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Zayn is fourteen. He blinks a lot, plays with his hands, and stares at his feet when he walks to even out the pool of warmth in his stomach. His eyes don’t glue themselves to one place for very long. He doesn’t do small talk. He isn’t good with people.
Zayn isn’t good with people. So when a new family moves in next door it’s no surprise that he doesn’t accompany his parents to welcome them to the neighborhood; tell them about the raspberry scones at the corner bakery and to stay away from the old bloke down the block and tips on how to gawk at the city’s mausoleums of great old poets without looking like tourists. What is a surprise though, is that one particular member of the family catches his eye. And rather than shy away and continue the mental count of sheep inside his head, he keeps looking. A boy. A young boy. His age, he thinks, or perhaps a bit older. It’s in the way he shifts his shoulders as he walks and takes in his surroundings, all of it, without abashed feelings. This boy takes his sweet time. This boy is confident, and Zayn stares at him in awe, in earnest, in envy.
Zayn is fourteen. He has never had a real friend.
-
Even when Zayn does try his best to focus on other things or find new things to draw, he can’t help but catch himself staring out the window, eyes tracing what he can make out of a small blue bedroom on the other side attached to the house just ten feet away. His temperature rises when he catches the boy undressing, and it’s an honest mistake the first time. And the third time. As well as the seventh.
Honest.
-
He was eight the first time it happened. And it sucks because he didn’t know what was happening, wouldn’t have known it was a big deal if it hadn’t been for the hospital visit. A nurse asking his mum about past health problems and performance in school and having to respond, “But it’s never happened before” and not understanding. Not understanding when the doctors explain that, yes, kids this age do experience panic attacks, and while it isn’t common for them, it isn’t strange either.
After, when he’s left the room and is waiting to leave, he overhears his mother express worry about his antisocial behavior. He’s awkward around other kids, she says. He doesn’t have friends. It worries me.
Up until then, he didn’t know that not always knowing what to say or biting the inside of your cheek to take up space in conversation wasn’t normal. It was just Zayn.
-
Zayn is fifteen and lonely as ever, his episodes more and more frequent. And he still doesn’t understand why they happen in the first place. And it’s like, kids at school still pass along their cruel comments – most of them have seen him at his most vulnerable – but most of the time he’s invisible. He carries on quietly, doesn’t ask questions. Thinks. He thinks a hell of a lot.
It has been nice though, having the boy next door. Liam. Zayn knows when to expect him home from football practice and how he likes to relax by listening to tunes and sometimes have a few friends over. A blonde one and a curly one and a petite one. Zayn hates those days the most.
His sketchpad is always with him, the drawings shifting further from nature and more towards people. People walking their dogs or eating ice cream or watching the sunset. And Liam. (He blushes at the thought.)
-
It’s a Thursday when the doorbell rings and Zayn agitatedly answers it; half expects it to be someone preaching about Jesus or a salesman with a terrible pitch.
But it isn’t a vendor or a girl scout or a follower of Christ. Instead he’s met with side-swept brown hair and a smile with no teeth and hands in pockets. Liam is tall, Zayn notices. Taller than he had thought. Taller than himself.
“Hi there.”
Zayn parts his chapped lips. “Hi.”
They stand awkwardly for a few moments. Or Zayn does. “Can I come in?”
Zayn nods, and as Liam passes him and walks into the living room, catches the scent of his cologne. Inhales without noise. He likes it a bit too much.
“I’m Liam. I live next door. Have for almost a year now.”
“Yeah, I know,” Zayn says. He feels awfully stupid and stares at the floor.
“And you’re Zayn.” Liam doesn’t say this with a question mark.
“Yeah. How’d you know?”
This time Liam’s gaze falters, a tiny smile shaping his lips. “That’s actually why I’m here.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a piece of paper.
Sketchpad paper. Zayn’s sketchpad paper. His stomach leaps horrendously.
“I was walking home the other day and found this on the sidewalk. Good thing you signed it.” He passes it over, and Zayn stares in horror. There are no excuses he can make saying oh, well, it’s a coincidence that it looks so much like you, y’know? because he’s fucking good at what he does and that is unmistakably Liam’s smile aesthetically sketched on paper.
Zayn is in such a daze that he doesn’t notice Liam hovering over his shoulder from behind him. “You’re quite good, if I may say so myself,” he breathes. “Got my birthmark, even.”
Zayn figures he has about two seconds to explain himself before Liam runs for his fucking life.
“I – I’m sorry, I really am. I know we’ve never met and I’m not a stalker or anything, I swear. I just – I mean I have seen you before, since you’re my neighbor and all. And I draw lots of people. I like to draw people. People are generally good subjects.”
Liam laughs playfully. “Okay, okay, relax, Zayn.” Zayn likes the way his name rolls off of Liam’s tongue. “I never said you were a stalker, though I will admit, I do feel better now that you’ve confirmed you aren’t.” He sits on the sofa, makes it his own. “But I’ll only forgive you on one condition.”
Zayn swallows hard. “What’s that?”
“I’d like to see more.”
So Zayn obediently takes him to his room and it’s a weird feeling. No one ever comes here and sees his personal place. No one ever takes interest in him. He is, among many other things, insignificant. And Liam is not. He shows him the trees and skies and sunsets and watches Liam’s face as it lights up with each one. He says, “Wow, that’s really great, Zayn. Have you thought about doing this professionally?” and “I wish I had talent like this. I can barely draw stick figures.” And when he sees the drawings of himself he looks to Zayn and says, “These are amazing,” and he isn’t at all how Zayn pictured him. He’s better. So much better.
It’s only after Liam’s left and the sun goes down that Zayn notices the state of the drawing that Liam found is in – the paper is worn and tattered and… over-folded. It has been opened and looked at and closed several times, and Zayn puts it together. Liam’s had this drawing much longer than he let on.
Zayn falls asleep with cocoons in his stomach.
-
When time goes on and it gets to a point where Liam invites himself over, makes a home in Zayn’s bedroom, and Zayn’s parents smile because of the new friend he’s made, it doesn’t feel unusual or foreign or strange. It just feels right.
And Zayn doesn’t mind it much when Liam brings his other friends, too. If they’re good enough for Liam, they’re good enough for anybody. It’s a pat on the back and a laugh in the throat, their time spent together. Louis and Niall and Harry also seem to take notice of Zayn’s case of infatuation; a poke in the ribs and a side smile and a wink whenever Liam does something and Zayn can’t help but stare. And maybe Zayn doesn’t feel completely in with them, really at home, but it’s close. It’s real close.
-
It’s brought up slyly in conversation one day, when Zayn really isn’t paying attention and his eyes are droopy with sleep. He hears the words breakfast and morning and girlfriend and it’s the same as always but –
“What?”
Liam turns to him, oblivious. “Hm?”
“Whose girlfriend are you referring to?” he asks, and wishes he could take back the urgent tone he possesses.
Liam laughs lightly. “Mine, silly. The very one I’m telling you about. You sure do get distracted easily, don’t you?”
Zayn can’t help but think Liam choosing to talk about it when Zayn is spacing out isn’t a coincidence.
-
“Sixteen,” he sighs, “can’t believe it.”
“Believe it,” Liam says, and sinks into the sheets of Zayn’s bed, arms behind his head. “Got a real surprise for you, I do.”
“Can I at least get a hint or something?” Zayn sits at his desk, sketchpad in hand. He doesn’t have to look up every five seconds to get Liam’s jaw line right. Or that one vein that stretches from his elbow and ends at his wrist. His arms. Or the knuckles on his fingers. Or the half-smile he does when he hasn’t got much to say. Zayn doesn’t have to look at all, these images permanently etched onto the back of his eyelids. He just likes to. “Anything?”
Liam flashes him a devilish grin, and Zayn wants to kiss it right off. “Nope.”
“Is it a surprise party? Because – “
“Don’t worry.” Liam laughs lightly. “I’m not mean enough to drag you somewhere you wouldn’t want to be on your own birthday.” He crosses his legs still lying down, says under his breath, “That’s for another time.”
“Hey, face toward me,” Zayn whines, so Liam does, and when Zayn looks up his eyes meet smiling amber orbs twice the size of his own. “Y’know, I heard my parents talking about me again the other day. Used the word unusual this time.” He sighs. “Can you believe that?”
“Well, I don’t know.” Liam shrugs. “Is there something wrong with being unusual?”
“Yes. Yes there is,” Zayn nods.
Liam ponders for a moment. “Maybe it isn’t so much that you’re unusual. You’re just you.”
Zayn rolls his eyes, smiles sarcastically. “Gee, thanks.”
Liam smiles fondly. “So, have you ever thought about making a career out of this?”
Zayn focuses on the strokes he creates on the page. “Dunno. Never thought about it I guess.”
Liam’s eyebrows arch. “Well you should. You love it enough.”
“Love doesn’t pay the bills, sweetheart.” Zayn wishes he could remove the sweetness from his tongue, and he’s afraid. But Liam seems to be somewhere else. He plays with his hands, a nervous habit he’s had the misfortune of catching from Zayn. “You okay?”
Liam faces him and smiles, but it isn’t genuine. “M’fine. Keep drawing.”
“I will, but tell me what’s on your mind.” He fills in the shading of Liam’s eyes, distant and somewhat confused. He wishes he could pinpoint the reason for this look of lost hope shadowing the creases in his face. He’s about to prompt Liam again but is interrupted.
“It’s funny, you know. That someone like you never had friends.”
Zayn stares at him, waits for the punch line.
“It’s just, you’ve got this way about you. You’re kind, and calm. And a good listener. And you may not like people but I think if you gave people a chance, they’d like you. Louis and Niall and Harry sure do. And it’s just… well, you’re quite fancy-able.” Liam smiles without teeth, and his eyes crinkle in that awful (beautiful) way. “It’s a good thing you signed that drawing of me, huh?”
And for a while little tiny miniscule trivial words like panic and anxiety and fear have no meaning at all.
-
They pull up to the venue, the special destination spot. Or, Liam’s birthday surprise for Zayn.
“It’s a big building… full of people. Liam –“
Liam takes both of Zayn’s hands in his own, caresses them gently. Zayn would continue his protest but the look in Liam’s eyes is just so damn sincere. “I know you hate large groups of people. So,” he retrieves two tickets from his pocket and holds them in front of Zayn, “I got you a front row seat to Frank Ocean’s concert. I’ll make sure that he’s the only thing you see tonight, standing directly in front of you. You’ll be so wrapped up in the tune you won’t even notice the people behind you. I promise.”
Zayn is at a loss for words, disregards his own fears. “Did you say front row? Liam – how did you – “
“Haggled with a few people, I’ll admit. But they’re yours.” He smiles. “Or, okay, ours, seeing as I wouldn’t want you alone on your birthday, and I’m pretty damn good company if I may say so myself.”
“That you are.” Zayn doesn’t try to hide his happiness. Not tonight. “I don’t know what to say. This means a lot to me. Frank Ocean. Frank Ocean front row. I just – thank you. I don’t know how to repay you.”
“Hey. You don’t owe me anything. Just enjoy yourself, and don’t worry so much. That’ll be more than enough for me.”
It’s a bit unnerving, walking in and being surrounded by person after person after person, most of them around his and Liam’s age. Despite that it’s in the negatives outside, girls are clad in mini-skirts and tank tops, teeth chattering every time sometimes opens the door. Liam senses this, and for the second time that night, takes Zayn’s hand in his, strokes it softly. He breathes easier.
It’s when they’re in their seats all the way up front that Zayn begins to ease up a bit. And in no time, the lights dim, and out Ocean comes, along with the roars of the crowd. It takes no time for everyone to warm up to the atmosphere, sing along gently to his songs, to woo at him when he makes small talk to his audience.
It’s when Ocean sings one song in particular that everyone else sings along but Zayn doesn’t.
And you, you look so good,
I wish you would give me what I’m looking for…
He’s never felt like this before. So easy, so sure of himself. So secure. His body sways with the rhythm, his eyes close. It isn’t like him to be so comfortable, to fit in so perfectly. The lights from above stage blind him, but he doesn’t mind. He feels a pair of eyes on him and wonders what Liam thinks of him now, in this moment. What he’s feeling. What his face looks like. And he realizes he wants to touch it, to feel Liam in his hands. He turns, and can make out the words he mouths.
(“Happy birthday.”)
He can’t ignore the fleeting motion of his heart, how it skips and runs and jumps at the fact that Liam brought him here tonight. Liam took him out of his comfort zone and, ironically, put him right back in it. He thinks it strange that the one person who should make his panic level rise and his heart beat to the point of explosion is the same person who reverses the effects.
This isn’t time for overthinking or hesitance or quiet contemplation. So when Zayn crushes his lips against Liam’s, he half expects him to back away, say something like, No, no, what are you doing? but those words never come. Not even a little bit. Zayn is shocked when Liam doesn’t pull away, but stands sinks into it, and lets Zayn take over his lips. The crowd cheers fervently and the roars of their laughter and their own singing deafen Zayn terribly but he doesn’t mind much. Because if that didn’t cause a ringing in his ears, simply kissing Liam would. Liam tastes like apples, and just when Zayn is about to place his hand on Liam’s neck, Liam breaks the kiss.
Zayn can’t read any emotion on his face, his brow furrowed. Zayn thinks maybe his lack of experience has made him a real shit kisser, is about to apologize, but –
“That was nice.” Liam smiles, and it’s so genuine and makes his eyes crinkle on either side and puts Zayn in awe. “Let’s get out of here,” he says, and it isn’t seductive or promiscuous; just urgent. He’s got Zayn by the hand and is pulling him through the crowd and out the door; Zayn doesn’t mind.
A liquor store later and they’re in Liam’s attic, bottles of champagne and vodka and tequila taking up most of the space on the floor and in their hands.
“Good thing I’m legal, huh?” Liam teases as he opens a bottle of red wine and pours it into a fancy glass. “Can’t believe you’ve never drank before.”
Zayn shrugs. “My parents don’t drink. Never saw any reason for me to.”
“Well, tonight,” Liam says, leaning close, “I’m gonna get you so drunk you won’t remember a single thing.” Zayn catches a glimmer of playful lust in Liam’s eyes, but it’s fleeting, gone as soon as it’s appeared. Zayn’s stomach coils.
Six glasses of everything they’ve consumed later and it’s nothing but lazy laughter and drunken murmurs and seeing things that aren’t really there. Zayn’s belly aches and he’s sure he’s on the verge of vomiting, but Liam is quite the expert (“Lie on your back and breathe through your nose until the nausea subsides”) and soon all Zayn feels is a full belly and ringing in his ears.
It shouldn’t surprise him when he feels rugged hands taking his own, making a home for his cold, fragile fingers. It’s what you do for a friend when they’re lying next to you shivering and teeth rattling. And Liam is so unbelievably warm tonight despite the freezing weather outside. Zayn watches as he removes his coat, makes a blanket out of it for both of them. He makes sure Liam isn’t looking and inhales deeply. Apples and cinnamon, just as always. They lie there, staring at the wooden ceiling and sometimes out the tiny circular window where three stars are visible against the backdrop of the night sky. Somewhere in between the incoherent thoughts and slurred speech Zayn wishes he could draw it.
Liam turns to him, his fingers brushing against Zayn’s knuckles. “I don’t understand any of this, Zayn,” he says, his voice smelling heavily of booze. It prickles Zayn’s skin. And Zayn may be drunk but he’ll remember this in the morning: how he’s wanted this for too long and how pining has made him a bit of a hopeless romantic and how Liam is telling him the truth but also isn’t and –
“I’m scared,” he says, and that’s something Zayn wasn’t expecting. Zayn looks into him deeply, notices his eyes are glazed over, somewhere else.
He’s the one to take Liam’s hands this time, and even under his own, they are still massive in comparison; thick where Zayn is thin, strong where he is weak, sturdy where he is fragile. “It’s okay,” he whispers, “we’ll figure it out tomorrow.”
-
The first time Zayn meets Danielle is at a club that was more of a bar with karaoke. Less people, just the way he likes it. He had been putting it off for weeks, much to Liam’s dismay, until he finally ran out of excuses and agreed to meet her somewhere not many people would be.
Long, dark hair that coils like a snake with a wide smile and long spider legs, Danielle is every bit Liam’s type as Zayn would have guessed. The exact opposite; flirty where Liam is conservative, talkative where Liam is soft-spoken, outgoing where Liam is shy. Everything Liam wants. Everything Zayn is not.
To say he doubts himself now is an understatement; she is gleaming, burning bright, and he is dark, full of shadows, and much too invisible. For everything Liam lacks, she seems to make up for. It makes Zayn sick to his stomach.
And he would continue his round of self-doubt, he would. It’s just hard when Liam lies next to him like this, twists their fingers together, presses his shoulders into Zayn’s ribs, and whispers sweet things.
-
Liam sits himself next to Zayn when there are open spaces next to Louis and Niall and Harry. Zayn craves his attention but doesn’t let it show, and Liam feeds it like a starving ego. Will get unbearably close, his breath hot on Zayn’s ear, whisper naughty things – things that have double meanings and probably shouldn’t come off as promiscuous but do anyway. Will take Zayn’s hands in his own when he senses Zayn’s nervousness, and trace the lines of his palm; explain to him, “you have a long lifeline. you see that? that line there says everything. you’ll live to be ninety.” Will stare a bit too long when Zayn speaks, his eyes moving back and forth from his eyes to his lips, back and forth, again, and then again. Will hold his heart and squeeze gently, slowly, achingly.
Zayn thinks maybe he’s imagining all this; that Liam can’t possibly feel for him what is in his head – it’s wishful thinking, and it’s dangerous. It’s not necessarily what Liam does to him but how he does it – the subtle trace of his touch and the way he lingers in every still breath that forms condensed sweat on Zayn’s neck. He’s always close enough to touch but far enough to miss.
-
Louis decides it’s a good idea to have a summer bonfire to celebrate getting drunk and being able to make out with Harry as much as he’d like. Zayn’s hesitant, makes up a bullshit excuse like, oh, I have to be somewhere that weekend, actually, but Louis isn’t stupidly oblivious the way Liam is and gives him a threatening look that says, You’re going, and soon enough Zayn is at the beach. There are logs set around the perimeter of the fire, and while it isn’t a huge gathering, it is still attended by people Zayn doesn’t know.
And what’s better than spending the evening with people he doesn’t know than watching the person he’s in love with laugh and get drunk with his girlfriend.
He’s about to walk back where he came when Liam calls out to him. “Zayn! Zayn, come here, will you? Have a seat.” He pats the space next to him, smiles in earnest. Zayn sits, awkwardly smiles at the mess of curls next to him.
“We were just talking about you,” Liam says, “funny we happen to see you just now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” Zayn agrees, voice absent of enthusiasm, but Liam doesn’t catch on, “funny.”
“I was telling Dani how we met, wasn’t I?” he asks her.
She laughs and says, “It’s so cute how you drew him, Zayn, even before you two knew each other. If anything I’d say you had a little crush.” She takes a swig of her beer, eyes Zayn in a way he isn’t used to.
Jealous, perhaps.
Her comment has made Liam uncomfortable, and he shifts awkwardly in his seat.
“Yeah, well, who wouldn’t have a crush on Liam?” Zayn says as he pats him on the back, smiling for the first time that night. Two could play this game. “He’s every bit of perfect there is, don’t you think?”
Danielle bites her lip, looks angry almost, and then nods and says, “I see my friend over there. I’ll catch up with you two later, okay?” She kisses Liam full on the mouth, and leaves with a small “Bye Zayn,” as she passes. He doesn’t bother responding.
Liam fills the empty space between them. “Sorry about her. She can be a bit…”
“Rude? Yeah, I noticed.”
Liam smiles. “C’mon, she didn’t mean to embarrass you like that. It’s actually my fault.” He rubs the back of his neck. “I probably shouldn’t have told her.”
Zayn boldly places his hand on Liam’s thigh, whispers in his ear, “I like that you talk to her about me. Means I’m always on your mind.”
Liam looks down, and even in the dark, Zayn can tell he’s blushing. “Not my fault. Can’t really help it.”
Zayn’s face is so close to his own that he could stick out his tongue and it would leave a wet mark on Liam’s cheek. He buries his nose in Liam’s neck, nudges softly, disregards people who may or may not be watching.
Liam licks his lips nervously and says, “Let’s get out of here.”
He leads them far enough away so they can’t be seen, but close enough to where they can eye the fire. There are huge boulders on the coast and Liam takes one for a seat. He looks beautiful in the moonlight, his face highlighted in all the right spots, his parted lips glistening. He seems tentative. “I don’t know how…” he says, but fails to put his thoughts into words.
“What?” Zayn urges, takes Liam’s hands and squeezes. “Don’t know how to do what?”
“This.” And it’s all the confirmation Zayn needs. Liam wants him. Liam wants him the way Zayn wants him, too, and it’s too much for Zayn to comprehend when Liam pulls him close, spreads his legs so Zayn can stand between them. Zayn places his hands on Liam’s hips, digs his nails into them, and the way Liam moans in response has got Zayn biting his tongue. “I have a girlfriend,” Liam says.
“And I’m single.” Zayn’s lips work their way onto Liam’s neck, slow and molten hot, and not one ounce of rejection comes from Liam as his eyelids flutter shut. Zayn scrapes Liam’s collarbone with his teeth, testing the waters, then bites down harder and harder until he leaves a semi permanent mark; one that will last for at least a week. He doesn’t know if he’s doing any of this right or if Liam’s too nice to tell him he’s doing it wrong but it doesn’t matter because soon enough, Liam takes over, lifting Zayn’s shirt slightly so he can kiss every inch of his exposed skin. Zayn has never been touched like this before, isn’t used to the buzzing in his head and the ecstasy in his pants.
“You know, for someone who’s never done this before, you seem to have mastered the art of seduction.” Liam’s got him by his ribs, still in between his legs, and crosses them so Zayn is trapped and in his control. One hand snakes up Zayn’s neck, ensures he’ll stay close, lips locked and red. Between kisses Liam manages to breathe, “Taste. Like. Flowers.” His tongue swirls against Zayn’s in such earnest that Zayn has to break the kiss and take a gulp of air, his heart pounding ferociously.
When his breath isn’t so shaky, he steadies himself, bites a half-moon into Liam’s bicep. “You taste like apples, as you always do.”
This makes Liam blush. “Glad you’ve been taking note of my scent.”
Zayn smirks. “You know what’s funny,” he says, peppering kisses along Liam’s neck, his favorite spot, “is for someone who’s so fucking dominant, you’re absolute shit at not blushing.”
“Stop it,” Liam pouts. Zayn thinks maybe he wanted to cross his arms to prove a point but he’s taking up Liam’s entire front; instead, he places both hands on either side of Zayn’s face, says, “I like when I’m in control.” Bites his ear. “And so do you.”
He thumbs Zayn’s stubble to which Zayn comments, “Haven’t shaved for a couple days, I know. I’ll get rid of it.”
“Don’t,” Liam says, “I like you rugged.” He catches Zayn’s bottom lip with his teeth, slowly pulls, and Zayn learns Liam is much more sexual than he lets on. He thinks if this is what Liam is like in the open, he must be a fucking monster in private.
“Fuck,” he says, as Liam grinds their hips together, “stop teasing me.”
“I’m not sorry.” Liam smiles, and this time it’s his turn to bruise Zayn’s skin. Zayn stands still, pliant, a little too eager to be stamped with Liam’s lips. It is a badge he will wear with pride. He runs his fingers through Liam’s hair as his Liam’s tongue pushes against his skin, both of them in awe of this moment.
It’s a rush of panic when they hear voices nearby. A string of “Shit, fuck, holy shit, hurry” fill their throats as they untangle themselves from each other and rearrange their clothes so it doesn’t look like they were just about to fuck.
“You good?” Liam whispers, and Zayn nods quietly, heart still racing, head full with the knowledge of what they were about to do.
“Liam?” a girl calls, “where are you?”
Liam clears his throat, yells, “Over here, babe,” and walks towards Danielle as she, Niall, and Louis walk towards them. All three of them seem surprised – but not really – to see Zayn there.
“What were you doing all the way down here?” she asks after a sloppy kiss. “Party’s other way.”
Liam laughs nervously. “Yeah, you know, just wanted to talk and stuff. Couldn’t hear too clearly with the music playing and all that.”
Danielle’s eyes jump from him to Zayn and back. After five very long seconds, she responds, “Okay,” and smiles sweetly as she takes Liam’s hand and drags him in the direction of the party. Liam looks back quickly, gives Zayn an apologetic look, and disappears.
As soon as they’re out of sight, Niall whistles scandalously and Louis smirks like he knows everything. “Well, well, well, what have we got here? Finally got the little rendezvous you wanted, did you, Zayn?” he teases.
“Shut up,” he says, and spits into the sand, but he’s smiling.
-
It’s awkward, to say the least, when Danielle is around. The knowledge of them, of Liam plus Zayn, is secret, and sacred, and concealed, for the most part. Zayn tries to think of what would happen if Danielle ever found out. Leave Liam, most likely; throw things and throw punches and throw nasty words, and cry. Yes, definitely cry. That puts a smug smile on his face.
It’s cruel how Liam will invite Zayn to watch a movie with them, invite him to eat with them, invite him to do basically anything and everything with them. Danielle tries to hide her grimace – really, she does – but Zayn catches it. He always does.
And Zayn would reject these offers politely, he would, but the feeling he gets when Liam strokes his arm or neck where Danielle can’t see gives him a sense of satisfaction he can’t pass up. Or when the seven of them are out to dinner and Liam chooses to sit next to Zayn, Danielle on his other side, and runs his hand up Zayn’s thigh while pretending to scour the menu. Zayn has to refrain from hissing, and it’s in these moments he learns the most about self control.
There are small moments of tenderness as well; Danielle hugging Liam genuinely, trying to get a response of some sort, and for the most part, he reacts, snaking his arms around her waist, and for a moment Zayn has to look away. It seems too real, too sincere, makes his stomach turn. But when he looks up and expects to see Liam’s lips pressed into her neck, he is surprised to find Liam’s eyes glued to his own, no trace of humor or hollow-hearted dishonesty. No smiles or ill remarks or promiscuous moves – just Liam and his apologetic eyes. Liam doesn’t owe Zayn anything, but he feels he does. And this leaves an aching in Zayn’s heart.
-
He’s cleaning dishes when two arms encircle his waist, startling him, plates clashing against the sink.
“Sorry,” Liam murmurs as he kisses the nape of his neck, “didn’t mean to frighten you.”
Zayn attempts to steady his breathing, doesn’t move. “It’s fine. Just didn’t expect you, that’s all. Since when did you start letting yourself in?”
Liam rests his chin on Zayn’s shoulder. “Since now. What’s on the agenda for today?”
“These dishes,” Zayn answers, and continues to scrub at what’s left in the sink. Liam detaches himself and Zayn’s heart sinks a little bit, but lifts again when Liam grabs at his wrists and loosens their grip. He turns Zayn around to face him, and when he takes his foamy hands Zayn protests, “My hands are all soapy,” to which Liam places both of them on his face. Zayn caresses the apples of his cheeks, now covered in soap, and Liam smiles as he leans down, his lips pressing softly at the corner of Zayn’s mouth. It slow and deep and burning hot and Zayn thinks it might last for hours, just the two of them in his kitchen making out like forever is real.
Zayn’s hands urgently pull at Liam’s jumper, and Liam doesn’t bother teasing this time, obediently sliding it over his head to reveal his chiseled stomach and toned biceps. Zayn whines a little, now tugging at Liam’s belt buckle. Liam laughs, “Slower, Zayn, slower. We’re in no rush.” But Zayn just wants him so bad and doesn’t want to wait, but he’ll do it if it’s what Liam wants.
Their kisses intensify minute by minute, and after Liam’s got Zayn’s shirt off he lifts him up onto the counter and stands between his legs. Zayn smiles: just like at the beach, only reversed.
It’s when they’ve got their trousers unbuttoned that Zayn’s palms begin to sweat. Liam may have experience with sex but Zayn sure doesn’t, not even with a woman. His movements become uneasy and sloppy and Liam takes notice as he says assuredly, “We don’t have to. I’m okay with that. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I promise.”
Zayn shakes his head, looks at the floor. “No, I want to. It’s just – here? In my kitchen?”
Liam sighs in frustration. “You’re right. Stupid of me. You deserve much better.” Zayn is about to explain that, no, that isn’t at all how I meant it, but before he can say anything Liam’s holding him in his arms bridal style and carrying him away. “If you don’t want to do it here we can go to my place instead.” He kisses Zayn’s neck as he holds him, whispers, “I’d love to have you in my bed.”
Zayn doesn’t feel strong enough to speak, so he nods silently as Liam carries him outside and across the lawn to his house. He hopes the neighbors don’t mind seeing two shirtless teenage boys acting rather risqué in public.
Liam pauses once he crosses the threshold to his bedroom, spends an extra minute or ten just standing there kissing Zayn, holding him all the while, cherishing him like he’s something precious; something to be treated with care. The way he lowers him to the bed is done with a softness Zayn didn’t know Liam had in him; his muscles always made him seem too rough around the edges to contain such a tenderness. Liam climbs on top of him, asks again, “Are you sure?” Zayn licks his lips and nods, smug about the way lust forms in Liam’s eyes as he does so. He lies on the bed patiently as Liam grabs a condom and lube and makes him way back to him, kissing him in every place that’s still exposed.
“It’s going to hurt at first,” Liam says, “but I promise it’ll be worth it.” Zayn digs his nails into Liam’s hipbones, and Liam hisses in pleasure. “I’m gonna make you feel good, Zayn. I promise you that.”
Once the rest of their clothes are discarded and Liam’s got him stretched, he pushes into Zayn slowly, letting the feeling sink in for Zayn a little bit. “Is that okay?” he asks, and Zayn nods hurriedly, his head spinning. Liam pushes in deeper, each movement careful and calculated, its weight dependent on Zayn’s reactions and nods of approval, until he doesn’t need to ask anymore. Zayn can’t help that his eyes flutter shut or that his mouth opens slightly or that moans escape his throat. When Liam pushes in completely, his being inside of Zayn, the two of them connecting as one, neither of them can hold back; neither of them try. They moan each other’s names, grab at each other’s hair affectionately, scratch each other’s skin. Liam guides the rhythm of their hips in the right direction, asks seductively, “Do you like that?” and all Zayn can think to do is moan and wrap his legs around Liam’s torso as Liam slides deeper and deeper into him. Zayn’s cock is hard and leaking with pre-come, and when Liam starts to jack him off, he says, “You don’t have to, I can do it.” Liam looks mildly offended by this, says huskily, “It’s my job to make you feel good.” He licks at Zayn’s mouth, all regard for being neat and tidy thrown out the window, and whispers, “You’re mine.”
And Zayn likes the way that sounds. He wants to be Liam’s; at this point, he is Liam’s. But Liam isn’t his, and that makes all the difference. There’s a dull aching in his chest and a panging in his head as Liam moves inside him, and it feels good – too good – and he wishes more than anything that Liam could be his completely.
When Liam collapses beside him, both of them struggling to catch their breath, heads spinning, there’s a comfortable stillness that surrounds them. Zayn looks at Liam whose eyes are closed, body exhausted and willed to sleep, and counts the beads of sweat on his forehead. Seven. Memorizes the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. Remembers the subtle open space between his red lips. Even after having exhausting sex, he still smells of apples.
Zayn curls up next to him, Liam’s arm a pillow for his head. Liam presses his lips there silently, perhaps bathing in what’s just happened. It’s moments later that he’s snoring lightly, face void of creases and smooth as can be. Zayn can’t believe how young and boyish he looks now, resting peacefully. He wants to capture it.
Detangling himself from Liam’s arms, he tip-toes to his desk and grabs a half-sharpened pencil and a crumpled piece of printer paper that’s stained yellow on one of the corners. He wants to get the angle of Liam’s body just right; the way his left knee is bent upward and his right elbow curls in the spot that Zayn was once lying on. It’s one thing using a camera to remember a moment you’ve experienced; it’s another to use your hands and create it yourself. He marvels at Liam’s body; the ruggedness, the roughness, the planes of his shoulders down to his chest to his stomach to his thighs to his calves to his ankles.
It’s a stupid thought, but he wonders if Danielle sees Liam this way. Thinks of how not too long ago he didn’t have this – friends or a friend or Liam or contentment. He feels pretty content now, sitting here, sketching him into paper to remember this moment. Not too long ago he was lonely and not in love and in a panic. He is in awe at just how much has changed.
After he’s finished he signs it, leaves it on Liam’s desk underneath some books, and crawls back into bed.
-
He wishes he could say it doesn’t hurt, the way she grabs hold of his jaw and pulls his mouth to hers, takes his tongue in her mouth and swallows; makes a seat out of his lap as he rests his hands on her back and keeps her steady. Liam’s back is towards him, and Zayn is aware that at any moment Danielle could open her eyes, see him standing there full of envy, but he can’t will himself to move. And it’s no surprise that she does; her eyes burn red like hot coals when she notices him, but she doesn’t stop; instead looks him straight in the eye and shoves her tongue deeper inside Liam’s throat. Liam looks sheepish when he notices Zayn sees them, his eyes not meeting Zayn’s for long before they fall to the floor in shame.
-
Time takes up the space around them and blurs and whizzes and months pass and they barely notice between tangled limbs and prolonged kisses and well-kept secrets. The last part they’re pretty good at.
“Stay,” Zayn begs as Liam tries to detach himself from Zayn’s embrace.
Liam’s lip is caught between Zayn’s teeth as he struggles to speak, “Can’t. Promised to meet Dani at seven. It’s six-thirty.”
“Plenty of time,” Zayn whispers, but Liam backs away, seems regretful in doing so.
“You know I want to,” he says, and it isn’t the first or the last time. Zayn watches as he smoothes the wrinkles from his shirt and buckle the belt that was fastened just a second ago. “She gets real testy when I’m late. You know how she is.”
Zayn rubs his knuckles together and looks at the ground, his voice low. “Yeah. I know.” Liam must take note of his saddened tone – he’s rather good at tuning in to Zayn’s emotions – because in seconds he’s flowering kisses on Zayn’s Adam’s apple, his neck, his jaw. And Zayn wish he didn’t succumb to Liam’s touch but it’s like the healthiest kind of poison he knows and he can’t rid himself of it.
“I’ll be back soon,” he breathes hurriedly, “don’t wait up.”
-
In between drawing and thinking of other ways to spend his time, he hangs out with friends. It’s everything he can do not to fall back into his pattern of anxiety and panic and loneliness. Nights without Liam are endless and he comes back tired and hell-bent with new stories of how it went wrong. On one night in particular, while Zayn is in the bathroom, Liam he comes home while all of them are there, looking rather exhausted.
“Said I don’t care about her, that I’m selfish and inconsiderate.” Zayn hears him plop himself down on the couch, can imagine him wiping at his forehead. “Don’t know what more she could possibly want.”
“Maybe,” Louis says, “she feels you aren’t giving her your all. If you know what I mean…”
“Shut it, Louis,” Liam threatens. Zayn dries his hands and is about to step into the room when it suddenly goes quiet. He inches closer, and even though he only hears the last bit of what Louis says, it’s more than enough.
“…Because if you don’t make up your mind soon, you’ll end up with nobody.”
-
It’s been months since they had sex, since Zayn picked up a pencil. Things haven’t changed, but they have; Liam brushes their hands together, runs kisses along his neck, whispers provocative things, but isn’t hasn’t tried anything more than that. He comes over exhausted, eyes drooping heavily. He whispers things like, “Long day at school,” and “I can’t make us happy,” and Zayn feels a pang of guilt in his chest. He wants to wrap Liam tightly in his arms, swallow him in his embrace, wash his worry away. But he’s only human. Can only do so much.
“I can go.” And it’s only a whisper but Liam’s heard it, because his head snaps up, the only urgent gesture he’s made since he arrived. He eyes Zayn warily, as if to see if he’s serious, but Zayn isn’t laughing.
“This is your house,” he says, and it’s ironic and irrelevant but makes every bit of sense Zayn wishes it didn’t.
Zayn plays with his hands (things haven’t changed) and stares at the tiled floor. Picks at his fingernails. “I can, if that’s what – who – you prefer. I want you to be happy.”
Liam doesn’t hesitate in his words. “I’ve always been happier with you.”
Heat pools in Zayn’s chest, his heart. Liam’s always been kind with his words, affectionate in his gestures, but not like this. Not so naked and so honest. Not so upfront and so forward. He walks over to Zayn, never breaking eye contact.
“It scares me, the things I feel for you.” He rests his hand on the back of his neck like its knotted and Zayn smoothes out the muscle there, very slowly, as to beat away every bit of pain from Liam’s body. It hurts Zayn to think Liam is hurting over him, is aching. And it scares him to think Liam feels for him so deeply in a way no one else ever has. “I brought this on myself, this mess. And I’m sorry I dragged you into it, too.”
“Shh.” Zayn rubs Liam’s jaw with his thumb, revels in the smoothness of his skin.
“I know you’re tired of this,” Liam says, rubbing his eyes like he hasn’t slept for months; and in a way, he hasn’t. Taking up the space in Liam’s bed that Danielle does not occupy has been more than just that – it’s become a job, the two of them hiding. “I don’t want you to feel like a dirty little secret anymore. It’s not fair, not to anyone.”
Zayn kisses him then, partly to shut him up but mostly to taste his tongue. “It’s not so bad. I get to have you at the end of the day, don’t I?”
Liam backs away gently, apologies in his eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I shouldn’t have done this. I have to go.” And there’s nothing that Zayn can say to make him stay, make him change his mind. Thinks himself stupid for actually believing Liam would pick him in the end.
As Liam walks out the door, Zayn feels his heart gush pints of blood through his veins at an uneven pace, and helplessly crumbles to the floor in response.
-
It’s a long while before he feels his eyelids close. His sleep is dreamless – the worst kind – because at least with nightmares, there was a story told. He wraps himself in blankets, the air cold and biting. He can’t remember the last time he felt so alone, enveloped in darkness and left to the murmur of his own thoughts. Can’t remember the last time he wasn’t wrapped up in a pair of strong arms.
But it’s too soon to think this way, even in his dreams, because he’s being pulled out of it, out of the dark, and into an embrace that’s much warmer than he remembers.
Liam nuzzles into Zayn’s neck; he’s cold, and his touch gives Zayn goosebumps. It couldn’t feel better.
“I’m sorry I woke you,” he whispers calmly.
Zayn can hear a small smirk on his lips. He turns to look at him, surprised and confused. “Liam? What are you doing here?”
“I was hoping to sleep with you,” Liam replies, and buries his legs beneath the sheets and right next to Zayn’s side. “Here, lift your head a bit.” He does, and Liam places his arm on what used to be Zayn’s pillow, replacing it completely. “There, lie down now.” Liam’s arm is more comfortable, anyway.
“I don’t understand,” he says meekly. “Why aren’t you with Danielle right now?”
Liam exhales tiredly. “Can’t imagine she’d want me now that we’re broken up and all.”
Zayn looks up at him but can’t see his eyes, so grabs his chin to get a better look. He searches for answers in Liam’s face; anything to help him understand.
“I told her I met someone new,” Liam says. “That I can’t stop thinking about them. That it’s not her fault but it just isn’t right, isn’t how it should be.” He brings himself down to Zayn’s level, his lips grazing Zayn’s cheek. “Told her I feel things for them that I’ve never felt for anyone else.”
Zayn’s breath hitches at the lust in Liam’s voice, the passion he not only conveys but Zayn feels so fervently. It runs through his veins just as abundantly as his own blood.
“And she’s angry, yeah,” Liam kisses Zayn’s nose, his ear, his eyelids, “but she’ll understand with time.”
Zayn shouldn’t cry, he shouldn’t. He just can’t help that the tears flow so easily. But he doesn’t care that they show, that they’re there for Liam to see. Liam doesn’t question it, already understands, and wills them away with the tips of his fingers and a brush of his lips.
Liam makes a pillow of Zayn’s chest. “I’ve always wanted to be with someone who was kind and intelligent and considerate,” he whispers against Zayn’s skin. “Now that I have him, I’m not so sure I deserve him.”
Zayn threads through Liam’s hair lovingly, wonders if Liam’s words will always taste so sweet. Thinks they might. “I wish I could draw this moment.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but there it is.
Liam brings himself to Zayn’s lips again, hunger sweating through his pores. “Draw it with your tongue,” he says, bites down on Zayn’s lower lip. “Draw it on my body.”
No feeling of pencil to paper, of ink or graphite or black lead to a canvas, could ever compare to Zayn’s tongue against Liam’s skin.
-
Zayn is seventeen, and everything is falling into place.