Chapter Text
Zayn
There's a part of him that realizes he's probably sort of twisted. That somewhere in his upbringing, he was misguided. That there is something wrong about enjoying the way his bow feels in his hands, the light strength of it. That watching an arrow lodge itself in the calf muscle of another person — if you can even call it a person— without wincing, maybe even enjoying it, is bad. And yet…
He doesn't really listen to that part of him very often.
Turning, he can faintly see his father a few feet to his left, a pistol poised in his hand, loaded, cocked, safety off. He gestures with two fingers, pointing them to the right. Nodding, Zayn moves forward in the direction he was told, stealthily moving through the woods in a way that only a skilled professional can manage, his boot covered feet barely making a sound.
It isn't until he hears his dad crack a stick under his feet that he realizes the mistake they've made. They've been moving steadily in one direction, not bothering to check their backs because why would they? But they should have. They should have, and they didn't, and he hears a muffled sound as his father goes down behind him.
He whirls, heart hammering in his chest, and lifts his bow. The thing is on his dad, paws on his chest, and the sounds. The sounds have his blood running cold. His grip on the bow is now sweaty and slipping, and the thing is leaning in, ready to take the kill, and he's frozen. His dad is shouting, the thing is growling, and Zayn can't see it's eyes from this angle, but he guesses they're probably a horrifying blood red.
And then that red is scattering the front of his shirt, his face, warm and wet. The sound of the gun going off registers a second later, and then his dad is pushing the dead thing off him. The body moves with difficulty, but he gets it off and then stands up.
"What the hell was that?" his dad demands.
"I—," the words stick in his throat. He can't breathe, can't lift a hand to rub away the lifeblood of the animal off his face.
His father shakes his head in disappointment, but his expression softens a bit. "I know," he says. "That's the whole point of this. We're training. I didn't take the kill shot my first time, either, but it gets easier. Once you stop thinking about them as people and start taking them for the beasts they are, it gets easier."
Zayn nods because there's nothing else to do. "I'm sorry."
A hand claps his shoulder, a bit too hard, but he welcomes the pain as his punishment; he just nearly got his father killed because he'd hesitated. There is no time for hesitation in this life. Hesitation means death.
"You'll get 'em next time," his dad assures him. "I know you can, son. You're a natural born hunter. You just need to get your sea legs, that's all."
"Okay," he says.
"Okay," his dad repeats. "Now let's get the body in the car so we can get you home and washed up."
He spends the whole drive home staring out the window. His face feels tight, the blood drying on his skin. He can only imagine the way he looks right now, but every time he looks in the mirror all he sees is wide eyes. And terror, marring his features more than the gruesome blood. Not of the thing that nearly killed his dad, either. He's been taught this his whole life; he stopped being scared of them around the same time he stopped sleeping with a nightlight. No, he's afraid of himself, of the fact that he could seriously get someone he cares about hurt if he doesn't learn to school the shaking in his hands, the thundering in his heart, his inability to do what needs to be done.
When he gets home, his mum is waiting in the doorway. He goes to get out of the car to take the hug that her arms are extended to give, but his father doesn't move.
"I have something to talk to you about," he says, and the locks on Zayn's door suddenly click shut.
"What?" he asks warily. Are they going to stop his training? Have they decided that he's just not cut out for this? Is he really that much of a disappointment?
"We're moving," is what his father says instead.
Zayn blinks in surprise. "What?" he asks again.
"We're moving." His father winces as he says the words, looking apologetic. "I know we just got here, but — we'll have the problem here dealt with by the end of the week, and I got a call from a friend of mine a few hours away. They've been having problems. Too many attacks to be coincidental. No one's been turned, that we know of, but there's been deaths."
He swallows, nods, reaches for the door handle. The door stays locked.
"Are you okay with this?" his father asks. "I know you guys hate moving so often. I know it's not easy, and I just wanted to make sure that you're on board with this."
He forces himself not to snort at that because, really. It's not like he'd have a choice even if he said he didn't want to. "Yeah, I'm fine with it. Sick of this school, anyways."
This time the clap on his shoulder is a kinder one, the touch lingering just a moment, fingers squeezing gently. "Okay," his dad says. "Just checking."
They get out of the car then, and he makes his way to his mum, who wraps him in her arms before pressing a kiss to his forehead, the only spot on his whole face that isn't coated in someone — something— else's blood.
"Go take a shower," she orders when she pulls back.
He nods mutely and climbs the stairs, but he pauses at the top to listen.
"How'd he do?" she asks. "You know I don't think he's ready to be taken out as your second. Not on a real job. It's too dangerous. You need backup. The two of you going out alone—"
"He did fine," his father says with conviction. "We had a little trouble with taking the kill shot, but other than that, he was born for this. Never seen a better tracker in my life, and I've worked with the best, darling. He just needs time."
"Okay," she says slowly. "But you take care of both of my boys, okay? I don't want either of you getting hurt."
He stops listening after that. He really does need a shower, and eavesdropping on their conversation isn't going to make him feel any better about tonight. At least the warm water sooths his tensed muscles, and it's easier to breathe when he's no longer disgustingly dirty.
When he's done, wrapped in nothing but a towel, hair damp and dripping onto his shoulders, he heads out into his room and starts putting things back in the boxes that he hadn't bothered to fully unpack since they moved here three months ago.
Liam
He's walking home from work at the bowling alley. He hates taking the late shift on a school night, but if he ever wants to be able to afford a car, he's got to suck it up. He just hopes that he has enough saved up soon, because the rain that's falling from the blackened, moonlit sky soaks through his clothes instantly, and he's still got another half an hour walk until he's home.
At the last second he turns, heading for the woods. In a town this small, they're everywhere. It's the shortest way to get home, and while he doesn't exactly enjoy walking through the woods at night, he doesn't really have much to worry about. He's done it his whole life, as have most of the kids his age who live here, so he doesn't even think twice about it. Plus, the thick foliage protects him from most of the rain.
He's almost home, able to see the light shining from his bedroom window — he hadn't meant to leave that on, and his mum is always yelling at him for it— when he hears something behind him. At first he thinks it's just an animal. A squirrel or maybe a bird rustling the leaves.
Except a twig snaps, and then he hears footsteps. Heavy footsteps, belonging to either a big animal or a person.
"Who's there?" he shouts, because he's every stupid teenager from every stupid horror movie. He doesn't expect an answer, and he doesn't get one, but he does get another twig snapping, this time to his left.
He turns sharply, eyes wide, and tries to make out shapes in the dark. There's enough light coming from the houses in the distance and the moon shining high above him, but he can't see anything. Trees, bushes, fallen branches, but nothing alive.
Still, there's something uneasy churning his stomach, and he can't help it; he runs. He doesn't make it very far before something is on him. Something heavy, knocking him easily to the ground, stealing the breath from his lungs. Something sharp digs into his back and he tries to roll over, tries to get it off him.
Somehow he succeeds, flipping onto his back. Whatever's on him doesn't give up, though, and now it's clawing at his chest, breathing heavily above him. All he can hear is low growls, the kind that make him shiver. They don't sound human, exactly, but they don't sound like any animal he can identify, either. They sound wrong, twisted, evil.
He meets a pair of ruby red eyes set deep into a mangled face. Just like the sounds it made, this thing, it's face is wrong. The eyes are far too human, but the nose, the mouth, the teeth— they're animalistic. And then the thing leans in, mouth open, acrid breath dampening his skin, teeth dripping with saliva, and pain erupts in his shoulder as—
Liam sits up so fast his head spins. There's a shout caught in his throat, but it never comes out. He reaches blindly to slap a hand at his alarm clock, still beeping loudly. His blankets are twisted around him, dampened with sweat, and his chest is heaving. He wonders how many times he's going to have that dream. Wonders if he'll ever get a good night's sleep again, or if he's doomed to wake up in a panic every morning, scrambling to take a breath, trying to get the image of red eyes and sharp teeth out of his mind.
Absently, he pokes at his shoulder. He hasn't slept with a shirt on in months. It's just too damn hot, especially when he wakes up like he did today. The skin there is smooth, blemish free, darkened by the tan he got from spending most of his summer outside. Six weeks ago he'd been admitted to the hospital with an animal bite there, one that had destroyed the flesh, left it ripped and gruesome looking. The nurse that had tended to the wound had told him that the scarring would be sever, that there was nothing they could do to help that. There would always be a memory of that night, etched into his skin.
And yet, they were wrong. Two days later he'd woken up, went to change the bandages and— nothing. It's a habit, though, checking that spot. Waiting for the wound to magically appear. To find out that the last couple weeks of his life had been a joke, but they hadn't. The skin there is as unblemished as it had been before the attack, as if it never even happened. And maybe he could pretend that it hadn't, if he tried really hard, but it didn't change the reality of things.
Downstairs, he can hear his mum moving around in the kitchen. He can smell the breakfast she'd made herself, too. Nothing but a cup of coffee and a bit of yogurt with fruit. She's on the phone, talking to Mariah from down the street. If he strains himself, he can hear her voice, too, tiny and distant but still discernable. That still freaks him out, but he's learned to shut it off, tune it out.
He gets out of bed, stretching as he goes. His muscles pop, his back arches, and he feels slightly better afterwards. He's still exhausted, still desperate for another hour or two of sleep, but he can't take another day off school. He's still behind from the week his mum had forced him to take off after the accident, and he can't afford to let his work pile up any higher.
The shower he takes does little to settle this restless feeling inside him. It's like there's something under his skin, something electric, alive, itching and irritating him, never strong enough to take all his attention, but always just there, in the background. He looks down at his arm, almost expecting to actually see something there, moving around, but there's nothing.
With a sigh, he heads for his dresser, pulling on his clothes. It's raining outside, not heavily but enough that he can't wear just a t-shirt, so he tugs a pullover on, too, and then moves out of his room. He stops at the top of the stairs, listens, knows his mum isn't anywhere near them so, with one quick, private smile, he jumps.
He lands on the bottom floor easily, gracefully, right on the tips of his toes. He eases back onto his heels and straightens his shirt. Sometimes, he can't help it. Can't stop testing himself. It's like pinching your arm to assure yourself that something's real. This? This is real. This is his reality.
"Liam!" his mum calls, far louder than she needs to. In fact, she could have whispered it and he'd probably of heard her, if he was paying enough attention.
He makes his way into the kitchen, snatching an apple out of the basket on the table. "Yeah?"
His mum whirls, hand clutched to her heart. "You scared me," she breathes. "Christ, Liam, make a sound or something."
"Sorry," he says simply, before biting into the crisp skin of the apple. When she leaves, he'll raid the fridge, eat something actually substantial. For now this is enough. "Did you want something?"
"Just wanted to tell you that I'll be working a double shift tonight," she says, shaking her head at him. "I won't be home until eleven."
"Okay," he says with a shrug. "Do you need me to drop you off dinner?"
"You're so sweet," she tells him, leaning forward to ruffle his hair. Her hand falls short, remembering that he really doesn't have it anymore, not after he cut it off this summer, and then adds, "But no, I'm fine. I'll just get something at the cafeteria."
She's overworked, his mum. He tells her she needs a break all the time, but she insists that they just can't afford it. Maybe if his father helped out, the way he was supposed to, sent child support like he was supposed to, she could take a day off every once in a while. That's why he's got a job of his own, so he doesn't have to ask her for anything, ever. He doesn't want to have to see the sad, apologetic look on her face when she tells him she just can't afford that new game he wants, or that new sweater, or the tickets to that movie he's been dying to see.
"Love you," she says as he continues to eat his apple. She leans up to press a kiss to his cheek — he's been taller than her since he was fourteen— and then grabs her purse off the back of the nearest chair before heading out.
He hears her car pull out of the lot, hears it drive down the street, and then he pulls open the fridge and makes two sandwiches for himself. He eats the first in three bites but stretches out the second one. His appetite is crazy at this time of the month, he's learned. Or it was last month, and it is this month, so he figures it's juts another side affect of this thing.
Lycanthropy, as Harry calls it. Liam doesn't call it anything. Doesn't really think about it unless he absolutely has to. It's just sort of surreal to him, even now, almost two months later. It's something out of a book, or one of those shitty movies that he only watches when they're on TV and there's nothing better to do. And even if it was something that happened to people, it's not something that happens to people like Liam. Average people. Ones with normal lives.
All he has to do is hold out his hand, focus hard enough, remember the training that he and Harry have been doing for the last couple weeks, and suddenly his fingernails aren't nails at all, they're claws. Sharp, darker than normal, pointed at the tip. The things he could rip through with them is insane, and that thought terrifies him all the time because what if? What if he slips up, hurts someone? But that won't happen, Harry assures him.
Honestly, if you had told him at the beginning of the school year that he'd be bitten by a fucking werewolf, and that Harry Styles — the dorky, curly haired, too tall kid in his English class— is sort of an expert on this type of thing, has been schooled in the workings of the supernatural by his parents since he was old enough to read, he would have laughed. Or patted you sympathetically on the shoulder and then wished you a good time at the psych ward. Liam is nothing if not well adjusted, though. This whole thing is kind of reminiscent of his parents divorce. At first it had seemed like a joke, and then a dream, and then he'd flipped out a bit before finally accepting that this is just how his life is. Not a damn thing he can do about it, either, so he's got to just roll with the punches.
A familiar engine rumbles down the street and he grins to himself as he swallows the last of his sandwich, chasing it with a sip of orange juice that tastes sort of rancid because of the lingering toothpaste still in his mouth from when he'd brushed his teeth.
He grabs his bag from the front closet and pulls open the door just as Harry stops in front of his house, his clunking, shitty truck inching forward a few feet even though he's probably got his foot pressed down hard on the breaks. That thing is a hazard, he thinks. One of these days it's just going to stop working; he prays that doesn't happen when he's in it, or when they're driving fast — not that it goes above seventy on any given day.
When he gets in the truck, Harry shakes his head. "It still freaks me out that you always know when I'm coming, even before I pull up out front."
Liam grins at him. "I could hear this thing from across town, if I wanted to."
"That's an exaggeration," Harry says. "Probably."
"Probably," Liam says. "But who knows. This thing really is loud as hell."
Harry sticks his tongue out and pulls away from the house. "At least I have a car."
"If you can call it that."
That earns him a punch on the shoulder that barely even registers, though it probably would have stung a bit a few weeks ago. As it is, Harry looks more pained by the action than he does.
The school lot is filled, as it always is. Harry's car isn't even the worst in the lot, somehow. He parks behind a newer looking vehicle, one he doesn't recognize at all. It's black, small, and the coat of paint looks new. The licence plate isn't a local one.
"Who d'you think that belong to?" Harry asks, frowning down at it.
Liam shrugs. "No idea. New kid, maybe."
"Maybe," Harry agrees. "Cool. I could use someone new to hang out with. You're sort of boring."
"Don't make me rip off your fender," he threatens. "Bet I could, too."
"Without even breaking a sweat," Harry agrees. "But I'll put a wolfsbane bullet between your eyes if you do."
Now Liam's the one who sticks out his tongue as he pulls his bag out of the car and drops to the ground. Harry falls with less grace, wobbling a bit on his too-long limbs. Why he thought getting a truck was a good idea, Liam doesn't know. Harry nearly trips on his own shadow; getting out of his vehicle every day is a dangerous act.
They make their way into school, and Liam winces at the onslaught of sounds and scents. It's not something that bothers him on a normal day, but Harry says that, this close to the full moon, it's harder for him to shut off the extra stuff. To tune it all out. It makes his head pound and his stomach twist, and he wonders why every single female in this place feels the need to bathe in perfume, and he thinks that Axe body spray should probably just be banned from the world.
Harry pats his arm sympathetically, whispers "Just breathe through your mouth," to him, and then they head in opposite directions, Liam's locker closer to the boy's locker room, Harry's closer to the office. They only have one class together, too, which sucks.
He and Harry haven't been friends for all that long, but it feels like they have. The first day he'd been back to school after the accident, Harry had plunked himself down in the seat next to Liam's in English and stuck out his hand with a pleasant, "Hi, I'm Harry Styles."
It had taken a bit for Liam to respond to that because, yeah, they've went to school together since they were six. He knows who Harry is. But he'd taken Harry's hand, returned his greeting with a, "I'm Liam," and since then they've been attached at the hip, almost. On top of being a truly brilliant friend, Harry is possibly the only reason why Liam hadn't gone insane in the weeks after he was bit.
Before Harry, Liam didn't really have friends. He had acquaintances, people he sat with at lunch, or in specific classes, but he didn't have someone that he hung out with after school, that he texted when he was bored in a lesson, that he could call in the middle of the night when he needed to talk about something. He didn't mind that much, either. He was okay with being alone most of the time, Liam. He didn't fit well with other people, for the most part. He liked different things, got easily tongue tied, couldn't find the fun in getting shitfaced at another stupid party thrown by the same people. Plus, unlike some people, Liam actually has to work to get good grades, and sometimes he's just too busy, between homework and actual work to hang out. Harry understands that. He's content to spread out on Liam's bed and play Xbox while he works, occasionally offering help even though he's not really equipped to do so because Harry's brain works in a really weird way, and whenever he tries to explain something, Liam ends up far more confused than he was when they'd started.
Someone slams the locker next to his own and he turns, eyes narrowed, but the girl doesn't bat an eyelash as she walks away, unaware of the fact that she might as well of punched Liam in the back of the head, because the sound of metal on metal has him cringing in pain.
He can't wait until the full moon passes. He can't handle this much longer. Not without getting out of control. Not without going crazy.
Somehow he makes it to class, weaving through other students, but the second he sinks into his normal seat at the back, the bell goes off. Liam clutches at his head, covering his ears, and he makes a pained sound that has everyone already in the room turning to look at him. His teacher, Mrs. Sworin, gives him a concerned look but he smiles weakly at her and mouths 'headache' until she nods and turns back to the whiteboard, quickly writing out things in a blue marker that she smudges because she's left handed. By the end of the day her palm will be stained blue, as it always is.
He makes it through his first class, sends Harry a text during his second, and at lunch he climbs into Harry's car and they get takeaway. They eat in the cab while parked in the lot, far enough from the school that he doesn't have to deal with the rest of the students and the noises, but close enough that they can get inside just after the bell rings.
"You good?" Harry asks, shovelling food in his mouth as he does. His tongue hangs out as he drops a few chips onto it, and then he chews with his mouth open because Harry is truly a disgusting eater, something it only took Liam a total of two hours to learn.
"I'm fine," Liam says honestly. "Right now, at least."
Harry nods. He pats Liam's thigh before stealing a few of his chips, too. "You'll be okay," he says. "Two more days, and then you just have to deal with that night. We'll get through this."
He's far more confident than Liam, but that's probably because Harry doesn't feel like his bones are trying to rip through his skin. "Does it ever get easier?" he asks. "Is it always going to be like this?"
"Yes to both," Harry says. "It'll get easier, but it's always going to be like this. Eventually you'll learn to deal with it, to control it better."
"Until then?"
"We make it up as we go along," Harry says regretfully. He bumps his shoulder against Liam's before repeating, "You'll be fine. We'll get through this."
He knows they will, has no doubt about that. But can they get through it without incident? That's what worries him. He's heard things, from Harry and from what research he'd done in the internet. He's dangerous, is the thing, which is something Liam Payne would have never referred to himself as before. He is, though. Capable of seriously hurting people without even meaning to. And what if he does mean to? What if he turns and isn't able to stop himself?
He's just finishing his burger when the bell rings. Even out here he winces at it, but it's not so bad. Harry throws their garbage into the trunk and they make their way inside, just a little late, missing the normal rush through the halls. There's only a few stragglers now, others hurrying to class so they're not more late than they already are.
Their English teacher looks up at them, eyebrows raised. Liam flushes, embarrassed, but Harry flashes a bright, disarming grin that has her rolling her eyes and waving them on to their seats without punishment. Except his seat is taken. The one beside it is empty, but still. Liam always sits there, right in the corner, closest to the window.
He doesn't recognize the guy sitting there, either. He blinks up at Liam with heavily lidded eyes that are a colour he can't quite figure out. They look brown, but then he blinks and they look lighter, almost hazel, maybe like honey. Not that Liam's, like, staring. He's got a bored look on his face, too, and his long lashes threaten to brush his cheekbones as he lowers his gaze to his books, spread out in front of him. The smell of cigarettes that clings to the leather jacket hanging on his seat is faint enough that he can still smell some kind of body spray — or maybe it's just soap, even, something floral and soft— underneath it.
Harry stretches out in the seat two down from him, and Liam sighs in resignation before taking the only seat left. He pulls his books out of his bag, pen poised in his fingers. One look around says that their teacher has told them to start reading, but he has no idea what page. He looks over at Harry and whispers, "What page?"
Harry lifts his hands, just as lost as he is. Beside him, he hears a low, "219."
Liam turns and frowns at the sitting to his right, but he's got his eyes on his page. It's almost as if he hadn't spoken, but when Liam turns to page 219, the same pictures and writing are on the page as the ones this new kid is reading.
"Thanks," Liam says.
Thin shoulders lift and fall, but other than that he might as well not have spoken because that's all the reply he gets. He pulls his eyes away, chewing his bottom lip. It's just— okay, so this guy is sort of gorgeous. Not that there aren't other attractive guys at this school, because there is. Totally suitable, attractive men that he could stare at, but Liam's never really been interested in them. He's watched all those guys — and girls, occasionally, because Liam's not really specific in what he likes— grow up, from scrawny kids with scabbed knees into awkward preteens with cracked voices and acne. And this guy's different. It's in the way he holds himself, hunched in, like he's trying not to be seen, but somehow with an air of arrogance anyways, like he's aware of the fact that he's attractive. And he's got stubble along his jaw, something that Liam's fairly sure half the kids in their grade aren't even capable of having, and his skin is a smooth, rich colour that Liam sort of wants to dig his teeth into and—,
He clenches his fists, blinking down at the claws that dig into his desk. He takes a quick look around, checking to see if anyone else noticed. No one but Harry, apparently, who gives him a confused look and mouths, "What's wrong?" at him.
Liam shakes his head, not exactly sure. Except that restless feeling is suddenly impossibly worse, and his heart seems to be thudding in his chest. And all he can hear is the guy behind him, breath whispering out of his mouth as his lips form the words he's reading on the page, but he doesn't say them aloud. And whatever soap he's wearing now seems to clog Liam's senses, overwhelming and delicious. He honestly has no fucking idea what's going on with him, but it's fogging his brain and making his vision go sharp and tunnel like, unable to focus on anything.
The guy beside him makes a frustrated sound, scratches a pen against his paper until the corner tears. He turns to Liam, lips curled in distaste. "Do you have an extra pen?"
It takes far longer for those words to register than it should, and even longer for his brain to catch up with him and work them out. He shakes his head, no, but then he hands over his own anyways before shutting his books, stuffing them in his bag and standing up. His teacher calls after him as he leaves, but he can't keep sitting there.
He gets at text from Harry seconds later, one that consists of nothing but about fifteen question marks. He doesn't reply as he pushes open the school doors, the cold air cooling his skin, which suddenly feels fever hot. One minute he blinks, and the world is awash with bright colours, sun shining through the clouds that have opened to allow the blue sky to peak through, bright green leaves and grass, shiny cars in yellows and oranges and blues and purples. And then the next everything's got a red tinge to it, cast in blood coloured shadows.
Pulling his bag higher up on his shoulder, Liam runs. It takes him seconds to cross the parking lot, even less time to break into the line of trees. He keeps going, waiting for his muscles to ache, waiting for his breath to catch and his chest to burn, but that never comes. He just keeps going, moving far quicker than he'd be able to before, not having to stop and take heaving breaths. He gets home in five minutes flat, breaking his last record by about fifteen minutes.
No one's home, at least, so he'll have time to delete the message from the school that's going to come in any minute now, talking about Liam walking out on his class and skipping his last one. It's not that he doesn't want to get in trouble, he just doesn't want his mother to worry about him. There's nothing she can do to help, so why put more stress on her? Liam can deal with this. He dealt with it last month, when things had been scary and new, and he'll deal with it this month.
He falls into his bed after grabbing a snack from the fridge, and he spends a long time staring up at his ceiling, breathing heavily. Eventually he calms down, gets a hold on himself again, and he finally texts Harry back an apology, but not an explanation. He doesn't really have one.
Zayn
"How was school?" his mum asks when he walks through the door.
Zayn frowns at her before scoffing. "It was school, mum. What do you think?"
She's in the kitchen, stirring things around in a pot. He smells the spices, and seared meat, figures she's making stew. "Did you make any friends?" she wonders, a hopeful tilt to her voice.
"Oh, loads," Zayn says flippantly. He grabs a coke out of the fridge. "Everyone wants to be friends with the weird new kid."
She makes a face at him for that. She knows him well enough to tell when he's being sarcastic, even if he's doing his best not to sound like he is. "Give it time," she tells him. "Who knows, this could be the place you fit in."
He highly, highly doubts this. Something he learned around the fourth school, when he was twelve and skinny and his Superman t-shirt was something that got him laughed at instead of making him friends, like he thought it would, was that he is not the type of person who thrives in social settings. Sure, people eye him with interest the first day, as people always do with a new kid, but Zayn's just too far left of different, just a tad too weird, too out of place, and he's shit at making friends so he stopped trying. He stopped trying three years ago and, at seventeen, he can honestly say that he's never had a best friend. Never had someone to sit with every day at lunch, or call after school. And he's fine with that, he is.
"Well, the girls had a better time than you did," his mum says, like that's something that'll make him feel better about his own situation. "Safaa's already been invited to a birthday party, and Waliyha's at a friend's house right now."
"Good for them," Zayn grumbles. "I'm going to my room. Call me if you need me."
"Oh, your father will!" she yells after him. "He's meeting up with Clark in—,"
Zayn's nose wrinkles at that. In this line of work, you get some people who are really good at the job. And then you get people like Clark, who take it too far. Who cross the line of killing for necessity into killing because they like it. Who don't take mercy on the animals that they've sworn to rid the world of. Who think they're incapable of feeling pain, and enjoy torturing them. Zayn hates the guy, he really does, and he's the only reason they're even here right now. Clark's family has lived in this town for years, and they're known enough that even the werewolves are aware of the fact that they've taken residence here, know not to fuck with this place. Recently someone has decided to test that reputation. The amount of attacks in the last couple months is higher than this place has seen in over three decades.
That's why his family has been called in.
So on top of being fucking insane, Clark is also the reason that Zayn won't be spending his last year of school before Uni in a familiar place. He's the reason they have to start over again. And while he wasn't exactly popular at his old school, he'd gotten to know a few people out of necessity, maybe he could have made friends. Now he's back at ground zero, stuck trying to work his way up again if he decides he even wants to make the effort. He probably won't.
Going up to his room is a bad idea, though. There's a bed, a dresser, and a side table; the rest of the room is crowded with boxes. Or, it should be crowded with boxes, but in reality there's only about four of them. He's downsized all of his things over time, knowing that it's easier to pack up and move if he has less stuff to haul to the next place.
He should probably unpack, he rationalizes, but he doesn't want to. He'll live out of those boxes for the next couple months, if they stay that long. And in a year's time he'll be going off to University. He does push the boxes against the wall, at least, and he hangs up his clothes in the closet, shoves a few into the dresser drawers, locates the book he'd been reading before they moved, the one with the faded Harry Potter bookmark in it — the one he's had since he was nine, just after the first movie came out. It's the oldest thing he owns, he's fairly sure, and you can tell just looking at it. Still, for some reason he takes better care of that damn bookmark than he does himself.
That takes all of about, oh, five minutes, and then he's got nothing else to again. It's not that late in the semester, but it was late enough that it was hard for him to get a transfer, and he's got a lot of work to catch up on. The last school he'd went to was more advanced, though, so it's not like he hasn't already learned this stuff. It's just a matter of showing his new teachers where he's at, really.
He doesn't want to do homework, though. He isn't in the right mindset for it. Instead he places his book on his bedside table, locates his half-empty pack of cigarettes from where it's stashed in the bottom drawer, pulls two out and then tugs his coat back on. He heads downstairs, bypassing the kitchen this time so he can get to the garage.
His bow is one of the only things not locked up in a case. He grabs his arrows, too, and then makes his way into their spacious backyard. They're on the outskirts of town, far enough from the more populated parts of the city that their house is on a really big chunk of land. There's no one around for a while, so he's safe to set up a target and practice his shooting without having to worry.
His dad's been trying to get him more used to the compound bow, but he doesn't like it. He likes his own best, the one he's been using since he was younger. Parts of it have been broken, been replaced, but he's attached to it. It's like an extension of his body, something he's as comfortable with as he is his arms, or legs.
He focuses on hitting the target as perfectly as he can, and he does because he's good at this. Has been for as long as he can remember. He doesn't get lost in it the way he used to, though. His dad taught him not to. Sure, concentration is key, but focusing on only one thing could get you killed. You've got to be tuned into your surroundings at all times.
That's why he hears the car pull up, hears muffled voices, one he recognizes and one he doesn't, and then his dads. The front door slams closed behind them, and he only gets two more shots off before the back door opens and they come outside.
"Zayn!" his father shouts. "Come here. I have someone for you to meet."
He lowers his bow and turns, eyebrows raised. His father waves him over and he sighs before complying. Clark is standing just behind him, looking the way he always does. Flyaway sandy hair, bright eyes that flit between both of his own too quickly for him to be considered sane in any way. Beside him is someone new, though. Someone younger. There's a shock of blonde hair — too blonde, probably dyed— and another pair of blue eyes, but these ones are darker, and there's something clear and normal about them, though the shape is one that is similar to Clark's. Related, definitely, but the crazy gene is obviously not hereditary in this case.
"This is Niall," his dad says. "Clark's nephew."
Zayn extends his hand, and it's instantly clasped in a warm one, thin, pale fingers contrasting with his own. The grip is just shy of too tight, but the look on the guy's face is nothing if not friendly. In fact, his cheeks are a bit red, his lips are spread wide, and there's a curious but kind look in his eyes.
"Hey," he says. "Nice to have someone my age around here in the know."
Now that this guy's said it, Zayn realizes that that's true for him, too. All his life he's sort of had this huge secret that he's not been allowed to share with anyone. That might be half the reason he's never made any friends. What's the point when you have to hide so much from them? Secrets do not make good friendships, he thinks.
"Same here," Zayn finds himself saying.
"You two go to school together," Clark adds.
"We have Chemistry and History together," Niall offers. "Would have introduced myself, but no one told me who you were, so." He shoves his hands in his pockets and offers Zayn an apologetic look.
"No big deal," Zayn tells him. He looks at his dad. "Can I go back to practising?"
"No, you can't," his father says firmly, but the smile on his face softens the words. "I was thinking Niall could show you around, fill you in on some stuff around here while Clark and I talk."
"It'll be fun," Niall assures him. "You'd think that there'd be shit all to do around a place this small, but trust me. If you're with the right people, you can have a good time."
"Um." Zayn licks his lips, debates arguing this, but in the end he nods. He doesn't really have a choice, he knows. "Okay."
A set of keys are pressed into his hand, and he looks up at his dad in surprise. "Bring her back in one piece, and don't be too late." He pulls out a few bills, too. "Get dinner while you're out, too, on me."
He might not be the normal teenager, but Zayn knows better than to turn down money. "Cool. Thanks."
They don't bother trekking through the house to get out front. Instead they walk around the building, and then Zayn gets into the driver's seat of his dad's SUV. It's new and he's only driven it a total of two times, and once he'd actually stolen it, which earned him a month of grounding, not that he minded, really. He might as well be grounded all the time, because it's not as if he does anything.
"Wish Clark would let me borrow the car sometime," Niall comments, sliding a hand over the dashboard. "This thing's nice."
Zayn nods. "He rarely lets me use it. I think he's just trying to look like the cool dad in front of you."
Niall chuckles at this. "Take advantage of that, then," he says. "I know I would."
He shrugs and pulls away from the house. The thing is, he's never really wanted for anything. Ever. They have money and his parents are reasonable. As long as he keeps up with his practises, his lessons, and gets good grades, they'd let him have whatever he wants. He has a car of his own, too, but it's not nearly as nice as the SUV, and the back is filled with random garbage because he hasn't cleaned it— ever, actually. Not once since he's gotten it.
Niall rattles off directions, and Zayn only takes one wrong turn. He thinks that's a win, given the fact that he's not explored this place yet. Tomorrow after school, when he's alone, he'll go for a ride, memorize every street, where all the main stores are, the works. Get a feel for the place. The fact that there's forest everywhere has him on edge a bit, though. Anything can hide behind trees.
When he gets to their destination, he turns the car off and frowns, leaning forward in his seat to get a better look out the front window. "Bowling," he says. "Seriously?"
Laughing, Niall nods and undoes his seatbelt. "Trust me," he says. "Best food in town, and after eight they shut off the lights and put on the disco ball and turn up the music. It's sort of lame, but they do a discount for students, so it's only like five quid to play all night. But this isn't the only place we're going. This is just the first stop."
It's not like he's ever claimed to know what normal kids do during their time off, but this isn't what he expected at all. Still, he lets Niall lead him inside. It's just a typical bowling alley, really. He doesn't have much experience with actual bowling, but he's went once or twice when he was younger.
There are quite a few kids their age inside, split into groups, each in a various stage of the game. Someone shouts in frustration when they get a gutter ball, while another cheers after getting a strike. Niall weaves through the other kids, not stopping until they're at the last lane, where there's already a group of about six people hanging out.
One of them has a ball in hand, and he's stepping up to the lane, a determined look on the face. Zayn distantly recognizes this guy from one of his classes. He's got perfectly styled hair, pale blue eyes, jeans that look almost painfully tight, hugging his thighs and ass in a way that he almost considers proactive, really. He's got good form, though, and he gracefully rolls his ball down the lane, where it hit's the middle pin and knocks down all the others, except one.
Several people clap, one person whistles, but the guy turns with a glare on his face. "Whatever," he says. "Almost good. I'll get them all next time."
"Hey," Niall says loudly, and the whole group turns to them.
"Horan," the one who'd just went says. "Where the hell've you been? And who's that?"
Zayn crosses his arms defensively over his chest as everyone turns their attention to him only. It makes him feel more than a little uncomfortable, and it's obvious that they're all sizing him up, checking him out. Apparently he's up to their standards or something, because grins spread over nearly all of their faces. The guy with the tight jeans comes up to him, hands extended.
"Louis Tomlinson," he says. "Also known as Niall Horan's best friend. And you are?"
"Zayn," he answers, dropping the guy's hand as soon as he deems it polite enough to do so.
"Zayn," Louis repeats slowly. "Nice to meet you, Zayn."
"Likewise," he says without conviction.
"Zayn, this is everyone," Niall says with a wide, sweeping gesture. "Everyone, this is Zayn."
"Hey, Zayn," is repeated about five times, and then the game resumes.
"Let's get some food," Niall tells him. "Put us in for next game, though," he adds to everyone else.
"Will do," Louis says brightly.
Zayn allows Niall to drag him away to the front counter that they'd bypassed on their way in. They get shoes — he does not think about how insanity this is, wearing shoes that a hundred other people already have— and forks over the cash for them. Then he's swept away to the other side of the building. There's a few small tables set up here, and a long counter where a guy with a red hat and an apron on is tapping his fingers impatiently against the counter as he flips through what almost looks like a comic book but— no, it couldn't be. He learned a long time ago that he's practically the only one his age who enjoys shit like that.
The guy looks up before they get close, and he's got a dead look on his face, the kind someone only gets when working at a job they hate. His eyes slide over Niall without care, but when they stop on Zayn they widen.
They're a nice, deep brown, and the thick eyebrows above them are just bushy enough to keep him from having a baby face. His lips part— they're pink and sort of soft looking— as he makes a sound of surprise that's almost too quite to hear.
"Can we get some onion rings?" Niall asks. "And a coke for me. No, wait, a slushie. The red kind. No, blue. Wait, do you guys still do milkshakes?"
"Um." The guy licks his lips in a really distracting way, and Zayn suddenly recognizes him. The guy from his English class, the one who lent him the pen before practically running from the room. "Yeah, we do. Vanilla, strawberry and chocolate."
Niall nods, debating this. "Can I get half chocolate, half strawberry?"
"Um," the guy says again. He looks over his shoulder behind him. There's a window cut into the wall that must lead to the kitchen. "Sure, I guess."
"Perfect," Niall says.
He rings up Niall's order before turning to Zayn. "What about you?"
He looks at the menu. It's all really simple: chips, onion rings, burgers, grilled cheese sandwiches, soft drinks, milkshakes, and slushies. All reasonably priced, too. He flits a look between the menu and the guy, whose nametag reads Liam, and says, "I'll take the same as him, but with a vanilla milkshake."
Liam goes to ring it up but he first asks, "Paying together or separately?"
"I've got both," Zayn says, pulling the money his dad gave him out of his pocket.
"I like you already," Niall tells him. "Anyone who buys me food is good in my books."
Liam nods, takes the money, hands him back the change and then calls in their orders. Niall leans against the counter as they wait while Zayn watches Liam work the ice cream machine. He'd noticed it in class, too, but it's more obvious now just how attractive this guy is. Zayn really doesn't have a type, he doesn't, but he likes the wide shoulders and thick fingers and the soft look in this guy's eyes. He's seen a lot of terrifying shit in his life, Zayn, and there's something comforting and so freaking normal looking about this guy that he wants to gravitate towards.
Eventually their food is ready, though, and Niall grabs the tray with one last grin for Liam that feels more polite than anything. Zayn casts him a look over his shoulder as he follows Niall back to the others, and Liam meets Zayn's eyes, bottom lip caught between his teeth. He drops his gaze as soon as he realizes Zayn caught him looking, and he wonders what the hell that even means.
"Who is that guy?" he asks when Niall drops their plate on the table that everyone else is sitting around.
This time it's a girl that's stepping up to the lane. She throws her ball and it rolls into the gutter. She giggles, covering her mouth with her hand, and then sinks down onto the lap of one of the other guy's. Zayn can't help but think that his sister Doniya would have hated girls like that, if she ever met them. But she wouldn't ever get the chance to meet the giggling girl because— nope. Not thinking about that.
"Who?" Louis asks, reaching over to steal one of Niall's onion rings. Niall slaps him for it.
Zayn doesn't turn around, just in case Liam is watching and picks up on the fact that he's talking about him. "The one who works back there. Liam."
"Liam," Louis repeats, eyebrows scrunched together. He turns to Niall for help. "Do we know a Liam?"
"Liam Payne," Niall says. "The one—,"
"Oh." Louis slaps his own forehead. "Right. The one who hangs out with that loser — what's his name? Curly hair, stupidly tall, laughs like a hyena—,"
"Harry," Niall offers. "And you know his name. You live literally right next door to each other and your parent's have been trying to push the two of you together since you were in diapers."
"Right," Louis says, ignoring the rest of Niall's words. "Anyways, what about Liam?"
Zayn shrugs, feeling uncomfortable. "Nothing, just— what's his deal?"
Louis slings an arm over his shoulder. "Trust me, mate," he says, and Zayn really, really doesn't, "you don't want to fuck with those kinds of people. Not unless you want to each lunch in the bathroom and sit at home alone on a Friday night." He squeezes Zayn's shoulder for emphasis. "You're far too attractive to slum it like that. Let Niall and I guide you."
He carefully moves out of Louis' grip and says, "I was just wondering."
He doesn't add that spending Friday alone at home sounds far more appealing than this, mostly because he can tell this guy means well, even if he comes off as a dick. And Niall's been nothing but nice, and he doesn't want to offend him or something.
"Zayn, you're up," someone tells him.
He sucks in a breath and nods, approaching the ball thing— he has no idea what it's called, but the balls come back out it after they've been thrown down the lane— warily. He gets his fingers into the holes of a shiny blue one and then steps up to the line, trying to remember how to do this. He can't, so he thinks fuck it and pulls his arm back before swinging it forward and releasing the ball. Except it gets stuck, and he stumbles forward, arms pin wheeling.
Everyone behind him laughs, and his cheeks burn. He chances a look at the far back of the room, where Liam's watching him, head resting on his hand. His expression doesn't change and he doesn't join in the laughter. After a moment he offers Zayn a weak smile that he doesn't attempt to return.
He turns back to the lane, this time not trying as hard, but he manages to knock over literally every pin. There's a round of congratulations, and Louis and Niall both look impressed. Honestly, he doesn't really care.
The next hour or so is like that. He eats, sips his too melted to be pleasant milkshake and occasionally he throws a ball down the lane. He wins the game, too, which is surprising, and Louis asks him for pointers while Niall says that it was just beginners luck.
Everyone packs up and leaves, their garbage still littering the table and the area around it. As he's ducking out the door, he spots Liam moving to clean up after them, and he feels bad. Not bad enough to do anything about it, though.
He and Niall get back in the SUV, and then they drive to the other side of town to a house that's even nicer than his own. It's Louis' house, apparently, and there's a beautiful, sleek Porsche out front that he'd seen earlier at the bowling alley.
"His parents spoil him," Niall explains. "They're never home so they buy him stuff to make up for it."
Zayn nods, impressed. His parents would never, in a million years, get him a car that nice, even if they could afford it. He'd be too scared of crashing it anyways. He's not exactly the greatest driver, and he always gets nervous. He'd be a wreck in something that expensive, and his parents would murder him if he destroyed it.
Niall doesn't knock before walking straight into Louis' house. They leave their shoes on as they make their way to the living room, where Louis' playing Xbox with another guy from the bowling alley whose name alludes Zayn until Niall says, "Josh, give me your controller."
He pulls his lighter out of his pocket and flicks it as he watches them shoot each other on screen. He's been dying for a cigarette since he got in the car the first time, and now he's getting restless. He's just about to duck outside for one when Louis slides an ashtray onto the table.
"My parents smoke inside all the time," he explains. "Be my guest. Do you want a drink?"
"Sure," Zayn says. "Thanks."
Louis winks at him, disappearing from the room. Niall shouts after him, and when he comes back he hands a can to both of them before popping open his own and sinking back onto the floor.
"So where are you from, Zayn?" Louis asks. "You haven't told us anything about yourself."
He takes a drag off his cigarette to stall, and then answers with a simple, "From all over. We move a lot."
"That must be so awesome," Louis breathes. "I've been stuck in this shit hole my whole life. I can't wait to get out."
Niall rolls his eyes at this. "You'll never leave," he says. "You've got it too good here."
Louis waves him off. "I will. I'm going to move to London, get some fabulous job that lets me meet celebrities and go to movie premiers and the best parties."
There's that determined look on his face again, and his eyes are out of focus, like he's picturing this. Zayn thinks he actually will, if he really wants to. Louis seems like the type of person that could do anything if he set his mind to it.
By the time they leave, the sky is black and the stars hang brightly above them. He drives Niall home — he's living with Clark, apparently, close to the school — and then starts in the direction of his own home. He wants to drag out the drive, wants to spend more time just driving aimlessly, because it's better than doing nothing. He passes by the bowling alley at one point, and he sees Liam push through the doors, coat pulled tightly around himself. He ducks his head and starts walking, but at the last second he lifts his eyes to Zayn.
There's no way he can see through the tinted windows, but he holds Zayn's gaze for a long time before letting out a sigh and continuing on his walk. If Zayn were a bolder person, or if he cared enough, he'd offer the poor guy a ride home. As it is, he keeps driving.
—
He doesn't see Liam again until lunch the next day, and he wonders why he even cares about that. There's just something fascinating about him, about the soft, distant look that's constantly on his face. He's walking with the guy Louis described yesterday. He's all thick hair, bright smiles and loud voice. Zayn waves them over.
"What are you doing, new kid?" Louis demands, but Niall just scoots over, making room for another seat beside theirs.
Liam stops dead in his tracks, tray of food in his hands, and his friend turns to him and asks him something that Zayn can't hear from this far away. He says something back, Curly turns, and then he gapes at the table before turning back to Liam.
"Come sit with us," Zayn calls.
Now everyone at their table is looking at him weirdly, but he doesn't care. Curly shrugs and veers towards their table, but Liam hesitates. Curly grabs his arm and tugs him forward, and Zayn attempt to give him an inviting smile, though he has no idea why he's even doing this because he doesn't do things like this. Doesn't go out of his way to talk to anyone, or make friends. In fact, this is the first time in— ever, really, that he hasn't sat alone at lunch, or even camped out in his car until the hour was up.
"Hey," Curly says, pulling a chair over from another table. He pushes it beside Zayn's and drops his tray onto the table. "What's up?"
The whole table is silent as Liam gets a chair and sits beside Curly. He looks a little lost, and he keeps his eyes on his food even though he's not eating it. In fact, his hands are clenched into fists on his thighs, and if he looks close enough, Zayn would almost guess that he's out of breath, or breathing heavily at least.
"You know," Curly comments, pointing a chip in no specific direction, "this table seems like a lot more fun from far away."
Niall snorts a laugh and says, "See, Louis? I always told you I liked Harry."
Louis' lips curl up and he says, "That you have, but then, I've always told you that you have bad taste."
"Ouch," Harry says, covering his chest. "You wound me, Tomlinson. Haven't we been best friends since we were in diapers?"
"Just because we're neighbours," Louis hisses, "does not mean that we were ever friends." He tilts his chin defiantly. "You've always been weird, and that's only gotten worse over the years."
"So," Niall says before Harry can snap something in reply, "Liam, do you, like, get to eat and play for free at the bowling alley because you work there?"
Liam looks up, as if he's surprised that anyone's talking to him. "No," he says. "I mean, I get a discount, but I don't get to play for free."
"I'll have to keep that in mind," Niall says. "Maybe get myself a job there. God only knows I could use it. Spend my entire allowance at that place."
"We're hiring," Liam says, smiling faintly. "I could put in a good word with my boss, if you like."
"No way," Louis says. "You can't work there, Niall, we hang out there. What kind of loser— no offence, obviously, Liam— works at a bowling alley?"
An arm bumps him from the left, and he looks over at Harry, eyebrows raised. "Haven't introduced myself," he explains. "I'm Harry. Harry Styles."
"Zayn," he says. "Malik."
Weirdly enough, Harry's open, bright expression falls at this, and his eyes narrow dangerously. "Really," he says, voice cold. He stands up, putting a hand on Liam's shoulder. "We've got to go. As lovely as it was spending time with you all, Louis' cologne is going to make me throw up, so —," he tugs at Liam's shirt. "Come on, Li."
Zayn watches them walk away, dumbstruck until Louis snaps, "That's exactly why we don't talk to them, Zayn. I told you. That curly-haired prick is weird."
He thinks that maybe Louis is right, but maybe there's something else there. Something that he's missing. Whatever it is, he'll figure it out.
Liam
"Where are we going?" Liam asks.
Harry's been driving for five minutes, since he pulled Liam from the table in the cafeteria and shoved him into the truck. He's yet to explain anything, but Liam rarely sees him like this. He's nervously chewing his nails, slamming his hands on the steering wheel when the car in front of them drives too slowly, muttering curses under his breath.
"You need to stay away from him," Harry says finally. "Zayn. Far away from him, Liam, do you understand me?"
Liam blinks rapidly in surprise. That was not at all what he expected Harry to say. "Excuse me?"
Harry barely seems to hear him. "I knew that we were having trouble in town," he says, but it's more like he's talking to himself than Liam. "I mean, on top of your attack, there was that homeless guy who was mauled by an animal a few weeks ago, and he died. And then that young couple a few months ago, and the police claimed it was a car accident, but there were claw marks at the crime scene and—,"
"Harry," Liam snaps. "What are you going on about?"
"The attacks, Liam, honestly," he says without taking his eyes off the road. "You're not the only one. You're just the only one that was bitten. And— and there's been more attacks here than there has been in— in years, not since that old werewolf family used to live here, the ones I told you about, the ones my family used to look after."
Liam nods. He doesn't know the full story, but Harry's family is like — they're sort of like supernatural doctors, kind of. A few years ago — okay, about a hundred—, this town used to be the home of several different werewolf families. That's why Harry's family moved here. Except not long after, a bunch of hunters came in, wiped them out and ran the others out of town. Since then, Harry's family has stayed because they were comfortable here.
"Okay," Liam says slowly. "What does that have to do with Zayn?" he asks. His eyebrows draw together as he thinks. "He's not a werewolf. I'd know."
"You would," Harry agrees. "Probably. We never got to that part of your training because there wasn't really any way too since it's not like we have access to a bunch of other 'wolves, Liam. But— no, he's not a werewolf. He's a hunter."
He waits for the punch line, waits for Harry to laugh. It doesn't happen. "No way," he says, shaking his head.
There's just no way. He'd be able to tell, wouldn't he? He'd have sensed it. Zayn didn't seem dangerous at all, and the way Harry described them, hunters were cruel and lethal and they couldn't grasp the concept that not all werewolves were killers. Like humans, Harry had explained, there are bad ones in the bunch, but werewolves are totally capable of living long, full lives without harming anyone, if they try hard enough.
"I should have known," Harry mutters. They're pulling up in front of the veterinary clinic, the one that Harry's parents own. "When he started hanging out with Niall, I should have guessed."
"Niall's a hunter, too?" Liam demands. That— that's not even possible. Niall is far too laid back, all laughter and easy grins, even to Liam, even when no one else pays attention to him. Niall is nice. Sure, he hangs out with assholes, but he always chats with Liam when he gets food and drinks at the alley, and he always scolds his friends when they treat him like shit just because he actually has to work for a living, unlike the rest of them whose parents have everything and give them whatever they want.
"No," Harry assures him. "He's not. His uncle is, though, and my parents figured this would happen. Figured he'd bring in back-up now that the attacks are getting more and more frequent. I just— didn't expect one to go to school with us. Do you realize how dangerous this is for you?"
He shakes his head, honestly having no idea. "I don't."
Harry sighs and parks the car. "It's just— we could hide it, you know? As long as you come to the clinic at the full moon, like you did last month, there's no way anyone would be able to tell. They'd never look for a werewolf at the school, they'd never expect one to be so young. But hunters— they train them young, Liam, and I'd bet my left hand that Zayn's following in his parent's footsteps, and that's dangerous for you. All it takes is one slip up, for him to look a little too closely at you, and— and—,"
"And what?" Liam whispers.
Harry shakes his head, hands clenched around the steering wheel. "It doesn't matter. It won't happen. Not if I have any say in it. Come on, let's go talk to my dad."
Liam nods and gets out of the car, but Harry's words have left him shaken. He's silent on the way into the clinic, and Harry's dad looks up at him from behind the counter. He's a pleasant man, with the same smile as Harry and the same green eyes, though the shape of Harry's is more like his mum's.
"What are you doing?" he demands of them. "Shouldn't you two be at school? Lunch just ended."
Harry looks around, making sure they're alone, and then he says, "Malik. What does that name mean to you?"
His father bristles instantly. "You know what it means to me," he says, voice dangerously low. "That family—,"
"Is living here," Harry tells him. "Their son goes to our school."
Two pairs of green eyes pierce through Liam, and his hands sweat. He rubs them on his jeans and says, "Can we not look at Liam like he's a dead man walking, please?"
"Sorry," Harry says instantly, at the same time as his dad says, "Sorry, son."
"It's fine," Liam says dismissively. "Just— could someone explain to me what's happening? How do you know they're hunters?"
Harry's dad shakes his head and moves out from behind the counter. He flips the open sign over and locks the door before moving back behind it, sinking down onto the stool there. "It's our job to know about hunting families," his father explains. "It's a precaution. Some are better known than others, and the Maliks—,"
"Murderers," Harry hisses. "That's what they are. I don't care what their reasoning is. They kill people. It's a fact."
"Is it a fact," his father agrees, but he doesn't look upset, the way Harry does. "You can't blame them for that. That's how they're raised. It's what they're taught."
"Whatever," Harry says, falling ungracefully into one of the visitor's chairs. "There's no excuse for killing another person, in my books."
"I agree," his father says. "You know I do, but that's not important. It doesn't matter what they did. What matters is why they're here, and making sure they don't come sniffing around Liam."
"Because they'd kill me," Liam guesses. "Right?"
"They would consider it, at least," Harry's dad admits. "They might not, given your age and the fact that you've never hurt anyone, but— not all hunters abide by that code. It'd be dangerous for them to know about you, at best. Deadly at the worst."
"So what do we do?" Harry asks. "He goes to school with us, dad!"
"I'm going to go and pay his father a visit," Harry's dad says. "They'll know who I am, and maybe I can convince them that they're not needed here. Or we might just have to be careful until they leave. Families like that, they don't stick around one place very long. They'll figure out who's causing the attacks around here, eliminate the threat and move on. Until them, Liam, I suggest you stay out of the spotlight. Don't draw attention to yourself. And I'd stay far, far away from that boy that goes to school with you."
He wonders why a protestation bubbles up inside him at that. He nods, pushing down the part of him that says he doesn't want to stay away from Zayn, since that part of him is being ridiculous. It's dangerous, apparently, and it's not like he knows Zayn at all, anyways. He'll stay away from him. There's no other option, and no reason for him to want there to be, either.
—
He goes to school the next day, though that's probably a bad idea. He's been restless for days, unable to focus properly or sit still, but today it's different. Today he's moody and waspish, and he doesn't wait for Harry to show up to drive him in the morning. Instead he stomps out into the rain, muttering about Harry always being late, and he starts the long walk to school. Of course, he could just run, but Harry had told him not to do that for a while. Apparently the whole fucking town is a danger zone, and he can't risk appearing anything other than completely normal, and running at fifty miles an hour through the forest is breaking that rule.
It's like he can feel the moon under his skin, but that doesn't even make sense, he's just so fucking aware of it, aware of what day it is, and it's making him go mad. He snaps at a driver when he crosses the street without looking and they honk at him. He walks past Mr. Milton, the man who owns the corner store, not offering the normal sunny smile. He calls a greeting to Liam that he ignores, gritting his teeth against the snapped words that bubble up inside him.
Another car honks at him, but this one idles slowly beside him as he walks. Every time he gets so far, it moves forward until it's beside him again. The window rolls down and Zayn grins at him. It's sort of heartbreaking, the way his face lights up like that. His eyes get crinkly at the sides, and for the first time ever, he doesn't look standoffish.
Liam keeps walking.
"Do you want a ride?" he calls.
"No," Liam grinds out. "I'm fine."
He wonders if Zayn would offer if he knew what Liam was. If he knew what was just under Liam's skin, threatening to rip through at any second. He's only felt this close to the edge once before, and that was the last full moon. Not that he can't change at any given time, but that's usually only when his emotions control him. When he gets angry, or sad, or Harry says lust can do it, too, and he wonders if maybe that's what happened that first time he met Zayn. Wonders why he wants to dig his nails into Zayn's skin, not enough to hurt, just enough to leave red marks on him, to let everyone know exactly who'd been touching him, who he belonged to—
Where did that even come from? He growls at himself in frustration, and then he realizes that Zayn's still there, drifting along beside him, ignoring the honks from other drivers who have to swerve past him. Yeah, that's smart, Liam. Growl at the fucking werewolf hunter.
"What do you want?" Liam finally snaps. He can't help himself. "I said I was fine. I don't want a ride."
Zayn looks more than a little taken aback, and a wounded look flashes in his eyes before they narrow. "Fine, whatever. Sorry for bothering you," Zayn spits before driving off, tires squealing against the pavement. Liam watches him go, hands balling into fists.
Harry finds him at his locker. There's an annoyingly concerned look on his face, and Liam can't even wait until he opens his mouth to say, "I'm fine, fuck. Stop looking at me like I'm five seconds away from ripping someone's head off."
"Oh, like the way you just ripped off mine for worrying about my best friend?" Harry asks. "You're right, why would I look at you like that? Absolutely uncalled for. My bad."
He slams his locker closed, books gripped tightly in his hands. "I don't need you to worry. I said I'm fine."
"This is normal," Harry says, falling into step beside him as he moves swiftly down the hall. Harry can't move past people as easily, and he ends up bumping into more than one. Liam laughs at him for it, cruel and cold, and it makes Harry's eyebrows draw closer together. "Okay, I know you're going to be a dick today, and I know it's not you, it's — your condition, but still. Could you at least make an effort not to be an asshole? This isn't you, Li. You're not like this."
"Because a few weeks of hanging out means that you know me so well," Liam says sarcastically. "Right?"
"Liam!" Harry calls after him when he moves faster down the hall.
"Leave me alone!" Liam shouts, not bothering to turn around.
When he steps into the cafeteria hours later, Harry's sitting alone at their usual table, pushing his food around on his plate, not really touching it. Zayn's glaring at him from where he sits between Niall and Louis. He would be popular instantly, wouldn't he? That's what happen with pretty people. They band together in groups and laugh at the unfortunately ugly. He's sort of glad, at this point, that he can't go near Zayn. He wouldn't want to even if he could.
When he falls into the seat across from Harry's, he looks up at Liam, smiling faintly. "Sorry for earlier," Liam grunts while shovelling food into his mouth. "Not your fault. Mine. I know."
Harry nods before raising his eyebrows in amusement. "Hungry?"
"Starving," Liam says through a mouthful of— he's not even sure, actually. Is that really considered meat? He doesn't think it is, but it's food, so he doesn't care.
"Here," Harry says, sliding his tray over, too, after snatching the apple off it. "Take mine."
Liam nods and keeps eating, only grunting and nodding in response to everything Harry says as he clears his tray first, and then Harry's about a minute later. When he's done, his stomach feels almost as empty as it had before lunch, none of the food enough to sate him. He downs his drink in two sips, and when he screws the lid back on, he accidentally puts his claws through the plastic, which has Harry's eyes widening. He tugs the bottle out of Liam's grasp and hides it in his bag before looking around, making sure no one else noticed.
Liam rolls his eyes and focuses on listening. Zayn's talking with Niall, sounding uninterested in everyone's chatter about a party they're all going to be at tonight. Must be nice, he thinks, not having to worry about anything. Being able to just hangout with people and go out on any given night without having to make a valiant effort not to, you know, mangle innocent civilians.
"He's not watching," Liam says to Harry. "He's talking with Niall. It's fine."
Harry lets out a breath of relief. "You have to be careful. Maybe you should take the rest of the day off."
"No way," Liam says. "I'll be fine. I've made it this far without incident, I'll make it the rest of the day."
"I know you will," Harry says, trying to placate him. "I know. Still, just to be sure."
Liam rolls his eyes again and stands up, piling his and Harry's tray together. "I'm going to get some fresh air. I can't sit here and deal with you treating me like I'm five years old. I'll see you in English."
"Liam—,"
"See you in English," he repeats, finality to his tone.
Harry sighs in resignation.
He feels so much better once he's outside. It's raining, but not heavily, and he pulls the hood of his sweater over his head before jogging towards the field. There's a track around it, and he's considered trying out for cross country on more than one occasion, but Liam's not one to do sports. It's not that he can't, in fact he thinks he'd be brilliant at it, he just doesn't like the attention that would be put on him if he started running track, and he doesn't do group activities, so the other sports teams aren't really an option for him.
It's as he's making his second round that he hears someone approaching him. The smell of rain washes everything else out, so he actually has to turn and look to see who it is, and he stops abruptly when he spots Zayn near the bleachers, cigarette dangling from his fingers. It's the first time he's seen Zayn with a cigarette, and he hadn't even realized that he smokes, though he should have, given the way the smell of it clings to him.
He rubs sweat — or rain water, it's hard to tell at this point— off his forehead before he starts running again, this time careful not to go to fast, though his body is begging him to just let go and really show Zayn what he can do. He wonders if Zayn would be surprised, impressed, or if he'd pull a gun out and shoot Liam with it. If it wouldn't make Harry mad at him, he'd do it just to see.
Zayn still looks pissed at him, but he calls out Liam's name softly when he runs by. He slows, turns, and makes his way back over to the bleachers just as Zayn stubs out his cigarette on them.
"You can't smoke on school property, you know," he says conversationally. "You could get suspended, or fined."
Zayn shrugs. "Are you going to tell on me, Liam?"
"No. Just letting you know."
"Thank you," he says sarcastically. He crosses his arms over his chest and leans back a bit, looking more than casual despite the intense look in his eyes. "Did I do something to you?" he asks. "Or maybe it was Harry? I don't know. You don't seem to like me very much, and I can't figure out what I did."
The guilt that washes over him at that isn't strong enough to make him apologize, but he does say, "You didn't do anything."
"Okay." Zayn drags the word out, stretching the 'a'. "So then why'd you snap on me this morning for offering you a ride?"
"Because I didn't want one," Liam answers. He scruffs his foot against the ground, giving it more attention than it deserves because staring at the cement is better than looking at Zayn. "But thanks for the offer, I guess."
"Are you okay?" Zayn asks, and he sounds genuinely concerned. "You look off today. Maybe you should see the nurse."
"I'm fine," Liam replies, wondering how many times he's going to have to say that before people start believing him. "I was running. I'm just worn out, that's all. Push myself a little too far sometimes, you know how it is."
"Not really," Zayn retorts. His lips quirk up. "I try not to exert myself unless it's absolutely necessary. My parents think I'm lazy. I'm just protesting unnecessary movement."
"You seem fit enough, though," Liam points out.
It's true. He's thin, sure, but he's seen Zayn's arms in a t-shirt, knows that they're corded with muscle. He bets the rest of him is, too. Maybe not bulky, but still. Strong, lithe, lean. He wonders how Zayn looks naked, wonders if his skin looks that smooth everywhere, wonders how the inside of his thighs feel.
He shakes himself mentally before he can get caught up in those thoughts. He can't risk his eyes changing colour, or his teeth elongating, or anything like that. Not in front of Zayn.
"Yeah, well." Zayn waves a hand. "My parents are sort of into that kind of stuff. Being in shape and shit. I don't really have any choice."
He pulls out another cigarette, lighting it up with a lighter that he pulls out of his dark wash jeans. He has to cup his hand over it to stop the rain from putting it out or soaking through the paper, and the wind keeps the scent of it from drifting towards Liam and causing his nose to wrinkle up.
"Are they like that about a lot of things?" he finds himself asking. "Forcing you into stuff you don't want to do."
Zayn's shoulders lift, fall, and he blows out a cloud of smoke. "Sort of," he admits. "I mean, we're pretty clichéd, you know? Father wants son to join the family business. I've had my future planned out for me since I was born. But— I like it, actually. I don't mind. It's not so bad, and I'm good at it."
"Really," Liam lets out. It sounds strangled and he pokes at his teeth with his hands. They're not sharp, thankfully, but he's close to losing it; he knows he is.
Zayn likes it. He likes hunting people. Maybe likes killing them. People like Liam. That makes him sick to his stomach, makes all of Zayn's pretty features seem too sharp, too dangerous. Suddenly he's not so attractive, in Liam's mind. Except he still is, no matter how much he wishes that weren't true. Now it's in a different way, though. In a way he doesn't like.
"I have to go," Liam mutters. "Nice talking to you, Zayn."
The wind carries away Zayn's reply, but Liam doesn't really mind.
—
He tells his mum he's staying at Harry's for the night. She doesn't question it, seems more than a little happy that Liam's finally making friends, and she adores Harry. Not that it's a lie, really. He's not staying at Harry's house, technically, but he's still staying with him. Just at the clinic, in the basement, in the small room that locks from the outside.
The room had terrified him at first. Had seemed barbaric, like a cage. And it is, actually. It's a cage, but it's one that Liam willingly steps into a little after eight, when that itching under his skin feels worse and he's snapping at literally everything Harry says, from "How're you feeling?" to, "I saw you talking to Zayn today," and even, "Do you want any salad?" at dinner. Liam is, in every sense of the word, dangerous tonight. Harry's dad said it would be a while before he learned to control himself at the full moon. Until he finds an anchor, something to hold on to, to keep him him, he's not safe to run free on days like this.
Liam really doesn't get what that means. An anchor? Like, for a boat? But Harry's dad says he'll know when it happens. When he can think of something, or someone, when he loses himself, and it brings him back. Until then, the small room with the brick wall and the two feet thick metal door is necessary, as are the chains that Harry's dad regretfully hooks up to his wrists and ankles.
"I can't do it," Harry tells him. "I can't lock you up like that."
That's just how Harry is. He'll help Liam all he can, but Harry is the type of person who would take in a baby bird with a broken leg and nurse it back to health, and then teach it how to do the Macarena. There's not a cruel bone in his body. He's not capable of doing anything that could hurt someone else, and while he's aware that this is necessary, that this is going to help, locking Liam up, he just can't force himself to do it.
"Moon should be setting in the sky any minute now," Harry's dad says, checking his watch. He snaps the last manacle onto Liam's wrist and gives him a soft smile. "You're okay? They're not too tight?"
Liam tugs on them with all his strength. The metal bites painfully into his skin, but as long as he's not pulling, he'll be fine. Plus, if he does pull at them, whatever injuries he get will be healed by the time he wakes up tomorrow anyways.
"I'm good," he says. "Thank you."
Harry hugs him and says, "I'll be just upstairs the whole time. If— if you end up not needing this, just call. I'll let you out."
His dad gives him a look that says he will not be letting Liam out, under any circumstances. Liam nods his agreement. "I'd rather you not, even if I seem okay. Just in case."
"Okay," Harry says with a sigh. "Still. I'll be here when you wake up, and we'll get you out of those things straight away."
"Just go," Liam says, exasperated. "Honestly."
Harry sticks his tongue out. "I don't like full moon Liam. He's a prick."
"Full moon Liam doesn't like you much, either," Liam admits. "He'd like to attack you, though, so maybe you should just go."
They do, a moment later. The door slides heavily into place, the sound of a lock being turn echoing through the room not long after. It's quiet after that. The brick walls do little to retain sound, and they're a plain, boring gray colour that does nothing to distract Liam of the energy thrumming in his veins.
He tugs at the shackles again, just testing them, maybe because the sharp pain is a sort of pleasant contrast to how dull everything else is, or feels. He hums to himself to pass the time, but eventually he gets annoyed when he can't remember the exact words to the song he's singing.
The walls are thick but they're not sound proof, and he can hear them moving around upstairs. He can hear things outside, too, somehow. His senses feel like they're on overdrive. A car drives past, music playing loudly. Another, this one with a family inside, if the arguing of children is any indication. He wonders how much time has passed, figures it's been about, oh, fifteen minutes, and then he groans to himself and leans his head back against the wall.
—
Blood drips down his arms, and he can feel the cuts there from the shackles, deep enough that metal is grinding on bone. His teeth tear through his bottom lip, and the sounds that echo through the room are anything but human. He's anything but human.
He hears it, in the distance. There's a howling, loud and low pitched. Calling to him, is what it's doing. It's calling to him, and his whole body is fighting to obey, to come to the person making that sound, but he can't. He tries, oh, he tries, but he's stuck. Locked up. He allowed them to lock him up because he's so stupid.
Blood. It's all he can smell, all he can taste, all he can see. Red, metallic blood. And there's pain, too, but not from his wrists or ankles. No, it's inside him, tearing him apart with the desperate need to get out and follow the voice calling to him. He needs to. He has to. It's not a conscious choice, it's an order.
This time the howl that rips through the air is his own. The other one stops for a minute, but the next time it sounds, it's much closer. Upstairs, he can hear two hears beating. Can almost smell them through the blood. That's not important, though. What's important is letting them know where Liam is. Letting them know how to find him, how to get him out of here.
And they do. Liam doesn't recognize the face, doesn't even try to. Instead he shakes the shackles until they're gone, he's free, and then they're running. He doesn't know where they're going, not until he sees a house in the distance. He knows, vaguely, that he's not consciously doing this. That his thoughts and his actions are not his own, that they're controlled by someone else, but he doesn't care.
There's a shout of warning, and he turns, ready to attack. He can't see any faces in the haze of blood red, but he can smell it. The smell of cigarettes that lingers in the air, and then soap, underneath that. It's dizzying, distracting, and it makes him hesitate, though his body is begging to move, begging to tear flesh from bone.
Pain erupts in his leg, just above his knee. He stumbles, howling in pain, but he can't find his companion anymore. He doesn't know where they went, but he's obviously alone. Not fully, of course. There's still the one that shot him, fumbling with the bow in his hands, his terror palpable in the air. He's moving to take him out, moving in to take the kill, but at the last second the wind lifts that scent to him again, and the fog in his mind fades enough for him to turn and run. He doesn't stop. He just keeps running, until nothing is familiar; the scents, the scenery. When he stops, he curls up under a tall tree, rests his head on the soft packed dirt and sleeps.
Zayn
"That wasn't the one we're looking for," his father says.
They're in the basement, the lights on far too bright. His hands are still sweating, his heart is still pounding. Each breath is sharp and quick, and he feels more than a little light headed. He was just training, for Christ sake. They never thought there'd be an attack, and if there was one on the house, it shouldn't have been on the full moon. That's too risky. There's too many variables. They can't control themselves on nights like tonight. There's no organization, no rational thinking.
He'd been out back, shooting his bow, and he'd heard the howl. It pierced the air, loud and impossible to miss. Nothing sounds like the howling of a werewolf. Nothing. It chills you, it makes your heart thud in its chest. It's not something you get used to.
He'd run inside immediately, bow raised just in case, and then his father had stopped only long enough to tell his mum to give Clark a call, and then they were out of the house. The last thing he'd seen before the door closed was his mother, phone in one hand, loaded shotgun in the other.
It wasn't that they'd gotten separated. They'd split up to cover more ground. Wherever that howl had come from, it'd been close to the house. Too close to be a coincidence. The 'wolves knew they were there, and they were coming to deal with that threat.
Werewolves. Plural. More than one. He'd seen them both, too. The bigger one, more beast than human, red eyes and huge, impossibly huge, had run off in the other direction. But the other one, smaller, some semblance of human features, had went after Zayn. It's not the first time he's come face to face with one of them, and it won't be the last. But— but something was off about this one. There'd been something blank and wrong in its eyes. It didn't look bloodthirsty and out of its mind in the right way. It was almost like a soldier, commanded to take out a target. It didn't have a choice, is what it looked like.
And he'd shot it. In the leg, sure, but that's what he was taught. Take out the legs and it can't run at you until it's pulled the arrow out. Except it had just kept coming, and his hands had been shaking too much to get a proper shot again, and then — and then it had ran. In the blink of an eye, it was gone.
"Can they do that?" Zayn questions. He's not alone with his father in the room. Clark is leaning against the wall, taking it all in, and Niall's looking around the room, examining the maps and artillery. His mother is rubbing calming circles against his fathers back, but there's a look in her eyes. A cold one, sharp, terrifying in a way that his father can never accomplish. "Can an alpha control the betas? Make them do things?"
It's Niall who answers him, surprisingly enough. The others are looking confused, trying to sort out the question, but Niall's got a firm look on his face. "They can," he says. "I've read about it. It's not so much mind control as compelling. It doesn't work right when they're in their human forms, but— when they're changed, especially on the full moon, an alpha can control one of his betas, if he's the one who bit them."
"I think that's what was happening," Zayn says. "He didn't— he didn't seem like he wanted to do it. It was like watching a puppet's strings get pulled. Something was off."
His father shakes his head, but it's his mother who says, "It doesn't matter whether he was willingly coming after you. This attack can't be excused." She turns to his father. "I don't care what the code says about the under age ones. I want that beast taken care of, do you understand me? They attacked the house, our family, and I want it's head mounted on my wall."
He can't help but wincing at that. He agrees, though. It's too dangerous not to take them both out. They're too bold, too dangerous. It's a necessity, even if it's not a nice one. Even if the thing hadn't been much bigger than Zayn, couldn't be much older, if it was at all.
"We've got to leave it up to the boys," Clark says, speaking for the first time. Everyone turns to him, looks varying from confusion to disbelief. "Your boy says it was young. It's got to go to their school. They're the only ones who can figure it out. We can't be caught sniffing around the school, people would talk. We let them do it, and we find the beta, and we get it to talk, bargain with it, offer to spare its life if it gives up the alpha, and then we kill them both."
Niall's gaze is on the ground, and he's chewing his lip, jaw clenched. Zayn, on the other hand, nods. He can guess what Niall's going through. This guy could be someone he knows, someone he's grown up with. It's hard to do what needs to be done when the devil is someone you know, but Zayn doesn't have that issue. He has no attachment to anyone here.
"I'll do it," he says. "If you need me to. I'll figure out who he is."
His mother changes her mind instantly. "No," she says. "No. It's not safe. I won't have you— you're too young to be— no."
"He can do it, Tricia," his father says quietly. He looks at Zayn, nodding his head only once. "You do what needs to be done. You have until the next full moon. Any later and we step in. If drastic measures have to be taken, they will, but I'd rather do this as quickly and quietly as we possibly can."
"Until then," Clark starts, pushing away from the wall, "I'm going to have another chat with Styles. If anyone's aiding those things, it's that freak."
Both he and Niall look up sharply at that. "Styles?" Niall asks. "You really think they're working with the 'wolves again?"
"It's what they do," his father answers. "They don't understand, never have. And while they won't get in our way, they're not above helping those things, even if they're dangerous, murderous, rabid animals. I think you're right, Clark, we best give him a visit."
"You boys go upstairs," his mother orders. "There's food in the fridge. Warm something up and then get to bed. Niall, you can have the couch, if you like, or you can both sleep in Zayn's room."
"Thanks, Mrs. M," Niall says, grinning cheerfully at her in a way that only Niall could manage in this situation.
As soon as they get to the top of the stairs, door closing behind them, Niall shoves him hard enough that his shoulder knocks painfully into the wall. He winces, tensing, and takes on a defensive stance.
"What the fuck was that for?" he demands when Niall keeps walking past him, heading for the kitchen.
"What was that for?" Niall demands. "What the fuck do you think it was for? Volunteering us to take out one of our fucking classmates? Are you serious?"
Zayn gapes at him, jogging to keep up. Niall pulls open the fridge like he lives with them, like he's done it a hundred times. He pulls a foil wrapped plate out of the fridge, revealing leftover chicken from dinner. He eats it like that, cold and with his fingers while glaring at Zayn.
"Of course I am," Zayn says. "It has to be done, Niall."
"Did he hurt you?" Niall asks. "Did he even touch you? No. You're fine and we're going to be responsible for the death of him now. How can you just accept that without putting up a fight? Without even realizing how fucked up that is?"
Zayn bristles. He leans against the table, eyes narrowed. "I told you; it needs to be done. It's not always pleasant, Niall, but that's how it is. You can't let those things live. It doesn't matter if you know them. They're not human. Not anymore."
"Right," Niall says with his mouth full. He rolls his eyes at Zayn and says, "They really brainwashed you, didn't they? Do you have any original thoughts, or are you programmed like a robot?"
"Fuck you," Zayn spits. "Fuck you to hell, Horan."
Niall's fierce expression slips from his face. He runs a hand through his air, eying the plate of food without any interest anymore. "It's just not right," he says quietly. He looks up at Zayn with wide eyes. "What if I know him? What if— what if it's Louis, or Josh? What then? Could you really put a bullet through one of their heads? Could you really do that?"
"No," Zayn admits. "I couldn't. But I could watch my dad do it, if it has to be done."
Niall nods. "Yeah, I figured that's what you'd say," he says quietly. "Whatever. There's no point arguing about it. I don't want to fight with you, and it's not like we have a choice, either. They're not going to stop until they're both dead, and it won't matter who it is, not to them."
"Not for us, either," Zayn says with conviction. "Right?"
"Speak for yourself," Niall mutters while covering the chicken again. He pops in back in the fridge and adds, "I'll take the couch, by the way. Just point me in the direction of the linen closet."
He does, leaving Niall to grab a pillow and blanket for himself. He heads up the stairs towards his own room, bypassing Safaa, who's standing in her doorway, a wondering look on her face.
"Did you kill it?" she asks in a soft voice. "Did you get it, Zayn?"
He ignores her, shutting his door as he wonders whether he should be concerned by the fascinated, too pleased tone in her voice.
Sleep alludes him, though. For some reason he can still hear them howling, though he knows that's not real. It's in his head, an echo of earlier. A memory, playing over and over.
Niall isn't like him, her realizes. He wasn't raised the same way. He's only been in this for a few years now, ever since his mum died and he'd been forced to go live with his uncle. He still sees the humanity in them, focuses on that, doesn't realize that the beast will always, always be stronger than whatever human parts they have left. That they have to be killed. It's not a vicious, cruel thing to do. It's like putting a hurt animal out of its misery when you know it won't get better. Why let it suffer any longer than it has to?
He falls asleep with a pair of golden eyes painted on the back of his eyelids, always there whenever he blinks his eyes closed.
Liam
He's not in town when he wakes up. He has no idea how he got out last night, can't remember much in general, but this one fact sticks out to him. He'd run, at some point, and he'd run far. Oh, and he lost his shirt. He doesn't know where, or if he'd torn it off himself, even, but his chest is bare. He'd be cold right now, if he were still normal. As it is, the slight breeze is annoying at best.
His pant leg feels stiff with blood, and he figures he cut it at some point while running last night. At least, until he looks down. The arrow sticking out of his thigh has him dry heaving. Nothing comes up but acidic bile, but he still spends the next five minutes extracting all of it from his body, hunched over, spitting into a pile of fallen leaves.
He's got to do something about that. He can't walk with it in there, he learns when he tries to stand up. He managed to run with it in last night, apparently, but he'd been so out of it, so not him that he hadn't even noticed it, he thinks.
Biting his lip, Liam wraps a hand around the shaft and, eyes squeezed tightly closed, he pulls. He wishes it had gone straight through, that he could just snap it in half and pull it out, only having to slide the thin shaft through his flesh. But no, he's got to pull the arrowhead out.
It hurts. Fuck, it hurts so bad his vision goes white and he throws up, this time everything he'd eaten yesterday coming out. He bleeds, too, so profusely that he wonders if he could actually die from this, but all he has to do is tear off his pant leg to see that his leg is already healing, blood no longer dripping from the wound. He sits there in fascination, pain still throbbing in his leg but more bearable, and watches the gaping wound in his leg stitch together. He should be examined, he thinks. Maybe he should hand himself over to science, let them poke and prod at him. Maybe they could find a cure to cancer using his DNA or something.
Except the government would probably just kill him, he rationalizes, and he hates getting shots anyways. Plus, Harry would probably be a little upset about it.
Harry…. "Fuck," he hisses. Harry is going to kill him. Or maybe — maybe he already killed Harry.
If he hadn't thrown up everything already, it would surely come up at the thought of that. He thinks back to last night, tries to remove the film that covers his memories, making them hazy. Had he hurt anyone? Had he attacked anyone?
He looks at his nails. The only blood on his hands is his own, he thinks, but who knows. He could have stopped to clean them, right? Okay, no, he wouldn't have been capable of that last night. His breathing gets easier when he figures out that he hadn't ripped out anyone's jugular last night, but— his claws aren't the only deadly part of him. He could have bitten someone. He could have given them this disease that he's been cursed with. Or he could have killed them. He figures he could bite through solid metal; someone's throat would be so, so easy.
But no, he can't think like that. He just— he needs to get back to Harry. Figure out what happened. Harry can help, he tells himself. This will be fine. They can prevent this from happening next time, and it'll all be fine.
—
It takes him two hours to walk back to the vet clinic. He doesn't have it in him to run, and he can't take the streets because, after ripping his pants to get the arrow out, he's pretty much dressed in nothing but his boxers, and they're a bloody mess, too.
The clinic looks fine, at least. The door hasn't been torn off the hinges, blood isn't scattered anywhere. The open sign is flipped over to closed, and he'd guess that it was too early to be open if the sun wasn't so high in the sky.
The door is unlocked, though. He pushes it open, taking a hesitant step inside. "Harry?" he calls, praying that he doesn't find his best friend's dead, mangled body on the floor.
"Oh, thank God," Harry says, coming out of one of the rooms. He rushes Liam, thin arms encircling him instantly. When he pulls back, there's tears in Harry's eyes. He shakes his head, curls swinging wildly, and says, voice cracking, "I was so worried, and— and you— I don't know how you got out, Liam. You shouldn't have been able to get out."
"I didn't," Liam says softly. "I — I mean, I couldn't. I tried, but— someone broke me out, Harry. Someone let me out."
Harry gapes at him. "That's not possible," he says. "No, Liam—,"
"I swear," he says. "Someone let me out of there, and they— I need to talk to your dad, I can't explain it. I can't remember properly. Can you just get him for me?"
The worried look slips from Harry's face, replaced immediately by something stony and annoyed. "He's a little busy with a visitor right now," he says. "You're going to have to give him a minute."
Liam's mind jumps to several possibilities, but the most likely one is that the hunters have come to give him a visit this time. Except, no. He sucks in a breath, and he picks up something woodsy hanging in the air. Maybe it's instincts, or maybe it's Harry's training, but he knows, right away, that he's not the only werewolf in the then Louis is practically running from one of the rooms. The smell of blood clings to him, too, but it's overpowered by that smell of woods that seems to block out everything else. "You're insane," he shouts. "You're— you're all fucking crazy. I'm — my— my parents will hear about this. I hope you both enjoy your stay in the mental institution, because you're fucking—,"
"Liam," Harry's father says calmly as Louis makes a beeline for the door. "I hate to ask this of you, but could you deal with that, please?"
He looks at Harry before moving, and he gets a curt nod in response. The next second he's in front of the door, blocking the exit. Louis stops dead in his tracks, eyes wide. It's his hip. The bite went right through his shirt, and it stained his side red with blood. He has a feeling that, if he lifted up Louis' shirt, the skin underneath would be nearly completely healed, the wound looking days old if not completely faded altogether.
"Move, Liam," he hisses, but there's little threat in his voice. His blue eyes are wide and panicked, and his hands are shaking. "Move."
Instead, Liam takes a calming, centering breath, and then he lets go, for just a second. Not completely, he keeps control, but he feels his features shift, feels his teeth elongate and his nails thicken and grow into points. The room goes red for a second before he blinks again, knowing that his eyes had, for just a moment, went from brown to a yellowish gold.
Louis screams. The sound pierces his ears, this close up, and he winces. Louis, on the other hand, scrambles backwards, knocking into Harry who catches him easily.
The next fifteen minutes are pretty chaotic. Louis panics impressively, Harry stays stoic and silent and his father calmly tries to explain things. Liam tunes it out, leaning against the wall. Louis shoots him glances every few seconds, like he's afraid Liam's going to attack him. Liam thinks that maybe he already had.
The rest of the morning is like replaying a memory in his mind, only Louis is playing his part. He remembers how it felt, hearing these things. How he'd went from thinking Harry and his dad were insane to thinking he had gone insane. And then eventually there was the acceptance, but that had taken days, really. With Louis, it's a little easier. They have Liam right there to give him a little shock of reality if he has to. It's good practise for him, at least. Good to test how well he can let the other side of him take center stage for a few seconds before turning it back off. The more he does it, the longer it takes to get back to himself, though.
He and Harry are kicked out of the room when Louis starts crying, but Liam's grateful for the excuse to avoid watching that.
"Did I do that?" he asks when they're out of the room. "I can't remember. Was— was I the one who bit him?"
"No," Harry says. He sits on one of the visitors chairs, and Liam collapses into the one next to him. He's never felt so exhausted in his life. "You can't. The bite has to come from an alpha or it won't take. That's just how it works. Even if you had bit him, nothing would have happened. But— whoever did that, it was the same on who bit you, I think."
"What's going to happen to him now?" he asks, voice barely over a whisper.
"Same as what happened to you," Harry says softly. "We're going to have to help him get accustomed to this, make sure he doesn't draw attention to himself, or you."
"So he's going to change, then," Liam says.
Harry nods. "Unless something goes wrong." At Liam's confused look, he explains. "He could die. It happens. The body rejects the change. It's not common but it's a possibility."
Liam swallows thickly. "Right."
Eventually Louis and Harry's dad come out of the room. Louis keeps a wide birth of Liam as he makes his way towards the door, and this time no one stops him. When he's gone, Harry's dad sits on his stool and folds his hands on the desk in front of him.
"Do you remember any of last night?" he asks.
Liam shakes his head. "Fragments," he answers. "The harder I think about it, the more I remember. It's all hazy, though."
"Someone broke him out," Harry adds.
The only change in his father's expression is a slight widening of his eyes. "Yes, we should have known," he says, nodding slowly. "I thought I heard it calling to you, but I wasn't sure." He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment. "Did you attack anyone?"
"I don't think so," Liam says. He frowns, face scrunching in concentration.
Dread fills him when all he can remember is the smell of cigarettes and floral soap. "I went after him," he says slowly. "Zayn. I went after him. He— he shot me. I didn't want to. I didn't have a choice. I couldn't stop. I couldn't control myself. It wasn't like normal. It wasn't— it wasn't the other part of me, it was someone else. Someone was making me go after them. I don't even know where he lives, but somehow I found his house."
This gets more of a reaction than his last admission. Harry breathes out a horrified "Shit," and his father covers his face with his hands. He looks as exhausted as Liam feels when looks up.
"That won't be good," he says. "They'll know, now. They'll start looking at the students, trying to figure out which one of you is the beta. And the alpha is trying to control you. Any time you change, he could do so. It's a difficult thing to do, and most alphas don't bother. They don't like to take the free will of their pack. But this one has an agenda, I think. And he's using you to act it out."
"So it really wasn't me?" Liam asks. "I didn't— I didn't want to kill him?"
"I'm not entirely sure how you managed not to, actually," Harry's father admits. "You shouldn't have been able to stop, not if he wanted you to kill the boy. Do you have any idea how you managed it?"
"No." He shakes his head. "I just — I remember realizing it was him, and then I ran. I just kept running."
"But he shot you first."
"Yeah," Liam admits. "I had to, um, pull it out. The arrow."
"And there hasn't been any complications with the healing?"
Liam looks down at his leg. It's smooth, not even a scar left to show for the injury. "It's fine."
"Good, good." Harry's father sighs and licks his lips. "They're going to be gunning for you now. If you went that close to their property, they'll feel threatened. They'll feel as if they don't have a choice. I could try talking to them, explaining the situation, but I doubt it'd help any, and it would only confirm their suspicions that we're aiding you, and that the beta that attacked them attends the school. That'll make it easier for them to figure out who you are, and it would put us in danger. They aren't against using force to get information. We might be human, but in their eyes, we're nearly as bad as you are."
"So what do we do?" Liam hesitates to ask. He's not sure he's going to like the answer.
"We wait it out," is the reply he gets. "Pray that they catch the alpha. Regretfully, they'll have to kill him. He's dangerous. Like we've told you, sometimes it does happen. Werewolves go rogue, start killing or biting people seemingly at random."
"And what about Louis? Do we tell him?"
"Louis," he says carefully, "will have to be watched and taken care of, yes. You're both going to have to make sure that he doesn't draw attention to himself, and Harry, you're going to have to help him the way you've been helping Liam."
Harry groans at this. "Can't we just let the hunters kill him?" he asks.
Liam laughs; Harry's dad doesn't. "No, we cannot."
"I know," Harry mutters. "He's just such a dick."
"Yes, well, that dick is now your responsibility. Now, both of you, get home. You need sleep, and Liam, you need a shower and a change of clothes before you can go home. If either of you need me, I'll be here, trying to come up with a solution to this problem that involves the least amount of bloodshed."
Both boys nod and get up. They pile into Harry's truck in silence, too busy thinking to talk. Harry's got an arm around his shoulder the whole ride, though, and Liam ends up nodding off, head nearly falling into Harry's lap.
—
"How much facial hair are we talking?" Louis asks at lunch on Monday.
Liam's still trying to understand how this is his life. Sure, the werewolf part is a little hard to swallow, but this? This is just impossible. Louis Tomlinson, willingly sitting with them at lunch as the rest of his friends eye them from the other side of the cafeteria.
Weirdly enough, after the initial shock and horror wore off, Louis sort of… took to the idea of being a supernatural creature. It should be surprising, it really should, but it's not. Louis' always been kind of unhinged, in Liam's mind. But, unlike Liam, he's enjoying this. He doesn't look at it like a bad thing. In fact, he thinks it's cool.
"Depends," Harry says, a flush in his cheeks that's been there since Louis had dropped his tray beside Liam's and sat himself down at their table, addressing Harry with his full attention without insulting him or making fun of him, which hasn't happened since they were about eight years old. "Like, it could be a lot. And we're not talking just a beard or a moustache or anything. We're talking sideburns that rival Sam Winchester—,"
"Who?" Louis asks.
Harry gives Liam a look, as if to say, is he serious right now? Liam just shakes his head in amusement. As weird and crazy and uncomfortable as this whole thing in, he's grateful for Louis' presence. It takes his mind off everything, like the memories of that night that he still can't access, and from thinking too hard about Zayn, just across the cafeteria, that intoxicating scent of his discernable, even from this distance. He wonders why it's not like that with everyone else. Why he stands out so sharply, but Liam decides that he'd rather not know.
"Never mind," Harry tells him. "But your eyebrows could get really bushy, and your arms and your back—,"
"Ew," Louis says, nose wrinkling up. "I will not have a hairy back. No."
"You can't help it," Harry says. "Just ask Liam. He doesn't even get eyebrows. They, like, retract into his forehead and he looks like an alien. It's hilarious."
"Show me," Louis demands. "I want to see this hilarious, browless wolf face of yours."
"I can't just do it in school," Liam says with a shake of his head. "Honestly, Louis, we told you—,"
"Right, right, people will freak out, other people will try to kill us. God, you two are so fucking boring." He carves a drawing of a stick figure into the metal table, the scraping of his claws against it loud, even by normal standards.
"How did you do that?" Harry asks, sounding almost awed.
"What?" Louis asks. He flexes his fingers, claws extending and retracting with ease. "That?"
"Don't," Harry hisses, grabbing his hand. "Are you stupid? But— you can't do that. You shouldn't be able to. It took Liam about two weeks to learn how to control it like that."
"Obviously I'm a far better werewolf than Liam Payne," Louis says offhandedly. "Unsurprisingly. I don't know how you missed this, but I'm sort of perfect at everything. You should stop looking so surprised when I do something amazing, or your face will get stuck like that. "
Liam can literally hear Harry's teeth grinding to hold back a reply to that. He grins in amusement, knowing this is Harry's own personal slice of hell, sitting at this table with Louis Tomlinson of all people and having absolutely no choice but to allow it.
"Do I ever go full on wolf, though?" Louis asks. "Like, do I get a tail and everything?"
Harry sighs deeply. "No, you won't. You're a beta. An alpha could, but it's not, like, an active decision. Your form could change depending on what kind of person you are. Some alphas are more beast than human, and their alpha form reflects that."
Louis nods, taking that in, and then he's asking another question, as he's been doing since lunch started twenty minutes ago. "Can I see through clothes?" he wonders, and his eyes flash an alarming, blinding blue. Liam slaps his arm for it. "Oh, alright. Jeez. What's the point of being a cool supernatural creature if I can't have fun with it?"
"Yeah, it'll be really fun when one of your classmates puts a bullet in your fucking skull," Harry spits. "Or maybe we should let him, Liam. If he wants to show off, let's see how long he lasts. I could care less. In fact, it'd be a good thing for us. They'd assume Louis' the only beta, they'd kill him, it'd throw them off your track, you'd be fine, I'd never have to see his face —,"
"Harry," Liam warms, sensing the tension in Louis. He watches Louis' nails extend to claws again, and his eyes are flashing dangerously, but he's not doing it on purpose this time.
And Harry's still talking, going on and on, and Louis' teeth are turning into fangs, and the slight stubble on his jaw is replaced by thicker, coarser hair, and—,
"Stop," Liam growls.
Louis stops immediately, sitting up a little straighter, head bowed. Liam blinks in surprise, taking in the resigned set to Louis' shoulders, like he was only listening to Liam because he had to.
"That was freaky," Harry says, breaking the silence. He frowns at Liam. "You're voice got all— like, weird."
"I didn't mean to," Liam says defensively. "It was an accident."
Harry keeps giving him a confused look, but he doesn't elaborate on it. Louis sighs and eats his lunch, staying quiet until it looks like he's going to burst, and then he asks, "Am I going to have to sit with you two forever? My reputation really can't handle that."
"Tell them you need a tutor," Harry suggests.
Louis' face contorts in anger at that, but it's not a wolf look, it's just an annoyed Louis look. "I'm the top of all of our classes," he says. "Do you realize that? There's no way in hell I would ever need a tutor."
"Fine, then tell them Liam needs a tutor, and you're helping him out of the goodness of your heart."
"Why do I have to be the one who needs a tutor?" Liam demands.
"Because," both Louis and Harry says, at the exact same time, which makes Louis snort and Harry say, "Jinx."
The rest of lunch is like that. Harry and Louis bicker, Liam tries his best to stop their fighting, Louis keeps asking the weirdest questions about lycanthropy, and Liam forces himself not to eavesdrop on Niall and Zayn's conversation.
He's never been so grateful to hear the bell before, and he picks up his tray and makes it out of the cafeteria in record time. He's the first one in English, and he reclaims his own seat, the one in the corner at the back. He waits for Harry to get there, but then he realizes that Harry's probably still at the table, arguing with Louis. Before Harry can take the seat next to him, someone else does.
Zayn doesn't look at him. Instead he makes big production of pulling out his books and neatly organizing them on his desk, making sure they line up perfectly and his pen lays flat beside them, not rolling off the edge. Then he clasps his hands together on top of his desk and sits there, staring up at the front of the room.
Why would he sit next to Liam and pointedly ignore him? Actually, why would he sit beside Liam at all? That's Harry's spot. He's had to of picked that up in the last week. There's no way he hasn't. And when Harry walks into the room, he stumbles and stares at Zayn with wide eyes, and then sits in the seat in front of Liam because he has no other choice.
Trying not to care, Liam scribbles aimlessly on a piece of paper, not really doing anything but wasting ink. His teacher talks, goes on about a new project they're going to have to do, but it isn't until she says "You'll each be split into groups of two," and then she starts splitting them up, pairing everyone with the person beside them, that he starts paying attention. Liam tenses, eyes wide, and she calls out "Liam, you're with Zayn," and then continues without pausing while Liam makes a panicked sound.
"Don't look so thrilled," Zayn sneers, tapping his pen on his desk with annoyance.
Liam focuses on slowing his breathing before he replies. "It's not— it's not you. It's just that I usually work with Harry."
That's not true, actually. He and Harry have never done a project together. It sounds like a plausible lie, though, and Zayn apparently buys it, too, because his expression softens considerably.
"Oh," he says quietly. "Right. Sorry." He smiles faintly at Liam. "Do you want to come over to mine after school to work on it?"
"To work on what?" Liam asks. Harry bursts out with a loud laugh that he has to cover his mouth to silence.
"The project," Zayn says patiently. "Were you paying attention to anything she said?"
"Not really," he admits. "What are we supposed to do?"
"We're both supposed to write down the name of the last book we've read, and then we write an alternate ending to one of them, and a detailed essay on the other." His smiles gets more confident. "So do you want to come over to my place after school and get started? We've got until Friday, but it's probably best to start working on it tonight."
He hears Harry's 'no' whispered under his breath, followed by a soft "Tell him you're busy," that's too quiet for anyone but Liam to pick up on. He knows Harry's got the right idea, knows that it's practically suicide, going over to Zayn's house.
"Okay," he says anyways.
"Cool," Zayn says easily. He leans back in his seat, legs stretched out under his desk, ankles crossed. "I'll give you a ride, if you want. You don't have a car, right?"
"Right."
He doesn't miss Harry's muttered, "Idiot." Zayn looks really pleased by the whole thing, though, and he can't seem to get the words he needs to say out of his mouth. Can't think up a believable excuse. He'll be fine, he rationalizes. It's not like he's going to turn in Zayn's house or anything. He'll be calm and normal, that's all.
Working it out in his mind, it doesn't seem like the worst idea. Still, he avoids Harry for the rest of the day, knowing that he's in for a good chewing out from his best mate.
—
Zayn's car smells like cigarettes and leftover takeaway. It makes his nose wrinkle, and Zayn's cheeks stain red as he tells Liam, "I never clean it. Sorry. I wasn't expecting someone else to be riding with me."
"Don't worry about it," Liam replies, but he keeps his window rolled down the whole ride.
His house is really nice. Harry's parents have a lot of money, too, but there's something really warm and inviting about the brick house in front of him. There's a garden out front, too, and he wonders if that was there when they moved in, because there's no way they've had time to grow all those plants themselves.
"So, um," Zayn starts, but he pauses to lick his lips before continuing with, "Just to warn you, I have two sisters. They might not be home, but if they are, just ignore them. And my mum, too. She's sort of embarrassing."
"What about your dad?" he has to ask.
"Won't be home until later," Zayn answers. He pulls the keys out of the ignition and pushes open his door. Liam hesitates, and he must realize this, because Zayn stops and gives him a consoling look. "Just smile and nod and you'll be fine."
He does just that, and Zayn's laugh is bright and lovely.
The whole house smells like tomatoes and spices. He figures there's spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove, but he doesn't get to find out because Zayn is leading him up a set of stairs after they kick off their shoes. He turns and pushes open one of the doors on the left, and Liam sort of just stands in the doorway.
"I, uh, haven't had time to unpack," Zayn says quickly. He flits around the room, pushing boxes into the closet.
It's not the boxes that had him surprised. The room is so impersonal that it shocked him. There's furniture, sure, but it's pretty bare aside from that and the small book on the nightstand. There's no desk, either, and Zayn throws his bag onto the bed before climbing on it and patting the spot next to him.
"Or we can work on the floor," he offers. "Whatever you're more comfortable with."
Liam shuts the door before moving towards the bed. He leaves his own bag on the floor as he sits perched on the edge, as far from Zayn as he can manage. His heart is kind of thundering in his chest, but he's pretty sure he can hear Zayn's racing, too.
"Right," Zayn says after a moment. He leans forward to snatch the book off the nightstand and then drops it between them. "That's the last book I read. Looking for Alaska by John Green. It's really good. Sort of sad at parts, makes you think, but it's also laugh out loud funny. What about you?"
Liam's eyes go out of focus as he tries to think. He doesn't read, really. "The second Harry Potter book, I think," he says finally.
"The second Harry Potter book," Zayn repeats. "That's a little random."
Now Liam's the one who flushes red. "I was trying to read the whole series, because my sister Ruth is really into them, but, uh, I never finished."
Zayn gapes at him. "How do you only read the first two? Don't you want to know what happens?"
"I've watched the movies," Liam points out. "I know what happens."
"That is so not the same," Zayn argues, a bright look in his eyes. "The movies are like— they're like a summary. They tell the story, sure, but they skip the smaller details, some of the best parts. And don't even talk to me about the sixth movie because that was a fucking joke."
"It was?"
"Definitely," Zayn says. "They left out so many important plot points that set up the next book, like Fleur and Bill dating, and then the whole part where Bill gets attacked by Fenrir, and there was hardly any Lupin and Tonks, which is probably the best romantic subplot of the series, and—," he cuts off, looking embarrassed. "Sorry."
"It's fine." He's not lying, either. "I like watching you talk about things you like. You get really excited about it."
Zayn's gaze drops to his book and he says quietly, "We should start working on this."
"Do I need to read that?" he asks warily.
"You probably should," Zayn says with a laugh. He tosses the book aside. "You can take that one home and start it tonight. We'll work on yours instead. I think we should write the essay on the Harry Potter book, and we should write the alternate ending to mine."
Liam nods, fully content to let Zayn take the role of leader on this. He gets up at one point and leaves the room, and when he comes back he's got another book in his hand, this time one that Liam recognizes.
They get through a quarter of the essay. It's got to be five thousand words long, and Zayn writes it all out by hand instead of using a computer, the way Liam would. At one point the hears people moving around downstairs, but he tries to focus more on their work and the way the room smells like artificial spices, like some kind of cologne he recognizes but can't name. It throws him off completely because Zayn always smells like soap and cigarettes, not cologne.
The door opens without warning. He should have heard the footsteps approaching, should have known someone was coming, but he hadn't, and all they get is a soft knock on the door before Zayn's mum comes in. She looks surprised when she realizes Zayn's not alone, and he and Zayn both jump apart. They'd had their heads ducked together as they reread a certain passage that Zayn had pointed out, and he'd been so busy trying to count each of Zayn's long lashes that the rest of the world had drifted away.
"I was just coming to let you know that dinner was ready," the woman as the door says slowly. "Would your little friend like to stay?"
Liam honestly can't remember the last time someone referred to him as 'little', and he has to pointedly keep a laugh in. Zayn, on the other hand, looks mortified. "No, mum, we're just working on English."
"Nonsense," she says, turning to Liam. "What's your name, sweetie?"
"Liam," he says, sitting up a bit straighter.
"Liam," Zayn's mum repeats. She gives him a blinding smile that's reminiscent of Zayn's, except Zayn's is a bit sharper, never quiet that open and soft. "It's so nice to see Zayn making friends. He's always been sort of a loner, I'm sure you've noticed. We're having spaghetti for dinner, by the way. Would you like to stay?"
He wants to say no, just to get that horrified look off Zayn's face. Plus, eating dinner with a table of hunters is probably a really bad idea. But, just like earlier, when he'd agreed to come over here to work on their project, he finds himself saying, "Okay. I'd like that."
"Lovely!" She claps her hands together. "I'll leave you two alone. It'll be on the table in five minutes, so don't take too long."
When she's gone, Zayn gives him an apologetic look. "You could have said no," he tells Liam. "She wouldn't have minded. You probably should have, actually."
Liam shrugs at him. "I'm sure it'll be nice," he says feebly. "And dinner smells really good."
Zayn sighs and carefully puts away all their papers before getting off the bed. Liam follows him, straightening his clothes first to seem as presentable as possible. He can hear everyone talking downstairs, accompanied by the clanking of dishes. He picks up on a low, male voice, and realizes that Zayn's dad is home.
There's a small table in the kitchen, but there's also a separate dinning room. Zayn leads him into the second one, and he's met with four pairs of eyes on him. There's Zayn's dad, at the head of the table, the same shape to his eyes, the same curve of the nose that he's memorized on Zayn's face. Beside him, to the left, is a younger girl, really young, with long, thick hair and an excited look on her face, and then a slightly older one, her expression more calm but just as interested. And then finally Zayn's mother is looking at him, too, but it's with a far too fond look for someone who just met him five minutes ago.
"This is Liam," she says to the room. "Zayn's friend."
"But Zayn doesn't have friends, mum," the youngest girl says. The older one laughs at that.
"Well he does now," their mother says.
Liam cuts a look to Zayn, wondering why everyone keeps saying that. Zayn has friends. Zayn sits at the most coveted table in the school. The popular kids have taken him under their wing. He and Niall have practically been attached at the hip. Plus, Zayn just looks like one of those people. The kind that everyone flocks to. He can't picture Zayn ever having to sit alone or walk through the halls with his head ducked to avoid attention, no one beside him. It just doesn't make sense.
Zayn's doesn't argue with them, though. He just takes a set across from one of his sisters and gestures to the spot next to him for Liam. The spot beside his dad.
Liam swallows and takes it, legs scraping loudly against the hardwood floors. The next ten minutes really aren't that bad. Zayn's mum dishes out dinner, forks scratch against plates, everyone compliments the food, Zayn steals glances at Liam right when his mouth is the fullest, which is embarrassing and makes him chew faster than he normally would, nearly choking when he swallows, but Zayn never speaks.
"So, Liam," Zayn's dad says, the first to speak in a couple minutes. "We haven't heard much about you. Do you two go to school together?"
Liam places his fork on his napkin and clears his throat before saying, "We do. We have English together."
"They were working on a project when I walked in on them," Zayn's mum supplies.
"Walked in on them," Zayn's father repeats, eyebrows raised high.
Zayn coughs, wet and thick, and Liam would slap his back for him if he could move, but apparently embarrassment is paralyzing in high dosages.
"Not like that, dear," Zayn's mum says, looking amused. "They were just working."
"Wouldn't have minded if they weren't," his father says. "It'd be nice to see this one go on a date for once, instead of holing up in his bedroom with those damn books and comics."
The look on Zayn's face is one of a man who wishes the ground beneath his feet would open and swallow him whole. Liam figures he looks the same way.
"We were, um, just working," Liam explains. "On our English. Homework. Assignment. Um."
Both adults laugh at this but Zayn's mum says, "Oh, leave the boys alone, darling."
"Do you like cats?" Zayn's younger sisters asks him abruptly.
Liam flounders at the randomness of the question. "I guess, yeah. I mean, I've never had one, but sure."
"Ignore Safaa," Zayn mutters. "She wants a pet."
"I don't want a pet," she argues. "I want a cat. Cats are smart and independent, and they're also agile and sneaky. Like me."
This kid can't be any older than ten, and she's using words like independent and agile. It makes Liam feel like an idiot, to be honest, but it's also sort of a adorable.
"We can't have pets," Zayn's other sister says with a roll of her eyes. "You know that, Saf."
"We move a lot," Zayn's father explains. "A pet would be a hassle. What about you, Liam? Are you new to town, or have you lived here for a while?"
He takes a sip of his drink first because his throat and tongue feel dry. "My whole life," he answers. "Pretty much, anyways. My grandparents passed when I was young and left my mother the house, and we've lived here ever since then."
"That must be nice," Zayn says under his breath.
"Ah," Zayn's father says. "We move quite a lot, ourselves. It's a job requirement, sadly. I wish we could settle down in one place, let the kids grow up in a single town, but you know how it is."
He doesn't, but he hums and nods anyways. "What do you do?" he finds himself asking, though. He doesn't know why he does, and he sort of wants to slap himself for it.
Zayn tenses beside him, but other than that, no one reacts weirdly. "I'm a wildlife conserver," is the answer he gets, which catches him off guard. "I go to different towns, usually if there's been a certain number of animal attacks, just to figure out what has the wildlife aggressing people and to make sure that their habitats aren't being disturbed."
"That sounds interesting," Liam says, but he thinks that sounds like a load of bullshit.
The rest of the dinner is spent with Liam being asked a few personal questions, like what he wants to do when he graduates, if he plans on going to university, if he has any siblings. Zayn barely opens his mouth the whole time, but at one point a hand grips his thigh tightly, and he squeezes just a bit, like he's trying to assure Liam that he's still there, that he's not alone in this, even though it sort of feels like Zayn threw him to the wolves, and the irony of that thought is not lost on him.
Zayn's mum offers him dessert, but Zayn is already out of his seat. "I'm going to give Liam a ride home," he says quickly. "His mum has him on a strict curfew. He's not allowed out after seven."
No one questions that, or asks why a seventeen year old would have such an early curfew. Liam goes along with it, politely thanking them for dinner. Zayn's mum tells him he's welcome at any time, and Liam smiles and thanks her again.
When they're outside, Zayn relaxes for the first time in almost an hour.
"I'm sorry," he says as they make their way to the car. "They're not used to me bringing anyone home. I think they got a little excited."
"Your mum's really nice," Liam replies. It seems like the safest thing to say.
He slides into the passenger seat of Zayn's car for the second time, noting the fact that the moon is already high in the quickly darkening sky. This used to be his favourite time of day. When the sky is still blue, not yet black, but the stars are already bright and discernable, though the sun still streaks the horizon with golds and oranges.
Liam rattles off his address and directions, since Zayn probably doesn't know the streets by name yet. Zayn turns the music up, too, probably to stop them from having to talk. When he pulls up in front of Liam's house, he turns it off.
"Thanks for having me over," Liam says awkwardly. He doesn't really do things like this, so he has no idea what he's supposed to say.
"Thanks for putting up with my family," Zayn counters.
"They weren't that bad," Liam tells him.
It's the truth, too, as surprising as that is. They'd seemed so normal, not at all like the sadistic, crazy people he'd imagined from what Harry had told him about hunters. In fact, it was almost possible to convince himself that they weren't, that Harry had the wrong family. Except he can still remember the way that arrow felt lodged in his leg.
"Do you want to go to the library tomorrow instead?" Zayn asks him. "To avoid that."
"Or we could work at my house," he suggests. "My mum works late on Tuesdays. It'd be just us."
Why that sounds like a suggestion to do more than just homework, he has no idea, but it does, and Zayn seems to think so, too, because his cheeks turn that pleasant pink again. Liam never would have took him for the blushing type, but he's done so often tonight. It makes Liam feel less on guard. Makes him feel like they're equal, almost, or something.
"Okay," Zayn agrees. He nods, more to himself than Liam. "Do you — do you think I could pick you up tomorrow? For school? Unless you get a ride with Harry."
"No, that's— that sounds good," Liam gets out, and now he's nodding, too, and they're both just fucking nodding at each other, equally awkward.
And then Zayn leans forward and kisses him. It's brief, soft, a little off centered and Zayn's pulling back before he can even blink. If it weren't for the lingering taste of his lips on Liam's mouth, they could almost pretend that it never happened.
"I'm sorry," Zayn gasps, eyes wide. "Fuck, I wasn't— I just crossed a major line, right? I wasn't even thinking. Your lips just looked, and I—,"
Liam moves forward and kisses him this time. He lingers a little longer, enjoying the way Zayn's breathing catches and his fingers curl against Liam's forearm. He pulls back before they can go any farther, before he can press his tongue against Zayn's lips and see if they part. See if he tastes like cigarettes, too, or something else.
"I have to go," Liam says abruptly. He pushes open his door and chances one last look back at Zayn before practically running to the house.
He doesn't look back again, and when he pulls open his front door he hurries inside and shuts it tightly, flicking the lock for good measure. And then he leans against it, letting the wood support his weight as his legs go wobbly and his shallow breathing makes him light-headed.
It's not surprising, the fact that his claws are digging into his palms. He uncurls his fists and looks down at them, willing them to go away. They don't.
All he can do is pray that Zayn didn't see the way his eyes flashed gold. And hope that he can control himself better if he gets another chance at that, because he wishes he hadn't had to run away.
Zayn
He get to Liam's around eight, but there's already a vehicle parked out front. He recognizes the rusted blue truck, and he doesn't have to see Harry in the cab to know that it's his. Still, he pulls up in front of it and waits, trying to appear at ease, like he totally belongs here and has every right to be parked out front of Liam's house.
Harry gets out of the truck a moment later, and he his knuckles rap sharply against the window until Zayn rolls it down.
"He doesn't need a ride from you," Harry says flatly.
Zayn raises his eyebrows. "Really."
"Really," Harry says with a lot more anger and resentment than someone who's only spoken to him once before should have. "So you can go now. You're not needed."
"I think Liam can decide that for himself, thanks," Zayn says calmly.
The front door to the small house opens, and Liam steps outside, bag throw over his shoulder. He looks tired, even from far away, but his expression brightens with a grin when he meets Zayn's gaze. All Zayn can think about is kissing him last night. Wanting to kiss him the entire night, actually, when they were in his bed, reading and discussing their essay; when he'd leaned in just close enough that Zayn could pick up on the light cologne he was wearing; when he'd been nothing but great at dinner, fielding every question, never being rude or looking annoyed.
And Liam had kissed him back. Right? That's what happened there? Because he can still feel the ghost of Liam's lips against his. Can still remember the way his brown eyes had taken up all of Zayn's vision when he'd leaned in and stole the breath right from his lungs with a simple touch.
He might not have had a lot of friends over the years — or any, he reminds himself—, but he's hooked up with a few people. At one of those parties he'd only been invited to because he was new, or because he was labelled 'mysterious' and people wanted to figure out what his story was. And the whole quiet loner thing actually works with the girls (— and a few guys, too), but never enough for someone to date him, just enough for them to fumble around with him in a bathroom, or a closet, or a dark corner of the room.
Liam didn't kiss like them, though. He'd kissed softly and hesitantly, like he wasn't quite sure what he was doing, or if he was allowed to. And there'd been something in his eyes, something vulnerable and wondering when Zayn had first kissed him.
He shakes his head, breaking out of his thoughts when Harry stomps away from his car and gets in his truck. "Come on, Liam!" he shouts through the open window, and Zayn watches as Liam looks between the two of them for a long moment.
Honestly, he thought Liam would get into his car. Instead, he gives Zayn a regretful look and sighs before making his way over to Harry. Zayn can't move for a moment. All he can do is sit there and watch them in the rear-view mirror. They're arguing, he thinks. Or— Harry's saying something quickly, and Liam's glaring at him viciously. The anger looks wrong on his face. He's sort of accustomed to the soft, almost shy looks on Liam's face that this one makes him feel weirdly upset.
He'd looked like that the other day, too, when Zayn had offered him a ride that one morning. And he'd been just as taken aback then, because he hadn't thought Liam's features could twist into something so cruel. He'd gotten so dependent on Liam being this almost defencelessly sweet guy who looks like couldn't hurt a fly. He shouldn't have, though, because no one is one dimensional. Just because you might not think someone is capable of something, does not mean that they aren't.
Just as Liam had before getting in the truck, Zayn lets out a sigh before starting up the car and pulling away from the house. He only looks back at the truck once, and he finds Liam staring out his window while Harry gestures wildly. He wonders what, exactly, he did to make Harry hate him, but he knows that the other guy does. There's no doubt about that in his mind. He can only hope that won't affect his— relationship or whatever with Liam.
—
He sits with Niall and Josh at lunch, as he always does. Just like the day before, he finds Louis' seat empty and spots him across the cafeteria, deep in conversation with Harry while Liam picks absently at his food, looking bored. No one is commenting on this, either, which is weird.
"I thought Louis and Harry hated each other," Zayn says to Niall, unable to keep in the confusion any longer.
Niall looks over his shoulder at the table Zayn had just been glancing at, and he shakes his head, looking just as lost as Zayn. Except he doesn't agree to what Zayn just said. Instead, he says, "It's complicated. Technically, they do, but there's more to it than that."
"What do you mean?" he asks, lowering his voice because Niall had, too, probably to stop the rest of the table from joining in on their conversation.
"Okay," Niall begins, turning his chair a little to face Zayn better. "I don't know the whole story, since I only moved here a few years ago, but Harry and Louis grew up right next door to each other. They were never friends, but Harry's sort of been in love with Louis since they were, like, ten, or so Louis claims. I'm not sure because it's not like I asked the kid myself, but Louis seems pretty positive." He pauses to take a breath. "When I first moved here, Harry followed Louis around like a lost puppy. Offered to carry his books, said hi to him in the hallway whenever they passed each other, sort of just worshipped the ground Louis stood on, right? But then about a year ago, Harry worked up the courage to ask Louis out to one of the school dances, and Louis said yes."
"Wow," Zayn says, shocked. "I can't believe Louis went for that."
"Yeah, neither could anyone else," Niall admits. "But that's because he didn't. He told Harry to meet him there, and he did, but when he got inside Louis was already dancing with his actual date. And he laughed when Harry demanded to know what he was doing, said he couldn't believe Harry thought he would actually go to the dance with him. Harry's hated him with a passion ever since then."
"Can't really blame him," Zayn points out. He feels instantly bad for Harry, even if he doesn't like the guy. That was a dick move, what Louis did. No, it was just plain mean and malicious, actually. He likes Louis, he does, but it's true.
"I agree," Niall says solemnly.
Zayn nods, forks up a bite of whatever kind of pasta the cafeteria's serving— if it's pasta. He thinks it is. "But— wait, that doesn't explain why they're hanging out now."
"No, it doesn't," Niall agrees.
He frowns over at their table again, and he finds Liam's eyes on him. He's not sure if he should smile or glare, so he settles with keeping a blank look on his face. Liam turns back around after a moment.
There's a considering look on Niall's face when Zayn looks over at him again. He's got his eyebrows drawn together, lips pursed, and Zayn can almost hear the gears in his mind turning a mile a minute. And then his eyes widen, his lips part instead, and he makes a horrified, choked sound.
"What?" Zayn demands. "Niall—,"
Niall blinks up at him, features schooled into a calm, relaxed look again. "Hm?"
"What the hell was that?" Zayn asks. "You just—,"
"Oh, I just got this joke Louis told me yesterday," he says while standing up. "You know us blondes. Tell us a joke on Monday and we'll laugh about it on Friday. But I've got to go. I forgot that I have to talk to my History teacher about getting an extension on my paper."
"Okay." He drags out the 'o' in confusion. "I'll see you later?"
"Yeah, for sure," Niall says easily. He pats Zayn's back on his way to the trash bins, where he throws out the rest of his food before hurrying out of the room.
Without Niall there, Zayn feels out of place. No one talks to him, and he doesn't make any effort to talk to them in turn. As soon as his tray is cleared, he follows Niall's path to the trash bins. As he's pushing open the swinging cafeteria doors, he can't help but think that he would have had a much better lunch period if he'd been sitting at another table. More specifically, the one Liam's sitting at.
—
"I'm sorry for this morning," is the first thing Liam says when he gets into the passenger seat of Zayn's car.
The back is completely cleaned, for once. He'd gotten up early this morning to throw out all the garbage, and he'd stolen the air freshener from his parents car, too. He's not sure why he's bothering, has never attempted to put in any effort for anyone, not like this. It's just that it's Liam and he sort of wants to impress him. Wants Liam to like him, for some insane, stupid reason that he can't quite work out.
"What part?" Zayn asks. "The one where your best friend acted like I was going to murder you if I got you alone, or the part where you completed ditched me off for said best friend?"
Liam winces at the accusatory tone in his voice. "Both," he admits. "I should have known Harry would— and I shouldn't have even told him but— fuck, I'm sorry, if that's any consolation."
Zayn shrugs. He wants to be mad, wants to tell Liam that, really, sorry doesn't cut it. But he doesn't, since he can't, and instead he finds himself saying, "It's fine. It's… nice, that you have someone that protective over you."
"It's really not," Liam says, tone flat.
"Sure it is," Zayn argues as he pulls away from the school. "He cares about you, that's all. It must be really nice to have a friend like that."
Making a face at him, Liam asks, "Don't you have someone like that for you? Back at your old town, or something?"
Zayn shakes his head, keeping his eyes on the road. His fingers unconsciously clench around the steering wheel, grip too tight to be considered casual. "No," he gets out. "Not really. I'm not exactly good at making friends, and it's a lot easier to just not try to."
Liam hums at this. "So your family wasn't kidding when they said it was a surprise for you to have a friend over. I thought maybe they were just teasing."
"Not teasing," Zayn admits.
Liam still looks baffled by this, so much so that Zayn can't help but snap, a little defensively, "What?"
He doesn't mean for it to come out so loud, but Liam literally flinches and his cheeks turn red. "Sorry," Liam says, though it should be Zayn saying that. "It's just that you seem so, like, I don't know. You're just cool. Like, naturally. It's surprising that you don't have a hundred close friends, let alone that you don't even have one."
"Yeah, well." He shrugs again, finality to his tone.
They pull up in front of Liam's, and there's an old, rusted car in the driveway. The second his seatbelt is undone, a frazzled looking woman runs out the door, pulling her hair into a bun as she goes. She's got Liam's eyes, too, soft and warm, but her hair is lighter and so is her skin tone, and she's tiny, unlike Liam, who's all width and height.
"Liam," she says hurriedly, not pausing on the way to the car. "Everything you need for tacos is already in the fridge. You just need to cook the meat and—," she stops short, frowning at Zayn. "Who's this?"
Liam slings his bag over his shoulder and shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Mum, this is Zayn. Zayn, this is my mum."
"Nice to meet you, Zayn," she says while pulling open her door. She turns to her son before getting in the car. "You stay in the living room. Not the bedroom. Do you understand me, young man?"
Liam rolls his eyes. "Yes, mum."
"Okay." She nods and smiles swiftly at Zayn. "I'm going to be late for work, though, so… remember what I said. No bedroom."
And then she's getting in the car as they make their way up the front walk. Liam doesn't wait for her to drive off before pulling open the door and waving Zayn inside, but he does stop to give her one last smile before he shuts the door between them.
"Sorry about that," he says when they're inside. "I think she thinks I'm still twelve. Treats me like it, anyways."
Zayn smirks at him. "Do you often have boys in your bedroom?"
Cheeks turning red, Liam shakes his head. "Just Harry, but… he's just Harry."
"And what am I?"
"You're— you're not just," Liam says quietly "Or, I'd like for you to not be."
He might not have any idea what that means, but he likes the sound of it.
They kick off their shoes, first, and then Liam leads him into the small living room. The house isn't anything special. It's tiny but comfortable, the walls painted a soft brown, all the furniture a slightly darker shade of the same colour. The television is modest sized, nothing flashy or extravagant. It's just— nice, in an unimposing, simple way. He likes it.
"Or we could go up to the bedroom," Liam says, pausing in the doorway of the living room. He lifts his eyebrows warily, like he's not quite sure how Zayn's going to react to that suggestion.
"Didn't your mum say not to?" he asks, but really, he wants to nod and drag Liam up the stairs.
"Well, yeah, but she's not here," Liam points out.
Zayn chuckles and turns, heading back towards the stairs. Liam hurries after him, an almost giddy expression on his face until he finds Zayn watching him. He schools it, climbs the stairs easily, and he throws open last door at the end of the hall.
Despite the fact that the house isn't very big, his room is almost as big as Zayn's. There's a small window behind the bed, which is queen sized, he guesses, and a desk in one corner, dresser against the wall across from it, a shelf with — he counts— three books and two trophies and then a bunch of action figures and a few CDs. He approaches the shelf before Liam even guides him into the room, reaching up to brush his fingers over the trophies.
"You run track, then?" he asks, reading the name etched into the metal. His eyebrows draw together. "Who's Geoff?"
"Those are my dad's," Liam explains, coming up behind him. He crosses his arms tightly over his chest, a pinched look on his face. "He left them when he left us, and I didn't know what else to do with them, so they're up there."
He's picked up enough to know that the only parent in Liam's life is his mum, but he's never heard Liam come out and explicitly say it. And he doesn't sound sad, either. Just sort of resigned with a hint of anger and hurt. Zayn can't resist putting a hand on his arm, but he doesn't know what to say in this situation, can't remember the last time he tried to console someone.
"Whatever," Liam says dismissively. "It's not a big thing. Not anymore, at least. It's been years. I got over it. Don't think my mum ever did fully, but… it's different. I was young when he left. She'd spent a lot of her life with him, you know?"
"So what about these?" Zayn asks, trying to change the subject. He grabs the first action figure he can, turning it in his hands. "You a big Superman fan?"
Liam snorts, like he's offended. "Definitely not," he says, plunking the small, plastic thing from Zayn's fingers. "Batman, actually. Pretty into the Avengers — mainly Tony Stark and Bruce Banner— too, but my dad sent me those. I got one for every Christmas and Birthday for about three years, until they stopped coming. I kept them because they're so ridiculously stupid. I asked about a hundred times for a Batman one, or an Iron Man one, and he just kept sending me Superman."
"He sounds like a dick," Zayn blurts. He catches himself and hurries to add, "Shit, sorry. See? This is why I don't have friends. I don't think before I talk, and I end up making an ass out of myself."
Instead of getting angry, Liam laughs. "No, I like it," he says. "Every time Harry comes up here, he asks me why I still have them and then he gives me this look, you know, like he feels really bad and he has no idea what to do about it, and it sucks more than the situation. Plus, he is a dick. Everyone thinks it but no one says it. I like that you did. That you don't walk on eggshells around me when it comes to this stuff."
He carefully places the action figure back on the shelf and, as much as Liam claims to dislike the things, he has a feeling that, deep down, he's attached to them. They're set up too neatly, and they're in good shape, too, no broken pieces or chipped paint.
Liam gets this faraway look on his face for a second, and Zayn finds himself saying the first thing that comes to mind once more. "Can I kiss you again?"
Turning, Liam gives him a look that isn't so much confused as it is considering. He licks his lips, too, which makes Zayn's mind short circuit for a moment before he says, "Yeah. I mean— you can."
He puts a hand on Liam's waist and steps forward. He doesn't stop; he just keeps moving forward until Liam has no choice but to stumble backwards, and from there he guides Liam until his legs hit the bed.
"I thought you wanted to kiss me," Liam says, voice shaky.
Zayn grins at him, feigning confidence. "I do. Just—," he shoves at Liam's shoulders gently until he falls onto the bed, "— I want to do it here."
Liam makes a soft sound, but it's not a protestation. In fact, he nods mutely and slides farther up the bed until he's leaning against the pillows. Zayn follows him until he's kneeling over Liam, legs on either side of his body, hands flat on the mattress to support him. Now he's the one who licks his lips, and Liam's gaze drop to them before returning to his eyes again.
"This okay?" he asks anyways, just to be sure.
"Yeah," Liam says again. His thumbs rub circles on Zayn's hips over the thin material of his t-shirt.
He has to close his eyes. It's not a romantic thing, either, where he closes his eyes so he can just enjoy the feel of Liam's lips. No, it's because Liam's eyes are wide and patient, waiting and willing for whatever Zayn's going to give him. And it's not lost on him, the fact that he's probably the only person who's ever laid on this bed with Liam that's had intentions to do more than just sleep, or study, or play video games. Not that he wouldn't like doing those things, too, but right now he'd prefer to memorize the softness of Liam's lips and the feel of his body underneath Zayn's.
He leans in, slow, careful, and blinks open his eyes just once, quickly, and finds Liam still look at him so intently. He pushes down any sense of nerves because, yeah, Liam wants this. And he wants this. So he should just fucking do it, right?
But he doesn't because he's a chicken shit, and just like when he was out training with his dad, he freezes up. His palms sweat, his heart races, and he can't move. Fingers find their way between the thick tangles of his hair, and Liam pulls him down the last inch or so until they're kissing. Unlike last night, it's not a spur of the moment, over before he can think type thing. It's soft, gentle, and he tries not to think of Liam as delicate because he's really not, but he can't help it.
He tilts his chin a little, and one of Liam's hands slide from his hair, down to cup his jaw. Zayn pulls back, just for a second, and then he kisses Liam once more, this time with less hesitancy, lips firmly grazing Liam's, tongue sliding out to lick alone them until they part just enough for him to deepen the kiss.
Liam groans into his mouth, low and rough, but he barely registers it, just keeps kissing him, getting lost in the way Liam lets him guide the whole thing, the way his hand is still fisted tightly in Zayn's hair, the other one moving down his side, now, nails scratching lightly through his clothes.
"Were you chewing strawberry gum?" Liam asks, lips still close enough to Zayn's that they brush together when he talks.
Zayn blinks away the fog that kissing Liam had settled over his mind. "Um, just after lunch. That was hours ago, though."
Liam grins and mumbles "Tastes good," before kissing him again, this time being a bit more bold, licking into Zayn's mouth like he's done it many times before.
Before long he's breaking contact again, instead fumbling to press kisses to Zayn's jaw. Zayn takes the incentive and does the same to him, surprised to find the skin there covered in a short smattering of stubble that has his lips tingling until he moves down to Liam's neck, mouthing there, teeth scraping lightly until—
It's effortless, the way Liam grabs his hips and flips them over. It happens so fast that Zayn is left to just lay there for a moment, stunned. He doesn't have time to think about it, though, because Liam's hips are grinding into his, and now teeth are biting sharply at his collar, lips are sucking a mark there, and Liam's muttering against his skin, soft "God, you taste so good," and "So attractive," and one simple, drawn out, "Zayn."
Fuck, he can't do anything but wrap his legs around Liam's waist and hold on for the ride, hips jerking up feebly to meet Liam's, nails scratching at Liam's back, soft, desperate sounds coming out of his mouth because he hadn't seen this coming. Hadn't anticipated the fact that he'd get this, get Liam moaning against him and rocking their hips together, his length pressing against Zayn's thigh. Not this quickly, at least. Maybe not ever.
Sharp nails dig into his skin, and he winces. "Watch the nails," he groans, tipping his head back, arching his neck to give Liam better access, since he's apparently become fascinated with sucking and kissing and biting at Zayn's neck. He figures it's red and pink and purple, a plethora of little marks left there by Liam's lips.
Just like when they were flipped over, Zayn doesn't have any time to react before Liam's off him, off the bed, across the room. He's tugging a hand jerkily through his hair, back turned and tensed. "Sorry," he says, and his voice is quiet, flat.
Zayn sits up, tugging his shirt back down over his stomach. He runs a hand through his hair, too, trying to restore some order after Liam had his way with it. "It's cool," Zayn says slowly. "Really. We should probably go work on our project anyways."
Except maybe it's not completely cool, he thinks, because there's a rip in his jeans from Liam's nails. How the hell did he manage that? He frowns down at it, and it almost looks like puncture holes. He goes to ask what the fuck happened there, how Liam did that, but Liam's turning back to him, wide eyed with an almost hopeful, weak smile on his face. Zayn probably couldn't even spell his name correctly at that moment, if you asked him to. Not if Liam was still looking at him like that.
"You're probably right," Liam agrees. "Downstairs, then?"
He nods and stands up, trying to hide the fact that he's unsteady on his feet. His ears are sort of ringing, he's hard in his jeans, and he feels light-headed. In a good way, though. The best way, really. And he likes that Liam does that to him. Sort of really likes Liam, too, and that's not something he's thought about anyone in a long, long time.
Liam
"You like him," Harry repeats, sounding incredulous. He's more than a little grateful that Harry isn't actually with him, since he'd be willing to bet all the money he has saved up that the look on his face is an extremely judgemental one. "Zayn. You like Zayn. As in, the werewolf hunter. As in, you, the werewolf, have a thing for the werewolf hunter."
Liam grits his teeth and says, "Yes."
"Okay, just clarifying," Harry says. "You idiot. Honestly, Liam!"
"I'm aware that it's not exactly the smartest thing, but—,"
"Not exactly the smartest thing." Harry snorts loud enough that Liam wonders if his brain came out his nose. "Fuck. Of all the people. Why couldn't it have been someone normal, Liam? Why must you complicate our lives even more? Like it's not bad enough that you're a damn creature of the night. The first guy you've been interested in in— ever, really— happens to be someone whose family is literally trying to kill you right now."
"Again, I'm aware."
"Just checking."
Liam sighs and sinks onto the couch. It still smells like smoke and soap, and he wonders if his bed does, too, and then he figures, yeah, it probably does. He shouldn't smile at that, but he can't help it. Not when the memories are still fresh in his mind, and he can still taste the ghost of strawberry gum when he licks his lips. But then the other memories flood back, too, like the part where he'd nearly clawed Zayn's leg off, and he's lost control for long enough that, if Zayn hadn't been so distracted, he definitely would have gotten found out. He's extremely lucky that he didn't, actually.
"So what are you going to do?"
Again, Liam sighs. "What can I do?"
"Well, what do you want to do?"
He smirks. "Well, Harry, you see, when two people like each other very much—"
"Yeah, I got that." He can hear Harry moving around in his room, figures he's probably on his computer chair, turning in circles, like he's prone to do until he's so dizzy that he stumbles out of it when he stands up. "But I'm guessing that the whole 'stay away from him' thing isn't an option anymore."
It never really was, if Liam's being honest with himself. "Nope."
"You guys are like Romeo and Juliet," Harry comments, and Liam swears he's actually giggling. "Except, in this case, Romeo's going to kill Juliet instead of himself."
"I'm so glad this is amusing to you," Liam says dryly.
Harry just laughs louder. "If you can't see the humour in things, you'll end up crying over everything."
"But—," he sucks in a breath and starts over. "But maybe he doesn't ever have to find out. I mean, I've kept it from everyone, right? Even my mum doesn't know. I could keep it from him."
"And what happens when one day you're trying to have sex, and the next thing he knows, you've got gold eyes and claws? What then, Liam?"
He chews over this for a moment, knowing Harry's right. All they did was kiss today and he'd totally lost it. Not that he couldn't learn to control it, Harry says, but how long would that take? "We just won't do anything like that, then," Liam decides.
"Abstinence," Harry states. "Good luck with that one."
Liam groans in annoyance. "You're not helping at all."
"I'm not a miracle worker," Harry points out. "This situation can't be helped. I think you know it, too. It's just a bad idea, and it's potentially deadly. And my dad says—,"
Liam stands up quickly, crouching. "Shut up," he hisses, eyes narrowing. After a beat he adds, "Sorry."
"Liam," Harry says calmly. "What's wrong?'
"Someone's breaking into my house," Liam admits. "I have to go. I'll call you back."
"What? No, don't you dare hang up on me, Liam James Pay—," click.
He drops his cellphone onto the couch and takes a step towards the kitchen, where someone's turning the door handle while scratching at the lock. He tries to listen, to pick up on whether there's more than one person. For one horrible second he considers the fact that maybe he hadn't been as sneaky as he'd thought he'd been today. Maybe Zayn has noticed, and maybe what's on the other side of the door is the consequences of that.
Staying in the shadows of the darkened kitchen, he ducks low, out of sight of the small, curtain covered window in the door. And then whoever is trying to break in disappears. He frowns, standing up straighter again, until he hears a crash in his bedroom a few minutes later and a muttered, "Son of a fuck."
It takes him seconds to get to the second floor, and even less time to wrap a hand around his doorknob. He goes to pull it open, eyes glowing, teeth barred, but then he picks up on a semi-familiar scent and he pauses, coming back to himself.
When he steps into his room, Niall is flipping through the book Zayn had left on his bedside table. He looks surprised when the door opens wide enough to bounce off the wall, a soft thud echoing through the space.
"Hey," Niall says, smiling brightly as if this is something that happens all the time.
"What are you doing here?" Liam demands. "Did you— did you break in?"
"I thought Zayn might still be here," he explains, "and I didn't want to have this conversation with him here."
"He's not here," Liam tells him. "And what conversation?"
He thinks he's taking this surprisingly well, considering the fact that a guy he's known for years and has only talked to a handful of times just broke into his bedroom and, from what he can tell, ripped his screen to do so.
Niall rolls his eyes. "You know what conversation."
Liam shakes his head. "I really don't."
Niall lean back on his bed easily, legs stretched out in front of him. "I should have realized a while ago," he starts, head cocked to the side. "When you took that week off school, and then the next you were attached at the hip with Styles. It's really obvious, now that I think about."
Liam tenses, but other than that he shows no sign of having any idea what Niall's talking about. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"And now my best mate is hanging out with you two," he continues, "even though Louis hates Harry with a passion. And I realized, when I stopped to think about it, that that whole thing started the first day we got back to school after the full moon."
His tongue is dry in his mouth as he says, "I have no idea what you're trying to get at."
"Okay." Niall sits up a bit straighter, eyes narrowing. "So tell me what's really going on then, Liam. Because right now I can only think of one explanation, and I'm praying that I'm wrong, trust me, but I don't think I am."
He can see it in Niall's eyes, the fact that he knows and he's not going to back down, no matter how much Liam denies it. In that moment everything in him crumbles and his legs feel weak. He leans against the door, ducking his head, and so softly he doubts Niall can even hear him, he says, "Don't tell him. Zayn can't— you can't tell him."
When he looks up, Niall is staring at him with his lips parted in surprise. "Shit," he hisses. "I was honestly hoping you'd call me crazy and kick me out, or maybe even phone the police." He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair. "I won't tell him, though. If I give you up, I give Louis up, and I can't do that."
Liam squeezes his eyes closed for a moment. "Then why'd you come here? Just to scare me?"
"No," Niall says, sincerity ringing in his words. "I came to help."
He looks up at that, surprise probably evident on his face. "What?"
Niall nods. "I have to," he says. "I figure, if I help, we can fix this and then maybe Zayn's family will leave and they'll stop looking for you two."
"Help what?" Liam racks his brain for an answer to that, but he can't think of anything.
"Help you catch the alpha, obviously," Niall says, like he should know this. "The one who bit you. Who I'm assuming bit Louis, too. We catch him, kill him, and then you two lay low for long enough and the hunters will get bored. Think the rest of the pack ran off when the alpha was killed. It's the only way I can see everyone getting out of this without incident."
"You want us to catch him," Liam states. "Us. We're just a bunch of teenagers!"
Niall shrugs. "And? What's your point?"
"My point is— it's dangerous," Liam rattles off. "It's insane. Not to mention the fact that none of us are equipped to do that."
"Speak for yourself," Niall says. "And you were born equipped. Or bitten, anyways."
"And what if I don't want to?"
The look Niall gives him is challenging and angry. "Then more people get bit, or killed. And we're going to tack your name onto the bottom of the list of the latter."
He doesn't want to believe that, but there's conviction in Niall's eyes.
Swallowing, Liam asks, "What do you want me to do?"
"Get Harry on board," Niall says while standing up. "And then Louis. And after that, we're going to take this guy down."
Liam nods silently and Niall pats his shoulder on the way out, like they're friends or something, which they're not. Not exactly, anyways. "See you at school tomorrow, Liam," he adds on his way down the stairs.
Liam stays in his room. He hears the downstairs door open and close, hears Niall's footsteps as he walks away from the house. When he can't pick them up any longer, he collapses on his bed and lays there until he hears his mum's car. Then he hurries downstairs, throws everything he should have eaten for dinner into the garbage so she doesn't ask why he didn't, and then he runs back to his room, flicks off the light and falls back into bed, surrounded by Zayn's scent.
For the first time in months, he sleeps dreamlessly.
—
As promised, Niall does see him at school the next day. Or, more accurately, he sits down beside Liam at lunch. Louis is already in the seat beside Harry, shovelling food into his mouth as he continues to press Harry for answers on more of his questions, ones that range from "Is it only the day of the full moon that I go crazy, or is like a week long thing, like getting your period?" to "Can I get pregnant now?" which doesn't even make sense, but Louis looks honestly concerned about this.
"Hey," Niall says, dropping his tray loudly.
Louis cuts off in the middle of asking something about his dick, which has Harry's nose wrinkling, and they all go quiet. "What are you doing here?" Louis asks finally, first the break the silence.
Niall looks between all of them and then gives Liam an accusatory look. "You haven't talked to them yet?"
He shifts in his seat, feeling scolded. "I was working on it."
"Talked to us about what?" Harry demands. "Liam—,"
"I know," Niall says, cutting him off, "about Liam and Louis, so don't bother bullshitting me."
Again, the table falls silent for a few seconds. "Oh." This time Harry is the one to speak first.
Before Niall can pitch his idea of them taking down the werewolf that bit Liam and Louis, another person sits at their table. Zayn spares Liam one soft smile before saying, "Everyone ditched me off. Thanks for the memo that we're sitting at this table now, by the way."
"Does he know, too?" Harry snaps, a glare on his face.
"Do I know what?" Zayn questions with a sandwich halfway to his mouth. "What are we talking about?"
Unanimously, they say, "Nothing." It's perfectly in sync, all their tones matching up. Liam is the first to crack, a grin slipping onto his face, and then Harry's laughing and Louis joins a moment later with a hand over his mouth, and Niall's cheeks go red with the force of the laugh that comes out of him.
Zayn chews a bite of his sandwich, puts it down and then says, "Right. I'm lost. What did I miss?"
Louis sighs deeply. "My Halloween party plans," he lies. "I have one every year — but you don't know that because you're new—, and this year my parents are renting out that corn maze just outside of town. I told Harry a few days ago and apparently he told Liam, who told Niall, because no one here can keep a secret."
Louis Tomlinson is a fantastic liar, you have to give him that. Zayn buys the story, too. "Why would you want to have it out at the maze, though?" he asks.
Again, Louis just rolls with it, spouting off bullshit that may actually be partially true, actually. "It's cool, it's just the right side of freaky, and it's expensive. If that doesn't sum me up perfectly, I don't know what does."
"But what do you do at the maze?" Zayn pushes. His nose wrinkles. "That doesn't sound like the type of place you'd have a party at."
"No, it'll be great," Louis says passionately. "We're getting a huge tent, and there'll be lights and a dance floor and a DJ and it's going to be catered, and then we're going to have booths set up inside the maze itself where you can win prizes and stuff, and there will be patrons there to help anyone who can't make it through. And the first couple to make it through the maze gets the grand prize."
"He did a raffle last year," Niall adds. "What was the prize then?"
"That miniature motorcycle thing," Louis says offhandedly. "This year it's an exclusive day trip to London for two. My parents were going to go, originally, but something came up so they gave the tickets to me, but I don't really need them. If I want to go to London, I can go whenever I want."
Liam breathes out an impressed breath. He's heard about Louis' parties. Everyone has, actually. He's just never been invited to one. He's wondering if this year will be any different, given the circumstances, when Louis says, "And you're all going to come, of course." He pauses, tilting his chin a bit. "Even Harry."
Harry gives him a solemn look. "I'm so very honoured that you've deigned me worthy, Louis. I'll cherish this until my dying day."
He's so caught up in paying attention to the conversation that it takes him a while to notice that people are looking at them. A lot of people. Like, almost everyone in the cafeteria. He looks around, cheeks burning, as he meets the gaze of classmate after classmate, expressions ranging from confusion to disbelief to horror.
He knows what it's about, too. It was only a matter of time before everyone started wondering when hell froze over and Louis Tomlinson started sitting with them, instead of at his usual table, and why he brought Niall and Zayn with him.
"What?" Louis snaps, catching on. "What are you all staring at? You can get back to your pathetic lives now, thank you."
"Are we still on for tonight?" Zayn wonders, leaning forward a bit, head inclined in Liam's direction. He puts a hand on Liam's thigh, fingers lightly squeezing.
Remembering the conversation with Harry yesterday, Liam nods but says, "At the library? My mum'll be home today, and she'd probably hover over us the whole time." It's a lie, and he wants to spend time alone with Zayn, he does, he just doesn't trust himself.
"Sure," Zayn says, fingers drumming on Liam's leg for a moment until they're gone and he picks up his sandwich again, resuming eating.
He can't help but wonder how this would be if things were different. If he and Zayn were both normal. They're not, though, and there's nothing he can do to change that; this is just how things have to be.
Zayn
He's been to his fair share of parties in his life, but they were all the sort of dingy house parties that people like him get invited to. The type where half the people attending are so drunk they're passed out on random furniture, each other, or even the floor. Where smoke hangs in the air, smelling of nicotine or marijuana, or both. Where 'party favours' were tiny little pills in dime baggies that people placed on their tongues and chased with Pepsi or beer.
Louis' party will not be like that, he knows. Since Niall has apparently taken Zayn in as his new best friend, and since he's already Louis' best friend, Zayn is inadvertently roped into helping with the party. Niall is stuck helping put up decorations, but Zayn actually gets to help pick out the music that'll be playing all night, which is kind of cool, surprisingly.
He'd been more than a little wary when he'd heard it was going to be at the corn maze just outside of town, the one they'd driven past on their way in that was spread out on many acres, seemingly endless. He has a thing against mazes. They freak him out, admittedly. There's not many things he hates more than being lost, and he does not see the appeal of purposely getting lost. Still, he can't deny that it's cool, nor can he deny the fact that he's really looking forward to it.
So when his mum serves him a special breakfast on Thursday morning with a too bright smile and a too tight hug, he knows that something's going to ruin it.
"I need you to baby sit," she says, and there it is. The bomb that will destroy everything. She winces, too, like she knows what she's doing and she really doesn't want to.
Zayn shakes his head. "Get Waliyha to do it. I have plans, you know that."
His mother nods, like she does, but she gives him a regretful, apologetic look. "She can't. She's been invited to a party, too, but it's an overnight thing, and your father and I have things we need to do."
"So leave her at home," Zayn suggest. "Safaa's not that young."
"Your sister is nine years old. We are not leaving her home until God only knows what hour," his mother snaps. "You can take her with you to the party. I've already called Louis' parents, and there won't be drinking or anything like that. It's perfectly fine for you to bring her with you."
He doesn't want to be one of those kids, but he can't help it. "But mum—,"
"No buts." There's a set look on her face. While his mother is normally all sunshine and warmth, she is also capable of being stern and cold, when she wants to be. "You want to go to the party, you take your sister. Or you can stay home. It's up to you, but you will be watching her, Zayn, and that's final."
His mouth snaps shut with an audible sound. He stabs at the eggs on his plate angrily while glaring down at them, as if they've done him some great, personal wrong. "This is bullshit."
She ignores him, but she knows what tomorrow is. It's not just Louis' party. It's also his first date with Liam. Actually, it's his first date, ever. And he's trying not to make a big deal of it because he's too cool for that or whatever, but it sort of is. It's sort of a really big deal.
"Liam will understand, sweetie," his mother says, ruffling his hair the way she used to when he was younger and doing so wouldn't ruin twenty minutes of precise styling. "He's a good one, that boy. He won't mind."
"Whatever," Zayn grumbles.
He gets another sympathetic yet stern look for that, but not a scolding. He' still pissed by the time he leaves to pick Liam up for school, though. At least Harry isn't there today to bite his head off for it. He's not sure if Liam talked to him about that, or if maybe Harry's warmed to him after spending lunch together yesterday. Either way, he's glad that there's not that obstacle anymore.
Liam is restless and jumpy when he gets in the passenger seat. His eyes are sort of wild, flitting everywhere, and his leg is jiggling so much that it's actually moving the car.
"What's wrong?" Zayn asks, trying not to sound as concerned as he feels.
He's not used to feeling things, and it throws him off because, when he's with Liam, he can't help it. Liam — and Harry and Louis too, it seems — is the type of person that feels everything. When he's happy, you know it. There's a blinding smile on his face and a glint in his eyes. When he's angry, he lets you know, too, with snapped words and sharply narrowed eyes. And when he's down, like that day when they were in his room, talking about his dad, you can see it etched into every crevice of his face, even if he's doing his best to hide it.
"I'm fine," Liam assures him, a bit too quickly. He realizes this, too. "It's just— something feels off. I don't know what, and I can't explain it. Something just feels wrong."
"I might know something that could help that," he offers, waggling his eyebrows. He puts a hand on Liam's leg and slides it up slowly, lips curled up in a smirk.
Something flashes in Liam's eyes. It's there one second, gone the next, and then he's moving Zayn's hand off his leg, careful but firm, twining their fingers together and holding them over the seat divider instead. He tries not to look wounded by that, but he must fail.
"Sorry," Liam says quietly. "I just don't want us to be late."
"Oh, right." He nods and pulls away from Liam's house, taking the short-cut he'd found to get to school faster.
When he pulls into his usual parking spot, Harry's truck is on his left, Louis' Porsche on his right. He gets out, finding the two of them and Niall leaning against the trunk of Harry's truck. Weirdly enough, Louis' got a hand on Harry's arm and a worried look on his face. Not worried for anyone else, but worried for Harry, almost, which is just weird and confusing. Then again, so is everything lately. Last week had been so vastly different from this one. For one, Harry and Louis had seemed to hate each other. Niall seemed indifferent to Harry and Liam. And he wasn't sort of, possibly dating Liam. If that's what they're doing. He hopes that's what they're doing.
And then he remembers this morning, and the fact that he hasn't told Liam yet because he was too busy worrying about him. "Can we talk before we go join them?" he asks in a small voice.
Now Liam's the one who looks worried. "Sure," he says warily. "About what?"
"About tomorrow," Zayn starts, causing Liam's worried expression to morph into one of hurt and disappointment before he can even finish.
"It's fine if you don't want to go with me," he says. "I know I'm not popular or whatever, and you are, and—,"
"It's not that," Zayn says. "It's definitely not that. I couldn't give less of a shit about that. It's just that I, um, sort of need to baby sit. My parents didn't really give me a choice, even though I said that tomorrow was important."
That bright smile brightens Liam's face, as it usually does. "It was important, huh?"
"You are," Zayn admits. "Sort of. I don't know. Is that cheesy?"
Liam shrugs, like he doesn't care if it is. He kisses Zayn's cheek and says, "And I don't mind. I liked your sister. We'll just reschedule the alone date until another time."
"You're sure?"
"Definitely."
Zayn decides right then and there that, if he ever has to fall stupidly, pathetically in love with someone, he wouldn't mind as long as that person was Liam Payne.
They get out of the car, Liam first, and join the rest of them behind the truck. Niall's got the back pulled down and he's sitting on it, legs dangling, straw of what looks like a milkshake (this early?) in his mouth. Louis' talking in a rush to Harry, lines forming between his brow. "— feel it? It's wrong. Something. I can't tell what it is, but I can feel it, Harry."
"Liam said the same thing," Zayn offers. He attempts to steal Niall's drink from him, but Niall swats his hand away. A second later he hands the drink over, revealing the fact that it is, in fact, a chocolate milkshake. How he doesn't weigh four hundred pounds eludes Zayn.
"See!" Louis says loudly. "Liam gets it."
"Wrong how?" Niall asks.
"Eerie," Liam supplies.
"Like, before a storm," Louis adds. "When everything's too settled, too calm, but all the animals are running because they know something's coming. It's like that."
"Good analogy," Harry says with a smirk. Louis and Liam both glare at him for this, though Zayn doesn't get why.
The bell rings before they can continue the conversation. Niall scrambles off the truck, Harry pushes the back part up again, and then they head inside, Liam's fingers in the slots between his own.
Liam and Louis are both weirdly tense at lunch, though, and Zayn's starting to wonder if maybe they're not just imagining things. Or maybe they're making him imagine things. That's likely, he figures.
They don't get to talk about it, though, because Miranda sits next to Zayn without warning, and then Josh slides into the seat next to Niall, and Andrew beside Harry, and Drew beside Liam. All of a sudden the entire group from their old table is sitting with them and bringing Harry and Liam into the conversation as if nothing has changed. Harry seems to think this is brilliant, happily arguing with Drew about something that Zayn's not paying attention to, laughing when Miranda tells a joke. Liam, on the other hand, looks pinched and nervous the whole time, like he's not used to this many people paying attention to him. That strikes Zayn as wrong. People should have been paying attention to him always. He doesn't really get how they managed not to, because Liam is kind of wonderful.
If the world is deciding to just realize this now, he'll happily share Liam's brilliance with everyone else, as long as he still gets Liam's hand in his, hidden under the table, squeezing tightly every couple of minutes as if to remind Zayn that it's still there.
—
"If you don't go as a cat, too, we won't match," Safaa hisses.
They've been arguing about this for the last, oh, six hours. She might be young and little, his sister, but she is every bit as demanding and stubborn as their mother, when she wants. It's driving him crazy. Normally he's happy to give her whatever she wants, would go so far as to say he spoilers her rotten, but this is different. This night is important, and there's already a hitch in the plans. He's not going to add 'I dressed up as a kitty' to the list of things that are going to be terrible about this date.
"I'm not wearing a costume," Zayn repeats for what must be the twentieth time, at least. "Boys don't dress up as cats."
"Why not?" Safaa demands, face scrunched, tiny hands on her hips. In that moment she looks so much like their mother that is scares him.
"Because it's just— it's just not something that we do, okay? Would you dress up as — as an army man?"
Safaa raises her eyebrows. She's too smart for her own good, this kid. "Yes, I would," she says defiantly. "If I want to do something, I'm going to do it because I want to, not because I'm a girl and people think it's for girls. And I'm not going to not do something just because some people think it's for boys."
There she goes, giving a big fuck you to sexism without even blinking her eyes, pink still smudged around her mouth from the popsicle he'd tried to give her as a bargaining chip. He lets out a sigh and wipes the smudge away before saying, "You're not letting me leave without dressing up, are you?"
"I'll kick and scream," she promises.
"Oh, alright." he lets her tug him into the bathroom, lets her draw ridiculous whiskers on his face in Waliyha's black eyeliner, and then afterwards she produces a pair of black and pink cat ears for him. He has absolutely no idea where she got them from, but he has a feeling his mother won't look at all surprised when he goes downstairs looking like this.
"You have to wear all black, too," Safaa adds. "You're a black kitty because black kitties are special to Halloween. That's way Liyha told me."
"Waliyha talks a lot of shit," Zayn mutters under his breath.
Safaa's eyes widen and she says, "If you give me another popsicle, I won't tell mum that you swore."
"You're relentless, do you know that?" he asks her, but he's smiling fondly anyways.
"I'm nine," she says flatly. "I don't even know what that word means."
By the time they leave, he's dressed, for all intensive purposes, like a black cat. Or Safaa's idea of a black cat, anyways. Tight black jeans, black pullover, cat ears, black smudged on his nose and lines going out in all directions from it. When he pulls up in front of Liam's house, he doesn't feel so stupid.
"Nice tie," he can't help but say.
Liam tugs at the gold and red striped garment and grins weakly at him. "I haven't been a Harry Potter character yet," he says. "And you said something about Lupin being your favourite or whatever."
"No, Lupin's his least favourite," Safaa says from the back. "He's a werewolf, and Zayn hates werewolves."
They must make an interesting picture, he and Liam. Him in all black, Liam absolutely paper white from Safaa's words.
"He's— he's not my least favourite," Zayn corrects. "There are characters I hate a lot more."
Liam's obviously went to a lot of trouble with this, too, because he's got the prefects badge and everything, stitched right into the chest of his sweater, along with the Gryffindor crest. It's sweet, it is, and Zayn so wishes that he hadn't been stuck bringing Safaa with them.
"Let's just go," Liam says with a shrug. He doesn't sound upset at all, but he chews his lip and stares out the window the whole ride.
It takes nearly half an hour to get out to the maze. When they do, it's worth it. It's just after eight, which means it's nearly pitch black outside. There's lights strung up everywhere, though, illuminating everything. There's music coming from the tent in the distance, a little ways from the parking lot that's nearly filled with cars.
"Wow," Safaa breathes. "Awesome."
"You don't leave my sight the entire night, do you hear me?" Zayn says, meeting her eyes in the rear-view mirror.
"What about—,"
"No exceptions," Zayn says firmly. "Or I'll call mum and dad."
Safaa sighs and nods. "Alright, alright. Dictator."
Zayn makes a face at her. "Do you even know what that word means?"
"Yes," she says seriously. "Penis potato."
At least that makes Liam laugh. Zayn resigns himself to getting out of the car and grabbing her hand as soon as they're outside, taking Liam's in the other. It's actually sort of nice, not that he'd admit that out loud.
Liam isn't the only one who went with the werewolf theme. When they find Louis, chatting with people just outside the tent, he's got his own set of fake ears, only they're brown and fuzzier and he's got a pair of sharp looking canines to match, and fake, clawed nails. There's a tear in his shirt, just above his hip, like someone had ripped at it with their teeth. Underneath the rip, he can just barely make out the fake bite mark. It makes him shudder, the details almost too real.
Liam is eying him warily, and when Louis comes over to them and says "What? What's wrong with my costume?" Liam just sighs heavily.
"Is here candy?" Safaa asks, eyes wide and innocent. The whole look is put on. She hasn't looked that young and sweet since she learned to talk, he's fairly sure.
"There definitely is," Louis says, thankfully not using that baby voice that some people do with little kids. Safaa probably would have stomped on his foot for it. "In the tent. There's pastries, too, and drinks. Help yourselves. Sadly, I have guests to attend to. Oh, and Harry's somewhere in the tent, in case you're wondering. Niall's somewhere. He was with Josh last time I checked."
They nod and, after Safaa's insisting, head into the tent.
The tent does little to keep the slightly chilly air out, and everyone dressed inappropriately for the weather in costumes with too little material look like they're regretting it. It's nice inside, though. The lights are strung up along the top of the tent, and there's a few picnic tables set up for people to sit at, each one topped with a carved pumpkin, candles lighting them all up. There's a long table against the left, too, topped with small plastic cups and individually wrapped cakes and bars and such. Safaa helps herself to a single cupcake, while Liam feeds Zayn a brownie, and then a cupcake, and Zayn feeds Liam two chocolate covered strawberries because he likes them best. They stain his lips a deep red, too, that makes Zayn wonder if that's how they'd look after spending enough time with those lips wrapped around his—
"A kitty," someone says, flicking Zayn's ears. "Where's your tail?" Harry grins at him, and then at Liam, and finally at Safaa. "She's got a tail. You're being one-upped, mate."
"My mum says that cats are moody, and that the costume suits him," Safaa tells Harry.
Harry himself is in a simple Jason from Friday the Thirteenth costume, blood covered clever and everything, though it's rubber, or so he realizes when Harry starts bending it absently.
"They're starting the maze soon," Harry says. "We've got to split up into groups of two." He gives Zayn a sympathetic look. "I can take her if you and Liam want to go by yourselves."
"I'm not allowed to leave Zayn's sight at all tonight," Safaa says. "No exceptions. Right, Zayn?"
He grimaces. "Right. I did say that."
"It's fine," Liam assures him. "You take her, and I'll go with Harry. We'll meet up afterwards."
"Li—,"
"It's fine," Liam repeats, pressing a quick kiss to his forehead. "If we start now, we'll hopefully be done fast anyways, and maybe we'll even win that trip to London."
"If we win, I'm not giving up my ticket so you can go with Zayn," Harry argues. Liam gives him a look. "Ugh. The things I do for you, Liam. Don't know why we're friends, I really don't."
Before they head off for the maze, Louis tugs Liam away from him. The two of them huddle in the corner for a long while, both talking in a hushed whisper. He and Harry are both openly staring at them while Safaa stuffs her face with far more cakes than Zayn would normally allow. He figures the pinched look on Harry's face mirrors his own as he strains to hear what they're saying, but over the rest of the crowd talking and the background music, he gets nothing but a few scattered words that don't add up to anything.
When Liam gets back to them, he shakes his head at Zayn's questioning look and gives him a reassuring smile. "Issues with the lighting in part of the maze," he explains. "Nothing too problematic."
Zayn puts a hand on his arm. "That's all? You're sure?"
"Definitely."
"You two are gross," Safaa mutters. "Are we doing the maze now, or are you and Liam gunna kiss?"
Zayn rolls his eyes for what feels like the hundredth time that night, and he has a feeling it won't be the last.
—
The maze has eight different entrances, but only one exit. He considers skipping it, but Safaa is adamant about the whole thing so he really doesn't have a choice. Plus, the cat ears might be worth it if they won. Or so he tries to tell himself.
It's kind of his own personal nightmare, to be honest. Safaa tugs him into the maze as soon as Louis waves them all in, and then he's surrounded on all sides by corn. Normally he loves corn, but right now it's definitely his least favourite vegetable. It's tall and grown so thickly that it creates walls, and sometimes the path gets so narrow that they have to go single file, and other times it opens up into big crossroads. At the second crossroad they find a dart booth where each person gets five darts and a chance to win a prize.
He's got good aim, but he wants to skip it. He doesn't get to, though, because the look on Safaa's face when she spots a giggling couple throwing the darts and popping balloons is one that he's not going to wipe away by saying no.
He gets a prize, too; a small, blue stuffed dog. Safaa leaves with a fairly large teddy bear that looks ridiculous in her arms, but she refuses to let him carry it for her.
The next booth is a ring toss, and he's fairly certain they're actually going backward, but the guy in the booth refuses to tell him whether they are or not. And, just like any fair or carnival he's been at, the ring toss game is so fucking rigged. Somehow Safaa leaves with a prize anyways, this time a beaded necklace with a giant, pink heart pendant that hangs almost to her waist.
Things get weirdly quiet after that. Before, he could hear other people. They were passing other people. Now, it's been about ten minutes since he's last heard someone other than himself or Safaa speak, and it's getting to him. He eyes each wall warily, and he thinks he finally gets what Louis and Liam were talking about earlier. Everything feels creepily calm. Like chaos is going to break out at any second.
Still, they have no choice but to move forward. And Louis promised there'd be people set up all along the maze to help anyone who's lost out, right? Zayn tries to find one of these people, decides that he doesn't want to play this stupid game anymore. Even Safaa seems like she wants to give up, too, so he starts calling out, waiting for a reply.
He finds a post a few minutes later. It's just a stick in the ground with a sign on it that says, If lost, wait here. Someone will help you find your way out. Except there's no one around, even when he calls out again, so he tugs Safaa forward, figuring that either the person who was supposed to be at this post is busy helping someone else out, or they abandoned it. There'll be more people situated around the maze, he knows. They just have to find one.
As he turns the next corner, he realizes he was wrong. They're at a crossroads again, four different directions they can go in, a good square of space between them. The first thing he does is cover Safaa's eyes, and then he tells her to be very quiet and not to move or turn around.
Realistically, he knows the body could be fake. This is Halloween and all, and sometimes people like to scare you. Except it's not a fake body. It's still warm, and no matter how hard you try, it's not possible to replicate the glassy, empty look in the eyes of a dead body.
It's left almost directly in the middle of the crossroads. There's a pool of blood around it, and the clothes the man was wearing are stained red, too, but the reflector vest he's wearing is still doing it's job. There's a nametag hanging loosely from the ripped shreds of the man's chest, the name William standing out to him, for some odd reason. More so than the ragged flesh, or the rib cage that is clearly visible.
A person couldn't have done this. He's only seen wounds like this come from two things: big animals, like bears or lions (never first hand, of course, but it helps, in his life, to be able to distinguish the differences), or a werewolf.
It's still eerily quiet, too, except for Safaa's soft crying. She's huddled near the opening of the path they'd just come from, hands clasped tightly over her face the way Zayn had left her. Her shoulders shake and she's stomping her foot on the ground. That's a move he recognizes, one he's done many times in his life when he's trying to will himself not to cry.
Something rustles the wall just behind him. He whirls, eyes wide, and starts backing up, reaching behind him for his sisters. Fuck, he doesn't even have a knife on him. And he knows that running could be more dangerous than staying put in this situation. There's no way to run quietly, especially when you have a child with you. If they move too much, they could alert whatever's out there to their presence.
Still. "If I say run," he whispers right in her ear, trying to keep his voice too low for anything to pick up, knowing that the thing out there can hear far better than he could ever dream of, "you run. Okay?"
Safaa nods silently and clutches at him. He's never seen her scared like this. Honestly, she seems so fearlessly and mature all the time that it's easy to forget that she really is just a little kid. A scared little kid. And so is he.
This time the rustling comes from his left. He turns and moves Safaa behind him and starts backing them up as slowly as he can. Nothing comes out of the thickly grown corn, though. No glowing eyes alert him to the presence of one of them, no blood covered claws or canines dripping with saliva.
In the distance, someone screams. And then another. It's like a domino affect. He has a feeling that most of the people screaming don't even know why they're screaming, they're just picking up on someone else's terror and projecting it.
He scoops Saf up in his arms and runs.
There's no way to know where he's going. He needs a map, or a guide, but there isn't one. All he has is the moon, the stars, and the faint light coming from the party, which is what he uses to guide them. Fuck getting to the exit. He's willing to start running straight through the corn right now. It's too thick, though, and they'd actually be slower, not to mention the fact that it'd be dangerous.
Thinking he hears people, he turns a corner to follow them, but he just ends up back at the crossroads again. There's something already there, something with glowing golden eyes, dragging the body into the nearest wall of corn. It freezes when Zayn stops dead, eyes lifting to him.
The worst thing about these things, in Zayn's opinion, is sometimes they look almost human. Or — just human enough to be grotesque. The shape of its face is reminiscent of a man's, and the eyes, too, if you can get past the unearthly glow and colour. And then the body shape. From behind, it'd be almost impossible to tell the difference between one of them and one of those things. Except the ears are more pointed, and the hands that hang at its sides end in sharp, thick points.
Safaa doesn't scream. He has no idea how she keeps it in, but tiny nails dig into his shoulders hard enough that he knows there will be scabs there tomorrow from the skin she's scraping off.
If they make it to tomorrow.
It growls at them, low and horrible. Zayn starts back-pedalling, trying to get Safaa on the ground so he can tell her to run and stay and fight the thing himself. He won't win, he knows he won't, but he can buy her time, pray that she finds someone who can help her.
The thing comes towards them, and he'd swear it was smirking if someone asked. Blood drips from it's teeth, too syrupy to be anything else. And then it's blindsided, knocked off its feet by another body. A familiar one, except last time he'd come face-to-face with it, one of his arrows had been sticking out of its leg.
All he can hear is them tearing at each other. There's so much blood that he has no idea who it belongs to, but the new one seems to be coming out on top, he thinks. It's bigger, wider shoulders, and the first one yelps in pain before it's running off. The second one gives Zayn and Safaa one quick look, golden eyes reflecting the light of the moon above, and then it's gone, too.
Safaa's crying again, but she's pounding at his shoulders now, begging to be put down. Zayn does so, as gently as he can, but he keeps a hand around her arm to stop her from going anywhere as he approaches the scene where the two beasts were fighting.
The dead body is so close that he doesn't want to take Safaa over to it, but he has to. The ground underneath the spot is torn up by their claws and their bodies hitting it repeatedly, but there's something else left behind. He bends down, chilled despite the fact that he's sweating profusely, and picks up the shredded piece of a red and gold stripped tie. He swallows, pockets it, and then focuses on getting them out of there.