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He sits in the back, usually.
He’s got a reputation – Niall’s not deaf, he’s heard the rumors, hasn’t he? – but.
From what Niall’s seen, he sits at the back of the room. Keeps to himself. Keeps quiet.
Zayn’s not deaf, either. He’s heard the rumors, too, Niall’s sure. They – well. They’re not exactly whispered quietly, are they? Zayn never says anything, though. Never confirms, never denies. Just sits, quiet, dark eyes watchful, cautious.
Niall notices, but only because he’s observant. It’s not because. Well.
Anyway, it’s a bit of a surprise, isn’t it, when their English teacher is droning on about some partner project, reading off names, and says, “Horan, you’re with Malik. You’ve got Blake.”
Blake… is a poet, Niall’s nearly sure. He’s observant, right, but not necessarily when it matters. For a grade, anyway. He glances towards the back of the room, meets a pair of dark, watchful eyes.
Cautiously, Zayn nods.
Blake it is.
-
It’s dark.
A general way of life, this deep under the sea, but Zayn can still see feeble beams of surface light, rippling weakly through the water. With a careful glance behind him – no one is paying attention, perfect – he scuttles up, thrashing his tail violently to propel himself towards the surface, away from, well. Away from everything, really.
He breaches the surface with a crash, lungs stuttering over the sudden burst of oxygen.
It takes a moment to adjust, chest heaving, but his breathing settles – normal, human – and he watches with eager eyes as a ship approaches, waves breaking with angry bursts of white foam over the wooden bow.
Zayn can just make out the silhouettes of the sailors aboard, bodies being pitched to and fro the deck by the sea’s mercy. Feels his lips curl up into a cruel smile as he ducks his head, diving into the deep and slicing through the salty water with practiced strokes, cutting a path towards the hull of the gleaming ship.
-
Niall clears his throat. He’s not uncomfortable, exactly. It’s just.
Zayn stares up at him with his dark, unreadable eyes. Up close, Niall can see that they’re a normal shade of brown. They twinkle a bit, in the light, catching on the unflattering florescent and reflecting back like the glittering of diamonds, unsettling Niall enough to take a half step backwards.
The corner of Zayn’s mouth ticks up into a smile, of sorts. It crinkles the skin around his eyes, his thick lashes sweeping closed in a slow blink. Niall swallows heavily, hoping no one notices. Hoping Zayn doesn’t notice, really.
Zayn’s gaze meets his, steadily, knowingly.
“Tiger, tiger, burning bright,” he says, his accent think enough to choke on. Niall didn’t know he had an accent. He sucks in a lungful of air, chest expanding painfully.
“Um. What?” Niall asks, clearing his throat again. His pulse is thumping wildly, but it’s just that he hates English. Really.
Zayn’s lips curl up until his smile reaches his eyes, transforming his whole face. “It’s Blake,” he clarifies, voice low and intimate. “Our poet?”
“Right. Of course.”
Zayn gestures to the empty desk next to him and Niall slides awkwardly into the seat. He tries out a tentative smile, glancing down at Zayn’s open book. “’M pretty shit at poetry,” he confesses.
With a grin, Zayn pushes the book towards Niall, scooches his chair closer until his knee knocks against Niall’s. “S’all right, mate. Not to brag, but ‘m pretty good at it.”
Zayn keeps his knee pressed against Niall’s as he reads the poem aloud. Niall doesn’t comprehend a word, just the easy cadence of Zayn’s voice, pulling him down, pulling him under, pulling him deep.
-
The sun has just slipped below the horizon, the last of its golden light bleeding out over the water. It won’t be long before the hazy twilight is swallowed by the ink of night and the stars come out like millions of pinpricks in the dark.
Zayn slows as he approaches the ship, treading water easily as he considers. He doesn’t want to get caught in a net, dragged on board like a common fish. Doesn’t fancy his chances of making it out alive, if he’s captured.
There are nasty rumors about what happens to mermaids who are captured.
Mind made up, Zayn dives down, deep beneath the groaning hull of the ship. Watches as the refracted surface light slowly dims, the sun’s gold giving way to the pale white of the moon.
He’s nothing but a shadow, now. Cloaked by darkness, he swims up, surfacing near the stern of the ship. There’s rigging clinging like ivy and after studying it a moment, Zayn grabs hold, pulling himself up with straining arms. No one can see him from this position, unless they stick their head over the railing and look straight down.
Squirming around until the ropes aren’t digging painfully into his tail, Zayn settles in, enjoying the feeling of cool air against his skin as he listens. He can hear the fading shouts of the sailors as they bed down for the night, all but the night crew drifting off to sleep.
Silence settles over the ship like a blanket and Zayn begins to untangle himself from the rope, disappointment sitting heaving on his shoulders. He’s about to call the venture a failure and leap back into the sea when a soft sound catches his attention.
The sound finds a rhythm; steady, beautiful. Strings, Zayn realizes. A harp, or maybe a guitar. A voice joins in a moment later, sweet and clear.
Smiling to himself, Zayn leans back and watches the dark sky fill with glimmering stars. Listens to the boy’s lilting voice sing about being young and foolish and in love.
-
“So what’d you think?” Zayn asks, staring at Niall expectantly.
Niall stares back blankly for a minute before he realizes that Zayn has finished reading the poem and wants an actual response. Fuck.
“Think ‘m really, really shit at poetry.”
Zayn laughs, and it’s – unexpected. His laugh sounds stupid, honestly. Stupidly contagious, anyway, because Niall finds himself giggling back.
“I swear, mate, it’s not that hard once ya break it down,” Zayn says, once they’ve both caught their breath. “Look, why don’t – you take the one about the lamb, all right, and I’ll start on the tiger one.”
Niall narrows his eyes. “Is this, what’s it called, symbolism? Why do I have to be the lamb and you get to be the tiger?”
Zayn looks amused at the suggestion. “Think I’m a tiger, do you?”
In a practiced move, Niall raises his brow at Zayn. “Not exactly an innocent little lamb, eh?”
Like a flip has been switched, Zayn’s face closes off. He’s still smiling, but his eyes have lost their glow, brown and dull and flat.
“Not exactly,” Zayn agrees, voice careful, and shifts in his seat until his knee is no longer touching Niall.
It’s weird, really, how the absence makes Niall feel cold all over.
-
The boy sings deep into the night, fingers never faltering as he plucks away at the strings of his guitar. Zayn’s muscles feel stiff from staying still for so long, but it’s not very often that he gets a chance to hear music. It’s dangerous, being near humans, but –
Zayn’s grown weary of the songs of the sea. It’s like there’s a fire, burning away inside of him, craving more; more songs, more words, more knowledge. He’s hungry for it, suffocating under the pressure of the ocean, waves threatening to extinguish his flame.
The boy pauses, his voice grown husky with use. Zayn shifts uncomfortably and the ropes supporting him groan loudly in protest. He stills immediately, heart pounding against his ribcage, too afraid to look up in case he sees the sailor looking back at him. Foolish, it was foolish to get so close -
A simple melody breaks the silence and Zayn sags in relief. It’s familiar, this time, a song Zayn’s heard before and when the boy starts singing the first verse, Zayn joins in, voice barely more than a whisper.
The last note has barely faded when the boy says, “You sing that well.”
Zayn startles, glancing up in terror, but there’s no one peering over the railing at him. There’s a scraping noise from the deck, like someone is climbing to their feet, and Zayn panics, writhing madly to escape the ropes. His arm is caught, a coil of rope twisted round his bicep, and he pulls at it futilely, breathing grown ragged.
“Relax,” the voice says, and Zayn looks up. A boy is staring back at him. He’s got ruddy cheeks on a pale face, and eyes that glint blue like the sea on a bright, sunny day beneath his shaggy blonde hair. His lips are stretched in a wide smile, but all Zayn can see is the jagged knife gleaming dully in his hand.
-
Niall stares at the words on the page until the letters go squiggly and unfocused. Next to him, Zayn is tense, foot tapping anxiously, making his whole leg jiggle.
Without thinking, Niall reaches out and grabs Zayn’s thigh, stilling him. Zayn glances over at him, face unreadable.
Licking his lips, Niall says, “Look, did I, like, do something? Only you’ve just shut me out, for seemingly no reason?” He leaves the sentence open-ended, dangling between them.
Zayn sighs, shoving his hand through his hair. “Thought you were different, s’all. Should know better by now.” Under his breath, he mumbles, “Sick of useless opinions.”
Niall replays the last five minutes in his head and suddenly it clicks. “Zayn, hold up. I didn’t – I don’t believe the shit they say, about – about you.”
When Zayn looks up, his gaze is still guarded, but he at least meets Niall’s eyes. “I meant, like… your face, Zayn.”
Said face twists in confusion. “My face?”
Reaching out, Niall taps his finger on Zayn’s cheek. “No one with your bone structure is innocent. Your cheekbones should be illegal.”
Zayn’s eyes widen in surprise and suddenly he’s laughing again, muffling the noise by pressing his face into Niall’s shoulder.
This close, Niall can smell his aftershave. It does nothing to douse the flames of heat licking low in his belly.
-
Zayn doubles his escape effort, his skinny chest heaving with exertion as he twists his body, clawing uselessly at his rope prison. The panic has clouded his mind like a fog, and he can’t think, he can’t breathe –
A warm hand touches his bare shoulder and Zayn stills, body strung tight with tension. The knife flashes in the starlight and Zayn forgets to breathe, can’t remember how to make his lungs suck in air.
“Careful,” the boy mumbles. “’M just gonna…” he trails off, tongue caught between his teeth. The blade is an inch from the skin of Zayn’s arm. He can already taste the coppery tang of blood on his tongue, no doubt bitten in his terror.
With cautious fingers, the boy sets the knife against the rope wrapped round Zayn’s arm. In a few quick strokes, he slices through it. The skin is rubbed raw where it was digging into his flesh and Zayn has to grab for the rigging before he falls into the ocean with a splash.
“You,” he sputters. “You freed me.”
The boy shrugs. “Hate to see a pretty thing caught in a net.”
-
Zayn pulls away with a sheepish smile. Well, he doesn’t pull completely away. He keeps his entire leg pressed against Niall’s. Niall can feel it burning through the fabric of his jeans, hot like a brand.
“You’re like a sheep in wolf’s clothing,” Niall announces.
“Think you’re mixed up, mate.”
Niall shakes his head. “Nope. You’re a tender little lamb, with a wolf’s cheekbones, you are.”
Grinning so hard his nose scrunches up, Zayn shoots him a sly look. “You’re shit at metaphors. Thought I was a tiger, anyway.”
“Your symmetry is pretty fearful,” Niall agrees.
“Bit obsessed with my face, aren’t you?”
Niall shrugs. “It’s a nice face.”
Zayn bites his lip, studying Niall with such intense scrutiny that he has to make an effort not to fidget. “What?” he finally asks.
With a slow smile, Zayn says, “You’re definitely a lamb.”
Niall would protest, but he feels distinctly like prey, caught in Zayn’s burning gaze. He swallows heavily, watches the way Zayn’s eyes track the movement.
He feels a bit like he’s drowning.
Finds he doesn’t really mind.
-
Zayn stares wordlessly up at the boy. The dark sky has faded to soft gray, the first hint of day blooming on the horizon. He can’t stay; the ship will be waking up soon.
He can’t stay, but he thinks he might drown if he has to go.
“I’m Zayn,” he blurts out.
The boy grins. “’M name’s Niall.”
“Where’re you sailing to?” he demands.
Niall’s shoulder lifts in an easy shrug. “Dunno. Wherever the captain orders, I s’pose.”
Dawn is creeping steadily closer, Niall’s features growing sharper as the light burns away the last of the night. Zayn watches Niall’s face, committing the curve of his cheek, the cut of his jawline, the blue of his eyes to memory.
Niall stares back at him, lips quirked in a small smile. “Thought you were the one with the siren songs,” he muses. “Got it a bit backwards, haven’t we?”
“I could sing a song,” Zayn protests. “Make you want to jump overboard.”
When Niall laughs, he does it with his whole body, like he’s got too much joy to contain it in just his throat. “Pull me right down, would you? Don’t think I’d last too long, beneath the sea.”
Zayn doesn’t know why Niall’s laughing. There’s nothing funny about drowning.
-
Niall jumps when the bell rings and the room erupts into noise, students packing up their things and shoving each other on their way out the door.
Zayn glances down at the blank page in his notebook before looking back up at Niall. “Guess we’ll have to finish this after school.”
“You can come to mine, if ya want. My mum’ll be at work ‘til late.”
Zayn grins wolfishly. “Ohh, no adult supervision? Maybe you’re not such a lamb, after all.”
Ignoring his heated cheeks, Niall shoves at his shoulder. “Shut up. C’mon, unless you’ve got something better to do?”
“Nope. Nothing better than reading poetry with a cute boy. Lead the way, Horan.”
Niall ducks his head, darting out of the classroom before Zayn can see the truly embarrassing shade of red he can turn. Zayn’s laugh follows him into the hall.
-
It’s definitely light out now. Zayn can hear the thumping footsteps of heavy boots approaching, sailors preparing for the day.
“I’ve got to – I can’t stay,” he says, pleading. He’s not sure for what. He can’t stay, and Niall can’t go.
Niall leans over the railing, reaching down until he can brush his fingers fleetingly over Zayn’s cheek. “You’ve got a face worth drowning for, love.”
“I’m sorry,” Zayn says and lets go of the rigging, twisting around as he falls so he hits the water with minimal splashing. He swims down, deep, deep, deep until his lungs burn and he remembers he has gills.
He doesn’t like how dark it gets, this far down, how the cold water surrounds him, pulls at him like frozen hands.
With a frustrated shout, he turns around, arms clawing towards the light. He surfaces in time to see the ship sailing away from him, not much more than a smudge on the horizon.
Shading his eyes with his hand, he swears he can see a figure watching off the stern, sunlight glinting on golden hair.
Zayn stays until the ship is nothing more than a dot, blinking out of sight on the horizon.
Niall didn’t stay. Zayn doesn’t follow.
-
It’s not a long walk home and Zayn seems content to stroll in silence. He pulls out a cigarette and waits for Niall’s nod before lighting up, blowing out a stream of smoke. Half a block later, he flicks it to the ground, stamping it out with the toe of his boot. “It’s a bad habit, I know.”
“Wasn’t going to say a thing,” Niall lies.
With a slow smile, Zayn grabs Niall’s hand. “I can read palms, did you know?”
Niall blinks at the non sequitur. He’s sure Zayn’s taking the piss, but he humors him anyway, letting Zayn grip his hand with warm fingers.
“What’s my diagnosis, then?”
“It’s not a diagnosis, you tit, it’s your fortune.”
Niall snorts. “My mistake. What’s my fortune, then, o benevolent one?”
Glancing up at Niall through his lashes – a dirty trick, in Niall’s opinion – Zayn traces his finger over Niall’s palm. “See this line here? It’s your love line.”
“Hmm,” Niall hums noncommittally.
Zayn tuts. “Look, it’s broken clean in two. Bad luck, that.”
Niall peers dubiously down at his hand. “What’s that mean? The love of my life going to dump me or summat?”
“Maybe,” Zayn answers, noncommittal. “D’ya believe in reincarnation?” he asks after a moment. “Some people say that, like, a break in your love line like that means that it will take two lifetimes to get it right.”
“You sayin’ I was Romeo in a past life?”
Grinning wickedly, Zayn says, “Nah. You were Juliet.” He points to his palm. “See? My line’s the same way. I was Romeo.”
“You’re so full of shit,” Niall laughs. He grabs Zayn’s hand anyway, tugging him along. “C’mon then, Romeo. We’ve got some poetry to read.”
“Lead the way,” Zayn smiles, following Niall home.