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Liam realizes he is completely, utterly screwed on a Friday morning - they'd had a brief break after finishing their international stadium tour (and even thinking about what his life has become is enough to knock the breath right out of Liam, sometimes) and are back in a hotel, all five of them, for the first time since. They're somewhere in Denmark doing promotion for their fourth album. At least he thinks they're in Denmark; his only source of information when he'd asked had been Louis, and Liam loves him but also knows that he maybe isn't the best when it comes to geography. To be fair, neither is Liam.
So it's Friday morning and they're at the hotel in…somewhere. By this point in their careers they've graduated to single rooms, mostly - it isn't as if they can't afford it - but with the way they live it's more like they all share the five rooms equally. That's Harry's hat on the nightstand, and Zayn's jeans are draped neatly over the back of the desk chair.
They have, essentially, no boundaries, which is probably why Liam completely forgets about the boy still sleeping in his bed when he walks out of the bathroom in only a towel. He stops cold when he sees the rumpled bed-head peeking out from under the covers. "You could've woken me up," says Zayn, voice sleep rough and low, "don't need to be tip-toeing around your own hotel room, s'fine." Zayn's hair is jet black and sticking up at all sorts of odd angles, and his eyes are still a little droopy, and when Liam remembers his own state of undress he feels himself blush to his roots, knows his chest must be flushing, too.
He isn't shy about his body, and it isn't as if it's anything Zayn hasn't seen before, but. It feels different and his heart is fluttery and he isn't sure why.
"Forgot you were there, mate," he says, which is true, and Zayn frowns a little like he's confused before rolling back over under the fluffy white comforter. He looks achingly comfortable and Liam wants to crawl in with him. Instead, he just smiles a little and finishes getting dressed.
They go to breakfast together once Liam has roused Zayn (on purpose, this time, with a hand tracing through his hair and a bit of mindless humming) and Liam very steadfastly does not think about the way the light is falling on Zayn's cheekbones and the curve of his spine and the magic in his voice when he asks Liam to pass the syrup.
And it isn't that he hasn't had these thoughts before. Zayn is his best mate, and he's objectively stunning, and of course Liam appreciates him for every single thing that he is. Of course he does. Nothing has changed.
Except, in the car on the way to the studio, just the two of them in the backseat, they're chatting inanely and then Zayn is laughing with his nose scrunched up and Liam's heart skips several beats and in that instant absolutely everything has changed.
Because Zayn looks at Liam like he's worth watching, and he has slender fingers that are so gentle when they cup Liam's neck, and his smile is either a lightning storm or a sunrise, and he's made up entirely of angles but he's still so soft, and Liam wants to kiss the living daylights out of him but he also can't, he absolutely cannot, this is not happening, and they get to the interview and Liam sits between Harry and Niall and tries hopelessly to catch his breath. He can feel Zayn's eyes on him a couple of times and he doesn't look back because he's completely certain that if he looks back then his entire heart will spill onto the floor and that is not an option. So he spends the entirety of the interview silently freaking out and only chimes in when necessary, which throws the entire thing off balance.
(He hadn't done it consciously, really, but every time a question comes up that's uncomfortable, or difficult, or prickly, it's Liam that jumps in. Always has done, and now that he's being quiet he realizes exactly how much he usually talks.)
When they're finally done, Liam honestly can't remember a single question. Instead of staying with the boys to grab lunch, he begs off, claiming he has a headache - that's close enough to the truth, anyway, and Zayn's brows are a little furrowed but all he says is, "feel better, yeah?" and Liam nods and doesn't meet his dark eyes and then he's gone.
When he gets to the room, he shuts the door behind him and then slides against it until he's sitting on the floor.
He has plenty to sort out. Unfortunately, he decides that the best way to sort all this out is by going on a run - normally, this would be a great plan, but with the way things have been going lately, of course it would turn into a disaster. Hoping to avoid the fans, he sends security a quick text that he's just going to run on the streets with a hoodie. Because today is committed to making his life difficult, though, there are road closures, and Liam manages to get lost.
In between trying to figure out where he is and stoically not thinking about the last time Zayn told Liam he was incredible, his cover is blown by an ear-piercing shriek, and then Liam is just running for his life.
By the time he makes it back to the hotel (in one piece, thank god), he's too exhausted to even think, and after a quick shower that he runs too hot, he collapses into bed and promptly falls asleep.
...
He wakes up in the evening, disoriented, to eleven text messages. There's one from Paul reminding him he needs to be awake by 8 tomorrow (not a problem, since the alarm is already set on his phone - call him reckless but Liam is also excellent at being responsible), another from his mum asking how he is, and a few assorted ones from people he hasn't talked to in a while.
He thumbs through them idly when another message pops up.
It's from Zayn, and reads feeling any better? we saved you some food from earlier if you want some, just go to louis' room x
Liam's heart feels swollen and too big for his chest.
After a heartbeat moment of indecision, he swings his legs off the side of the bed and rubs heavily at his eyes, tries to make his hair look a little presentable, gives up, and stumbles to Louis' room. The door is dead bolted open, so he doesn't feel the need to knock, just wanders in to find Louis and Niall rolling over each other in what looks to be half-wrestling match and half-tickle fight.
"Hey, sleepy," says Louis, head popping up from under Niall's elbow, "headache gone?"
Liam mumbles his assent, adds something nonsensical comparing sleep to medicine, and is cut off by Niall's high-pitched shout. "Give it up!" cries Louis, but Niall is putting up quite a fight.
"Liam, help!" he tries, and Liam obliges because none of them can ever refuse Niall much of anything (it's terrible, really, they need to work on that, maybe have a band meeting), tossing Louis off of Niall like a rag doll.
Louis looks momentarily betrayed, then pounces on Liam. Harry joins a few minutes later, having heard the scuffle from next door, and by the time Zayn walks in all he sees is a disastrous tangle of limbs, and Liam still has not gotten any food. It takes some time for them to all settle down while Zayn leans coolly against the door frame because he likes to pretend that he's above all the rough-housing when in actuality he's usually just more concerned about ruining his hair or catching an elbow in the stomach, but they do it.
"Welcome to the party," says Niall several beats too late, but Zayn just smirks a little.
"Cheers," he answers, and then opens and closes his mouth like he's stopping himself from saying something. Once he's ascertained that the boys on the bed probably won't spontaneously jump on him, he toes off his shoes and crawls up to join them, settling heavy next to Liam.
Zayn's warm, and even though Liam is piled under Niall and half of Harry as well, he can feel every point of heat where he and Zayn are touching.
He plays it cool, but when Zayn winds their fingers together like he doesn't even have to think about it, Liam's pulse starts hammering a little louder, and he decides he needs a better plan than try not to freak out when Zayn touches/looks at/sits by/exists near you.
So he extricates himself from the tangle. Harry protests a little at being jostled, but Liam can breathe a lot better when he isn't touching anyone, so he thinks it's okay. "I was promised food," he says, looking at Louis and only Louis, and the moment is broken.
Louis hops up and grabs the food out of the fridge, tossing it in the microwave with such a casual demeanor that Liam is worried the takeout box will break.
"You look like you're over your headache, then," says Zayn, and he looks thoughtful.
Liam shrugs a little. "Better," he says, and then the food is done and he relocates to the desk with its wooden chair and stiffness and eats in silence. Harry and Niall are talking about going golfing this week, Louis is on his phone, and Zayn is toeing at the ugly carpet, kicking his socked foot into a divot where it's starting to unravel.
The easy silence lasts until it isn't easy anymore, and the boys make their various excuses until it's just Louis and Liam left in the room.
Louis is many things, but subtle is generally not one of them. Neither is patient. "What's eating at you?" he asks as soon as Harry walks out, yawning hugely on the way. It's past midnight but Liam isn't tired.
"Nothing," he says, tries to sound chipper and convincing and sincere, "why do you ask?"
Louis laughs and looks out the window and makes a big show of rolling his eyes. “You’ve been moping all day, we can see it on your face, the others are just too nice to mention it.”
“And what does that make you, then?”
Louis raises an eyebrow. “It makes me right, for one.” And then, after a beat, “so what’s going on?”
Liam runs over his options in his head as quickly as he can. Being cornered by Louis is like being a butterfly pinned by the wings, and he can’t very well deny that something is wrong – these boys know him better than he knows himself, half of the time, and if not Louis, now, then someone else – but he also thinks that this is something he needs to sit on for at least a little while before saying anything about.
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he says, and even to himself he sounds pitiful, “it’s just, it’s not something I want to talk about.”
Louis’ face goes soft. “You sure?” he asks, but he isn’t pushing, and Liam is suddenly so grateful he feels a lump in his throat, tries to swallow it down.
“Yeah,” he croaks, and Louis still has that softness in his eyes, “but I wouldn’t say no to bunking with you tonight,” because he really wouldn’t, and thinking about going back to his room is making his head spin, Zayn’s jeans still folded so neatly over his chair, the pillow smelling like Zayn, everything too overwhelming to handle at once. Louis accepts it for the peace offering it is, and budges over to make some room for Liam, who clambers into the bed unsteadily before just collapsing.
They end up more or less touching, a few haphazard limbs and Louis’ head on Liam’s arm, and it’s warm and comfortable and things are okay. It doesn’t take long for Louis to fall asleep, and then it’s just Liam and his thoughts.
…
This is what he’s dealing with, as far as he can tell:
He broke up with his girlfriend a little while ago, he misses her, and as a coping mechanism he’s somehow developed casual, superficial feelings for his objectively nice looking best friend.
or
When he hit his head a few weeks ago, it somehow jogged his sexual orientation and triggered an attraction toward his objectively nice looking best friend.
or
This is the way he’s always felt toward his objectively nice looking best friend, and it’s just friendship, and Liam must be confused.
(or
He’s hopelessly in love with his objectively nice looking best friend, and has been for ages, and is only realizing that now, and this has the potential to be the biggest, saddest mess he’s ever gotten himself into.)
…
It isn’t that he starts avoiding Zayn on purpose.
It’s just that he’s confused, a little, or maybe a lot, and it’s easier when he doesn’t have to see Zayn every second of every day – they’re still the best of mates, of course, but until Liam can deal with the weirdness of whatever he’s experiencing, he thinks it’s better to give himself some space.
(He can’t stop thinking about Zayn’s mouth, his lips, the summer of his smile, and it’s driving him crazy.)
He just needs some space.
A few days in Denmark – and he had it confirmed by Paul that they are, in fact, in Denmark – pass without incident. Liam works out at the gym and tries to get everyone to interviews mostly on time and goes to a club for a drink and a laugh and doesn’t dance with anyone, especially no boys, because he isn’t sure he could do that so soon after breaking up with Sophia and also he is straight. At least, probably mostly straight. Almost definitely.
He remembers, though, three months ago, the night that he saw a boy in a club and thought oh, wow. He was a little tipsy, is how he justifies it now, and it isn’t as if he did anything – he was with Sophia, then, even if they were on the tip of breaking, and Liam isn’t a cheater, he would never, but he had a sinking feeling he was going to need to talk to Sophia sooner rather than later, because when he thought about her it was like thinking about someone out of his past, and he didn’t know if he loved her then, or if he ever did, only that he could have. Sophia is beautiful and he wanted to give her everything good in life but he wasn’t sure if he was one of those things, anymore.
Management had mentioned at one of their meetings that the fans love Sophia, that Liam should play up their relationship as much as possible, and he remembers thinking how ridiculous it was, that he should be anything but completely genuine.
But he did it. Of course he did it.
And he misses her something fierce, honestly, but things haven’t been the same for a long time. He thinks about Zayn, guiltily, about the sunlight in his eyes and his giving heart, but this isn’t about that. It’s about Liam, and it’s about Sophia, and it’s something that happened over two months ago, anyway.
…
When Liam breaks up with his beautiful, impossible girlfriend, it happens like this:
He tells Harry while they’re both a little tipsy, says something like, “I don’t think I love her anymore,” and Harry’s eyes go big and somber.
“I’m sorry, mate,” says Harry, bracing a hand against Liam’s shoulder, and then, “you should tell her, doesn’t seem fair to string her along.”
Liam thinks about lifting her by the waist, about kissing her, about the shirt in his closet she bought him because she likes him in blue, and he knows he’s making the right choice but he also wants to cry.
So he calls her the next day. (It takes him nearly two hours to get up the gall; he has to talk himself up time after time, hovers his finger over ‘call’ like a live grenade or a trip wire until he finally just bites his lip and reminds himself that he is much stronger than this and also he needs to get it over with.)
“Liam!” she says when she answers, voice full of warmth, and he immediately feels like a terrible person.
He scrubs a hand through his messy hair (it’s getting long, now, and Lou keeps bothering him about cutting it) and says, “Hey, do you have a minute to talk?”
She must hear something in his voice, because the background chatter across the line dies down until he can only assume she’s alone. “Yeah, of course, what do you want to talk about?”
“Us,” he tells her, and he feels like a knob because he doesn’t have the right words, “I don’t think what we’re doing is working anymore.”
There’s a very long pause, long enough that he considers checking the connection to make sure she hasn’t hung up, and then she says, “Oh,” in a very small voice, and his heart sinks to his feet. He can practically see her running a hand over her face, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “That’s- sorry, I wasn’t expecting- just, give me a minute, please?”
“Of course,” he rushes to say, “yeah,” and he wishes he could comfort her somehow but he’s the one that’s hurting her and it’s breaking his heart.
“Okay,” she says, after too much silence, “I’m alright, sorry.”
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry about it.”
He can hear her breathing over the line. “It’s the distance, isn’t it? Made it too hard on us?” She sounds sad but not as surprised as she did at the start.
He scrubs at his eyes. “Think so,” he agrees, and tries not to let on that he’s crying, “I’m sorry-“
“It isn’t your fault,” she says, cutting him off, and it’s ridiculous that she’s trying to make him feel better but it helps either way, “it’s no one’s fault, it’s just how things are. Anyway, we can still be friends if you want to be.”
“Yeah?” he asks, and then, “yeah, I want to be. I don’t want you to be a stranger, or for us to not talk anymore, or any of that.”
“Then we’ll be friends. And not like how most exes are ‘friends,’” he can hear her sarcasm, can practically hear her rolling her eyes, “but we’ll actually do it.”
Liam nods, and then remembers she can’t see him. “That sounds amazing. I don’t think I would like my life without you in it.” It’s the most transparently honest thing he’s said in ages, and he finds that he means every inch of it.
“You know,” she remarks, “this might be my most amicable breakup of all time.”
“I’m going to be completely honest – I don’t know what amicable means,” she giggles at that, “but I assume it’s a good thing.”
“It’s good,” says Sophia, and they’re both sad and have heavy, aching hearts, but two months later they are still friends, on good terms, and Liam thinks that even though it hurt, maybe he made the best decision of his life by cutting things off.
…
In the week’s break that follows their latest performance (and he remembers management smiling, telling them they had an entire week like it was something to thank them for, remembers the bags under Harry’s eyes and the sad tilt of Louis’ wrists and Niall’s little huff of air and mostly he remembers the way Zayn’s eyelashes looked when they fluttered by his cheekbones), Liam tries to keep himself busy. Never has been good with time off, really, likes to stay in the swing of things even if it means working himself to exhaustion. So he tweets the fans a lot and goes on runs and to the gym and catches up with a few friends and tries not to get stuck in his own head.
He doesn’t see Zayn. Actually, he doesn’t see any of the boys – they love each other, of course they do, but alone time is precious and more often than not they respect each other’s space.
On the fourth day, Liam is in his flat listening to the rain pour down and he’s drinking tea the way he likes it and he thinks I am in love with my best friend and his heart might have stopped beating, he can’t tell, he can barely feel his face. There’s no way for him to pin where the thought came from, or how he came to this realization, or whether it’s even true, or what made him fall in love – because that’s the problem, isn’t it? It’s everything about Zayn; it’s the way he looks in the morning, the way he doesn’t like for people to touch his hair but when Liam does it when they’re both half asleep then it’s okay, the way he loves his family with a special brand of warmth and fierceness, the way he says Liam’s name like it means something important, the way he walks, talks, moves, lives…Liam thinks I am in love with my best friend and this could ruin everything and he can’t breathe.
And it doesn’t make sense, because Zayn is a boy and Liam’s never- he didn’t- this wasn’t supposed to be a possibility for him. Yeah, there have been a few moments where he thought maybe a boy was cute, but this is way out of that league and while Liam feels blindsided he also feels like an idiot.
He doesn’t even know himself well enough to be able to see this coming, is the issue.
He rolls around the word “bisexual” in his head, thinks back to I am 100% straight and wonders if he’ll ever be able to stop lying.
He’s thinking about seeing the boys in a few days, and seeing Zayn, and trying to act normal; he’ll probably fail miserably but he needs to at least try. Zayn can’t see this, can’t know about this – if any of the boys even looks at Liam for long enough he’s sure they’ll see his love (and it’s a crush, he thinks, almost desperately, he can get over it, he has to) shining out of his eyes like beacons or alarm bells, and that can’t happen.
Liam just needs some space, is all. He’ll tiptoe around a little more and maybe give Zayn and himself some room and then he’ll be over this, and things will be okay again.
All he needs is some space. It’s simple, really.
…
It isn’t simple.
They’ve been back for three days and already the cracks are starting to show in Liam’s front. He hadn’t realized how often he touches Zayn; an arm around his waist, a hug, their feet tangled together, their legs. And now he’s keeping his distance because he can’t stop thinking about it and it’s starting to turn into a mess. A small one, thus far, and manageable, but still something to be concerned about.
They take the bus to the next city because the cars are too cramped and they all like to be near each other, anyway, and that brings a whole new set of complications.
“Budge up,” says Zayn, pushing a leg against Liam’s side. Liam looks up and sees a tattoo peeking from under the collar of Zayn’s t-shirt and his mouth goes dry.
He’s silent for a half beat too long before he just gets off of the couch altogether. “I’m actually just going to go to bed, I think, so it’s all yours, mate, cheers,” and when he’s nervous he never does know how to stop from running his mouth at a million miles an hour; he used to get teased about it, when he was a kid, how he would try to babble his way out from where he’d been pressed up against a wall, how the older boys always knew how to shut him up, but that’s all in the past now, and Liam’s salary is probably exponentially higher than all of theirs combined, so. He doesn’t get upset about it too often, anymore.
He leaves the room thinking you idiot, you’re acting so weird, of course he’s going to notice and doesn’t see the way Zayn’s lips curve into a soft frown as Liam walks away.
…
For dinner that night, they stop to get takeout, and Liam grabs his food and takes it right back to his bunk, closes the curtain, and eats by himself. It’s embarrassing and almost degrading, in a sense, the space only lit by his phone flashlight and him trying not to think about what the other boys must be doing, what Zayn must be doing.
Probably not hiding in his bunk like a coward, thinks Liam spitefully. He’s about to crawl out to dispose of the now empty container when the curtain of his bunk rustles and is pulled back to reveal Niall.
Niall’s face contorts in confusion when he sees what Liam’s doing. “Why are you here by yourself?” he asks, reaching out to poke Liam’s cheek. “What, are we not good enough company?” And no, that’s not what Liam wants them to think at all, but the truth is embarrassing and also not something he should bring up while trying to get over it, so he stays quiet. Niall pokes his cheek again when he doesn’t answer and Liam pulls a face.
Niall laughs and Liam laughs too because that’s what you do when Niall laughs. “It’s nothing,” he tries, and lets his own eyes go soft. He’s maybe picked up a few tricks over the years.
“Everything okay?” asks Niall, immediately concerned, and damn it, that is not at all what Liam was going for with the puppy dog act.
“I’m fine,” he says too quickly, and then follows it up with, “everything is fine,” which is definitely not helping him to be convincing.
Niall looks at him very carefully, and Liam squirms a little under his wide, blue gaze. “Don’t wanna talk about it?” he asks, and Liam feels simultaneously relieved and like he’s been caught in a lie. He shakes his head, feeling oddly bashful, and Niall climbs into the bunk like it can comfortably fit the both of them now that they’re both 21 years old. (It can’t, but they try, and Niall is fairly small, anyway. And it’s about the sentiment, in the end. Liam feels a little choked up but it’s nothing he can’t manage, and they emerge a half hour later all rumpled and soft and Liam doesn’t look at Zayn once.)
…
“Who used up all the hot water? I will find you and I will kill you,” Louis yells as he emerges from the bathroom, eyes narrowed into slits, wearing joggers and a ratty shirt. With his hair wet and floppy and the loose clothes dwarfing his frame, he doesn’t exactly look that menacing, but Liam doesn’t envy whoever is about to be subjected to his wrath.
Louis raises an eyebrow at the group and mimes tapping his foot. “Not guilty,” says Liam, even raising his hands up to show he’s got nothing to hide.
Harry pleads innocent as well. “Wasn’t me,” he says, barely looking up, but he’s got a shade of a smirk on his face like he’s waiting to egg Louis on. Harry’s mischievous in his own quiet ways.
“Sorry, Tommo, but I didn’t even shower today.”
Louis pulls a face at Niall but accepts the explanation, and then everyone shifts their attention to Zayn. “Well don’t look at me,” he protests, but Liam can feel the tense line of his arm where it rests just barely against Liam, like he’s getting ready to bolt. “I didn’t do it!” he tries again, and Liam supposes he’s trying to sound indignant, or something. Instead, it’s just endearing and a half edge scared.
“Not very convincing, mate,” says Harry, ever helpful, and Zayn shoots him a look.
Louis looks a little less murderous but also like he’s starting to plan something, which is generally the more dangerous of the two expressions. Zayn must see it, too, because he picks that moment to escape, shoving himself off of the couch in a single lithe movement and darting past Louis and toward the bunks. Zayn is many things (mostly good things, adds Liam’s traitorous mind) but graceful isn’t usually one of them, so Liam lets himself be briefly impressed before clamping down on his thoughts. Louis follows Zayn with an impressive battle cry, and Niall starts laughing.
Liam exhales a little shakily, relaxing back into the couch and spreading out a bit more. “Alright, Liam?” asks Harry, and that ups the count to three of four that are concerned about his well-being and Liam really needs to work on his subtlety, no matter the fact that they can read each other like books, no matter the fact that he’s doing his best.
Before he can even answer, Niall is piping up. “Tour bus blues,” he says solemnly.
Harry bursts into laughter and Niall joins him, Liam still at a loss for words. “That’s not a thing,” wheezes Harry, “you absolute nutter, you just made that up!”
“Yeah, but it sounded good, didn’t it?”
Liam throws his hands up in the air but he can’t help his smile. “I’m surrounded by crazy people,” he says to no one in particular, “they’ve finally lost it,” and he manages to slip out of the room without being questioned any further. He can hear Harry and Niall still snickering behind him and shakes his head fondly.
He hovers in the narrow hallway for a few moments while he tries to figure out what he wants to do. He could Skype his family, but at this point he isn’t sure what country they’re in or how the time difference will work and he just talked to them a few days ago so chances are it can wait. Maybe he’ll just sleep until they stop for dinner; that sounds nice, actually, and just thinking about it has him yawning hugely, arms going up and knuckles brushing the low ceiling.
He slides away the curtain to his bunk, and it takes him a second to make sense of the fact that there is already a person there. “Wha-“ he tries, but there’s a hand clamped over his mouth before he can get the rest of the word out.
Zayn shushes him frantically, eyes wide, and yanks him into the bunk, shutting the curtain behind him. “What are you doing?” whispers Liam. He tries to whisper intensely but there’s only so much he can do when his words are coming out breathless. This is essentially the opposite of avoiding Zayn considering their proximity and the way Liam can feel feather light puffs of air against the side of his neck. Liam is trying not to think about it.
“Hiding from Louis,” answers Zayn, like it’s obvious, and maybe it is, but…
“Why in my bunk?”
Zayn smiles, body starting to relax from his apparent adrenaline rush. “Figured you wouldn’t rat me out.”
Liam shrugs. “Fair enough.” Everyone knows about Liam’s soft spot for Zayn, even Zayn, especially Zayn, and if things feel different now it doesn’t mean that they actually are. “So how long are we hiding for?”
“Until we stop for dinner or until Louis dies, whichever comes first.”
Liam snorts out a laugh and Zayn shoves him in the shoulder, and somehow this turns into a quasi-wrestling match. Liam ends up on top, half-pinning Zayn, because after years of play fighting Liam has definitely proven himself to be the One Direction Wrestling Champion, but then Zayn squeezes his hip and Liam jerks and they topple off the side of the bunk and onto the floor in a mess of limbs.
Liam thinks his heart skips at least three beats but he feels so overwhelmed that he can’t really tell.
“Hey,” says Zayn, and their faces are closer together than they were even in the cramped space of the bunk.
Liam swallows hard. “Hello,” he says back. In the yellow lighting of the bus, Zayn’s eyes look like amber, like they’re lit up from the inside, and Liam thinks this is your best friend and if you’re not careful you could lose him and his heart doesn’t settle but his head’s a little clearer.
“Oi! When you two are done flirting, you can join us for dinner!” Louis’ voice is teasing and he doesn’t sound like he’s going to murder Zayn anymore, which is a good thing. On the other hand, Liam can feel a blush crawling hot up his chest and sitting in his cheeks, which is most definitely a bad thing; he knows from experience that he can turn a fierce shade of red, so before that can happen, he hops up and starts walking toward the exit of the bus.
Zayn is right behind him, but whatever tension was in the air before has snapped and the air feels like a deflated balloon.
Liam takes a shaky breath as he steps off of the bus. Inhale, exhale. He feels calmer, more collected, and also like his heart hurts. But he’s holding it together, and he can get through dinner, and his breathing is getting steadier and steadier.
He can get over this. He has to. There really isn’t another choice.
…
It gets easier in increments, but only because Liam develops better avoidance tactics. Also, they get off of the bus and their living situation shifts back to voluntarily invading each other’s space instead of being forced to do it by their close quarters.
It’s Thursday and they’re in Italy, now, doing some game show or another. The host is rattling off something that Liam can’t understand and Harry leans over to whisper in his ear. “Italians talk fast, don’t they?”
“I think everyone talks fast compared to you,” answers Liam, and then snickers at the look on Harry’s face.
On his other side, Louis is messing with something on the table in front of him that they aren’t supposed to be touching yet. Liam nudges his foot but otherwise lets him be, and Louis merrily ignores him.
They’re all in their own worlds, really, but Liam zones back in when someone starts speaking in English, telling them about what they’re going to do. It seems standard enough, a game in which they try to make a house of cards before the time runs out, and Liam knows it’ll be a disaster but at least it’ll be fun to watch them all make absolute fools of themselves.
The timer starts, and almost immediately Harry has knocked all of his cards onto the floor. “Looks like Harry is off to a shaky start,” says the pretty woman who must be their translator, and Liam would laugh but he’s focused on trying to get the cards to stand up.
It’s not easy, but Liam is competitive, always has been, and within a few seconds he has a very simple foundation going. A glance around shows him that he’s the first to accomplish anything productive, and he grins up at the camera that’s awfully close to his face.
“Can we get, like, tape, or something?” asks Louis, who has given up on trying to make a card tower and instead is peering dangerously at what progress Liam has made.
“Don’t even think about it,” says Liam, turning toward Louis, and the second he takes his off of it the tower completely collapses, demolished by a miniature gust of wind.
Liam spins on his heel to see Zayn looking exceptionally casual. His eyes are sparkling, though, shoulders just barely shaking to conceal his laughter, and Liam gives him a look like you are going to pay for that and Zayn raises his eyebrows like it’s a challenge. Liam is about to make another face when he notices the cameras catching the exchange with glee and then he freezes up completely, because Zayn might still somehow be in the dark about Liam’s…feelings, but the last thing he needs is an enlarged screenshot of his own lovesick face complete with heart eyes splashed across the internet.
“Well, I’ve lost,” he says, instead of looking at Zayn, “but it looks like you lot have also lost, so.”
The game ends and the audience cheers and then there’s a short interview, but Liam never really gets back in the zone, is hyperaware of everything he does and is sure he comes off awkward as a result. He hates feeling awkward – it reminds him of when this all started, how nervous he was, how desperate to be liked.
The interpreter has a very full, rich voice, and Liam wonders if that’s an Italian thing. Because he’s so busy wondering, he completely misses the question directed at him. “Sorry,” he says, “bit lost in my head there for a second, could you repeat that?”
She smiles graciously and asks, “You’ve been single for a small while, yes?”
“Oh, yeah,” he says, a little surprised but not taken aback.
“The fans want to know,” she starts, and that’s always bad news, when interviewers won’t take responsibility for the questions they ask, “do you have your eye on anyone new?”
He almost chokes on the sip of water he’d taken.
“I, uh, no,” he stutters, but it comes out as more of a question, and if he was worried about the internet blowing up before then that’s nothing compared to the heat he can feel spreading across his face like wildfire. “There’s no one,” he continues, trying to salvage the answer, but the damage is done.
“Come on, Liam,” says the interpreter with her pretty accent and red lipstick and black stilettos, “who’s the lucky lady?”
Liam tries to smile but he can feel it coming out twisted. “There is no lucky lady, I promise, I’m sorry to disappoint,” he says, light tone light eyes trying to take it all down several notches, and that part, at least, is true. The girls in the audience seem to like his answer, and the uptick in screaming makes him feel marginally better.
Apparently, that’s the last question, because the lady is thanking them and Niall is bouncing in his seat like he can’t wait to get up, and Liam releases a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
Next to him, Zayn is sitting very, very still.
…
The boys rib him playfully on the way back to the hotel – Louis’ “flustered Liam” impression, as he calls it, is particularly impressive – but Liam doesn’t give anything up, just keeps telling them that there’s no one. Zayn, notably, doesn’t take part, instead choosing to stare out the window at the buildings whizzing by, almost indiscernible through the fog. On a normal day, Liam would rest his head on Zayn’s shoulder and ask what’s on his mind. Today, Liam is quiet.
He wonders if it’s working, the avoidance, the very actively not thinking about Zayn’s flashlight smile.
Do I want to kiss him any less?
Liam looks at Zayn, the short stubble, his elegant fingers, the soft hair at the nape of his neck, and thinks if anything, it’s gotten worse and you had one job, Liam and he doesn’t want you back.
Zayn has gone quiet and Liam has gone quiet and eventually the other boys settle down, as well, but Liam’s mind is whirring, humming, he can’t get himself under control because it’s getting worse and if he doesn’t do something soon then everyone will be able to tell and all of his love will spill right out of his eyes like he’s made of light, like a lamp without a lampshade, and for all he knows Zayn will never speak to him again.
Liam thinks back to when they fell out of the bunk, and Liam was hovering over Zayn, and it would’ve been so easy to just…
“We’re here, boys,” says Louis, leading the way out of the car, and Liam snaps out of it.
If he’s going to salvage this friendship, he’s going to have to cut himself off until he’s figured out the mess that is his head. No Zayn (or, at least, as little Zayn as possible, considering their schedules).
He can do this.
…
This time, he starts avoiding Zayn on purpose, and people start noticing almost immediately.
With the way he’s been acting, Liam doesn’t really blame them, and every once in a while he tries to think about Zayn as his bro, as his best mate, and every once in a while he fails miserably and is back to square one.
…
“Hey, are you upset with Zayn?” asks Harry. Liam stands in the doorway and isn’t sure how to answer, especially when Harry just saw him turn down Zayn’s offer to go get lunch; Liam never turns down Zayn’s offers to go get lunch, isn’t generally any good at refusing Zayn anything.
“No,” he says, after pausing and thinking for too long (and that’s always the problem with Liam, isn’t it?), “I’m not upset with him.”
Harry flicks some hair over his shoulder, turns back to his food, and leaves it at that.
…
Zayn hasn’t said anything.
…
Niall corners him in his room, and it isn’t as if Liam can very well kick him out, even when he hops on the bed and says, “So, that thing you didn’t want to talk about before, do you want to talk about it?”
Liam ignores him, fiddling with a loose thread on the comforter. He keeps losing grasp of it because his nails are short – he got chewed out for it (albeit lovingly) by wardrobe the other day, but he can’t help it that he messes with them when he’s stressed out. It’s a bad habit, one he’s had as long as he can remember.
When he thinks about it, he feels more like a kid lately than he has in years. Easily flustered, awkward under scrutiny, insecure…Liam has gotten so much better under pressure but at times like these he feels thirteen again, and all thumbs.
Niall tracks Liam’s movements with his eyes. “Is it about Zayn?” he asks, and he sounds so gentle that Liam almost tells him everything.
But only almost. “It’s nothing,” he says, “I’m being silly. I should be happy, I am happy, I’ve got the best job in the world and the album is doing so well and I’m here with my four best mates…I’m being ridiculous. I’m fine.”
“It’s not silly to be upset.” Niall chews on his lower lip for a moment. “It’s okay if you are.”
Liam lifts a hand to scrub at his face. He feels hot all over. “I’m fine.” He still hasn’t looked up from the comforter and he’s starting to make real progress on that loose thread.
The sun is setting and it’s pouring orange-pink light all over the room, the desk, Niall’s upturned face, Liam’s hands. “Just don’t mess him about, yeah?” asks Niall.
“I wouldn’t,” answers Liam, because he would never hurt Zayn, not on purpose, he’d rather cut off one of his own limbs, and that’s just the problem.
Niall hums like he’s satisfied with the answer, then jumps up. “I just learned one of the new Taylor Swift songs on my guitar, wanna come sing it with me?” Liam’s sure his face looks judgmental, even though he’s trying to soften it. Niall looks abashed anyway, and then defensive. “It’s a good album, okay?”
Liam laughs, long and loud, and Niall’s cheeks look even pinker in the dying light, and he follows him to where he keeps his guitar. Liam has to pull up the lyrics on his phone and Niall doesn’t, and eventually Harry wanders in, evidently bored. He doesn’t need the words, either, and soon they’ve stumbled through nearly every song on the album, making up melodies if they don’t know them or can’t remember, Niall picking up chords as easily as he lives and breathes.
Liam only remembers snatches of lyrics, after, tries to remind himself to look up the album later but isn’t sure he’ll have the time. They fly through you can want who you want: boys and boys and girls and girls, and he’s so bad but he does it so well and then are we out of the woods?
Harry’s voice breaks on this love left a permanent mark, and then Liam stumbles on his voice is a familiar sound, but soon enough they’re back to belting and laughing, Niall trying to dance while playing guitar and Harry singing at the top of his range while turning in pirouettes. Outside the window, the sky is a cool shade of grey and the sun has set, but there is so much light in this room.
And then they sing, one night he wakes, strange look on his face, pauses then says, you’re my best friend, and you know what it was, he is in love, and Liam’s chest feels tight and funny and he doesn’t feel like he can smile again, after that.
“As fun as this has been,” he says, once they finish the song, and he prays they can’t see the way his stomach is twisted in knots, or how his hands are twitching because he wants to clench them into fists, “I think I’m gonna try to squeeze in a quick workout.”
Harry frowns. “We’ve got a performance early tomorrow morning.”
Liam knows, of course he knows, he’s made it his job to stay on top of everything since he joined this band. “That’s why I’m making it quick,” he quips, and Harry just nods slowly.
Niall waves at him, wishes him luck and a fun time, and then Liam is out the door.
He maybe pushes himself too hard at the gym. It isn’t his fault that as soon as he sees the punching bag, he gets excited, and it isn’t his fault that he keeps hitting it until some of the nervous energy drains out of his bones. Every time his fist connects with the bag, he gets a little angrier with himself for letting things spiral so quickly, for ruining things, for not being able to just get over it like a normal human being. He’s never felt like this before, and he can’t change it, and he channels his frustration into working himself into complete exhaustion.
It ends up being more than a quick workout. It ends with Liam on the floor, back against the wall, taking in heaving breaths and mopping sweat from his brow. It ends with Liam more confused than he’s ever been.
He drags himself to his room and then to his shower, and by some miracle stays conscious through the whole thing. The benefit of overworking himself is that he’s so tired he can barely think, and when his head hits the pillow, he’s out in seconds.
…
Three days go by and Liam and Zayn have barely spoken when they’re not being watched by cameras.
Zayn hooks his chin over Liam’s shoulder at one point while Liam’s turned around, and Liam stiffens and makes an excuse to be somewhere that is not that spot at that moment. He tries to be casual about it but there really isn’t a casual way to tell your best friend that he isn’t allowed to touch you anymore.
Zayn pulls away and frowns. “Liam,” he says, and Liam’s attention is back on him, and he asks, “All right?” the same way he always has. The familiarity is like a punch to the gut. Zayn’s eyes are dark with worry and also with something else that Liam can’t place and isn’t sure if he wants to.
“All right,” answers Liam, call and response (he could do this in his sleep), but Zayn is still frowning and Liam is looking away and it doesn’t feel the same at all.
…
“Absolutely not,” says Liam, “I am not doing this right now.”
Louis is quick to protest. “Why not? Come on, you’ve been so weird lately-“
“Weird?” Liam is frustrated and he hasn’t been sleeping much and he’s nearing his breaking point. “Everyone keeps telling me that I’m being weird, that there must be something wrong, and do you know what I said? I don’t want to talk about it. Did I stutter the first time, then? Did you lot not understand me properly? I’m sick of saying the same thing over and over! I just want it to be done with!”
By the end of this impromptu rant, Louis’ eyes have lost some of their manic edge. “You’re doing that thing,” he says, calm as anything where he’s sitting cross legged on the bed, “where you’re putting your issues on me.”
Liam shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”
“I’m not. I can’t remember what it’s called when you do that, hold on,” he turns his head and yells through the open door, “Zayn! C’mere a minute!”
Zayn’s voice comes back distorted by the distance. “Are you gonna throw something at me if I do?”
Louis laughs. “No, I just have a question and you’re good at words!”
Liam hears a bit of rummaging around as Zayn gets up and walks over. His stance falters minutely when he sees Liam in the room, but Liam figures he deserves that. “Good at words?” asks Zayn, smirking a little.
“Shut up,” says Louis, “and what do you call it when you’re talking to someone else but you’re actually talking to yourself? Like, instead of dealing with your own problems.”
“Projecting,” says Zayn, without missing a beat, and Louis grins.
“There you go,” he tells Liam, “it’s called projecting, and you keep saying you don’t want to talk about whatever’s bothering you but I think you actually do.”
Liam heaves a sigh, about to deny absolutely everything because that’s usually the best policy when Louis gets on a roll, but Zayn jumps in. “Something’s bothering you?” he asks, and there’s an edge in his tone that doesn’t bode well for the rest of this conversation.
Louis kicks a leg into Liam’s lap. “Bit late to the party, here, Zayner.”
And Zayn looks hurt that he didn’t know, which is the exact opposite of what Liam wanted, but Liam can’t very well tell him that he’s the entire problem, so there’s a brief, loaded silence.
“Louis,” says Zayn, and his voice sounds tight and raw and Liam absolutely did not want this, “could you give us a minute?”
Louis pouts a little but he gets up and leaves and closes the door behind him.
Liam gulps when he hears it click shut, and he has every ounce of Zayn’s attention, and it’s stupid but all he can see is the way Zayn is slightly flushed and how his cheeks are a breathy pink, and his chest is moving with his breaths just the smallest bit more than usual, and he’s beautiful.
“I’m sorry,” says Liam, because he knows he needs to start there, “they all cornered me on their own, I wasn’t keeping anything from you on purpose,” and that’s a dirty lie but also the right sentiment so he rolls with it.
Zayn stands all the way up, taking his weight off of the door. He squares his shoulders and his eyes look conflicted and stormy and sad. “Why aren’t you talking to me?” he blurts out, voice tinged with desperation, and immediately looks like he didn’t mean to do that. That said, he stands by it, crossing his arms and tilting his head.
Liam feels like a trapped animal. “I am talking to you,” he says, because it’s his instinct to be difficult or purposefully thick when faced with questions he doesn’t want to answer.
“Liam,” says Zayn, agitated, and Liam thinks this is it, I’m going to lose him, and he can feel his heart getting ready to break.
“I needed some space, okay?” He’s getting defensive, he can feel it, but he needs to keep his head about him if he’s going to get through this conversation. Unfortunately, he realizes that it’s the wrong thing to say a second too late.
Zayn’s face looks like Liam took a swing at him, like he just sustained a physical blow. “Did I do something to upset you? I don’t understand what’s going on, I just – we were fine one day and then you need some space?” He’s practically on the verge of tears, arms still crossed in front of himself, and Liam feels completely helpless, has no idea how to fix this.
“Zayn, no, no,” and Liam’s voice is soft and gentle and he’s trying, “it isn’t, it’s not – I’m a mess, that’s all this is.”
Zayn looks incredulous. “Are you seriously giving me the ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ talk? Is that what’s happening?” His accent is getting stronger the more upset he gets, and Liam has to focus a little more than usual to understand what he’s saying. “Liam, what is your problem?”
And he just snaps. “You!” Liam presses the heels of his palms into his eyes until he sees stars. “My problem is you.”
Zayn makes a small sound in the back of his throat. “Me?” he asks, and it comes out watery, and then Liam can’t do this anymore, can’t keep hiding if it’s going to hurt Zayn, is helpless to stop himself from running his mouth.
“I’m trying to tell you that I can’t be near you because when I am all I can think about is kissing you! Okay? Is that a good enough explanation? Because it’s driving me out of my mind, Zayn, and I was trying to get over you so I wouldn’t ruin everything but here we are.” He’s losing steam, voice lowering as he goes, and his shoulders sag in defeat because he’s gone and done it now, hasn’t he? “I’m sorry. I tried so hard to stop but I can’t.”
Zayn isn’t moving a single muscle; his eyes are wide and stunned and his mouth is slack and Liam thinks he will never look at me the same way again and feels his cheeks burning in mortification. “Tried to stop what,” asks Zayn, “what were you trying to stop,” and he sounds a little hoarse and a lot shocked and also like he could keel over at any minute.
“Are you going to make me say it?”
Zayn runs a hand through his hair, roughing it up, and his eyes are wild. “Liam, please.”
Liam looks very carefully at the ground. His heart is thumping like it knows what’s about to happen, and his hands are shaking, but his voice comes out steady when he answers. “A month ago,” he starts, “I woke up, and I looked at you and I realized how bloody gone for you I am.”
There’s a heavy pause. It’s started raining, coming down in sheets, cracking against the pavement, and Liam is about three seconds away from running out the door, fleeing the country, changing his name, and living in solitude for the rest of his life.
“Do you mean it?” Zayn is still frozen from what Liam can see out of his peripheral vision.
Liam feels absolutely wretched. “Yeah,” he says, and his voice cracks into a whisper. He can’t meet Zayn’s eyes, can’t even begin to think of what he’ll find there.
“Look at me.” Liam doesn’t, and a note of pleading enters Zayn’s voice. “Liam, look at me.” And then Zayn’s moving, kneeling in front of Liam. Gentle fingers tip his chin up, and their faces are inches away, and Liam’s breath catches in his throat. Zayn’s eyes are bright and watery and terrified and he is the most beautiful thing Liam has ever seen. He takes a deep and shuddering breath before he continues. “I’ve been in love with you since we were eighteen,” and then all Liam can hear is static.
They’re sitting on the ground and Liam’s knees are getting red from where they keep rubbing against the carpet, and they both look completely overwhelmed, and they must look like complete idiots, is the thing, but Liam doesn’t care, he can’t, this is so much more than he ever wanted and his fingers feel numb and Zayn’s hand is still on his face, just resting, holding him still.
Liam thinks I want to kiss him for the millionth time, except that now he’s allowed to lean in and brush their lips together, at least he thinks he is, and he does.
Zayn makes a little surprised sound and Liam pulls back, looks him right in the eyes, because he can’t mess this up. Zayn nods almost imperceptibly, and then they’re crashing back together, and that’s Zayn’s hand tugging on Liam’s hair, and Liam’s hand gripping the back of Zayn’s shirt.
…
Later, they’ll talk.
…
In the hotel room, it’s so warm-
…
Zayn will say, “it’s always been you,” and Liam will learn that after a while, Zayn gave up on Liam ever feeling the same way. Days and days of resignation, of cultivating friendship, of sad eyes and quiet hands.
He never knew.
…
In the hotel room, it’s so warm and full of promise, and Liam-
…
Liam remembers their first kiss, both of them eighteen, lips touching almost peripherally, like an afterthought, and Zayn’s wide eyes, and the way Liam laughed it off after. The light pouring gold through the window and touching every inch of them, the stumbling innocence of the thing.
They were so young. He remembers Zayn shakily laughing along, playing it off like a joke, and Liam would feel guilty but now they’re here, and it’s wonderful, and when they kiss it doesn’t feel like an accident, anymore.
…
In the hotel room, it’s so warm and full of promise, and Liam wants to live in this moment for the rest of his life.
…
A lifetime ago:
“Where would you live, Zayn?”
“Right next to you, Liam.”
And he’s here. He’s still right here.