention to Liam Payne like that.  But Liam waves it off with a forced laugh, telling Zayn he was probably too busy to notice and Zayn leaves it at that, a frown tugging at his lips and weary eyes that Liam merely grins for because he can’t afford to linger on that subject.

The temperature gets damper and cooler, uncomfortably cool, and Zayn’s shivering when he suggests they get back to the party.  Liam agrees silently, part of him willing to catch a deathly flu and have his mother scold him for a week while feeding him chicken soup if it meant he could stay there with Zayn a little longer.  The buzz from the alcohol has worn off and he wouldn’t even knew he’d took a hit from the weed if it weren’t for that lingering burn that never seems to leave that first time after smoking the stuff.  Halfway through, Zayn releases his hand, flexes his fingers and Liam tries not to look gutted, slipping his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

Louis spots them first, dashing up to Liam but it’s a little more stumbling and bad form but Liam grins when he’s snatched up into Louis’ open arms, something about fearing Liam had been kidnapped by fraternity chaps or, worse, a dishy Uni girl looking for a quick shag.  Zayn ducks off before Liam can pull out of Louis’ grip, dipping into the shadows and it’s only when Liam looks hard enough that he sees that dark hair slipping into the side door of the party.  Liam doesn’t chase after him, knows he probably shouldn’t because maybe all of this was just a night between friends.  Maybe he thought more of Zayn than Zayn thought of him because it wasn’t as if Zayn said he returned the feelings Liam was sort of having for Zayn.

“Oi, this chappie is quite the handful,” Harry beams, wedging himself between Louis and Liam before slipping his arms around their shoulders and Liam’s face wrinkles at the strong scent of alcohol coming from Harry.  But there’s a slick grin on Harry’s lips, his clothes a little ruffled, and were Louis’ lips a bit swollen?  His hair was pleasantly wrecked and Liam knows he should be asking questions, reminding Louis that Harry was barely of age but he settles on biting his lower lip and playing along.

“You, sir, are sloshed,” Louis giggles out, hand quickly covering his mouth.

Harry smirks down at him, a quick wink that he’s certain he thought he’d got past Liam but Liam merely shakes his head, turning his eyes away.

“Then I guess you’d better make room on your bed for two tonight,” Harry declares, cherry lips spread wide and Liam glances past Harry just to see the blush freckling Louis’ cheeks.

Yeah, Harry’s going to fit in just fine, he thinks with a grin.

They find Niall in some room with sunglasses on, his hair mused with some pretty Uni girl in pigtails with a private school uniform skirt on sitting in his lap feeding him Jell-O.  Harry’s a fit of laughter at that, Niall throwing on his best Al Pacino accent while Louis’ rolls his eyes and escorts Harry out.  Liam’s excusing the Uni girl and reaching a hand out to Niall who takes it, effectively knocking the girl to the floor with little care, and stumbling out with Liam.  And Liam’s not certain why they tiptoe down the halls like some scene out of the Breakfast Club, waiting for some hall monitor to break things up but when he sees police cars out front and flashlights beaming over various corners of the party, Liam drags them out the back door he and Zayn had escaped out of earlier and they’re making a mad dash for Liam’s car with laughter and Harry nearly tripping up a hill.

Liam manages to get them back to town despite Louis’ protest that Liam’s far too bladdered to drive but Liam narrows his eyes, lips set, and he knows it’s just Louis’ pathetic excuse to keep Harry around a little longer, not that Louis denies it later on.  Liam lets them bunk in his room because he’s certain his mum loves knowing her son actually has friends, even making breakfast for them in the morning that Harry can barely stomach but Niall puts away like he hasn’t eaten in weeks.

Harry invites them over for Sunday dinner and Liam wears a nice Oxford shirt his mum bought him for Christmas while Niall shows up in sweats and a jumper because Niall was never out to impress anyone with his style; he does just fine with his adorable accent and wide smile.  There’s steak and mash and various vegetables that Niall doesn’t touch in favor of rolls and apple juice.  Harry doesn’t have to explain the bottle of vodka because his older sister, Gemma, takes credit for it and she’s honestly a more gorgeous version of Harry with the Cherub cheeks, heartwarming smile, and looks that seem to even put Harry’s mom at ease.  Niall’s quite taken by her, even helping to clear the table to get closer but Harry’s tossing an untouched roll at his head and Liam’s laughing into a napkin as Harry’s stepfather looks on with a raised brow.

**

Liam makes it through half of his day Monday in a slow blur.  It’s lazy, the way times moves, and it’s Eleanor who shoots him a glare in Chemistry when his foot taps too loudly during another lecture on something he doesn’t even remember.  He smiles politely, stops, but it’s not another five minutes before his foot is clicking against the leg of their table and Harry’s tossing a crumpled piece of paper at his head with wide eyes.  He’s ducking his head, chewing his bottom lip and catching himself before he starts tapping his pen along the margin of his blank notebook.  He’s jittery, he knows it, and he keeps checking his watch and wondering how long until lunch.

He’s slouched into his chair at their table during lunch, staring blankly ahead while Niall tries telling some story about Saturday and blue drinks with his mouth full of chips when he catches the blur of black leather, light scruff, golden skin.  Liam’s jerking out of his seat, swallowing a grin as Eleanor stares at him curiously and Cher glares because his chair scooting back has interrupted some ridiculously long story Harry’s telling.  He runs a hand over his freshly buzzed hair, yanking an apple from Niall’s tray, snatching up his own paper bag lunch and tripping his way toward the side door of the cafeteria.  He doesn’t look back, not even when Niall calls for him because it’s not going to matter now.  He’s already too far gone and he knows it.

“Abandoning your mates, Liam?  Shameful,” Zayn says with a grin when Liam finds a seat under the tree, back pressing against it as Zayn finishes his cigarette.

Liam shrugs, opening up his paper bag and he’s passing Zayn the sandwich this time, tipping his head back and taking a chunk out of the apple as Zayn snorts, head shaking as he takes a final pull on his cigarette.  He puffs out the smoke, tries to be creative with the way it swirls from his mouth and Liam’s far too fascinated with the way his lips look while he’s doing it to even care.  Zayn slides down next to him, plucking the lemon bar from between Liam’s fingers with a sideways grin and Liam doesn’t even fight him, just smiles because he thinks he can.  He thinks it’s okay to just be Liam around Zayn and Zayn doesn’t say anything about it, doesn’t give him shit, and Liam kind of adores that.

They talk about music some more, Zayn bright-eyed as he talks quickly and with as about as much excitement Liam’s seen him have since they were kids when he talks about Jay-Z and Frank Ocean.  Liam tips his chin up, tries to follow along with a small smile and he likes the way Zayn talks with his hands sometimes when he gets too excited.  He bites down on his lower lip, quiet words here and there about songs he likes but he lets Zayn do most of the talking, lulled into peace with that accent and steady collide of words-snicker-smile.

He’s watching Zayn’s eyes, streaks of gold along the light brown, and his eyelashes frame them beautifully, to which Liam reminds himself that he’s never thought any man as beautiful before but it fits Zayn.  Slender fingers that are unlike Liam’s because Liam’s fingers are big, nails bitten down to the tips while Zayn’s look soft, delicate but he knows they’re strong, knows they can dig into flesh and leave Liam wanting more.  Lips that Liam thinks about kissing every other word just to see if they’re raw and rough or feathery soft with their pink tint and fullness that has to be incredibly tasty.  His hair isn’t styled, it’s down, looks soft the way it falls on Zayn’s head and he thinks about combing it back with his hands, pulling it off of Zayn’s forehead and, fuck, he’s probably staring because Zayn’s look at him curiously and he gives Zayn a light shove, chest-rattling laugh before Zayn can ask anything while he looks away and hopes he’s doing a good job at hiding the blush attacking his cheeks like trained assassins.

“You’re a little different Liam,” Zayn mutters and Liam tenses, knows the part is coming where Zayn tells him he doesn’t get him and Liam will just walk away with his head down but then Zayn snorts, “I like it,” and Liam’s breathing evens out again as Zayn pats his shoulder and starts on another topic.

It goes like that, day after day, Liam slipping out of the cafeteria midway through lunch and Zayn’s always waiting for him under that tree, cigarette dangling from his lips with a tilted grin and Liam’s heart thuds against his chest every time he plops down onto the grass, opening his paper bag while Zayn finishes his cigarette.  After a week, he doesn’t even bother to fall into that same seat he’s occupied for months with Niall and Eleanor.  He’s already sitting under the tree before Zayn gets out there and Zayn smirks when he kicks through the cafeteria door, pulling a cigarette from his pack and lighting it as he brushes a hand over the top of Liam’s head, standing far enough back that Liam doesn’t breathe in any of the smoke before Liam starts talking about the Avengers, watching Zayn’s eyes light up because Zayn never seems to tire of that subject, flicking away his cigarette to slide down next to Liam, stealing his blueberry muffin before smiling arrogantly and chatting about the next Iron Man movie.

It rains on a Thursday and Liam’s quiet about it most of the day, watching the rain through most of his first class with narrowed eyes and a scrunched expression.  He wonders if he stares at it long enough can he will it to stop.  It doesn’t, not even for five minutes before lunch and Liam’s resigned his thoughts to slipping back into that same cold seat he’s started to hate now that he’s spent so many lunch periods under the shade of that damn tree with Zayn next to him, shoulders pressed together with Zayn tapping fingers along Liam’s thigh while stealing some of Liam’s food while they chat.

But Zayn meets Liam at the door to the cafeteria, a small smile on those pink lips and Liam thinks he could light up half of London with those eyes but he doesn’t tell Zayn, merely offers a “Hi” before Zayn’s wrapping long fingers around his wrist and saying, “Come with me,” just before Liam can set a foot inside the cafeteria.  Eleanor gives them a look, grinning, and pushing Harry inside of the cafeteria before he can ask anything.

He doesn’t really ask Zayn anything when he pulls Liam away from the crowd rushing in for lunch, just glances around curiously and pretends not to notice some of the looks they get with Zayn’s fingers curled tightly around Liam’s wrist and that touch feels incredible even if Liam needs it to stop before he wants it every day for hours on end.  They’re down a flight of steps, around a couple of corners, and Liam knows this part of the building.  They don’t really use it anymore, not since the school got some funding from a couple of well-to-do families and built new wings and classrooms when Liam was in Year Nine.  It’s mainly smaller classrooms, dusty and unused except for the occasional time when the newer classrooms have a leak in the ceiling because Liam’s certain the school board pocketed some of that money for themselves but he never says anything to anyone but El, maybe Louis.

Zayn pulls them into one of the old English classrooms and Liam grins because it feels so familiar, Year Seven with Zayn and Eleanor seated a row behind him, giggling whenever Liam trudged in there in the mornings with a backpack too heavy for his small frame back then.  Zayn doesn’t bother clicking on the lights, sliding through the room without looking because they could do that, spending far too many days in there for hours.  He watches Zayn hop up onto one of the desks, grinning back at Liam until he follows, dragging one of the desks until it’s nestled up against Zayn’s before hopping up on it and opening his paper bag and pulling out various items his mum packed, folding up the note – “Enjoy.  Love you. P.S. I’m glad someone else is enjoying my sandwiches.”  He tries not to blush, wonders if maybe Ruth said something because he troubled her one evening to slip some cookies and something spicy in there and it took him nearly ten minutes to work his way through a lie to her about why he suddenly liked spicy foods when she knew he didn’t.

“I’m shit at this stupid paper we’ve got to write,” Liam says lowly with his eyes on his hands which are in his lap, fiddling with some orange slices.

Zayn plucks one from the plastic bag Liam’s mum packed them away in, grinning when he pops it in his mouth.  “Okay.”

“Okay?” Liam repeats, eyebrow arching upward.

“Okay, is this your way of asking for my help?” Zayn wonders, lifting his brow before drawing his lip between his teeth.

“No, I,” Liam’s not very good at lying and Zayn shoots him a look of disbelief before he can sort out the words to say.

“Don’t bullshit,” Zayn orders, his voice a bit firm but it’s still followed by a small smile.  “I’ll help you Liam.  You don’t have to ask.”

Liam nods, his smile sticky like caramel candies, and he’s slipping an orange slice into his own mouth, chewing to keep himself from expressing his gratitude because he’s certain he’ll just come off more like a rambling twat rather than a grateful friend.

Friend.  He grimaces at the thought because a friend doesn’t feel the way he’s certain he’s started to feel for Zayn.  And a friend doesn’t run slow fingers over his cheek like Zayn does, his thumb rubbing at the corner of his mouth to wipe away the juices from the orange with the kind of grin that’s nothing like a mate, but more like someone who just might like Liam the way he wants to tell himself he’s not liking Zayn.

He doesn’t mind the way Zayn’s fingers run over his scalp a little later, his head resting on Zayn’s shoulder because it felt comfortable that way, the rain strumming a beautiful symphony outside as they talked lowly.  Zayn didn’t seem to mind when he first scooted closer, fingers drumming on the desk today rather than on Liam’s leg and he couldn’t admit aloud he missed that connection, but his body acted on what his lips could not utter.  He listens with eyes closed as Zayn talks about Harry Potter, why he never watches the movies but reads the books over and over and Liam’s nodding against Zayn’s shoulder, mumbling a few words here and there but he knows it nonsense just by the way Zayn laughs and his fingers drag a little slower over Liam’s head.

Liam grins, thinks anyone could walk past and see them but his body won’t move.  He stays that way until the bell rings dully in the halls and Zayn doesn’t move immediately, giving Liam permission to linger just a little longer with Zayn talking about his sisters and Waliyha, the one that’s just like him except she’s a little less tolerant of stupidity like he is sometimes, has some sort of massive crush on Justin Bieber that Zayn chuckles at while Liam grins, knowing exactly how that can be sometimes.

Niall asks him about it one day after Liam’s cross country practice, walking Liam home with a smile because, honestly, Niall rarely gets upset over anything.  Liam’s shy with a response, hands buried in the pockets of his hoodie and he can’t really explain it.  He merely shrugs it off, explains he doesn’t feel comfortable with the others and Niall’s eyes are wide for a moment, frown starting to set in before Liam eases an arm around Niall’s shoulders with a grin.

“It’s not you mate,” Liam assures him, nodding before Niall can question whether he’s sure or not.

“We can sit somewhere else.  Just you, me, and El.  Maybe Harry,” Niall offers, hands fisting into his jeans.

Liam shakes his head, doesn’t want to admit it wouldn’t matter if Zayn wasn’t there.  He merely keeps his smile wide and tight, letting his eyes focus elsewhere.

“You know I’m still your best mate whether I’m with you at lunch or not, right?” Liam asks, his eyebrow arching when Niall chuckles.

“Of course.  I can’t compete with Louis on some levels but, come on, you and I are inseparable man,” Niall states, blue eyes assured in his own words.  “Plus I don’t want Harry to think he drove you away.  The kid’s a bit weird like that.”

Liam snorts, eyes rolling.  “He’s not.  He has Cher, Jessy, Andy, the whole lot falling over him.”

“I think he only wants Tommo falling over him,” Niall remarks, knowing look in his eye and Liam laughs, loud and uncaringly, giving Niall a playful shove before dragging him back underneath the weight of his arm.

“But, honestly, I’d ditch them all.  Every single one of them, Liam,” Niall adds, his voice a little thicker, and Liam nods because he believes it.  He knows Niall would.  Niall’s loyal, no questions asked, and Liam’s known that for more years than he’s known anything else.

“They’re your friends Niall.  It’s okay, really,” Liam explains, breathing out a slow sigh.  “I wouldn’t want to change that.  Besides, I like being away, somewhere else for a little while.”

“With Zayn” Niall adds and Liam nearly chokes on a breath, lowers his brow when he looks back at Niall.

Niall chuckles, nodding.  Liam isn’t quite sure how, but Niall always gets it.  He rarely says it, keeps most things to himself unless they need to be said and Liam’s almost certain Niall knows a lot more than he’ll ever let the world in on.

“Just be careful because, you know,” Niall starts, expression set indifferently, “its Zayn.  The Zayn Malik.  Nothing against him because I sort of always liked the guy even though he’s a little quiet and doesn’t say much to anyone but his friends, but he’s just, I don’t know, different.”

“Different,” Liam repeats, nodding.  He doesn’t know how to respond, wants to know exactly what ‘different’ means to Niall but he doesn’t try to because Niall starts talking about Eleanor, asking her out for Friday night, and Liam merely nibbles on his bottom lip with a smile, chuckling when Niall throws in how ridiculously attractive Gemma is and Liam agrees with a grin before they’re laughing.  Harry would kill them if he heard any of it, but it doesn’t matter to them.  Not one bit.

**

As long as Liam has known Louis, he’s known Louis to always be honest.  Brutally honest.  Opinionated in ways Liam wouldn’t stand from anyone else, but honest.  Which is why he has yet to figure out why he invites Louis to a coffee shop not too far from their old neighborhood for a chat when he knows whatever he’s considering telling Louis isn’t going to be received the way he’s sorted out in his mind.

His eyes are fixated on the leaves, the way they dance in the soft breeze as they fall from branches, a kaleidoscope of reds, oranges, and gold.  He smiles as mothers pass by, a child usually tugging at their hand and begging for a sweet treat or even ice cream.  There’s a strong scent of hazelnut, Louis’ coffee, that engulfs him but it’s only Tuesday and so he settles for a cup of tea with cream and cinnamon shavings on the top, his mind drifting to the way his mum makes his tea sometimes with a quarter of an orange squeezed into it and so hot he has to wait deliciously long before he takes that first sip, the liquid drenching his throat in a rapturous heat that he craves.

Louis could easily be a walking advertisement for Tom’s and Oxford, the way he has his feet kicked up on an empty chair at their table, white Tom’s dancing with tight ruddy-colored jeans rolled up to his ankles, colorful suspenders over his button down and a grin this side of Stuck-Up Avenue.  He shoots the waitress a holier-than-thou look when she glares at him as she passes, Liam chuckling behind the tip of his cup because, yes, Louis does have the audacity to sit at the table like he owns the little shop rather than being just another paying customer; though, technically, Liam was paying because Louis has all of his money tied into tuitions, books, and “being this good looking is not a cheap affair,” as Louis puts it.

The sun is an orange streak in the sky now, Louis slowly lowering his thick-framed sunglasses with a smirk when Liam rolls his eyes.  Louis calls them “an expensive must” while Liam thinks they’re just an overpriced waste of time.  He snorts when Louis tips his head back, trying to enjoy the last few days of warmth the sun provides, knocking Louis’ feet off the empty chair and Louis’ nearly falling out of his own with a dramatic squawk and a wrinkled brow.

“Liam Payne, you are –“

“The best mate you’ve ever had?” Liam wonders with a smile, leaning his elbows onto the table.

Louis lowers his sunglasses to the end of his nose, narrowing his eyes at Liam.  “I could think of a few other things I wanted to say.”

“Yes, well,” Liam says in an almost singsong tone, the corner of his mouth inching upward into a grin when Louis flips him off.

“Whatever.  Why’ve you called me out here anyway?  I’m actually trying to learn something this semester,” Louis announces, blowing slowly onto his coffee before taking a long sip, slouching into his chair.

“Really?” Liam asks.

Louis nods proudly but his grin is a bit crooked, devious.  “Figured I’d give my parents a reason to buy me a new car before I truly get too corrupt to fix.”

Liam laughs lowly, smacking playfully at Louis’ shin.  “You’re unfixable, you know that?  Like, massively so.”

“Some call me a twat,” Louis says, feet kicking up now until they’re rested in Liam’s lap and Liam’s gaping at him before Louis grins out, “And some call me late at night for a good fuck.  I don’t complain either way.”

Liam balks at him, tries swatting at Louis’ feet but he knows better.  Louis’ quite comfortable and anything involving actual personal space is beyond Louis.  He sighs, slow sip from his tea as he avoids eye contact with their waitress because he just didn’t have the strength to explain Louis Tomlinson.  Not today, at least.

“Again, why am I here?” Louis asks, waving his hand at Liam with all the dramatic flair he can muster from his slouched position.

“I think I like a boy,” Liam blurts out, eyes dropping immediately at the leave his lips.

“Zayn.  The boy has a name,” Louis insists, another gulp of coffee as Liam gapes at him, eyes far too wide but Louis’ sighing and pushing those sunglasses back over his eyes.  “Come on now Liam, I know your mother taught you some manners.”

“How does everyone seem to know before me?” Liam asks a little too loudly and he’s slinking down in his seat when the couple at the table next to them give him a quizzical look, turning away when Louis yanks off his sunglasses to glare back at them, eyes daring them to speak.

“Oh, come on, Liam.  You have to admit you’re quite daft when it comes to matters such as this,” Louis declares, head turning back to look on Liam, a hint of pity in his eyes that Liam scoffs at.  “Plus Niall might’ve mentioned it when we were chatting the other night.  I may have also bribed him a tiny bit.  Man loves his Nando’s.”

Liam groans lowly, hand dragging over his face and he wonders just how his pink his cheeks have gotten in the past five seconds.

“You’re an arse,” Liam mutters, hand still over his face and he’s staring into his cup of tea rather than into those unrelenting blue eyes.

“Once again, overstating the obvious,” Louis sighs out, waving Liam off dismissively.

Liam fixes his eyes into slits as he glares at Louis but the grin he receives from Louis prevents him from holding it too long.  He swirls the tea in his cup, watching the colors spin and it’s something like the way his honey complexion looks against Zayn’s near maize-hued skin.  He smiles softly, thoughts of hazel eyes that are sharp, sometimes a bit hard but Liam has seen them kind, gentle, and almost painfully shy.  He wants to trace his fingers over the crossed fingers tattooed on the underside of Zayn’s forearm, thumb running over the yin yang on the inside of his wrist.  He wonders if Zayn would notice if he pinched his leather jacket just to feel the warmth and let the scent of cigarettes and orange envelope him.

“So, how much do you like him?” Louis asks and Liam shakes a little, biting down lightly on his lower lip.

Liam’s thinking for a second, blinking at Louis and there’s a loud, drawn out sigh passing Louis’ lips before he’s saying, “That bad huh?”

Liam nods slowly, knows he’s never been very good at lying to Louis.  He feels the flood of color rush his cheeks because Louis’ snickering and Liam’s resigned to flicking Louis’ cheek with a grin.  He takes a slow swallow of his tea, chin resting on knuckles and Louis’ eyes are speaking volumes, maybe just a little too loud for Liam but it’s maddening how Louis can sort him out with just looks and little twitches of his lips.

“How have you been, you know, feeling?” Louis asks lowly, shoulders slumping some as he leans on the table.

Liam lowers his eyes a little, rubbing his chin along his knuckles.  There’s a beat before he sighs, frustration mild but he knows Louis’ doing what Louis always does; he’s caring in a way that’s almost unnoticeable unless someone looked underneath the wit, the sarcasm, the inability to filter a word that comes out of his mouth without belittling everything that was Louis Tomlinson.

“I’m fine,” Liam bites out, lifting his chin a little to stare at Louis with a blank expression.  “Nothing’s been wrong for a while.”

“Yeah,” Louis says with a nod, but his eyebrows come together and there’s a certain glimmer to those blue eyes that feels off.

“It’s nothing, Lou, honestly,” Liam insists, fumbling with a smile.  “You act as if it’s happen more than once.”

Louis laughs, harsh and unforgiving.  “Once?  How about a couple of times when we were younger and may I remind you of last year?  Would you like to stroll down memory lane, just before the holiday and most of your second semester when you…”

“Okay Lou, I get it,” Liam hisses and he hates the way Louis cocks his head to the side, another battle won.  He drags his teeth along his bottom lip, already bitten raw and his fingers flex against the surface of the table.  “But I’m fine.”

Louis nods this time, Liam’s eyes narrowed and he’s not in the mood for Louis to give him shit.  His parents do it enough, Nicola too, sometimes Ruth.  Niall doesn’t say anything, but he sees the concern written dully into those blue eyes when Liam looks a little winded after practice or those days when he’s a little off, hand laid on Liam’s shoulder in the cafeteria while nonchalantly pushing a bowl of fruit and a bottled water in his direction.  But that’s as far as it goes, as far as Liam will let it because he can’t live his whole life with eyes on him, looks that’ll leave him feel incredibly guilty or weak when he knows he’s not.  Never has been.

“I want to take Harry out,” Louis says suddenly and Liam’s brow elevates, pupils a little blown because Louis gives him an indifferent look, waving off Liam’s glare as if he’d just said something that wasn’t completely out of character for Louis.  But it was.  Louis didn’t date, not on purpose.  He snogged boys, handsome and rugged or just pretty enough for Louis to break and forget about the next week.  He’d had enough flings that it was routine rather than a dirty secret that only came out during the best bladdered conversations over the phone.

“You?  Harry?  A date?” Liam questions and the words sort of string together as Louis nods, still unmoved.

“A proper date.  Romantic stuff, which I’m sure I know nothing about but if I watch enough Hugh Grant movies, I’m certain I can sort it out,” Louis declares, obnoxious grin crowning his lips before he’s sipping on his coffee, nearly draining it while Liam gapes at him.

“You’re mental Lou,” Liam breathes out, head still shaking.

“Shut it Li,” Louis demands, finger pointed and he’s squinting his eyes into two small slits.  “I’m being serious for once about a boy.  As my best mate, which you’ve declared a many of time over rum and cokes in El’s basement, you are to humor me.”

“What if he doesn’t even like guys?” Liam ponders, scratching at the back of his head.

Louis’ eyes go wide, disbelief abound and Liam shrugs.  There’s a sigh passing over Louis’ lips, tongue licking to wet them before he cocks an eyebrow upward and grins menacingly.

“Since when has that ever stopped me before?” Louis asks, rather declares because Louis has always been that certain of himself.  Since they were younger and Louis threw the best parties at his house when his parents were away, Louis and Stan sneaking Liam in with Eleanor attached at his hip, watching everyone giggle, drink way too much, steal Louis’ parents liquor and Louis knew even when he got caught by his parents that his punishment wouldn’t last long.  He was just that confident.

“You fancy him a bit, yeah?” Liam asks lowly, eyes watching the sun for a moment as it was enveloped in pink skies.  The sight alone was brilliant and he wonders if Zayn liked things as simple as that.

“I don’t know.  He’s wickedly different, if that makes sense.  With that stupid curly hair he’s always messing with, those hands and I like his eyes a little too much.  I hate when he talks because he just goes forever but then I want to listen to everything he says like it’s important, though I know it’s not,” Louis explains, trying to push as much spite into his words but Liam smiles knowing it’s more adoration than anything else.

“And he’s a hipster.  He likes music that I never listen to.  He’s always smiling and upbeat and he’s kind of annoying when he’s sloshed,” Louis adds, a healthy sigh following.

“And you want to take him on a date,” Liam notes, his tone uneven.

“Fucking bloody hell,” Louis groans, rolls his eyes when their waitress gawks at them once more.  “Maybe I just want to shag him.”

Liam snorts, playfully giving Louis’ head a light shove.  “Not this time Lou.”

“He’s fantastic, really,” Louis hums and Liam nods, thinks he knows the feeling all too well.

“He’s going to ruin you Tommo.  Make an honest man of you,” Liam teases, his nose scrunching up with a grin and Louis’ flipping him off.  “And Niall’s not going to like it.”

“Yeah, well, what’s new,” Louis sighs.  “Party coming up in a week.  Should be a good time.  Come with me?”

“You just want me to bring Harry,” Liam says with a snicker.

Louis shakes his head instantly, hand dropping over Liam’s and Louis gives it a tight squeeze, leaning forward.  “No.  Not at all.  I miss you Li.  This whole Uni shit is loads of boring and, I don’t know, I always have a good time with you at parties.  Please?”

Liam groans, eyes rolling but he feels his blood thicken with pride.  He nibbles lightly on his thumbnail, watches the way Louis’ eyes are puppy dog and he’s frowning those lips, trying to strike Liam in the gut like a kick drum and it works almost every time.

“I’m ditching you and the boys if you lot get too shitfaced this time,” Liam declares with a lowered brow but a smile is itching his lips when Louis’ face brightens, batting his lashes innocently and Liam knows better – nothing about Louis Tomlinson will ever be innocent.

**

Perrie Edwards.

Liam learns her name from Louis while they’re crowded into the doorway of one of the rooms, brilliantly lit blue this time with small spotlights dancing off the walls and stupid neon stickers of crescent moons and stars plastered across the ceiling.  She attends some private school two towns over from Telford and Liam remembers her instantly – platinum blonde with piercing blue eyes and the one that had Zayn’s attention behind that DJ booth before Liam caught his attention that night.

That platinum blonde hair is almost magenta this time, lighter as it reaches the crown of her head.  She’s got on big, thick designer sunglasses even though it’s far too dark in the room to need them.  She’s 80’s chic in her own mind with a top that hangs off one shoulder and leggings.  She’s gorgeous, Liam can admit, with her cheekbones and addictive smile, something resembling Twiggy when she pouts.

Liam bites down on his lower lip, pretending not to listen to anything Louis says about her, the way she talks or the friends she keeps or even the fact that Louis likes her no-bullshit-attitude even though she’d been every bit of a bitch the one time Louis decided he wanted to chat with her.  He chokes on a sigh burning against his throat, blinking while Niall comments on her looks while Harry scoffs at the way she dances – Hey, I heard you were a wild one. If I took you home, it’d be a homerun – like she’s in control of everything, her back pressed firmly to Zayn’s chest with an arm curled behind her to wrap around Zayn’s neck.  And Zayn’s nodding, fag dangling from his lips with smoke escaping the side of his mouth.  He’s got a hand on her hip, fingers curled around bone, and Liam thinks his decision to be the sober one tonight might’ve been the daftest decision he’s made in weeks.

Harry slips away, dragging Louis with him, and they’re all giggles and small touches as they trip merrily down the hall, Harry a little too far gone on lager and Louis a bit too infatuated with Harry for Liam to stomach.  Niall pulls a pretty red headed girl with him into the room, proudly letting her grind on him the moment they make it to the center of the floor.  Liam can’t move, wants to, but his eyes won’t leave Zayn, the way he’s centering his attention on every piece of the room with Perrie dancing on him.  He swears he tastes copper on the tip of his tongue, gnawing his bottom lip just a little too hard and his fingers curl into fists, doesn’t know why he bothers to think Zayn should be dancing with him.

Louis peeks in a second later, holding out a shot glass with clear liquid inside in front of Liam’s face.  Liam doesn’t hesitate when he eyes the glass, Zayn a little blurry through the liquor.  He think he feels sick before he even has a chance to sniff the alcohol.  He pinches the glass from between Louis’ fingers, downs it quickly – I am the wild one, tame me now – biting back a cough as the alcohol, some sort of vodka, burns down his chest and leaves the corner of his eyes watery.  Louis cheers him on, tosses back his own shot before Harry’s wrapping an arm around Louis’ waist and pulling him from the room again, Louis’ hand tangling in Harry’s curls.  He gives Zayn another look, that head tipped back as he laughs, eyes crinkling before he takes another drag from his cigarette, and Liam’s chewing on the inside of his mouth before he’s ducking out of the room.

Liam’s not certain how he finds a quiet part outside of the hall, one not too far from Louis’ this time, but he’s thankful.  He’s slouched over on a set of steps, arms on his knees while he lazily plays a game of Flick Kick Football on his phone.  He swirls around the contents of his red cup, some Coke and vodka that’s mainly watered down now from ice, and sighs lowly.

Liam could see how the world saw him boring; he saw it too sometimes.  He wasn’t a heavy drinker, not like Niall could be and Louis was when he was younger.  He doesn’t really dance, not often enough for women to flock to him whenever they heard their favorite song.  He parties only when Louis asks or forces him to.  He likes slow songs, meaningful words taking precedent over thumping bass or thrilling synthesizers.  He’s sporty but has avoided joining in on more than a few pickup games with his classmates and he’s certain he can hear them whisper about him in the locker room when they think he’s not really listening.

He has Louis, Niall, Eleanor, and Harry now, but he can’t ever truly say any of the rest of them were friends; not genuine ones.  He’s not brilliant, not like Zayn was, and he’s quiet most of the times in class, trying to draw attention with jokes that were bland and imitations that were never nearly as funny as Niall.  It took him a few years to grow into his body, eyes almost too big with more than a few dodgy haircuts he’s certain he thought were cooler than they really were.  He never liked his nose, hated that birthmark on his neck, and his hands always felt too big.  He’s awful at flirting, Eleanor’s told him so, and Louis reminds him constantly how daft he is about someone else trying to chat him up because, really, why would they bother?

“I wondered if you came.”

Liam’s head snaps up, blinking, and the smile that curls over Zayn’s lips doesn’t do anything to stop Liam’s accelerating heartbeat.

“I saw Lou,” Zayn says, slowly easing down onto the steps, “with Harry. Figured there’s no way Harry would be here without you but I couldn’t find you.  Didn’t ask Louis because, well, I don’t think he looks too kindly on me wanting to sit and chat with his best mate, yeah?”

Liam snorts lowly, eyes dropping back to his phone.  “I don’t see him having a problem with it.”

“Really?” Zayn wonders and his voice is a bit strained, high pitched with a small layer of excitement.  Liam nods slowly, blush riddling his cheeks.

Liam frowns a little when Zayn scoots closer; he can smell her on Zayn and he feels guilty lifting his eyes just to inspect Zayn’s lips and cheeks, looking for a smear of lipstick or swollen lips.  There’s none and Liam breathes a little easier.

Zayn pulls his knees up like Liam’s, pulling in closer to Liam until their knees are pressed against each other, shoulders touching, and Zayn’s smiling with his tongue pressed to his teeth and small wrinkles at the corners of his brown eyes.  His body is maddeningly warm so close to Liam’s and he wants to curl into that heat, avoid the autumn chill.

Liam feels a little dizzy, wishing it was the alcohol but he knows it’s not.  It’s Zayn.  It’s the way that smile is so smooth, long lashes that Liam wants to feel against his own cheeks, and hands that are fidgeting.  He wants to ask Zayn a million questions, most of them about Perrie, and he’s never been so uncertain before.  Was he supposed to mean something to Zayn?  Was he just that daft when it came to feelings and boys or was it just Zayn?  He’s lightheaded at the thought that maybe Zayn really did like like him and it didn’t feel like such a passing thought when Zayn cocks his head to the side, jaw set and biting softly on that full lower lip, the one that Liam is not thinking about sucking on.

“You’re, uh, quiet,” Zayn says and Liam tenses a little when Zayn runs fingers over the shell of his ear, wishing he didn’t because that touch fades and Zayn leans back a little to study him.

“Sorry,” Liam whispers, scuffing the toe of his shoe on the step below.  “Think it’s been a long couple of weeks.”

Zayn nods slowly, tongue wetting his lips.  “I think it’s been a good couple of weeks.”

“Yeah?” Liam asks, a small smile following.

“Yeah,” Zayn admits with a nod, grinning.  “I mean, at least when I’m around you.”

“When I’m around you,” Liam repeats, a grin spreading over his lips and Zayn’s doing the same until they’re both laughing, Zayn giving him a light shove.  Liam tangles his fingers into Zayn’s stiff quiff, feeling the softer pieces toward the root.

“You think so, yeah?” Zayn wonders, but it’s not really a question when Zayn smirks, eyes looking over Liam’s lips before finding his eyes.

Liam nods, resists any need to hide his excitement and blush lathers his cheeks.  He runs a hand shyly over the top of his head and Zayn snickers, his own fingers ghosting behind Liam’s and resting on the back of his neck.  His skin is hot under Zayn’s cold fingertips and Zayn’s face is bathed in content.

“Think you can free up some time to help me with my paper?  I think I’m doing terrible with it,” Liam mutters and he doesn’t know why he’s even bothering.  He could say so many other things, ask Zayn for a kiss because that would be horribly awkward but maybe Zayn would laugh at him before obliging?

“Thought you’d never ask.  Yours or mine?” Zayn asks.

Liam swallows thickly, blinks at Zayn because the thought of Zayn, lying on his bed, pretending to give a shit about anything written with his hands running over Liam’s chest leaves him more than speechless.

“Well, actually –“

“Oi, Zaynie, honestly?  You’re missing an ultra-hot party with me to sit out here with this unfortunate chappie?”

Liam doesn’t know the voice but he recognizes the face when he glances up, crystalized blue eyes meeting his and he shrinks a little.  There’s a toss of blonde-pink hair before hands find hips and a glossy pout forms over perfect lips.  She gives Liam a once over, eyes reading ‘unimpressed’ in the most unflattering way.  She’s clicking a black heel on the steps above them and Liam averts his eyes, knows that look a million times over: he’s pathetic to her.

Liam almost recognizes the girl giggling pathetically behind Perrie, Jade maybe, from some party Louis drove him to last summer.  She’s got a hand on Perrie’s shoulder, shaking her while leaning over, adding, “Come on Zayn.  Don’t be such a prick and come back inside.”

“Perr,” Zayn sighs out and his hands have left Liam, body turning awkwardly toward her and Liam feels the night’s breeze strike against his face.

“Honestly Zayn, do you want the world to know that you sometimes fancy a bloke every now and again?  And this one of all the choices out here?” Perrie questions, her voice thick with disgust and Liam can feel her eyes still on him even though she’s speaking to Zayn.

“I don’t know Perrie, he’s sort of fit,” Jade mumbles with a laugh.  “A bit odd looking though.  Definitely not someone I’d shag.”

“Definitely not,” Perrie hisses.  “Now Zayn, really, wouldn’t you prefer come watch Jade and I snog, maybe join in?  Stop rescuing lost puppies.”

Liam feels the anger, his blood boiling, but there’s something just underneath that.  It pricks at his eyelids, leaves his lip trembling and, damn it he knows he probably does look pathetic now like the loser from so many movies about teenagers he’s seen but he couldn’t give a fuck in this moment because this feeling is so raw it’s suffocating.  And Zayn, fuck it all, Zayn isn’t saying anything.  His chin is tucked, eyes on his hands rather than Liam or Perrie and it doesn’t do anything to ease that rage inside of Liam.  He wants, no, needs out.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall hisses and Liam’s head snaps up, doesn’t expect to see Niall at the bottom of the steps, that redhead behind him with wide eyes and smudged lipstick.  Liam wants to say something but Niall’s eyes, dark as cobalt and nothing like that brightness Liam’s used to seeing, aren’t on him; they’re on Zayn.

“Niall,” Liam starts but Niall shakes his head, fingers balled into fists with eyes narrowed and his brow is furrowed, upper lip curling.

“Oh, the leprechaun is going to be the geek’s knight in shining armor,” Jade coos.

“Shut it,” Niall barks and Jade visibly trembles, ducking behind Perrie.

Niall’s eyes, dark and laced with fury, move back to Zayn and Liam’s rarely seen this side of Niall.  He was always laughing, carefree, nothing but silly jokes and playful shoves but this side of Niall Liam denies ever knowing.  The one that’s focused, riddled with anger and he’s only seen Niall fight once but it was quite clear, despite the boy being twice Niall’s size that Niall knew what he was doing with his fists.

“You’re just going sit there and let them take a piss at him?  At Liam, your friend, right?  The lad has done nothing wrong but yet you’ll let them talk shit as if you didn’t know him?” Niall asks but everything comes out like accusations and Zayn’s own fingers curl into fists, jaw flexing.

“Niall, it’s not like –“

“No, Liam,” Niall growls and Liam gapes at him, catches the piano-soft apology written into Niall’s eyes seconds later but it’s not enough to mute his disdain for Zayn.

Zayn shakes his head, pushes himself off the steps and Liam’s ready to grab him, stop him from approaching Niall but Zayn turns in the opposite direction.  Liam splits his looks between Niall and Zayn, rage to his left and regret moving away from him.  A frown tugs impatiently at his lips because maybe Niall’s right.  Maybe Zayn is too much of a coward to bark at Perrie, defend a friend.  Or, just maybe, he’s not really Zayn’s friend.  He’s not Zayn’s anything and it scars his heart, his inhales of oxygen sharp and he can’t focus again, head dropping.

“Zayn,” Perrie calls softly but Zayn jerks past her, fists shaking with shoulders slumped forward.

“Let’s go Liam,” Niall orders, but Liam knows he doesn’t mean to be so forceful with his tone.

Liam closes his eyes, bites back the stinging sensation against the back of his eyelids while taking in a deep breath.  It still aches when he does so and his stomach is a bit knotted.  He shuffles down the steps, head lowered when Niall slings an arm around his shoulders and Niall’s rattling his phone number off to the redhead over his shoulder, pulling Liam from Perrie and Jade’s sight.

Liam’s watching the ground the entire time, even when he hears Louis calling out to them and Harry’s laughing like a child in the summer heat.  He drags his Converse across the grass as Niall explains everything, Liam swallowed by his own thoughts and he’s not really saying much to Louis as they walk.  His throat is constricted and he’s leaning his head on Harry’s shoulder as they drive off, unable to focus enough to hop in the driver’s seat even though it’s his mum’s car they’re riding in.  Niall drives, cranks up the radio because he knows it means Liam won’t have to listen to Louis or answer any of his questions.  Harry kisses the top of his head, humming along to the radio – I’ve been waiting all day for you to call me baby. So let’s get up, let’s get on it. Don’t you leave me brokenhearted tonight – and Liam slouches further into the seat with eyes closed as Harry snakes an arm around his shoulders.

Louis climbs over the passenger seat to pull Liam into a sloppy hug when they get back to his Uni hall.  He’s all soft whispers, lips gently grazing his ear – “Thanks for ruining my chances of having a fantastically wonderful bang from curly over there, Li.  I think he’s quite ace.  Call me later, ‘kay?” – and Liam feels Harry giggling next to him, hears the quiet kiss Louis presses to Harry’s dimpled cheek before he’s climbing out of the car, waving off Niall.

The ride back is quiet and Harry’s the first to speak up: “I think I’m going to crash at yours Liam.”

Liam catches Niall nodding in the rearview, half-lidded grin and Liam shrugs, says, “Fine with me.”

“Can we get some take-away first though?  I need some nosh like yesterday,” Niall groans, swerving down a street, the pale street lights painting the inside of the car in small strips of light.

“You always are,” Harry laughs out and Liam actually smiles, lets Harry cuddle closer to him with their legs tangled in the backseat.

Liam grabs the spare duvets from the linen closet, quiet footsteps through the house because he doesn’t want to wake his mum, even though he’s certain she’d make him the perfect cup of tea, rubbing the back of his hand and asking all the right questions.  Niall’s laid across his bed, bags of McDonald’s surrounding him while Harry sits with his legs crossed on the floor, fiddling with his phone and Liam doesn’t have to take a quick peek to know he’s texting Louis; it’s written to every inch of his soft expression.

They create a makeshift bed on the floor, sheets, duvet and pillows piled together and it’s like the sleepovers Liam would have at Louis’ when they were kids.  Harry snuggles to him, chats with Niall about classes and their plans for the summer before Uni.  Liam listens, grins when they plead with him to come with them to Spain before falling into an unsettling silence when Harry goes on about Louis, Niall even admitting he’s never really fancied any of the girls he’s managed to hook up with outside of Eleanor.  Liam nods, chews on his bottom lip, and doesn’t tell them how much he enjoys being around Zayn.  He doesn’t confess to knowing little things about Zayn like the tattoos on his collarbone, their meaning, or the way Zayn smells right before he smokes a fag.  He doesn’t mention the way Zayn likes to touch Liam when they’re talking or when they’re just quiet, laughing to themselves about nothing at all.

When Niall’s laid on his back, duvet kicked off and snoring while Harry drools on Liam’s shoulder, he feels at peace.  He gets a few texts from Louis – I can’t stop thinking about him – and he laughs quietly, not even bothering to respond.  His eyes feel heavy and he doesn’t flinch when Harry rolls over and clings to him like a child to his teddy bear.  He takes a final look at his phone, 3:42 AM, and sighs.  He’ll go for a run in the morning, maybe meet Louis for coffee later, finish studying for a few tests, and pretend Zayn isn’t the only thing he’s going to avoid thinking about.

**

Liam’s exhausted Monday.  Sunday wasn’t filled with much but it was enough to leave him restless most of the night.  He skipped out on coffee with Louis, stomach too knot up from the night before, but Niall dragged him down to a park a few roads down from his neighborhood.  He watched Harry and Niall play a pickup game with a few of Niall’s teammates, Sam and Brad, while the sun stroked the back of his neck.  They lost miserably, Niall barking at Harry who shrugged and tossed his curls back, quick sweep of his hand over the front to right them.  His mum takes Ruth and him shopping for groceries, little things like candles and tablecloths, and it’s more exhausting listening to his sister whine while his mum pulls them from shop to shop like they’re nine years old again.  But Liam knows better than to protest.

He tries to study, truly does, but it never works out because Louis calls, he can’t find the right book he needs for His history class, and the words sort of smash together in a haze of black and white.  And each time he goes to work on his Creative Writing paper, the one that’s due Friday which consists of mainly scribbling, little doodles in the corners of the paper, and nothing about the subject he’s been assigned, he thinks of Zayn.  He thinks about calling him, knows better, and he fiddles with his phone for a while before calling Louis back and listening to him go on about his ace roommate Ed and his brilliant acoustic set down in the lounge of their hall.  Louis doesn’t hound him with questions about Zayn, does that annoying thing where he pretends he doesn’t want to talk about Harry but manages to work him into almost every topic – “Harry loves Queen,” “Ed did a cover of a Katy Perry song and Harry loves Katy Perry,” “I saw a magazine with Frankie from the Sats on it. Harry has a bit of a crush on her,” “I’m thinking about buying a green shirt for the next party down here.  Green like Harry’s eyes” – and Liam tries not to get sick of it.

He’s quiet when he gets to school, lips pursed when Niall throws an arm around him and walks him through the halls as if Liam needs protection.  Eleanor’s there too, arm hooked with Liam’s and Liam can tell by her smile, stoned and inched a little too high, that Niall’s told her.  But he doesn’t need protection; he’s almost certain none of his classmates had seen the scene at the party.  In fact, even if they did, he knew he didn’t matter enough for anyone to gossip about it.

Harry stops him before his second class, grinning brightly.  “Zayn asked about you.”

Liam’s brow lifts almost immediately, tucking a few books from his locker into his bag.  He shrugs it onto one shoulder, making a humming noise before leaning on a row of lockers.

“He wanted to know if you were okay.”

“Oh.”

“Told him he should probably check with you,” Harry announces, smug smile on his lips as if he’d accomplished something.

Liam sighs, rubbing at one of his temples.  “No, Haz, I don’t feel like being bothered.”

“Not even by him?  Because, if I’m being honest,” Harry starts.

Liam smiles, “And if you’re trying to sound like Simon Cowell.”

Harry chuckles, eyes rolling before giving Liam a playful pinch.  “I don’t see the problem with you two chatting about it.”

“I do.”

“That’s because you’re stubborn and completely daft when it comes to guys,” Harry declares, arms folding over his chest.

“And you’re an expert in that particular field?” Liam wonders, eyebrows wagging and he knows he’s baiting Harry.  Maybe it’s for Louis, maybe it’s because Harry’s never outright said whether he liked girls or boys more and even if Harry is coy with Louis, he’s seen Harry play almost the same game with Cher and a few other girls at their school, just not with as much gusto as he does with Louis.

“I might know a thing or two Liam,” Harry chuckles, “I did go to an all boys’ school after all.  Sometimes things happen.”

“Things happen,” Liam repeats, slowly with a nod.  He rubs at the back of his neck while watching Harry.

“Which is beside the point.  Have a chat with him,” Harry insists, cheeky grin that Liam doesn’t have the strength to read into.  Harry gives him a wink, a light shove before he’s bopping away, turning over his shoulder to add, “Trust me, Liam.”

Liam doesn’t bother slipping outside for lunch today.  He tells himself because it’s getting chillier outside or that, if he did, Niall would surely follow him because that’s all Niall has been doing; following and watching Liam like he’s a fine piece of glass seconds from breaking.  But Liam knows it’s because he can’t face Zayn, doesn’t even know if Zayn wants him around despite what Harry might say.

He slinks down into his usual chair, the one that’s not even occupied, and he smiles at that because maybe he wasn’t as replaceable as he thought.  He ignores the pointed looks he gets from Aiden and Jesy, slouching down and sipping on a bottle of water.  Niall slips into the seat next to him this time, Eleanor on his left.  Harry sits across from him with a smirk that threatens to swallow his face and Liam merely shakes his head, smiling a little softer.

Niall spends half of lunch devoted to his tray, which is slammed with food because food always puts Niall in a better mood, and chatting with Harry, El, and Liam.  He goes on about rugby, practices, his next game which he makes Liam promise to attend even though Liam attends just about every one of his game.  He offhandedly invites Liam and Harry to join he and Eleanor to the cinema even though he knows Harry already has plans with his parents and Liam has cross country practice and Liam’s not too daft to notice the way Eleanor slips strands of her hair behind her ear, blushing and smiling down at her yogurt while Niall grins unabashedly.

Liam’s attention is fleeting most of the time, laughing at Niall’s impersonations and watching the way Harry gives Cher shit about the way she’s dressed but he doesn’t give it his all.  He wonders if Niall notices because he makes it a point to look Liam directly in the eyes while talking, clapping a hand on Liam’s shoulder with a toothy grin.  But Liam keeps watching the door, half expecting to see a blur of leather, quiff, cigarettes, and tattoos but it never happens.  He thinks maybe he’s ruined, so far gone on Zayn he doesn’t realize that whatever he thought was existing between them had exited before it ever entered.

He takes his time walking to his Creative Writing class this time, ignores the way people shove and push past him trying to get to their own classes.  He’s moving in a slow stroll, eyes straight ahead but never really seeing anything.  He feels almost sick when he slips into the doorway of his class, nearly all the seats already taken by his classmates except for a couple.  There’s one particular one available and it leaves Liam’s heart in his throat, hands shaking, and he suddenly thinks about skipping class for the first time in years.

It’s a sobering feeling when he spots Zayn, leaning halfway out of his seat to laugh at something Anthony, his best mate, says.  Anthony nods his head towards the door, snickering, and Liam can barely swallow when Zayn looks up, smiles in that way that Liam’s been trying to forget about for far too many hours now.  Liam wants to look away but it’s impossible.  Hazel eyes, brown glittered by gold and pale amber, hold him and Liam sighs lowly, moving quickly to his seat before their teacher, Ms. Byrne who is actually one of Liam’s favorite teachers because she talks just like Niall and, most of the time, has a smile and kind words for him, has a chance to scold him.

Liam shoulders off his bag, drops down into the seat next to Zayn and in front of Anthony, frown pulling at his lips as Zayn watches him pull out his notebook and a pen.  He lifts his eyes, gives Zayn a look because, really, why the fuck was Zayn looking at him?  Wasn’t Liam that pathetic boy Zayn left sitting on those steps?  Zayn gives him a look, curious, before smiling so soft it rips Liam’s heart to shreds.

Zayn’s hair is soft today, swept a little to one side, not pulled up into that sharp quiff and his face is completely bare of its usual stubble though Liam can still see the dark shadows that remain.  That blonde streak is fading, almost chocolate brown now but it still stands out against Zayn’s dark hair.  He still has that sideways smile, the one where his tongue is pushing up against his teeth, and his lips are full and pinkish.  He’s wearing his black-rimmed glasses, eyes still lively behind them.  There’s no leather jacket, a loose fitting ash gray jumper replacing it, and it’s the most casual Zayn’s been with sweats and high tops on.  Liam tries not to give it much attention because Zayn’s eyes are still on him, even when Mrs. Byrne goes on about their papers being due Friday and giving them this period to write freely.  She slips a CD into the small stereo on her desk – “Something to hopefully inspire some of you, yeah?  Music does wonders for me.” – before slipping out the door, leaving them to their own devices.

“Hey,” Zayn whispers, a finger tapping on the back of Liam’s hand as he tries to write, Liam’s pen leaving a small mark across his blank page.

Liam looks up, annoyed, but Zayn’s still smiling.  “Hi.”

“Sorry I didn’t make it to lunch.  I had to stick around and chat with my Art and Design teacher.  We’re working on a project,” Zayn admits, his voice low and Liam hates the way that accent still feels so poignant against his eardrum.

Liam runs his eyes over Zayn’s hands, notices for the first time there’s light smudges of dried paint and blotches from colorful markers on his fingertips.  He wants those fingers running over his head, down his neck, and he drops his eyes immediately, trying to scribble something on his paper but it just won’t come.

“Its fine,” Liam says under his breath, eyes watching the blank page rather than Zayn.  “Didn’t think you wanted to be around me anyways.  I’m not good enough for someone as ace as you, yeah?”

Zayn clears his throat, Liam peeking up, and he catches the way Zayn’s lips pull downward, thumb running over his bottom lip.  Liam felt bad, honestly, because maybe that was harsh but Zayn deserved it, didn’t he?  But those eyes, those lips, the way his hands looked, the curve in his smile, and Liam thinks Zayn actually deserves the world and he’d give it to him if he could fit it all into the palms of his hands.

“I’m sorry,” Zayn finally whispers, head ducking.

“You don’t have to.”

“But I am, Liam.  I’m apologizing and, even if you don’t forgive me, I’m saying it because it’s what I want to do.  What I wanted to do Saturday and all of Sunday, okay?  I just didn’t, uhm, know exactly how,” Zayn admits, words a bit stuck together but Liam can feel the honesty in Zayn’s voice.  His eyebrows come together and his fingers dance over Liam’s paper, threatening to touch Liam’s and just the closeness leaves Liam’s skin on fire.

“I don’t know what to write,” Liam says out of nowhere and he feels blush burn against his cheeks when Zayn smiles.  He smiles back, heart still pounding, but he’s growing to fancy that feeling.

“I still want to help you with your paper,” Zayn snorts, fingers finally dancing over the line and brushing against the side of Liam’s hand, over his wrist.

Liam nods, teeth sinking into his bottom lip.  “My house.  Today.”

Zayn grins.  “After school then, yeah?”

Liam nods immediately, cheeks coloring red and he rubs at one just to feel the heat.  He listens to the music cascading through the room, thinks of being in Harry’s room as they studied, Harry nearly wailing through most of the song without even cracking open a book – The walls start breathing. My mind’s unweaving.  Maybe it’s best you leave me alone – and Liam grins, eyes closing for a moment to breathe in the words.

“You’re quite cute when you’re thinking,” Zayn says quietly, leaning in Liam’s direction.  Liam hadn’t noticed how close he was until Zayn swiped his notebook from under his hands and Liam can almost feel Zayn’s breath against his skin, biting down on his lip.

“I – what?”

Zayn snorts, head down and Liam watches as he pulls out a bunch of markers, thick and thin ones, and a few colored pens from the pocket of his jumper.  He’s sketching, inking the paper where Liam was supposed to be writing, putting together ideas and sentences that made sense but they wouldn’t because Liam truly was shit at English and all the subjects surrounding it.

“It’s a compliment, Liam.  Take it,” Zayn advises, tongue licking out to wet his lips.

Liam tries to peek over Zayn’s shoulder, piece together what he’s drawing but Zayn nudges him back with an elbow, snickering.

“I can take it,” Liam says defensively but wishes he hadn’t when Zayn glances up with a raised brow and crooked grin.

“You can?” Zayn asks, eyebrows waggling and Liam winces with the blush this time.  “Interesting.”

“Not like, I mean,” Liam stutters, words trapped and he shakes his head quickly.  His sighs helplessly because Zayn’s still snickering, alternating between pens and markers.  “I’m supposed to be writing.”

“We will.  Later.”

“Right, but –“

“Liam,” Zayn sighs, looking up and those eyes are narrowed but still magical in ways Liam hates.  “Just talk about something else.”

“Like what?” Liam asks with a sigh, slouching into his chair.

“I don’t know,” Zayn replies with a small shrug, lowering his eyes back to Liam’s notebook.  “Talk about Batman.  About your family.  About Niall and Eleanor.  Or Harry.”

And Liam does.  He talks about how he loves how his mum always buys him chocolate when she goes shopping even though she swears she’s going to stop.  He chats about the Dark Knight Rises even though they’ve had this discussion more times than he can count, but Zayn still listens contently.  He goes on about Louis and how he was always loud, annoying, a bit misunderstood but Liam wouldn’t want any other best mate.  Zayn nods at that, tickled smirk on his lips that Liam thinks about kissing away.  He talks about Eleanor and how she’s madly in love with Niall, a bit more than she was with Louis, but won’t admit it.  Zayn snorts at that, licking his lips again while giving Liam a look that he doesn’t want to analyze because then he’ll think maybe Zayn thinks Liam’s talking about his own feelings for Zayn.  And Liam doesn’t love Zayn, not at all.  Not yet, he thinks, and balks at his own thoughts.

“What do you think about me?” Zayn asks painfully low, barely looking up.

“You?” Liam asks, his voice a bit choked.

Zayn shrugs, eyes lowering.  “Yeah, me.  Or do you not think about me?”

“I do,” Liam replies quickly, face wrinkling when Zayn smiles.  He’s shaking his head, looking away because his fingers itch to touch those cheeks, run over that jaw and down Zayn’s neck.  “I don’t know.  I can’t really put it into the right words but maybe it’s because I don’t get it.  I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel or think.  I just… I like being around you.  Or talking to you.  Or, I don’t know, anything with you.”

He feels like he’s breathing hard, heart climbing up through his throat now, and he’s fiddling with the sleeve of his shirt, leg jumping.  He can’t swallow, not fully, and he can feel sweat beading on his forehead because it’s too hot in here.  Impossibly hot and he needs to get out of his skin, out of his seat, out of Zayn’s fucking closeness.  He closes his eyes, tries counting backwards and he hears – Back it up now; you’ve got a reason to live. Say I don’t wanna be in love.

“You like me?” Zayn asks, still sketching.  He’s biting down on his bottom lip and Liam jerks his head in Zayn’s direction, fear inching over him.

“As if it wasn’t obvious,” Liam finally exhales, shoulders slumping forward.

Zayn nods, grins harder.  He sits back, pushing Liam’s notebook back toward him.  His eyes are on the front of the classroom and his expression goes blank for a moment.

Liam looks down at the notebook, a colorful caricature of himself with a bright smile, big brown eyes that are probably softer than Liam’s in this second, a plaid shirt, a quiet smile, and a scribbling beneath it: My Liam -- ZM.  He blinks at the paper for a while before looking up, head leaning to the side as he looks on Zayn.

Zayn shrugs a little, lips quirking up.  “See you after school Liam.”

Zayn doesn’t say much else to him the rest of the day except when Liam’s standing outside, Harry leaning on him with a grin as he swipes through a few texts from Louis.

“I’ll be over in about an hour, yeah?  Just need to run by my place to get a few things first,” Zayn rattles off, Liam blinking and nodding as Harry slides an arm around Liam’s shoulders, grinning proudly as Zayn’s cheeks turn a sweet shade of pink.  Harry nods at him, Zayn returning it before hopping on his skateboard and rolling off.

“Don’t say it,” Liam demands as Harry’s lips fix into a curled grin.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Harry laughs out, tightening his arm around Liam and dragging him off toward Harry’s car.  But Harry does, gives him shit almost the entire ride home and Liam tries to turn up the radio, drown out Harry’s laughs and teasing but that damn “Call Me Maybe” comes blaring through and Harry’s grinning wider, dimples flared while Liam drops his head – Before you came into my life, I missed you so bad. I missed you so bad – and Liam’s punching Harry in the arm as he sing along, loudly with his head hanging out the window.

When Zayn knocks on his door, he’s more than a little on edge.  Ruth’s gone, some date with Martin, and his parents were still at work, another late shift just to pay bills.  He’s cleaned his room as best he could without making it look like he’s putting forth too much effort.  But he thinks that might be a bit over presumptuous of himself to invite Zayn into his bedroom without it coming across a bit, well, cocky.  He sets up his books and notebooks in the living room, clearing some of his dad’s stuff and his own running gear from the floor and couch.

Zayn’s grinning when Liam swings the door open, holds it wide as an invitation and Zayn shyly slips in, glasses and jumper gone now but he’s still wearing those sweats and high tops with a Pink Floyd shirt on.  Liam leads him into the living room, doesn’t really say anything because he’s sure he doesn’t need to.  He flops down onto the couch and Zayn sits next to him, Liam’s breathing a little rapid because there’s ample space on the couch but Zayn’s right next to him, legs pressed against each other, and Zayn’s looking so casual, pulling his notebook from his own bag and resting it in his lap.

Zayn goes over Liam’s notes and rough draft – “You’re putting too much thought into it.  It needs to sound a bit more free flowing.  More like you.”—drawing through a few of Liam’s notes and scribbling over sentences.  Zayn’s leaning over him, chin on Liam’s shoulder as he watches Liam go over a few thoughts, hand on Liam’s forearm as Liam writes and it’s warming in the best kind of way.  There’s a tightening in his stomach and Liam wonders if he’ll ever learn to breathe without Zayn this close to him again.

Zayn toes off his shoes, pulls his legs up on the couch and he eases an arm around Liam’s shoulders before Liam even notices.  He reads Liam’s paper aloud, punctuating the parts he likes and stopping, brow knit and lips pursed, when something seems out of order.  Liam listens, watches Zayn because he can’t help it.  It’s in the way Zayn’s so concentrated, accent low and loose, tongue running over his lips constantly before teeth bite down on the bottom one.  He runs fingers over the back of Liam’s head unconsciously, pulling them back when he notices and Liam longs for them within seconds of the loss.

“Try this,” Zayn suggests, pulling the pen from between Liam’s fingers to jot down a few things in the margin.  Liam glances down, misses the part where Zayn’s hand slips onto his thigh.  There’s a light squeeze, fingers dipping to the inside, and Liam hitches on a breath.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, eyebrow arching.

Liam nods quickly, doesn’t tell Zayn how hot he is even though it’s cool in the room and deathly colder outside.  His skin is burning and Zayn’s fingers drum lightly on his leg, caress the muscles through Liam’s chinos and they feel tighter, smaller now.

“I like this part,” Zayn whispers, tapping Liam’s pen over a few jumbled sentences that were just incomplete thoughts Liam scribbled down.  The fingers slide further in and Liam can’t feel the pounding of his heartbeat over the throb of his cock now, Zayn’s fingers a little too close.

“Me too,” Liam lies, doesn’t even know what he’s written now because his vision is a little blurred and his throat dry.

“This part too,” Zayn says softly but he doesn’t point at anything on the paper this time.  His fingers are slowly curling around Liam’s cock through his chinos, thumb rubbing over the material until it traces the head of Liam’s cock.

Liam shudders, eyes closing and he’s breathing is a bit stuttered.  Zayn gives him a squeeze, tentative and soft at first until his fingers pull and curl around Liam, a quick stroke.  Liam’s leg jumps, chest heaving out a breath and his skin is far too hot now with Zayn’s breath warm against the skin of his neck.

“Your parents won’t walk in on us, will they?” Zayn asks, lips right along the side of Liam’s neck, nuzzling but never kissing.

Liam shakes his head violently, eyes ripping open, and he’s staring at the television that’s not even on, trying to find something to focus on as Zayn fumbles with the zipper and the slow drag, metal raking, is louder than Liam’s breathing now.  He’s rubbing his hands on his trousers, skin flushed as Zayn finally does lay rough kisses along his neck, dragging his teeth along the skin and Liam thinks he’ll probably come in his pants before Zayn ever has a chance to touch him without any clothes on.

He can barely swallow, his body wanting more but his mind is on fire.  It’s sort of an inferno, loads of yes’s and no’s, do’s and don’ts that flood his thought process.  It’s all so new, devastatingly so, and he bites down hard on his bottom lip to stop his body from completely shaking when Zayn pulls down on his chinos and boxers, Liam instinctively lifting to help.

“Nice,” Zayn whispers along his collarbone, lips kissing gently and Liam wonders if he’s talking about his cock or the way Liam’s skin tastes but it doesn’t really matter.  He’s going down and there’s no way he’s going to survive the fall.

Liam’s fingers grip at Zayn’s thigh, pinching it.  He thinks about letting his fingers drag further over, see if Zayn’s hard too but then Zayn’s fingers curl around his cock, tongue licking over his lips and Liam’s leaving Zayn’s fingers sticky and wet with precome.

“Do you want me to do it?  I can, you know.  I’m not great but I could probably swallow most of it,” Zayn mutters, lips still along Liam’s skin and it’s so sinful that Liam can only pray he survives the first lick.

His eyes are wide, full blown, fingers digging into the cushions of the couch and he still can’t look at Zayn.  Still hasn’t kissed him though everything inside of him wants to.  Everything inside of him wants this, but part of him doesn’t want it like this.  He wants it proper: a first kiss, a first date, a time where they’re holding hands meaning something that Liam can label rather than just wish for.  But that slow drag of fingers, delicate long ones that hold him better than Liam’s ever held his own dick, rake against his conscience.

“Oh.”

Liam’s head snaps in Zayn’s direction at the sound, fingers pulling away quickly from Liam’s cock.  He sees the way Zayn’s own eyes go wide, mouth agape.  Liam can’t slow his breathing, hard labored breaths as Zayn scoots back, eyes running over Liam.

“You… you’re a virgin,” Zayn finally says, straightening himself out.

Liam’s face falls, defeated.  “Yeah.”

Zayn nods, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.  His lips slip sideways on his face, contemplative.  “Right.  I didn’t know.  I should’ve guessed –“

Liam’s brow lowers, anger rising.  “Yeah, I guess you should have.”

Zayn flinches, brow knit together and a small frown rounds his lips.  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

Liam hums, nodding his head.

“I should go,” Zayn says, pushing himself off the couch.

“Yeah, you should,” Liam demands lowly, quickly tugging up his boxers and trousers.

He doesn’t look at Zayn as Zayn pulls on his bag, nudges by him as he stomps toward the door and yanks it open for Zayn.  He can barely watch Zayn walk out, ticking anger slowly sinking beneath embarrassment and disappointment.  He slams the door shut, falling back against it and staring upward because tears are prickling against his eyes and, damn it, there’s no way he’s going to cry over this.  There’s no way he’ll feel pathetic though he knows he is because now Zayn knows that Liam Payne has never done anything sexual with anyone.  Fuck, Liam hasn’t even kissed someone properly outside of the few girls that pretended to like him when he was younger and too stupid to know how to kiss a girl.

And he wants to hate Zayn, wants to call him a prick and never speak to him again, but he can’t because, somewhere in his head, he knows Zayn did the right thing.  Zayn was a gentleman, in some oddly fashioned way, because he didn’t take advantage of Liam.  He could’ve made Liam an easy fuck, thought nothing of it later on, and taken away something Liam deserved to keep sacred though Liam’s certain he hadn’t had sex with anyone based purely on the thought no one actually wanted him.  But Zayn did.  He saw it in his eyes, dark and craving, and that would’ve been enough if Zayn wanted to take it further.

Liam sighed, thumped a fist against the door before climbing the steps toward his room.  He needed to sleep this off, pretend he wasn’t wrecked but he was.  He didn’t need to call Louis, but he did just to hear Louis talk about anything but what was destroying Liam from the inside.  And when his voice sounded choked and Louis asked what was wrong, Liam lied for the first time to Louis.  He knew Louis probably didn’t believe him but that’s what made Louis his best mate because he didn’t bother to question Liam about it, instead starting a conversation about Niall and Harry.

He curled into a ball after that, body weak and mind overwhelmed.

**

It’s pouring on Thursday when he meets up with Louis.  Niall and Harry are there too, Niall’s practice cancelled even though Niall swears his team can run drills in the cold rain, fist pumped in the air proudly while Harry rolls his eyes and pushes damp curls from his eyes.  Niall’s quite competitive when it comes to sports though the world would never know because of his insane happiness and ability to march to the wrong drum aimlessly, Liam knows.

They’re at a pastry shop Louis loves, Niall surrounded by pastries, cakes, sweet treats that Liam’s never bothered to taste, and a glass of orange juice.  Harry’s licking cupcake frosting from his fingers, zoned out and unaware as Louis watches with wide eyes, mouth ajar every time Harry slips a digit into his mouth and licks lewdly at the tip.  Liam chuckles, kicking Louis underneath the table and blush reddens Harry’s cheeks when he catches Louis staring.

“Wanker,” Louis frowns, peeling of soft dough from his Danish.

Harry shrugs, taking another bite of his cupcake and lemon frosting smears over his lips, tongue licking out slowly until Louis’ chucking crumbs at his head.

Liam grins at them, has been waiting weeks for Louis to finally pull the trigger and ask Harry out but they’ve been dancing around it like daft fools and it’s getting closer to the holidays, Liam fully aware that Harry goes to visit his dad around that time, leaving Louis’ chances slimmer and slimmer.

He’s better now, for the most part.  He’s done well about avoiding Zayn, too angered to speak more than a few words but he knows, deep down, he’s just telling himself he’s mad at Zayn when he truly wants to pull Zayn into one of those empty classrooms and hug him tightly, breathe in smoke and orange-cinnamon and forget anything outside of them existed.

Niall’s noticed, said something that Liam waved off, faking a smile and making stupid jokes that Niall laughs at and forgets everything he’d just been hounding Liam about.  But Harry’s a little harder to figure out because he doesn’t say much, not about Zayn, though Liam spots them talking in the halls more than a few times, voices hushed until they spot Liam, and Zayn ducks away as Harry spins around with a grin and welcoming arms.  He tells Harry not to hide his friendship with Zayn, which Harry protests and assures Liam it’s nothing about him, but Liam knows it is.  He sees it in the way Zayn’s lips are fighting with a frown when he looks at Liam, the way his eyes get smaller, brow lowered, and his walk isn’t even as cocky as it once was.

“So there’s this party,” Louis starts and Harry’s eyes dart at him, narrowed like Louis’ not supposed to be saying anything.  Niall just shakes his head, tipping his eyes down when Liam looks on him curiously.

Liam knows they’re all not saying anything for a reason.  They’re avoiding it, the actual conversation because Liam’s not truly good at hiding things though, when he was younger, he thought he was.  He’s heard about the party before Louis even mentioned it from Eleanor.  She’s going, with a few other girls from their year, and Liam wonders if Louis’ even bothered to call her about it.

He takes a long, slow sip from his tea, turning a little toward Louis before asking, “What time should we be at yours?”

Niall’s head jerks up and Harry’s eyes go wide, impossibly wider than they are naturally.  Louis’ grinning, leaning back into his chair.

“It’s going to be a real blast; a crazy bender, I swear,” Louis notes, crossing his legs and lifting his cup of tea.  “I know the guy throwing it.  It’s going to be off campus at some house.  Wicked nice.  I’m quite chuffed about it.”

Liam nods while Niall slaps the table with excitement, drawing a few eyes from around the pastry shop that Niall ignores.

“You’re sure Liam?” Harry asks lowly, leaning in Liam’s direction with a hand on Liam’s shoulder.

Liam nods.  “What better do we have to do?”

“Cheers to that,” Niall grins, stuffing his mouth with another muffin.

Liam doesn’t bother to argue with that, sipping on his tea while Harry smiles secretly, giving Louis a wink that Louis will probably explain to Liam later when Liam’s busy avoiding any questions that have to do with Zayn.  He slouches into his chair, sighing contentedly as Niall and Harry fall into a conversation about the holidays while Louis rests a hand on top of Liam’s, concern rimming his blue eyes and Liam merely smiles, doesn’t let Louis catch on to the way he deflates when Louis looks away, chewing his bottom lip and wishing he didn’t watch the rain and think about sitting in an abandon classroom with Zayn’s fingers tiptoeing over any exposed portion of his skin.

Liam doesn’t know how Louis nicks his keys from him, but he doesn’t argue when Louis slides into the driver’s seat.  He sinks into the passenger’s side without protest, Harry and Niall climbing into the backseat with grins.  The party is at an old house a mile or two just outside of Telford.  Liam’s certain it’s one of those houses five or six Uni kids rent out from an elderly man who doesn’t keep up with the house, stops by once a month to collect rent, and is probably just as happy not knowing anything that happens within the walls of that house.

He can hear the party before they reach it, no matter how loud Louis’ blasting the radio and Harry’s singing along to Kings of Leon – You know that I could use somebody – and, sure enough, when they pull into the already crowded car park, the lawn is littered with red plastic cups, crushed beer cans, kegs, dancing Uni girls, shirtless guys, and two speakers that are carrying the music far too loudly over the neighborhood.  Fortunately, all the other houses are dark and scattered along the street – a clear indication that this was an older neighborhood with very few residents left -- rather than pretty, matching lawns and blue shutters like the newer neighborhoods they passed along the way.

Liam is hesitant getting out of the car, but Niall is already halfway up the car park, shouting gleefully toward Cher and Greg with a backwards green snapback on, gray jumper, and some loose fitted jeans on.  When Harry climbs up, quick swish-swish-sweep of his hair, he’s wide-eyed with excitement and probably a little buzzed from the drinks Louis gave him back at his room, some blue-colored stuff that tastes like the cough syrup his mum shoved down his throat when he was a kid.  Louis slides an arm around Harry’s waist and Harry doesn’t even flinch, instinctively inching his own arm around Louis’ shoulders and Liam sighs.  It’s definitely going to be one of those nights and he wonders should he get the keys back from Louis since he knows he’ll end up being the sober driver.

Louis slips his hands into Liam’s and drags him up the car park with Harry giggling on his other side.

“Don’t be a little shit tonight,” Louis warns with a grin.

“Don’t be a complete slut,” Liam sings back happily.

Louis shoots him a glare over his shoulder, eyes narrowed into small slits.  “Wanker,” Louis mutters.

Liam throws a hand over his chest dramatically, mouth falling open as they climb the creaky wooden steps to the house.  “That’s very rude.”

“Rubbish,” Louis says with a laugh, releasing Liam’s hand when they cross the threshold into the house.

“You’re rubbish,” Liam teases back, eyes Louis as they filter through the crowd that’s really a massive ball of dancing drunkenness.

He loses them halfway through, caught between a girl from their class, Lucie Jones, and another girl Liam doesn’t recognize but who glares at him as Lucie dances on him.  He’s certain the girl would rather have her hands on Lucie rather than Liam’s back, painful nudges telling him so but all he can hear is the music – I think I should know how to make love to something innocent without leaving my fingerprints out. Now L-O-V-E is just another word I never learned to pronounce – and he sees a mop of curly brown hair disappear into the kitchen.  He gives Lucie a polite smile, scoffing at the girl behind him before slipping through the other grinding bodies, nearly losing a shoe and a few buttons from his shirt.

He’s a little breathless when he gets to the kitchen, another room that’s a little overcrowded but he smiles when he spots Niall near the counter.  Niall’s cheeks are red, probably from whatever he’s already sipping on from a red cup, and he’s munching on cold pizza, the arm holding his drink slung around Eleanor’s shoulders.  Liam greets her with a smile, one that she returns with a small wave.  She’s got a cup in her own hand, barely touched, but he can see a little glassiness in her eyes and he snorts, knows they’re one good drink away from making out in a closet where no one can see and know anything about them.

Liam glances around, doesn’t spot Harry or Louis, and he knows that’s a bad sign.  Leaving those two alone had become dangerous, especially when liquor and Harry were involved.  He takes a peek back over his shoulder, thinks he spotted a DJ stand on his way in and, in the back of his mind, he wonders if he saw a dark quiff and tattoos but he throws it to the wind because, no, he didn’t need Zayn around right now, no matter how much his mind fucked with him, and it did that quite often now a days.

“Liam Payne, my man,” Andy slurs out before howling, dropping an arm around Liam’s shoulders.

Liam winces, face crumbling while his nose scrunches.  He can smell a bath of alcohol on Andy’s breath and the guy is leaning on Liam, putting a little too much weight on Liam’s broad shoulders for his liking but he eases an arm around Andy’s back, hand resting on the small of it to keep him somewhat upright though Liam knows it would take a slab of bricks to keep this kid from falling over.

“You okay Andy?” Niall asks, leaning forward before balking at the smell of Andy’s breath.  “Nope, he’s sloshed.”

“And your girlfriend is hot,” Andy burps out, eyes lidded.

Niall’s jaw clenches, a sure sign to Liam, and he shakes Andy a little.  “Remember the time you fell on the playground when we were kids?  Right off the slide you went.”

Andy laughs dryly, nodding his head and Liam smiles because that probably wasn’t a good idea, the way Andy’s face goes pale and he puts a hand over his mouth for a minute.

“You were always a right fucker Liam Payne, I swear,” Andy hiccups out, leaning the opposite way and he’s stumbling back with a curvy smile.  “Weird little shit.  Couldn’t ever figure you out, but you’re my mate.  Love you.”

Liam doesn’t let the tilting frown push too far onto his lips as Andy is clumsily walking away, cornering Cher and she shrieks, pushing him away.  He catches Niall looking at him, hand lifting but Liam slips away before it can fall on his shoulder.  He grins, doesn’t want the comfort; he’s too used to this by now.

“Get a drink Liam,” Eleanor advises, pulling her hair up into a sloppy ponytail before offering Liam her cup.  “Takes a bit of the edge off, yeah?”

Liam shakes his head; he can’t.  Someone has to be sober and Niall’s already halfway to being shitfaced, plus he’s not quite sure where Louis and Harry are yet but he’s guessing it isn’t anywhere where they’re not mixing alcohol and that odd flirting pattern they’ve been on for way too long.

“Gonna get some air,” Liam says loudly, trying to get his voice to climb over the sounds of the throbbing music – How do I say I’m sorry ‘cause the word is never gonna come out.

Eleanor nods along with Niall who gives Liam a weary look.  Liam waves it off, pointing back toward the crowded room, one that Liam thinks is a living room except all of the furniture is pushed out.  It’s dark, not enough that he couldn’t see but it probably helped that someone replaced the light in the ceiling with a black light, bathing everything in blues and neon, and that there were green laser lights flashing all over like it was the smallest hole in the wall club Liam’s ever seen.

Liam sways with the music, some sort of mix between dubstep and R&B or maybe it was techno; he didn’t care.  He eases between a few people, has to completely change his route when he can’t get past Jesy making out with some Uni guy, lips tilting upward because he doesn’t look like her type and she’ll probably forget it all in the morning.

Hands grab Liam’s arms as he tries to inch through a bunch of bopping girls, eyes going wide until he finds a pair of brown eyes and a glossy pink smile greeting him.  He smiles back, knows better than to be rude, but he’s still trying to push through to the other side.  He can’t, small fingers tightening on him with deep purple nails digging into his skin, and he sighs, working his way backwards.

She pushes up on him immediately, hips grinding up against his side while throwing her arms around his neck.  Liam tries to move along to the music, settles the frustration inside of him because maybe this is what he needed.  He needed to loosen up, have fun for once, and forget that he still has hazel eyes on his mind like it was second nature.  Fuck, it was starting to be.

Liam looks down at her, finally gives her a good once over, and he freezes a little when he recognizes her.  She’s grinning, eyes a little glossed over like she’s had one too many pretty, colorful drinks but everything about her is still the same: curly brown hair, caramel skin, sharp cheekbones, and she’s a little to the left of Leona Lewis with those brown eyes and lips that looking soft and willing.  She’s the girl who was dancing in front of Zayn that first night he found Zayn at that Uni party, DJ’ing and not paying Liam any attention until he was and Liam doesn’t want to look back on that.

“You’re fit,” she says, leaning up and Liam smells her sweet perfume mixed with vodka.  She’s grinning, eyes him with seduction and Liam grins back.

“Not bad yourself,” he says back, hands finally resting on her hips and he dips a little to dance closer to her.

“Danielle,” she shouts over the music.

“What?”

She giggles, swirling her hips to the right and she’s practically humping his legs.  “My name is Danielle.  I go here, well, to the Uni.  Dance major.”

Liam nods, doesn’t really care for anything outside of her name.

“Hi, I’m Liam,” Liam says, wants to stop himself because, fuck, that really was a cheesy chat up line.

“Liam,” Danielle repeats slowly, smirks afterwards.

Liam nods, tries to keep up with her but she’s good.  It’s all hip roll, slow grind, head cocked to the side, hair bouncing.  The green lights stripe against her face and she’s definitely beautiful in a way he’s not ready for.

“Do you think I’m pretty?” Danielle asks, pulling Liam in closer.

Liam laughs lowly, nodding.  “You’re dishy.”

Danielle giggles; it sounds nothing like Zayn’s and he hates himself for thinking that.

“You’re fucking hot,” Danielle growls, tightening her arms around his neck until he’s forced to crane down toward her.  She works harder – Stilettos and broken bottles. I’m spinning around in circles – and Liam thinks he’s heard this song too many times at parties but it works for him, bopping along to the contagious beat that rattles along his brain.

Liam’s not prepared when she leans up, pushing her lips against his.  He’s wide-eyed, fingers tightening on her waist as she moans into his mouth.  Her tongue licks at his lips and he doesn’t know how to react so he does what he thinks is best, jerking back and kindly pushing her from him.  She’s grinning, cat and mouse, and trying to move back toward him but he’s shaking his head, a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

“Oh, come on Payne.  Can’t handle a little snog from a pretty girl,” Anthony says from the side of him, laughing.

“Maybe that’s just not his thing.  You see how he is about our chap Zayn, yeah?” Danny, Anthony’s brother, chuckles from behind him.

“Right.  Got a boner for Malik, huh Payne?” Anthony asks, eyes narrowing as he takes a shot from stupid, colorful plastic shot cup.

Liam swallows, brows coming together and Danielle’s giggling, the aching sound catching his ears over the drowning music.  Everything is swirling around him and Danny’s laughing loudly while Anthony glares at him, disdain boiling through him.

“The kid is daft if he thinks Zayn’s going to waste his time on him,” Danny barks out while snickering, sipping on a beer.

“Oh, don’t waste your time,” Danielle finally says, hand rested on Liam’ shoulder.  She makes a waving motion with her hand around the room before saying, “We’ve all had a little bit of him.”

Liam balks at her, shrugs her hand away because it’s cold when it touches him.  He frowns, ignoring the bodies pushing past him to find their own spot on the dance floor.  He eyes Anthony, that same glare holding, before he’s shaking his head.  He turns away, doesn’t pay attention to whatever else Anthony says as he shoves through some people, knocking some of them out of place and usually he’d stop to apologize, maybe even make a joke that nobody would laugh at, but he doesn’t want to now.

He’s hot, skin nearly melting off bone, and he’s in the kitchen gasping for air.  He looks around, doesn’t spot Niall or Eleanor, not even Harry or Louis, and he’s more than overwhelmed with the sinking feeling that he needs them in that moment.  Or maybe he needs Zayn so he can ask him what his friends meant, what the hell Danielle was talking about because, no, that wasn’t Zayn.  He wasn’t that guy; the one that preys upon everyone for whatever the fuck he needs at that moment.  A little snog, a quick fuck, a blowjob, or just the chance to get someone else off and leave them like they didn’t matter.

Liam doesn’t want to sort it out because he’s feeling hollow inside, dizzy and he thinks he’s about to throw up.  He eases by a few people, can’t really breathe because he’s too hot but he makes his way to a small crowd of guys passing around a bottle.  He snatches the bottle from one of the guys, decides being bold could work in his favor, and the others are cheering him on as he eyes the label: Grey Goose.  He shrugs, swallows down a healthy amount that leaves him choking, gasping for air until someone thumps him on the back and they’re all grinning and shouting happily at him rather than taking a piss at him like he’s sure his classmates would.

He still feels the burn when the bottle makes it back around the circle, taking another swig before he hesitates and doesn’t.  His chest is on fire, this stupid plaid shirt is tight against his skin, and the room is turning backwards against his eyes.  His fingers tremble, hands shake, but he smiles goofily as they all take another round of the bottle until there’s only a quarter of it left.

His body’s buzzing, someone passing him a red plastic up that he takes, sniffs at and he wonders if there’s any Coke in it at all.  He shrugs, takes a healthy sip as he bobs to Katy Perry – You can travel the world but nothing comes close to the golden coast.  Once you party with us, you’ll be falling in love – and he snorts, wondering if Harry and Louis are somewhere bopping around to this, or making out to it.  He doesn’t think he could find them if he tried though because when he goes to take his first step, he stumbles to the left and crashes into someone.  He apologizes, giggling, and does his best to ignore the words being rattled off at him.

Liam wanders out the back door, trying five times to open it before he realizes its locked, and the cold air engulfs him in that cherry-on-top kind of high he gets from alcohol.  He’s snickering, burping, and he nearly falls down the wooden steps to the backyard but he makes it by hanging onto the raggedy rail that almost gives him a splinter.  He thinks there’s probably as many secondary kids there as there are Uni students, spotting a few from other schools he’s seen at Niall’s rugby matches and even a few of his own like Jesy and Cher, Aiden, some guy Eleanor once had a crush on, Jordan, and his vision gets a little blurred after that.

“Li,” Eleanor says, rushing up to him when he makes it past that last step.  She steadies him, running a hand over his forehead to wipe away the sweat.  “You okay?”

“I’m quite brilliant, actually,” Liam chirps out, eyes lidded.

“Liam,” Eleanor hisses lowly, a motherliness about her tone that Liam likes.

“El,” Liam giggles back, patting her shoulder.  “Where’s Niall?”

Eleanor blushes, bright red, and Liam snorts when he spots the small bruise forming just near her collarbone.  He pulls at the collar of her blouse, nose scrunching up with a laugh as she swats his hand away.

“He likes you El,” Liam sighs out, still grinning because his mouth can’t do much else.  “Loads.”

Eleanor pushes a few strands of wavy hair that’s escaped her ponytail from her face.  “Liam, don’t say it.”

“But he does,” Liam insists.  “Bloody tits over arse about you.  Isn’t that great?”

Eleanor nods slowly, doe eyes the prettiest brown Liam’s seen since Zayn’s.  He hates that he thinks about that, too.

“Now go find him.  Make pretty little kids with the little shit,” Liam slurs out, tipping a little but he catches himself before Eleanor has to.  He grins at her, sideways look on her face.  “He deserves happiness.  You do too.”

“But Liam –“

“Eleanor Calder, off with ya, yeah?  I’ll be fine,” Liam orders and it’s the first time he’s said her full name in years, not since they were younger and he demanded she stop crushing on Louis because it would ruin their friendship.  It didn’t, not completely, but she’s still that little girl in his eyes.

“You’ll be fine,” Eleanor repeats, nodding.  Her lips purse but she turns, moves to walk up the steps.

He smiles, satisfied even though his head is spinning and his stomach is tightened.  He takes a slow sip of his drink, ice cooling his lips and its refreshingly bitter, just enough acid and alcohol to keep his buzz going.

“You’re quite the good bloke with the ladies.”

Liam groans, tries to avoid the direction he hears Anthony’s voice come from but he can’t sort out where because everything is a little blurry now and the stupid Christmas lights strung all around the backyard do little for lighting right now.  He spins on his heels, realizes that was the daftest move ever when he gets fully around because he’s dizzy, sickeningly so, and he’s stumbling backward while Anthony and Danny laugh, pointing at him.  Cher’s gasping from nearby, giggling as Liam tries to regain his balance but it’s not seeming to work.

“Don’t move.”

Arms wrap around Liam from behind, his own arms flailing and spilling his drink everywhere but he’s steadied after a little shuffle, leaning back against solid weight.  The frame behind him is smaller, he’s hoping its Harry by the large hands gripped to his chest but he spots the outline of a dove and his head is whirling far too fast for him to think, figure out a way to escape.  He tries to stand up straight, doesn’t exactly but those hands are holding him, body pressing to his backside and he doesn’t know why he wants to cling to that warm body, emotions flooding him because he’s embarrassed and furious and frightened all at once.

“Looks like Superman has come to save you geek,” Danny chortles.

“Good on you mate,” Anthony bites out, eyes rolling.  “Are you really –“

“Ant, shut the fuck up,” Zayn growls from behind Liam and Liam feels Zayn’s fingers tighten against his chest.  “Just back off of him, will ya?”

Anthony sneers, lifting his cup to take a large gulp before crushing the plastic in his hand.

“Come on Zayn.  We were just taking a piss at the little shit,” Danny giggles, hand gripping his brother’s shoulder to hold him in place.

“And if he wasn’t completely shitfaced right now, I’m certain he could pummel both of you without even trying,” Zayn hisses, still hugging onto Liam.

“Right,” Anthony scoffs, head shaking.

“Whatever Malik,” Danny says with an eye roll, pulling his brother backward.

Liam’s breathing is a little labored, the world around him still a collage of colors and mashed up pictures but Zayn’s fingers loosen on his chest, rub softly like Zayn knows he’s probably bruised Liam.  His eyes are heavy, skin sweaty and incredibly warm, and he’s dizzy with the scent of Zayn’s cologne, lilting smell of cigarettes, and that orange-cinnamon air that always clings to Zayn.  He slides a hand backwards, fingers latching onto Zayn’s hip as he pushes himself upright, stomach tingling when Zayn holds him tighter, chin on Liam’s shoulder.

Liam barely notices when Danny and Anthony stomp off, tries to keep his head up but he can’t.  He’s not going to throw up, not yet at least, but he still feels sick.  He doesn’t have enough strength to turn around and face Zayn, but Zayn settles a hand on the small of his back to keep him steady as he slinks around to the side of Liam, waiting until Liam lifts his arm to balance himself on Zayn’s shoulders.

“I’m wrecked,” Liam whispers a little loudly.

Zayn grins, teeth biting down on lower lip.  “You’re right bladdered.”

Liam nods slowly because if he moves too fast he won’t survive.  “Need to find Louis.”

Zayn frowns.  “That doesn’t sound like a good idea.”

“Huh,” Liam replies, making a humming noise.  “You’re probably right.  He’d kill me right now.”

“Or not,” Zayn laughs, “Because I think I saw him dragging Harry upstairs.  Harry might’ve blurted out in front of a bunch of people out front that he thinks Louis is the most fantastic thing to ever walk into his life.  Or something like that.”

Liam laughs harshly, choking a little.  His smile eases over his lips, Zayn raising his brow.  He wants to smooth his fingers over that skin, drip them down Zayn’s face like teardrops to feel the scruff on Zayn’s jaw, right along his chin, maybe run them over that brilliantly full bottom lip that Zayn always chews at.  The thoughts make him blush hard, eyes looking away from Zayn’s because those impossibly gold eyes anger him.  It’s the same ones he had been trying to stop dreaming about for days, weeks and they haunt him because they’ll never be the ones he’ll wake up to in the morning.

“Need to lay down,” Liam mumbles, wonders if he could possibly make it all the way to the car without Zayn.  He goes to lift a foot but it doesn’t budge and, yeah, he’s quite drunk now.

“Okay,” Zayn whispers, tightening his hold on Liam.  “Okay.”

“Zayn,” Liam sighs, eyes closing and he honestly wants to cry because hating Zayn was so much easier than depending on him.   He keeps his eyes closed, won’t let the tears slip as he says, “I need help.”

“I’ve got you,” Zayn replies assuredly and Liam can feel the smile on Zayn’s lips.  Sod it all.

Liam nods, lets Zayn start their walk and it almost feels like Zayn is dragging him, struggling but Liam is impressed by Zayn’s strength, his resolute.  He spots the steps, eyes going wide because there’s no way he’s going to make it up those but Zayn’s guiding them away from the steps, leading him down a path in the backyard that’s a bit hilly but less dangerous than steps.

Liam’s weak by the time they reach the car and Zayn has to lean him up against it to open the back door, helping Liam crawl in and Liam’s certain he smashes his head on the other door but he’s thankful he’s off his feet, which are hanging out the car door because he’s much too tall to be laying down in the backseat of his mum’s old car.  Zayn utters something but Liam doesn’t really hear it, wishing he could still feel Zayn against him because it was ridiculously comforting having Zayn near when he felt this way.  He doesn’t know why, knows he probably shouldn’t but he still wants Zayn’s fingers on him.

He realizes Zayn’s gone when he gets up enough strength to roll from his stomach to his back, looking up at the ceiling of the car and sighing.  Of course Zayn would leave.  He’d probably get Niall, duck party into the party, and find someone far less drunk to screw around with.  He laughs at that, dry and short because it hurts.  Maybe Danielle was right and he’s a complete fucking idiot just like all of his friends have been trying to tell him, upfront or just simply behind his back with their looks and whispers.

Liam can’t crane his neck far enough when the other door is opened but things are shifting, his head being lifted and he grumbles, barely cracking open his eyes because everything throbs now but he’s adjusted, head finally resting in someone’s lap and then there’s something cool, a little too cold, resting against his forehead.  His vision is bleary for a few seconds but he almost recognizes that sharp jaw without trying, frowning.

“Sit still,” Zayn advises, pressing a cool cloth to Liam’s head while his other hand rests over the one Liam has lying on his chest, soft fingers that are calloused at the tips running over his knuckles.

Liam grunts, can’t put together words but he wants to.  He wants to hate Zayn because, fuck it all, he wasn’t supposed to be this guy.  He was supposed to be cocky, self-reliant, a complete asshole in the best kind of way because he didn’t need people like Liam did, didn’t need anyone’s approval, and he could walk around anywhere like he owned the place and no one would argue.

Instead, he’s kind, gentle, caring in ways Liam doesn’t understand.  He’s hushing him when he does try to talk, head lowering until Liam can see him clearly and there’s a quiet smile, eyes that are framed by long lashes that curl against his cheekbone whenever he closes his eyes.  He treats Liam like he matters when he thinks he shouldn’t, hasn’t ever before.  Zayn’s hand, the one that’s not covering his own, runs down the side of his face and he nuzzles to it instantly, shamed but he’s not going to run away from that touch.

“I’m sorry Liam,” Zayn whispers, his voice a bit strained.  Liam blinks at him, doesn’t know what else to do until Zayn’s saying, “They’re not usually complete dicks, Ant and Danny.  I think it’s sort of hard on them, knowing I put so much effort into you and not them when they’re my best mates,” his thumb running the length of Liam’s cheek.

Liam nods, bites on his bottom lip and tries not to let that woozy feeling in the pit of his stomach overwhelm him.

“You do?”

Zayn laughs, low and breathy, nodding.  “I don’t know why.  Usually, I don’t find anyone this interesting but, with you, it’s kind of maddening.  Like in a mental sort of way.”

Liam nods again, deep breath because it’s quite suffocating with his head in Zayn’s lap and Zayn’s hands running lightly over him.

“I know what you mean,” Liam exhales, closing his eyes.  “Couldn’t stop thinking about you.  I tried, really.  I thought you were an asshole when you left me that day when you found out,” Liam waves his hands around to mean something that Zayn grins at, “but then I wasn’t mad because you didn’t take advantage of me.  Not because I’m a complete idiot but, maybe, because you wanted something better for me.”

“Or that I was scared as shit I’d ruin you,” Zayn says with a shrug.

“You did that a long time ago,” Liam laughs out, short of breath because Zayn’s fingers are drawing pretty patterns across the back of his hand, down his fingers.

“I’m usually pretty good at this.”

“I’m not,” Liam confesses, face wrinkling.  “I’ve never even had my first real kiss from someone I, you know, liked in that way.”

“You will.”

“Like now?” Liam asks, eyes fluttering open and Zayn’s a little closer but not close enough for Liam to reach his lips.  His hair isn’t in a quiff, standing tall, but it’s spiky and Liam wants to run his fingers through it to see how stiff it probably is from massive amounts of product.

“Not now,” Zayn mutters, grin still holding.

Liam nods, breathes easier.  He doesn’t want to kiss Zayn drunk, well, not entirely.  He probably wouldn’t remember it though something tells him it’d be hard to forget anything concerning Zayn Malik.  But, still, it wouldn’t be fair to him or his heart and, despite what everyone might believe, Zayn seems to do pretty good in that field of Liam’s life.

“Do you think maybe, when I’m not completely shitfaced, we could hang out?  Just you and me?” Liam asks, eyes dipping away once he starts because blush is gripping his cheeks and he’s not certain if that flushed feeling is from the alcohol or the way Zayn looks at him.

Zayn’s fingers pet at his face, gripping his chin and pulling until Liam looks up at him, all gold and browns with a lip tucked behind teeth.

“Couldn’t think of anything else I’d rather do babe,” Zayn says coolly, swirling smile that breaks Liam in ways he can’t imagine.

Liam hiccups out a laugh, alcohol still fizzling inside of him and he wants to throw up but doesn’t because Zayn’s still touching him, calming everything inside of him.  Zayn leans down, Liam watches, presses a soft kiss to Liam’s forehead and Liam shudders, wonders how those chapped, bitten lips will feel slipping against his own.

“Well, this is quite… interesting.”

Liam’s face scrunches a little when he hears Louis’ voice, sighing folding past his lips.  He finds enough strength to sit up some, elbows supporting him as he peers out the open car door to where Louis is bent over, looking in.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Niall hisses from the other side and Liam’s coordination is too off to look behind himself at Niall but then the car door is being yanked open and Liam’s falling off balance.

“Oh no, who let Liam get pissed?” Harry asks loudly, nudging past Louis to look inside.  His grin is too wide, eyes glazed over, and Liam can see it: He’s drunk too.

“Hopefully not the same person who didn’t keep watch over you,” Zayn remarks with a grin, ignoring the fact that Niall’s standing over him seething.

“I’ve got him, thank you very much Zayn,” Louis assures, arm sliding around Harry’s shoulders.

“Looks like he got you,” Liam laughs out, pointing lazily toward Louis and he’s eyeing the swollen burgundy mark against Louis’ tan skin, just around his Adam’s apple.

Louis gasps and Harry falls over, full on laughter that tickles Liam’s stomach.  He feels Zayn run a hand over the back of his head, nails scratching lightly and it’s soothing as he watches Louis struggle to get Harry back to his feet.

“You can get out Zayn.  We’ve got him,” Niall snaps, Liam groaning.

“Nice to know Horan,” Zayn says unevenly, carefully moving Liam around until he’s sitting up with his head resting backward.  Liam’s a little dizzy after that but Zayn rubs over his head with a quick hand until he’s settled.  Zayn gently presses that cold cloth to his head again, fingers lingering as they stroke down Liam’s face.

“Thanks for looking after our precious Li, Zayn.  I don’t think any of us could survive without his cute little cheeks and big eyes around,” Harry calls out, giggling as Louis nudges him into the backseat.

Zayn nods toward Harry, chewing on his lower lip and Liam wants to stop him, rub those lips until they’re pleading and soft.

“Take care of him,” Zayn mumbles lowly to Niall but Liam hears him, smiles because he can’t help it.

“We always do,” Niall hisses back, scowl swallowing his expression.

Zayn nods slowly, pulls his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket before taking another look at Liam.  There’s a wink and a grin, lips curling around the filter of a cigarette before he’s lighting it and walking away, trails of smoke the only thing reminding Liam that Zayn was once there, comforting him.

“Prick,” Niall sighs, kicking Liam’s door closed before hopping into the driver’s seat.

“He’s honestly not that bad,” Harry says before Liam can utter anything, Liam nodding solemnly because he wants Niall to like Zayn.  He needs Niall to.

“Yes, well, he saved our dear sweet Liam, so let’s just be grateful for that,” Louis insists, turning around to look at Liam.  Liam gives him a small smile, short in its length because he turns to look out the window, searches the cold, dark air to find traces of Zayn.  There are none and Liam can’t fight that sinking feeling working its way through his stomach.

He’s either going to vomit from the massive amounts of liquor or from the large butterflies swooping in his stomach every time he thinks about Zayn’s eyes, smile, and the way he ‘saved’ Liam when Liam didn’t even know Zayn could.

**

Liam wants to blame the alcohol Monday morning when he’s in so much pain, he can barely roll to his side.  It partly is, but it’s not just that he sorts out when he curls up under the sheets until his mum comes in, trying to get him out of bed for school but he’s groaning in pain, sweating and her eyes go wide as she calls out for his father.  He knows it’s the alcohol, but it’s so much more.  It’s the being slack with his diet, more chocolate and crisps and anything other than what he should be eating.  He’s missed a few meals worrying about studying and school and not knowing what to do about Zayn.  Maybe it’s too much water after cross country practice because he hasn’t been feeling himself and coach has noticed, pulled him aside to discuss his training regimen with Liam’s head lowered the entire time.  Then there’s the mornings he’s woken up, body incredibly weak and he blames it on lack of sleep because he doesn’t want to think it could be something else.

He knows this feeling the moment his body aches, skin feeling indescribably dry even though he’s sweating profusely.  He’s a bit feverish, he knows because his mum says so, and everything to the right and left of his chest burns.  He doesn’t want to leave his bed, from under the duvet until his father makes him, forces him into some sweats and he knows that look in the doctor’s eyes, later on, when they’re in the hospital for more hours than Liam likes.  He hates the way he’s stuck with needles, made to pee in a cup, and its constant dotting from his mum when all he wants to do is collapse into his bed and sleep for days.

He thinks he does when he finally wakes up Tuesday evening with a headache and his arm itches and aches at the same time for all the shots.  There’s a glass of water on his bedside dresser, a weak smile passing over his lips because he knows his mum left it for him.  He takes a few long sips, breath short and he’s dizzy like when he was pissed but it’s a different kind of room spinning sensation.  He groans, falls back on the bed, and he wants to call someone but when he reaches for his phone, the battery is dead.

Liam always hears Louis before he sees him.  It started when they were younger, when they first met: “Oi, you look right in need of a mate.  I’ll be your friend but only if you can play ball well enough.  And if you don’t wear socks, but I’m willing to negotiate on that one.”  Liam laughed back then because who was this weird kid with long brown hair, giant blue eyes, and a smile that was crooked and wild?  He thinks Louis is still that same kid, most days, with the mental things that come out of his mouth but the way he’s honestly willing to be Liam’s friend no matter how different the two are.

“Karen, I swear you look more fabulous than the last time I saw you,” Louis says loudly and Liam grins from underneath his duvet, peeks his head out.  He can hear Louis all the way downstairs, that voice booming and high pitched in a way that even his mum squeals with laughter at.

“That husband of yours would be quite daft if he ever let something as ravishing as you go.”

“Oh Louis, hush.  Go and get.  He’s upstairs,” Liam’s mum says and Liam sighs, fighting to sit upright in his bed and it’s the best he can do.

Louis bursts into his room like a scene out of a movie, all dramatics and noise and Liam can hear the background music in his head – I’ve got this feeling on a summer day when you were gone.  I crashed my car into the bridge; I watched. I let it burn.  Louis’ grinning for a moment, bright blue eyes and hair pulled back, scruff itching across his jaw and upper lip.  He shrugs off his denim jacket, drops it by Liam’s hamper in the corner before inching further in.  It only takes him a beat though before he’s frowning that frown that Liam only sees when he’s like this.

“You little shit, you promised me you’d do better,” Louis sighs, marching into Liam’s room before flopping down onto his bed, resting his head in Liam’s lap as he toes off his shoes.

“I thought I was,” Liam says, voice deep and woven in sleep.  He clears his throat, finds enough strength to run a hand over Louis’ forehead while Louis watches the ceiling.

“Yes, well, it’s a good thing you don’t get paid to think.  We would be terribly broke,” Louis teases, rolling to his side and propping his head up with his elbow.

Liam grins, it’s weak but still there.  He feels Louis’ eyes tracing over him, taking in his ashen skin, small eyes, marks from needles being forced into his arm, the way he’s lost a little bit of weight and it’s painfully noticeable now.  Louis’ lips can’t help but tilt downward, fingers running over Liam’s arms as if they could heal the stains there.

“They say I’m fine.  Just need some rest and to get back to eating and drinking right,” Liam says quietly because he knows Louis wants to ask.

Louis looks up, nodding.  “Damn you and your one kidney.”

Liam laughs lightly, eyes lidded.  Louis’ done this for more years than Liam would like to remember; crawling into his bed and comforting him when he’s sick.  Not that it happened often, but when it did, Louis was always the first to check on him after his family.  He would only leave when Liam’s mum made him because he had to go to school when Liam couldn’t.  And last year, Louis’ first year at Uni, he made a trip home almost every three days just to crawl into bed with Liam and tell him stories of the boys at Uni and studying and everything going on so that Liam didn’t have to think about how he was missing half of his own year at school being sick.

“I haven’t talked to anyone,” Liam mutters, takes his eyes away from Louis because he can’t watch Louis watching him.  The look in his eyes hurts too much.

“I know.  I chatted with Niall, told Eleanor you had the flu.  I’ve been ignoring Harry because, for some reason, I’m not very good at lying to him even though I know I’m a quite fabulous liar,” Louis rattles off, lips pursing.

“Maybe it’s because you like him?” Liam offers, lips quirking into a smile.

“Rubbish,” Louis huffs out, falling back onto his back with his head in Liam’s lap again.  “Fucking bullshit, Li.  I, Louis Tomlinson, the Tommo, do not like people.  It’s not in my character.”

“You liked Eleanor.”

“Incorrect.  I was fascinated by her.  It was the boobs and the curves and she was a rather brilliant kisser,” Louis says back, “I’m quite jealous Niall gets that now.”

“Liar,” Liam coughs out a laugh and spots the grin dancing over Louis’ lips.

“I told you I was a fabulous liar,” Louis grins out, pulling his legs up onto Liam’s bed.

“You think Niall told him?  Harry, I mean.”

Louis shakes his head, sighing loudly.  “Niall knows the code between us.  As good of a friend as Harry is, Niall wouldn’t.  Plus Harry’s sent me a million texts asking so, it’s safe to assume, the curly haired freak is in the dark.”

“Admit you like him,” Liam demands, messing his fingers through Louis’ hair.

Louis slaps his hand away, grumbling.  “Admit you like Zayn.”

“I think I already did that,” Liam says flatly.  He crosses his arms over his chest, impatiently waiting Louis’ reply.

Louis nods slowly, his features softening and he doesn’t bother to look at Liam.

“The kid gets under my skin.  Not in a bad way, though sometimes I could punch him which I’m certain I’d be quite bad at,” Louis muses, picking at the lint on Liam’s duvet.  “But there’s something about him that makes me different.  Makes me better as if I could be any better than I am but I am with that stupid little prick.  And he doesn’t stalk me like the other boys or walk away after a one night stand because, despite how hard I’ve tried, he won’t just leave in the morning.”

Liam nods, fiddles with his t-shirt because he doesn’t know what to say.  Louis is better when Harry is around.  He cares for something other than clothes or parties or Liam, Niall, and Eleanor.  He smiles, not because it’s what he does to keep the rest of the world out, but because someone else makes him genuinely happy.  There’s something lighter about the way he is, stumbling on his own words even though Louis is, without question, the best person at telling the world how it is or putting someone in their place.

“Then you like him,” Liam repeats, tilted smile on his lips.

Louis groans, hand thrown over his eyes before he nods while biting down on his lower lip.

“Okay, I like the little fucker,” Louis grumbles but there’s a smile fumbling through that anger.  “I could fall in love with those green eyes.”

Liam snorts, runs his fingers over the inside of Louis’ arm.  He runs his thumb over the various tattoos scattered over Louis’ forearm, tracing the compass before slipping over the paper airplane.

“And you?  With Zayn?” Louis asks, dropping his hand.  He turns his head, brow raised as he looks on Liam.  “How does that work?”

Liam shrugs, looks down but he can still feel Louis’ eyes staring at him.  “It does and doesn’t.”

Louis makes a humming noise, head nodding.  “But you like him.  Massively.”

“Massively,” Liam repeats slowly, smile pushing upward from the corners of his mouth.

“And he likes you, loads.  Tons.  It’s quite annoying actually,” Louis states with a soft whine.

Liam blinks at him, his brow lifting.  “What?”

“Oh come on, Li, stop being daft about guys,” Louis groans.

“Why does everyone say that about –“

Louis waves him off, cuts in.  “Zayn’s been around for a while.  I’ve seen him at more than enough Uni parties, even chatted with him, to know when he’s into someone.  He’s never given that much attention to any one particular person, not like he does with you.  And he’s asked about you, when I run into him at parties or around town.  I’d swear he was stalking you if I didn’t know you’d be quite chuffed about that idea.”

Liam slouches back, eyes blown.  He keeps his mouth shut, fingers tightening into the soft fabric of his duvet.  He didn’t know.  Louis was impossibly good at keeping secrets but he figured something this small in Louis’ big world of self-concern wouldn’t have mattered.  But it does, it does enough for Louis not to tell Liam for some reason.

“Do you think what they say about him is true?” Liam asks, doesn’t know why when the words leave his lips because it leaves him a bit cold.

Louis gives a small shrug, eyes upward.  “I’d like to think not.  He looks the type but, for some reason, I don’t think he’d play the part.  I think everyone else believes it, like Niall and El, but who gives a fuck, right?”

Liam nods, lips pressed together.

“Besides, that bloke is far too beautiful for it to matter.  Even if you are a just a fuck for him, can you imagine how great it’ll be?” Louis teases, grinning and Liam’s smacking him in the face with his discarded jumper, brow lowered and lips frowning.

“You’re an arse,” Liam sighs.

“And your best mate, so fuck off,” Louis grins.

Liam can’t help but nod, smiling.  He lets Louis cuddle up to him and his eyes shut, far too tired to argue with Louis as Louis pets at his head.  He doesn’t know how he’d survive anything without Louis.

**

Niall comes by on Wednesday with his homework, a bag of crisps that Niall nearly finishes himself, and stories of Harry’s wild antics at school, Eleanor pitching a fit when Niall wouldn’t bring her to see Liam, and Cher and Jesy arguing over Harry until he told them both he was seeing someone, a Uni boy to which Liam choked on his glass of water.  Niall sits on the edge of the bed, doesn’t get as close as Louis because he’s afraid he’ll break Liam even though Liam’s assured him dozens of times since they were younger that it’d never happen.  Niall stays for dinner, eats the plate his mum brings and half of Liam’s because he’s still too weak to finish it all.  Niall plays FIFA with him until Liam’s eyes are too heavy and Niall’s scrubbing his knuckles over Liam’s head, promising to return tomorrow after practice.  Liam doesn’t know why but he encourages Niall to bring Harry with him and Niall gives him a wide, toothy smile over his shoulder, nodding happily before skipping out of Liam’s room.

When he wakes up late Thursday afternoon, there’s a pair of brown eyes watching him.  He stretches, yawns quietly before his mind registers those brown eyes are more gold than brown and he shakes, rushing to sit up and that makes him ache all over.

Zayn’s leaning in the doorway, blinking at him, eyebrows set with narrowed eyes.  His arms are crossed, cream and brown stripped sweater on.  His hair is down, looks impossibly soft and Liam’s fingers tremble with a desire to comb through it.  There’s a bit more scruff sculpting Zayn’s jaw, over his top lip, down along his chin.  His lips poke out and they look kissable without meaning to.

“Your mum let me in,” Zayn finally says.

Liam nods, wipes a hand down his face to pull away the sleep that still lingers.

“I forced Lou to tell me what’s wrong,” Zayn admits, easing off the doorway.  He takes slow steps inside, taking his eyes away from Liam.  He traces fingers over the chair by Liam’s desk, runs them over the Dark Knight poster on his wall, smiling for a beat before his lips return to a thin line of thought.  He fiddles with the stereo, turning knobs and pushing buttons but never cuts it on.

When Zayn finally does look on him again, Liam shudders.  There’s a hollowness in his eyes, something resembling anger framing them where long eyelashes usually captivate Liam.  He’s nibbling on his bottom lip now, fingers balling into fists.

“I should’ve known something was wrong last year when you were never there, but I didn’t ask.  You never played football or rugby anymore even though I know you’re quite brilliant at sporty things.  And there were some days when you didn’t look yourself but I sorted it was nothing,” Zayn says, nearly hisses.  His jaw flexes and Liam shrinks.  “But it is something, right?  Because here you are, in bed, not at school and I have to find out from Louis Tomlinson instead of you.”

Liam swallows, throat dry and he wants to reach for his water but he’s scared if he moves Zayn will walk out.  He clears his throat instead, running a hand over the back of his neck.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t, Liam.  Don’t apologize,” Zayn barks, long exhale following.  He shakes his head, pulls his eyes off of Liam.  “Don’t apologize for something out of your control.  You can’t help what you’re born with.”

“But I could’ve told you,” Liam says with a shrug, trying not to look defeated even though he feels that way.

“Why?  It’s not like you owed it to me,” Zayn snaps, eyes lifted again.

Liam feels anger ripple in his own belly.  He didn’t understand what Zayn wanted and, damn it, he was too weak to be confused now.

“I thought I was fine Zayn, better.  I didn’t think I’d get sick again and have to explain to the one guy who seems to mean the fucking world to me that, ‘Oh yeah, by the way, I’ve got one kidney and if I don’t take care of myself, I’m in shit loads of trouble.’  It wasn’t supposed to happen,” Liam spits out, feeling lightheaded afterwards but something inside of him feels better.

“But it did,” Zayn snaps back, head shaking.  “And I freaked.  I freaked the fuck out when you weren’t there Monday or Tuesday.  I fucking made Harry give me Louis’ number because I had to know and he’s the only person I could think of that always knows.”

Liam swallows, looks on Zayn because he doesn’t understand but then he does.  He gets the anger, the loud words, the irremovable tension in Zayn’s jaw.  He’s scared.

“I’m not dying,” Liam whispers.

Zayn laughs, kicking Liam’s shoes under his bed.  “I know that.  Shit, doesn’t make it any easier sitting at home or at school wondering if you’re okay.”

Liam falls back against his headboard, head thumping on the wall and that hurt but not as much as the way soft pain circles Zayn’s eyes does.

“Zayn,” Liam starts but Zayn holds up a hand, head shaking.

“I’m good at a lot of things Liam, but not at worrying about someone especially when they won’t even give me the chance to,” Zayn says, eyes still averted.

Liam frowns, slips down in his bed.  He wants to bury himself under the duvet, forget Zayn even showed up.  He closes his eyes, feels something prickly at them and he was not going to cry over this.

He hears Zayn’s footsteps, waits for him to shut the door and walk out once more.  His cheeks are warm but it’s not too hot in his room.  He blinks his eyes open when he feels Zayn’s thumbs running under his eyes and they smear away tears before they can roll.  Zayn’s close, too close, minty breath bathing his face and there’s a quiet smile on his lips, the kind Zayn only has in the rarest of moments.

“You can’t do that to me,” Zayn says softly and Liam swallows his bottom lip, nods slowly.

“I just didn’t –“

“I get it, Liam, I do.  But you can’t do that to me,” Zayn insists quietly.  “I need to be able to have some sort of say in things because this, you and I, isn’t just some ‘thing’ for me to do.  You probably think it is, but it’s more whether you get it or not.”

Liam opens his mouth, thinks, then closes it quickly because Zayn is right.  He’s right and Liam hates it.

Zayn bends down lower, tongue licking over his lips, and Liam’s eyes go a little wide before he settles, eyes drifting close.  Zayn’s lips feel intoxicatingly soft against Liam’s, wet from the spit, and they smooth over Liam’s mouth until they fit.  It’s slow and gentle, not like Liam thought it would be, with Zayn doing most of the work until Liam figures out how to react, pushes up and into the kiss.

Zayn moans softly against his lips, mouthing opening and his tongue licks at Liam’s lips until his part, Zayn’s tongue slipping in.  He groans, fingers digging into his duvet as Zayn holds Liam’s face between his soft hands, lips moving like ocean waves over the shore.  His breath is stuttered, tasting Zayn who tastes like something sweet, maybe honey, a hint of mint with cigarettes and the combination is invigorating.  And it feels like it doesn’t last long enough though it does because Zayn’s lips are swollen when he pulls back.

“I have to go,” Zayn whispers, dragging fingers through the longer hair at the top of Liam’s head.  He traces the shape of Liam’s thick eyebrows as Liam lays back onto the bed, breathing a little heavy.

“Okay.”

“I’ll come by some time,” Zayn adds, pulling back fully.

Liam nods, hopes it’s soon but doesn’t look for empty promises.  He catches the way Zayn grins over his shoulder, cocky and buoyant as ever before he slips around the corner and out of Liam’s sight.

Liam sinks into his pillows, sighing and his world is definitely upside down now.  Still, he can’t fight the smile on his lips or the way his heart pounds in his ears.

**

Liam wakes Friday to being nudged, prodded and then shoved over.  He grumbles, hopes it’s not Ruth or Louis because he’ll probably snap at them or toss a pillow at their head.  His body is weak, head pounding, and he knows it’s too early because the sun isn’t beating hot through his curtains like it does when he wakes in the afternoons and there’s still a damp, coolness in his room.  He glances at the clock, 8:42 AM, and groans, stretching before rolling to his side to view his intruder.

Liam blinks at Zayn, shock written to every portion of his face but Zayn shrugs at him, grins.  He watches Zayn pull at the hem of his jumper, pulls it off and Liam backs up a little to make room for Zayn as Zayn toes off his shoes as well.  He thinks it’s a dream, he’s had a few delicious ones like this where Zayn is naked and writhing beneath him but this can’t be a dream because Zayn’s fingers pinch his side when he flops down onto the bed and Liam feels that, wincing.

“What – What are you doing here?” Liam asks as Zayn fluffs Liam’s pillows before settling back against them.

Zayn grins.  “Called my mum at work and told her I was sick and couldn’t make it to school today.  Got over here just as your sister was leaving and, fascinating enough, she remembers me and let me in.”

Liam gawks at him, mouth agape but Zayn shrugs before grabbing at Liam’s shoulders and pulling him toward Zayn.  Liam struggles before settling into the position Zayn wants with his head pressed to Zayn’s chest and his body half on Zayn with his legs tangled around Zayn’s.  Zayn runs a hand over his head, humming softly and Liam feels safe.  He curls up around Zayn, rubbing at Zayn’s stomach through the thin fabric of his t-shirt.

“You need to be – “

“Liam, shut it,” Zayn says with a breathy laugh, combing through Liam’s hair.  “I’m where I want to be today and you have to deal with it.  So can you be quiet because I never get to sleep in during the week and, today, I’m gonna.”

Zayn’s hand rests on his thigh, squeezes at it through Liam’s joggers while he traces long fingers over Liam’s face.  Liam lets his eyes shut, too tired to argue with Zayn or make him leave and go to school.  Zayn’s warm against him, cooler than Liam’s own temperature and it leaves a tiny ache in Liam’s bones.  He feels his lips quirk up as Zayn rests his chin on top of Liam’s head, arms encircling him and rocking him a little.  He feels a tad bit childlike but there’s something adorable about those wiry arms trying to wrap around his broader shoulders, Zayn still humming and everything moves a little in slow motion from there.  He sighs, content, and he’s feeling sleep kick in again as Zayn sings lowly – My fingertips and my lips, they burn from the cigarettes.  Forrest Gump, you run my mind boy. Running on my mind boy.

When Liam wakes again, Zayn’s fiddling with his phone, Liam yawning against his chest.  Everything in him tingles, still unable to comprehend it all but Zayn’s still there and that’s all that seems to matter.  He clings to Zayn’s chest, deep sigh and Zayn smiles against his temple, soft kisses.

“Hungry,” Liam moans, his voice slow and choked by sleep.

Zayn snickers, nodding.  “I’m shit in the kitchen babe.  Take-away?”

Liam snickers.  “Afraid you’ll burn down my house?”

“Probably,” Zayn chuckles, tapping the end of Liam’s nose with his forefinger playfully.  “Didn’t you want to be a fireman when you were a kid?”

Liam looks up, pulls back to look on Zayn’s soft features.  He didn’t know Zayn remembered that, playing on the playground and chatting about silly little things to them as kids.  He rubs at his eyes and falls back down to Zayn’s chest, wondering if his solid, heavy weight would crush Zayn but Zayn doesn’t move or complain.

“Take-away sounds brilliant,” Liam sighs, eyes shutting once more as Zayn lifts his phone and he can barely hear Zayn ordering a pizza when his mind still drifts to thoughts of sleep and Zayn’s soft voice in his ear.

He rolls off Zayn sometime later to let him scurry down the stairs and answer the door, grab the pizza from the delivery guy and Liam crawls out of the bed to use the bathroom, manages to find enough strength to shower but he escapes before the water even turns cold, too weak to stand that long.  Zayn’s staring at him, wide-eyed, mouth gaping when he limps into the room, towel wrapped tightly around his waist with water dripping off his skin.  Liam pinks all over, cheeks redder than the rest of him as he shyly snatches a pair of clean boxers and a t-shirt from the folded clothes his mum left on his desk, scrambling out of the room to change in the bathroom.

Zayn’s made the bed when he returns, a glass of orange juice on the bedside table with a couple of slices of pizza, from that little parlor Zayn likes, piled up on a plate.  Liam grins, easing into the room as Zayn flops down onto the bed.  Liam crawls onto it, snickers when Zayn drags him the rest of the distance and curls around Liam.  He settles an arm around Zayn’s shoulders, reversing the roles with Zayn’s head on his chest this time.

“Movie?” Zayn offers, looking up.

Liam takes a healthy bite out of the pizza, eyes shutting to savor the heat and spice.  He nods for Zayn, munching.

“Figured you’d like this,” Zayn mutters against Liam’s chest as he flicks on the telly and clicks on the DVD player, Toy Story 3 popping up seconds later.

Liam grins, nuzzles his chin to Zayn’s temple.  “You know me.”

“A little better than I did,” Zayn says back, doesn’t look up this time but Liam catches the way the corners of Zayn’s mouth lift.

“This is good, yeah?” Liam asks, tightening his arm around Zayn’s shoulders.

Zayn nods, hums his approval as he pats at Liam’s chest.

“I could do this all the time.  You and me,” Liam adds, biting gently at his lower lip.  He feels completely awkward again, that kid in Tenth Year with the bad haircut and even worse jokes.

“Me too,” Zayn agrees slowly, tickling at Liam’s ribs.  “I sort of think that’s how you’re supposed to feel with your boyfriend.  Least, that’s what I think.”

“Boyfriend,” Liam repeats slowly, lips a little numb once the word crosses them but he feels the smile pull at his cheeks seconds after.

‘You’re thinking too much,” Zayn fusses teasingly.  “Watch the movie babe.”

And Liam does, sipping orange juice, eating pizza with Zayn curled around him and his other arm circling Zayn, pulling him tighter just because he can.  He grins, listening to Zayn singing under the noise of the movie – If you could see that I’m the one who understand you. Been here all along. So why can’t you see, you belong with me – and he breathes a heavy sigh, elated in ways he can’t put into words.

They almost make it half way through Batman Begins before Liam’s pushing Zayn down on the bed, lips crushing against Zayn’s and Zayn’s hands scrambling over his back.  The kiss is fast, hungry, and it seers Liam’s lips in the kind of way he dreams about.  There’s tongues and panting when he draws back, grinning down at a shocked Zayn but he tangles his hands in Zayn’s dark hair before leaning back down, slotting his lips perfectly against Zayn’s.

Zayn moans against his lips, works his body up against Liam’s and Liam feels Zayn’s hardness, grins against Zayn’s parted lips.  His own erection grinds against Zayn’s hip, boxers barely holding it in place and Zayn’s far too dressed for this.

Liam yanks at the bottom of Zayn’s shirt, Zayn pull away to help him and it’s thrown off the bed before Liam inches back down, lips fastening to Zayn’s neck this time rather than his lips.  He works his mouth over Zayn’s skin, tastes the golden skin and it glitters over his taste buds.  Zayn’s tugging at his shirt, Liam backing away to let Zayn tear it off and drop it onto the bed before he’s right back where he was, rutting his lips up against Zayn’s skin until he freckles that golden flesh with sharp shades of red and pink.

“Too many clothes,” Zayn pants, keens when Liam licks over his collarbone.

Liam nods, doesn’t know when he decided to throw away all the boundaries he’s created but he pushes up on his hands, hovering over Zayn as Zayn unbuttons his jeans, shimmies out of them and kicking them off.  He takes Zayn in, the sharpness of his hip, the heart tattoo against his skin, the thin trail of hair leading into boxer-briefs that are tight, striped, and doing very little to hide the erection that’s jutting against the fabric.  He’s got tattoos scattered over his collar and chest, tanned nipples that Liam wants to lick and his muscles aren’t as defined as Liam’s but they’re sharp and noticeable.

“Underwear too, yeah?”

Liam grins, rolls off of Zayn to jerk his boxers off, the bed rustling as Zayn does the same and Zayn rolls on top of him, lips pressing firmly against Liam’s before he can catch a glimpse of Zayn’s fully naked form.

Liam’s lips part, hands moving everywhere over Zayn; his arms, his smooth back, his thighs, over the curve of his ass and Liam keeps a hand there for a while, kneading the flesh until Zayn’s panting against his lips.  He’s got fingers fisted into Zayn’s hair, Zayn digging at his shoulders before small nails drag down Liam’s chest.  Their bodies are rolling against each other, that sweet glide of Zayn’s stomach against the tip of Liam’s cock leave him feverish and ready to come before he’s done anything.

He freezes for a moment because, yeah, something’s probably going to happen.  Something Liam’s dreamt about but never thought about.  The chances of him being in bed, with Zayn, naked and possibly seconds from stripping away every piece of his virginity feels overwhelming… and incredibly enticing.

“Li?” Zayn asks lowly, kisses pressed over Liam’s cheeks, down his chin, over his neck.

“I’m okay,” Liam says quickly, tosses his thoughts because his feelings for Zayn outweighed the fear.  He digs his fingers into Zayn’s hips, grinds up against them and Zayn’s biting at his neck, groaning loudly.

Liam shudders when Zayn sucks a pretty mark over Liam’s birthmark, licking at it when it’s swollen and pulsing.  He’s kissing Zayn’s forehead, hands sliding slowly over Zayn’s body before he’s rolling them, trapping Zayn beneath him.  He smiles down at Zayn, a messy angel wrapped in sin, and pushes fringe from Zayn’s forehead.  Those hazel eyes are dark, legs spreading until Liam fits between them and Zayn grins, decidedly breathless.

“We can stop,” Zayn whispers, heaving but there’s something in the corner of his eyes that is unwilling.

Liam shakes his head.  “Don’t want to.”

“What do you want?”

Liam leans down, licks at the black stud in Zayn’s ear before nuzzling his lips to it.  “I want to suck you, let you suck me until I come.  I want to slide inside of you, make love to you on my bed because this is the one place I want to share myself with you.  And I want you to fuck me, hard, on this bed until you can’t anymore.  I want to go until it hurts and then, afterwards, I want to look in your eyes and know you’re the only one that deserved me.”

Zayn shudders under him, fingers digging into the small of Liam’s back.

“You’re perfect,” Zayn gasps, eyes fluttering shut as Liam pulls back.

Liam presses a kiss to Zayn’s lips, gentle and slow before whispering against Zayn’s lips, “No, but I’m perfect with you.”

When Zayn slides down his body, lips and teeth marking his chest and stomach like delicate artwork, Liam falls back on the bed, watching the ceiling.  He can’t look at Zayn, not at first.  Not after watching Zayn lick his lips, lips that are quirking into a grin and when Liam feels Zayn’s fingers wrap around his bare cock, he bites solidly into the back of his hand, waiting to draw blood.  The first lick makes him shiver, Zayn’s tongue swirling over the head until it’s deliciously wet.  When Zayn takes him in, Liam pushes up on his elbows to watch.  There’s a lewdness in the way Zayn does it, looking up through long lashes as he suckles the head, long fingers wrapped around the shaft and pulling Liam’s foreskin back.

“Shit,” Liam breathes out, thumping a fist on the bed and Zayn does his best to smile around Liam, sinking deeper.

Liam spreads his legs wider, eyes rolling back when Zayn cups his balls with his other hand, slurping on his way up.  He bobs his head slowly, eyes still watching Liam and Liam feels blush riddle his body, his mind wrecked and he’s fucked in a decidedly less physical way as he watches Zayn.  It’s hot, too hot but there’s nothing separating them and Liam wonders if he can crawl out of his own skin for a moment to relieve some of the pressure building on his chest.

Zayn moans around him, sucking softly before applying pressure, too much pressure, and Liam’s nearly coming just watching the way Zayn doesn’t gag as he slips further down this time.  He’s panting, Zayn laying an arm across his hips because he almost bucks into Zayn’s mouth and figures it’d be a very cruel way to end things if he did shove his cock down Zayn’s throat without the other man asking him to.

His groans are wet, almost restrained, until Zayn curls his tongue around the head of Liam’s cock and his soft hand tugs slowly on the shaft.  Liam’s legs shake, back arching and he holds on tightly, trying not to come.  Zayn’s breathing hard against his thigh, dampening the thick hairs there and Liam closes his eyes, gnaws at his bottom lip as Zayn slurps on the head.

“Stop?” Zayn asks, pulling leisurely on Liam’s cock as he kisses Liam’s inner thighs.

Liam nods, wants to beg Zayn for more but then he knows he’ll come down Zayn’s throat before being able to warn him.  He sits up on his elbows again, jerks his head, trying to signal for Zayn to crawl back up him and Zayn snorts, releases Liam’s cock but he gives it a long lick on his way up, from the thick vein on the underside all the way to the tip.

“You little prick,” Liam chuckles, jerking Zayn all the way up until his lips find Zayn’s, tasting himself along Zayn’s tongue.  It’s bitter, a bit heady, but he likes it, a hand holding the back of Zayn’s head to keep him in place.

Zayn’s lips are swollen and red when he pulls back, pupils blown and Liam smiles; he’s done that to Zayn and he marvels at it.  He uses what strength he has to grab Zayn’s hips, lift him up and it’s awkward because Zayn’s not really sure what he’s doing until he manages to pull Zayn up until Zayn’s sitting on his chest.

Liam takes a look at Zayn’s erection; it’s long, pulsing, and the head is barely hiding beneath that thick skin covering it.  Liam swallows, clears his throat as Zayn looks down at him.  Zayn knows he’s never done this, doesn’t rush it and Liam’s at ease just knowing Zayn’s rubbing at his cheek, comforting.

“I don’t need you to – “

“I want to.  God, Zayn, I want to,” Liam says, tilting his head back to look up at Zayn.  Zayn nods, chewing mercilessly at his bottom lip until Liam says, “I’m going to.”

An idea crosses Liam’s mind, a smile tilting his lips before he’s lifting his hand and sliding two fingers between his lips.  He sucks on them, drawing them in and out as Zayn watches with wide eyes.  He coats them thickly with spit, dragging them out with a small pop and a grin.

“Come closer,” Liam demands and Zayn’s quick to scurry forward.

Liam wraps his free hand around Zayn’s cock, the ones that’s been throbbing and standing upright against Zayn’s stomach.  He pulls on it, reverie taking hold of him when Zayn groans above.  He licks his own lips, eyes closing as he cautiously guides Zayn’s cock into his mouth.

Liam’s a little more hesitant than Zayn, working his cock slowly.  He licks a lot, around the head, the shaft, down to Zayn’s balls which hug tightly to Zayn’s small frame.  He nuzzles against Zayn’s cock, drawing small patterns over the hard surface before using his tongue to push back the foreskin.  Zayn tastes sweet, bitter when Liam circles the head with his tongue and tastes Zayn’s precome.  He takes in a deep breath, inching down on Zayn and Zayn’s holding the shaft, midway, and carefully guiding Liam onto it.

Liam keeps his eyes closed, moving up and down as best he can from the position he’s in.  He exhales happily when Zayn tilts his hips down and starts to work his own cock in Liam’s mouth, dragging it over the roof of Liam’s mouth before letting Liam lick at the slit for a while.  He hears the hitch in Zayn’s breathing, the slow hiss when Liam lightly drags his teeth over the shaft.  There’s a stutter in Zayn’s movements, his cock slipping a little too far and Liam feels the tears prick at the corners of his eyes when Zayn pulls all the way out, softly apologizing.  Liam shakes his head, licking at his lips and he kisses at Zayn’s cock, lets Zayn slip it back in.

Liam slips his wet fingers between the cheeks of Zayn’s ass, sliding playfully over the hole for a while until Zayn keens and he pushes with his index finger, hears Zayn gasp and feels him wince before Zayn’s working himself down onto Liam’s finger.

“Have you ever,” Liam pants out when Zayn’s cock pops out of his mouth, “you know?”

Zayn’s cheeks go pink, head ducking before nodding.  “Not often.  Twice, actually.”

Liam nods along, doesn’t hate the fact that he’s not the first.  He digs in a little further until he’s in all the way up to his knuckle before dragging back.  Zayn shudders, hands on Liam’s shoulder for balance before Liam’s adding the second finger.

“You sure?” Zayn asks, lips so close to Liam’s.  Liam works his fingers a little quicker, separating them to loosen Zayn before rotating them.

“Yeah,” Liam breathes out, Zayn’s fingers digging into his shoulders when Liam nudges against something firm.  He pushes at it again, Zayn’s eyes shutting quickly and his upper lip curls with a moan.

“And I’m the first?”

Liam blushes hard, sucking in his bottom lip.  “Are you okay with that?”

Zayn breathes out a laugh, nodding.  “More than okay.”

Liam nods along, massaging inside of Zayn’s hole for a few more minutes before slipping his fingers out.  He lets Zayn catch his breath, cranes his neck up to press small, feathered kisses against Zayn’s parted lips.

“Rubber.  In my pants.  Back pocket with my smokes,” Zayn stumbles out, eyes closing.

Liam wants to question him, wonders if maybe Zayn was more than a little prepared for today but he doesn’t.  He merely reaches back blindly until he finds Zayn’s jeans and does as instructed, fishing out a condom in gold foil with triumph circling his face.  He tears it open, lets Zayn pluck the lubricated latex from his fingers and Zayn slips it on Liam, rolling it down and securing it.

Liam’s lost in thoughts for moments, watching everything Zayn does but his vision is a bit fuzzy.  He’s high on excitement, anticipation, and he barely notices when Zayn inches backward and lines Liam’s cock up.  He hears his breath catch, barely feels it because he’s numb with pleasure but then there’s pressure, tight, tight pressure before Liam’s cock breaks through, slides in and Zayn doesn’t stop until Liam bottoms out.

He hear the wet hiss as Zayn was easing down, eyes quickly finding Zayn’s face because he doesn’t want to hurt Zayn.  Zayn’s working his teeth against his bottom lip, leaving it red and chapped.  He’s got hands on Liam’s chest, holding himself in place as his legs squeeze around Liam’s hips.  His eyes are wide, satiny gold and olive, and he’s breathing deep exhales but there’s no pain there.  It’s subtle pleasure, sweet agony of determination, hollowed joy, and delicious ecstasy.

Zayn is slow when he lifts his hips, shivering until just the tip rests in Zayn before he’s easing back down.  It goes like that the first dozen times, Zayn’s body adjusting to the thickness before Zayn finds a rhythm, refuses to shift control to Liam as he rocks on him.  Liam grips Zayn’s hips, thumbs running patiently over the bones as he does his best to slow Zayn down but Zayn doesn’t.  He moves with gusto, with desire, and it’s etched into every color in Zayn’s eyes.

The tightness is binding, Liam’s breathing labored.  He bucks up, doesn’t mean to, and Zayn releases a sharp moan, smiling down at Liam.  He nods, encourages Liam and Liam digs his feet into the bed, thrusting up as Zayn rocks downward.

“Oh, Liam,” Zayn moans, doesn’t hold back that time.

“Zayn,” Liam pants.

Zayn coos, a hand rubbing down his chest, over his stomach but it stops short and inches back up.

“Fuck, you’re beautiful,” Liam groans, reaching up to dance his own fingers over the planes of Zayn’s stomach before letting the sweat slick his hand back down to Zayn’s hip.

Zayn rolls his hips, his cock stiff and bouncing against his stomach.  Liam’s fingers dig into the skin of Zayn’s hips, nails biting, but Zayn doesn’t flinch.  He merely flutters his eyes shut and works his hips a little harder against Liam.  And it’s flesh smacking flesh, low grunts from Liam and breathy sighs from Zayn as they fuck, decidedly rough and animalistic for a while until Zayn slows down and Liam pushes up on his elbows, thrusting upward until it feels like they’re making love.  It sounds stupid, but Liam doesn’t care.  He loves the way it feels, loves the way Zayn makes him feel, loves the way Zayn’s lips tilt up when Liam bites on his lower lip, and, fuck, Liam thinks he loves Zayn.

“Fuck,” Zayn hisses when he reaches down and grips his cock.  He gives it a few slow strokes, clear liquid pooling, and Liam watches Zayn’s hand rather than his face.

It only takes Zayn a few strokes, thumb rubbing gently under the head before Zayn’s coming over Liam’s stomach.  It’s a pounding in Liam’s head, drums on his heart, and he lets Zayn ride it out.

“Zayn, you’re just,” Liam’s breath catches this time, head digging into the mattress, “Christ, you’re amazing.”

Zayn snickers, hands back on Liam’s chest and he’s wiping his come on Liam as Liam bucks up, nearly knocks Zayn off.  Zayn presses his forehead against Liam’s, fingers cupping Liam’s chin and pulling him into a kiss.  Liam bats his eyes open, looks into Zayn’s and he’s erratic with his thrusting, coming before he can catch his breath and it strokes his whole body, a high he can’t come down from.

Zayn rolls off of him, spreads out on the bed as Liam forces himself off of it, carefully pulls off the condom and ties it up, tossing it into his trash.  He turns back, smiles sweetly at the sight: Gold skin surrounded by Liam’s navy blue duvet.  Zayn’s hair is pulled in different directions from Liam’s fingers but it still falls into place softly.  Tattoos mark him in black while Liam’s lips and fingers leave behind reddish stains across Zayn’s skin.

Liam slides back into the bed, eases down next to Zayn, his fingers carding through Zayn’s hair.  He grins when Zayn instinctively rolls onto him, nuzzling his head in between Liam’s neck and shoulder while slipping his fingers into the spaces between Liam’s.

“That was,” Liam stops himself, doesn’t want to sound cliché even though he thinks Zayn’s thinking the same thing.

“You were,” Zayn says against his skin, playful bite at Liam’s neck before he’s kissing at it.

“I didn’t think this would ever happen,” Liam whispers, eyes on the ceiling as he draws his fingers through Zayn’s hair.  “You and me.  Well, me and anybody actually.  I just felt out of place.”

Zayn nods.  “You weren’t out of place.  You just weren’t in the right place.”

“And where was that?” Liam asks with an amused grin on his lips.

“Next to me, underneath that tree,” Zayn sighs and Liam can feel Zayn’s smile against his skin.

Zayn ducks out before Liam’s mum gets home from work, laying lazy kisses on Liam’s lips until Liam settles into his bed and pretends not to beg for Zayn to stay longer when he slips into his clothes.  Zayn leaves his jumper behind, slips on Liam’s red one because he likes the way it looks before whispering that it smells like Liam and Liam grins.  He does what he can to hide any evidence of Zayn being there, tossing away the pizza box and dumping his trash as his mum pulls up.  He finds Zayn’s jersey shorts crumpled in his duvet and grins, knows Zayn left them behind on purpose, slipping them behind his pillow as his mum sweeps into his room with kisses and a glass of water.

**

Its two weeks before the holiday break when Liam finally returns to school.  Louis’ made it a point to visit him every Wednesday so that he doesn’t miss Niall’s practices on Thursdays, Harry accompanying him, and Niall griping the whole time because they’re too busy kissing to see any of the tricks Niall’s been working on.  Niall visits every other day, sometimes dragging Harry along.  Eleanor comes with him a couple of times, frown on her lips the first time but then she’s smacking his head and scolding him for not telling her.  Liam smiles at her, promises to never keep secrets again, and he can’t bite back his grin when he sees them walking in on a Friday, hand-in-hand and when he asks Niall about it later, he waves him off and turns on FIFA but Liam sees the curl in his smile and the blush thundering against his cheeks.

Zayn visits him daily, bringing homework and take-away and they study for hours until Liam’s too sleepy or Zayn’s too bored.  Liam convinces Zayn to make out with him more than a few times, even blowing Zayn when he’s incredibly nervous, eyes wide, and watching the door constantly, waiting on Liam’s parents to barge in.  They lay around most of the time, watching movies and Liam’s gotten used to falling asleep with Zayn chatting away about Green Lantern or Batman or the new CD he just got.

When Zayn sneaks over on a Saturday night when his parents are out celebrating their anniversary, Liam doesn’t have to ask Zayn to have sex with him.  It’s in Zayn’s eyes, dark brown and carnal.  Liam keeps his head buried in his pillow, moaning into it as Zayn slides into him from behind and Zayn is painfully slow throughout every motion, taking his time until Liam begs for it, still never moving too quick inside of Liam.  Liam comes in Zayn’s hand, knees sore from kneeling and his shoulder is bruised and marked from Zayn’s lips and teeth.  Liam pulls him into the shower, Zayn looking around in fear, but Liam rolls his eyes and they spend more time kissing in the shower rather than scrubbing away the scent of sex.  Ruth catches them tiptoeing out, Zayn panicking and blushing all at once but Liam has far too many stories of her and Martin for her to ever say anything.

No one really says much when he gets back to school, some of his teachers smiling at him when he slips into class while a few other students give him eyes as if they’d noticed he was gone.  Harry makes a joke about it, eases some of the tension inside of Liam before clapping his hands on the back of Liam’s shoulders and giving him a friendly shake.  Liam grins, pulls out his notebook and almost forgets that picture Zayn drew, grinning down on it for a while before turning to a fresh blank page to take notes.

Lunch time comes and Liam’s half expecting his seat to be occupied by a new member of the group but it’s empty, along with Niall’s, Harry’s, and Eleanor’s.  He glances around, maybe he’s too early, but Cher’s there along with Andy, Aiden, Greg, and Jesy and his stomach dips until he spots a familiar face standing in the doorway letting in a sharp cold breeze.  Liam grins, watches Zayn pull his pack of cigarettes from his back pocket, head jerking toward the outside.  Liam adjusts his bag on his shoulder before he’s following, zipping up his hoodie.

Liam’s taken aback when he spots them, all huddled around the tree with coats bundled up, scarfs, and gloves.  Eleanor’s sitting on the ground, legs crossed with Niall next to her, stealing food from her tray while picking at the food on his own.  Harry’s hovering above them, grinning as he leans on the tree with a beanie covering most of those soft curls.  Zayn sparks his cigarette, lets it dangle in his lips as he eyes Liam.

“Oi, what are you waiting on Payne?” Eleanor calls out, smirking.

“Yeah, get your arse over here already,” Niall barks, leaning his head on Eleanor’s shoulder as she feeds him an orange slice.

“Think he’s waiting on an invitation?” Harry asks, folding his arms and those dimples flare against porcelain cheeks.

“No,” Zayn replies flatly before smiling, “He didn’t ask for one that first day.  Don’t think he needs to now.”

Liam smiles softly, nodding.  He chews on his bottom lip before walking over to them, easing down next to Eleanor.  He glances around, feels their eyes on him and they’re all watching over him now, noticing him, and making him feel every bit as important as each of them were to him.

“So who wants the brownie today?” Liam finally asks, unwrapping his paper bag and fishing out the treat.

“It’s all me,” Niall cheers, nearly knocking Eleanor over to reach for the brownie wrapped in cling wrap.

“Ooh, does it have weed in it?” Harry asks, plucking it from Liam’s fingers before Niall can reach it.

“Oi, you fuck munch.  Give it back!”

Harry grins mercilessly, tossing the brownie from hand to hand.  “I’ll give it back if you agree to go to the Uni holiday party this weekend with me.”

“Oh fuck off.  I’m not going just so you can snog your little boyfriend all night,” Niall groans.

“Wouldn’t be any different than you shacking up with El most of the night,” Harry fusses back.

“It is different.  I love her,” Niall announces and Eleanor blushes, chin dipping as she fiddles with an orange slice.

“And I love Lou,” Harry snaps back.

Niall laughs, full and loudly.  “You two are too mental to know what love is.”

“Oh fuck off,” Harry scoffs, hands thrown up.

“Oh bless, he’s starting to sound like Lou too,” Eleanor giggles out, leaning into Niall to rest her head on his shoulder.  He laces his fingers between hers, tongue stuck out at Harry.

“I don’t need you.  DJ Malik will come with me,” Harry grins out before turning toward Zayn, “right Zayn?”

Zayn throws his hands up submissively, head shaking.  “Don’t look at me.  This is between you and Horan.”

“Zayn’s not going anywhere without Liam and you know it,” Niall laughs out, toasting his orange juice toward Liam who lowers his head, tries to hide from the wide eyes Harry’s giving him.

Liam sighs with a smile, watches Harry and Niall go at it for a while until Zayn slips down the tree next to him, sliding an arm around Liam’s shoulders.  Liam offers Zayn a lemon bar, catches the way Zayn’s lips pick up into a grin.

“You can’t go to the party unless you promise you come to my house first for dinner.  With my parents.  And my sisters, but mainly my parents,” Zayn demands lowly, chewing on the corner of his bottom lip.  He holds up a finger before Liam can speak, head shaking.  “And don’t you say you’re not going because you know Tommo will find a way to drag you there.”

Liam snorts.  “He won’t.”

“He will.”

“You want me to have dinner with your parents?” Liam asks, chewing on his own lip.

Zayn nods, grinning.  “Mum has been bugging me about it.  Says I can’t go around having boyfriends and not letting her have the chance to interrogate them.”

Liam’s eyes go a bit wide, leaning back.  “You told her about me?  Us?”

Zayn chuckles and there it is, the best part of Zayn that Liam can’t help but enjoy – the one that doesn’t seem to care what the world thinks.

“Why wouldn’t I?  Told my baba too.  It’s not like your parents don’t know about me as much as I come over,” Zayn declares.  He runs a hand down Liam’s cheek, fingertips cold but still so settling.  “I would never want to hide what makes me happy.”

Liam nods, doesn’t know what else to do.  “You’re still amazing.”

“I love you babe,” Zayn says low but his voice is thick like honey, accent deep.

Liam feels his heart in his throat but he swallows it down, turns his head to look at Zayn.  “I love you too,” he whispers back, leaning in just as Zayn does and Liam thinks he’ll never forget this kiss.  It tastes better than that coffees on Mondays, the ones Liam gave up a long time ago.

But moments like this?  With his friends, with Zayn?  Health or not, he’s not giving them up.