Chapter Text
“Pass us a drink, would ya, Lou?”
Zayn just as easily could have grabbed the pitcher himself, but he didn’t want to end up leaning across the table by Niall’s plate because, one, it’s rude and, two, Niall would’ve killed him for interrupting the all-you-can-eat fest so he’d asked. Besides, it’s not like Louis minds. He actually smiles quite cheerily at Zayn, half-chewed food in his mouth and all—which is a bit disgusting but he’ll let it pass.
“Anything for you, mate.”
Zayn grabs the pitcher from him and ignores the feeling that something isn’t quite right for the thousandth time. Everything is fine. Everything is brilliant, even. So he pours himself another drink, focusing on Louis reprimanding Niall for chewing with his mouth open, even though he’d done it first, and doesn’t think of anything else. He doesn’t think about how there’s just four of them, sitting at a little table, and how normally they’d be even more crammed. He doesn’t think about how there’s four of them there and that it’s this that feels lopsided and unnatural. He fills up his drink and turns his attention to his burger because he’s out with his best mates and has no reason to feel off-balanced.
Even if he has been for the last two weeks, even if he feels like the world’s been turned upside down and he’s struggling to hold onto the ceiling so he doesn’t fall.
Fuck. He’s not thinking about it, he’s not thinking about it, he’s nothing thinking about it…
“…got maths on top of all of that too. I think I’m going to die. Fuck end of term exams. I’m convinced that the teachers are all sadistic bastards wanting to have their way with us.”
“You like Pritchett though,” Harry murmurs. “You’re always telling me how much you like Pritchett.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because he’s a bit mad, innit?”
“And Fowler isn’t that bad either.”
“No,” Louis agrees. “Not that bad.”
“She even gave you an extension on that one paper.”
“Yeah, that was nice and—and besides the point, Harold. We have end of term exams in just a couple of weeks before Christmas hols and it’s bullshit that we have to do them.”
“We have like three weeks off after that, mate,” Niall points out, going so far as to actually point with a chip. “They gotta make sure we know what’s what before we go off and fill our heads with pints and our stomachs with cakes and shit.”
Harry nods. “Yeah, what if we forget it all? Three weeks is a long time.”
“It’s like I don’t even know you,” Louis hisses. He leans across the table to pin Zayn with a look. “Come on, mate, back me up. Aren’t end of term exams a bit dodgy?”
Zayn shrugs, taking a careful bite of his burger before he answers. He knows what Louis is asking for. He knows Louis wants him to back him up but— “Three weeks is a long time.”
“For fuck’s sake.” Louis throws up his hands and leans back against the seat back, scowling. “D’you all like doing coursework then? Liam would have—”
Zayn doesn’t need to hear Louis’ sharp “ow!” to know that Harry kicked him under the table. There’s been a lot of that happening lately. He glances down at his burger and takes another bite, the food tasteless now. That’s been happening often lately too. He chews and swallows because he’s expected to, tuning back into the conversation when he’s sure that Louis has recovered and changed the topic. His chest might be aching and tight, but he ignores it.
That’s been happening a lot too.
“—but yeah, Mum said you lot are free to come over for New Year’s again.”
“Louis, it’s the middle of November,” Zayn adds in, trying to appear normal. Fine. Like everything’s okay and there’s nothing to bother the world of Zayn Malik, nothing at all.
It’s seemed to be working the past two weeks.
“You got to get started on it early. It took me nearly a month before she said yes last year, remember?”
“Because we nearly broke the telly playing whatever mental game you made us play.”
“I’m kind of wondering why she’s letting us this year,” Harry muses. “Didn’t we get shitfaced last year? And didn’t Niall throw up in your mum’s trainers?”
“Not my proudest moment,” Niall mutters.
“S’okay, Nialler.” Louis pats him on the shoulder. “Better out than in, yeah?”
“Says you.” Zayn snorts. “You chucked it in a plant, didn’t you?”
Louis’ flush is a tell-tale sign of shame, even though he opens his mouth hotly. “I remember you being sick too.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t vomit in the plants. I made it to the toilet, at least.” And he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of that one. He’d been the only one, dammit. Harry had been retching in the front bushes before they’d even made it into the flat.
“Whatever.” Louis flaps a hand his way, irritated because he isn’t agreeing. It makes Zayn smile a bit because it’s typical Louis. “We’re doing it again this year and I’m pretty sure that my mum won’t be there.”
“Why?” Niall asks through a mouthful of food. “She got a hot date or something?”
“Something.” Louis shrugs, though his eyes are glittering. They all know his mum is seeing a bloke that he actually likes, for once, and he’s excited about where they’re headed. This is what Louis Tomlinson looks like grown up, Zayn has decided. It fits him nicely. “But that means we can get totally wasted at mine.”
“What about the twins?”
“Details, details. We’ll figure it out when the time comes. As Zayn so kindly reminded us, we’ve got a while to plan.”
“Wicked.” Niall grins and slurps at his drink, eyebrows waggling suggestively. Zayn wonders if he’s thinking of girls and pints and dancing all night. It sounds like something Niall would think of for New Year’s. It also doesn’t sound half bad.
“What about your birthday? What are we doing this year?” Harry asks.
Since he was pigheaded enough to have been born on Christmas, they always celebrate Louis’ birthday a week early. It’s been the tradition since they all became mates. Louis usually gets to decide what they’re going do, too, because they’d never be able to plan a party for him themselves without him butting in the whole time. Zayn loves him, but sometimes Louis can be a right prick.
“I was thinking a club.” Louis beams. “We could dance and get drinks and just have a fucking brilliant night, yeah? Ring in my birthday the right way.”
“Even though it won’t actually be your birthday.”
“But it will be on that night, that’s the magic of it.”
“Who are we inviting this year?”
“I just kind of wanted to keep it small. Maybe us and Stan and Danny.”
“And L—” Niall catches himself and looks down at his plate, guilt written clearly all over his pale face. He doesn’t even have to finish for Zayn to know who he meant and…well…
Fuck.
They’re all silent, trying to avoid the awkwardness that’s seeping into the air around them. Zayn can feel it, so he knows they can too. And, god, okay, he feels terrible because they only feel awkward because of him.
“You can invite him if you want to,” he tells Louis lowly. He doesn’t look at him. He plays with the chips on his plate instead, arranging them into straight lines. “It’s your birthday, Louis. I’m not going to stop you.”
“Zayn—”
Zayn shrugs, still not glancing up. He can feel their eyes though. He can taste their pity. It makes his throat go tight and his chest starts hurting again, so he focuses on making sure that his chips are as straight as possible. It helps, thinking of something else. He’s been doing that quite a bit the last few weeks as well.
“I don’t think we’re gonna have a row or anything. By that point, we should be okay. I reckon we’ll be all right.”
“So, you’re not going to try and make up?”
Zayn looks up and frowns at Harry. Niall and Louis, across from them, watch them closely. Zayn can just barely see Niall slowly shaking his head from the corner of his eye. But Harry is looking at him obstinately, clearly waiting to be answered.
“No,” Zayn replies slowly. “No, I don’t think so, Haz.”
Harry shakes his head with a reproach even Zayn can’t reason away. “You’re making a mistake, mate.”
“I don’t see how any of that is your concern.”
Harry coughs out a shot of breathless laughter. “Seriously? Of course it’s my ‘concern.’ It’s all of ours.”
“I’m not trying to make you pick between us,” Zayn says again, confused. He doesn’t understand why Harry is acting like it’s such a big deal. People get together and break up all the time. It’s not as if he and Liam were fated to be together. They aren’t some couple destined to be together. They’re two boys who dated and broke up. Nothing more and nothing less. This isn’t fucking—fucking Pride And Prejudice or some other sappy romantic bullshit. This is 2013 and this is the way it is.
“I’m not telling you I feel like you are making me—us—pick. I’m telling you that you’ve been miserable for two weeks and so is Liam and I thought you would have worked it out by now—”
“There’s nothing to work out, Harry.” Zayn looks him in the eye. “We’re not going to be making up.”
“I think you’re making a mistake.” This time it’s from Louis. Zayn swings to him, feeling slightly betrayed. Out of all of them, he thought Louis would understand. Out of all of them, he thought Louis would know that he can’t do this in front of all of them. Out of all of them, he’s the closest to Louis and he thought Louis would back him up. Regardless of anything.
Apparently he was wrong about that—him—too.
“What?” It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth but Zayn has nothing else to say. He can’t think of anything else to say, because the entire conversation has become stilted and weird. He wants to go back to planning. He wants to go back to talking about getting pissed and having a laugh and celebrating. He doesn’t want to talk about this. He doesn’t even want to think about this, so why are they making him?
Why don’t they understand that Zayn can’t breathe when he thinks about it? Why can’t they understand that he can’t fucking cry again after all of the nights he’s been wrapped up in his sheets and has stifled his hiccuping sobs into his pillow so his sisters won’t hear?
He can’t. He just can’t.
“I think you’re making a mistake,” Louis repeats and then leans in closer, eyes hooking to Zayn’s. “I’ve never seen you as happy as you are with Liam, Zayn. And we’ve been friends a long fucking time.”
Zayn just shakes his head, breathing in through his nose in an effort to stop his heart from pumping jaggedly in his chest, although how the two would be correlated he doesn’t know. It just seems logical. Somehow. He pins the other boy with a look, fighting through his own hurt to make one thing and one thing only very, very clear for what he hopes is the last time. He can feel the panic clawing up from his stomach to wrap dark fingers around his airway, making it even harder to breathe.
He can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.
“We’re not going to be making up. We’re not going to be getting back together. It’s not happening.”
“Have you even talked to him, mate?” Niall looks at him and the hope on his face hurts. It hurts a lot. Zayn takes a deep breath, eyes closing so he doesn’t have to see Niall looking at him like that, because Niall’s looking at him like he’s not being the person he knows he is and he…he can’t handle that either. It adds to all of the mess that is his insides right now and, god, he feels nauseous, almost like he’s about to boot right there at the table.
“No, we haven’t.”
Though it hasn’t been for lack of trying.
Liam had given him the weekend and tried at school that first Monday. He’d caught Zayn before lunch, hand on his wrist and giant brown eyes looking tragic. Zayn had wanted desperately to make him feel better. He’d wanted to smooth out the wrinkle lines between his eyebrows like he had before and make him smile like he’d always done. He’d wanted to make it all better but he was the reason Liam was upset in the first place.
Liam had asked if they could talk. Zayn had watched those big brown eyes and his mouth the entire time. He’d noticed how other boy seemed to exude nothing but genuine sincerity. He’d noticed how he hadn’t let go of his wrist and how good his fingers had felt against his skin. He’d noticed it all, especially the way he had ached to touch Liam, talk things out with him, make it better.
But.
He’d remembered the football pitch. He’d remembered the way that Liam’s mouth had twisted around the words that had felt like they had literally eviscerated him. He’d remembered the tears and the accusations. He’d remembered how he’d shaken for hours afterward, unable to let go of his own fury and hurt, no matter how much Louis and Niall and Harry tried to coax him out of it. That changed it all. That had made him remember how mad—how disgusted—he was with the other boy. He’d recoiled, drawing away from the touch that had made everything feel better, and could feel the poisonous glare he’d sent Liam’s way.
He remembered now too how he’d told Liam that they couldn’t talk and what was done was done. He remembered watching the other boy flinch and how the hurt had moved across his face in waves, sinking into his eyes before appearing at his mouth and making it curve into a frown that had punctured Zayn’s organs, no matter that he’d fortified himself with the curses the other boy had thrown at him. Liam had asked him if he really meant it and Zayn had said he had and then he’d turned and walked away, leaving the other boy standing in the corridor as he made his way to the cafeteria, head high and body throbbing with the want to turn around.
He’d tried to tell himself that he didn’t care and failed miserably.
That had been the last time they’d spoken, even though Zayn had gotten another text later that night, a text that had made his throat close up and his eyes sting. It had been only slightly longer than the text he’d gotten the night of the match, but it had hurt far worse.
i’m sorry….ill leave u alone now. still love you….. xxxx
But it hasn’t changed anything. It hasn’t changed his resentment, it hasn’t changed the nagging fear that Liam doesn’t think he is good enough. It isn’t nearly enough to make Zayn feel like the gap has been bridged. It seems like too little, much too late. It seems like a consolation prize compared to the fucking lottery he had had before.
Nothing was going to bring that back.
“Mate—” Niall leans forward, all serious blue eyes and no laughter. “Don’t you think you should try and talk to—”
“No.” Zayn cuts him off, head shaking emphatically. “No, I’m not going to.”
“Zayn—”
“No, Louis. No.” Zayn stops him before he can begin too. “We’re not talking this out. This is not getting better.”
“That’s bullshit.” Harry glances up from the twisted fingers in his lap, his eyes glinting. “I love ya, mate, but that’s bullshit.”
“Harry…” Niall gives him a look but Harry tosses his head impatiently.
“No. It is.” Harry pins Zayn with a look that is angry, more angry than Zayn has really ever seen him. This is Harry, whose favorite film is Love Actually. It’s Harry, who smells like sugar and fresh bread from the bakery he works in. It’s Harry with soft eyes and a quiet voice who can take you out of your head when you’re sucked down too far into it.
And he’s looking at him. And he’s mad.
And it doesn’t make sense.
Zayn’s throat closes all the more and he can feel the sting of tears lying on his tongue. He swallows them down, refusing to cry in the middle of the restaurant with his mates. His fists clench and by the way Louis glances at him, he knows. He knows and the downward curve of his mouth is all I’m sorry but it doesn’t change the fact that Harry is looking at him like he doesn’t know who he is and that, even if Louis is giving him sympathetic faces, he agrees too.
“I’ve never seen you happier than when you were with Liam.” Harry leans closer, face swallowing up Zayn’s field of vision. It’s disconcerting so he focuses on the prick of his nails against his palm. “Never, Zayn, and we’ve been mates for a good long time, like Louis said. I’m not saying that I think you two are soulmates or whatever but, like, you need to make this work out because I don’t want you to be mad at yourself in ten years that you didn’t. I really don’t want that for you.”
“I won’t—”
“You don’t know that. You don’t, Z.” Harry is all big eyes, bigger hair, and raging sincerity. “I don’t want you to feel like you missed out on the chance of a lifetime because you didn’t try again. Because that’s what love is, yeah? It’s taking chances and jumping off of cliffs not sure that you can fly and it’s fucking scary as hell but it’s worth it. Isn’t it?”
He sends Louis a look that has Zayn’s insides curling in on themselves and collapsing. It’s fondness and pride and, god, it hurts. It hurts because Liam would look at him like that and he looked at him like that and—
“I can’t.” He clears his throat, hoping his next words will sound less like a whisper. “I can’t and I won’t, no matter how I’m supposed to be taking chances and plummeting to my death and all that rubbish.”
“Why?” Harry leans forward, his forehead a mass of wrinkled confusion. “Seriously, why, Zayn? You got into an argument, sure, but—”
“Because I’m going out with Perrie Edwards this week.” Zayn stares Harry down, daring him to say anything. He doubts he will because he looks nonplussed, as does Niall. He can feel the same shockwaves coming from Louis. He swallows down what feels uncomfortably like sticky shame in his throat and continues on. “Liam doesn’t think I’m good enough. He thought that he was some—-some fucking phase or bollocks like that so I’m done. He doesn’t think I love him, so I’m done. I’m moving on.”
“Don’t you think it’s…a little soon?” Harry suggests. He’s looking at Zayn as if he’s afraid he’s some bomb that’s about to go off and he hates that.
“I’m fine.”
“I mean…she’s fit and all, sure…” Niall seems to be struggling to find the words too. Zayn knows for a fucking fact Niall has had a desperate crush on Perrie for the last two years and wants to laugh out loud at the fact that he’s trying to advise him against seeing her. “But it’s only been two weeks, mate.”
“I’m single. She’s single. What’s the problem?”
He feels the looks they give each other and has to inhale through his nose in an attempt to stop himself from smashing anything. His hand still hurts from the night of the match. He flexes his fingers as an afterthought; the doctor had told him when he went to hospital the next day that it might be fractured and not to aggravate it. He stretches his fingers out and lays them flat on the plastic seating, feeling the rip in the cushion beneath his skin.
Zayn wants them to say something. He wants them to tell him he’s mad and jumping into things too quickly. He silently dares them to so he can get mad at something. Anything. There’s been this hot ball of rage sitting in his belly the last fortnight and nothing he does can get rid of it. He punched a wall, he tossed all the doodles of Liam or inspired by him in the bin, he furiously wanked to a picture of Jessica Alba—and nothing. No dice. He’s spoiling for a fight, begging for one, and hopes this will prove to be it.
But his friends are his best mates for a reason and, even though they’re all shifty eyes and dodgy mouths, they pull through and he’s denied the one thing he thinks will make everything better.
“I’m sure you’ll have a lovely time,” Louis murmurs.
Niall nods. “Aces. Tell me if she’s really as funny and gorgeous as she seems.”
“Have fun.” Harry stares him down, accusing. “He told me he loves you, you know. He told me doesn’t know who he is without you.”
It drops like the fucking bomb did on Japan and Zayn stares, unable to say anything else. Everything in him is gathering, gathering hot and tight, and he knows it’s the advent to him crying. He knows that he’s about to lose it all and start chucking chairs. It’s not until his palms begin to sting that he realizes his nails are back, aggravating the skin into half-moons of pain. He stares at Harry, feeling it all rise up to throttle him, and tosses out the only thing he can think of to say:
“Doesn’t matter.”
He pushes back from his chair, violent enough that it squeals and scrapes nastily across the floor. He doesn’t care. He can’t possibly care when everything is rising to a crest inside him and the walls are closing in and he can’t breathe. He doesn’t even look at his friends and he definitely doesn’t hear them calling after him because he stalks to the door and throws it open and goes barreling outside before he can register the sound of their voices.
He walks and walks and walks, pounding down the sidewalk—hands in his pockets, breath coming in sharp gasps—until he stops and ducks into an alley where no one can see him. It’s there in the slight darkness, with no prying eyes, that the tears come rushing out.
Zayn presses his face against the grimy stone, heedless of the potential sicknesses or muck he could be picking up. Instead, he just cries, cries until he wants to scream, and slaps at the wall with ineffectual hands because he can’t punch like he’d like to. That, too, adds to his furor.
It’s all too much, this. He’s angry and sick and guilty and he wishes, more than anything, that he could rewind to two weeks ago so he can brain Liam before he made a prat of himself, before they both turned into arseholes, before all of this happened and his life fell apart. He wishes for it so hard that he’s almost nauseous and slaps at the wall harder, bottling back the frustrated screams he’d love to vent.
It’s not fair, it’s not fair, it’s not fair.
When he’s cried himself out, Zayn stands there, staring at the brick. His breathing evens out and turns to normal. He wipes his face with his sleeves, until he’s certain it doesn’t look like he’d been crying, and then ducks out into the crowds again, swallowed up by London, lost in it and the crush of the humanity surrounding him again.
—————————————
Zayn knocks on the door, feeling nervous because it’s Perrie Edwards and she’s fit and funny and forward. There’s also the vague feeling like he shouldn’t be here but he pushes it away because it’s being a dick and there’s no reason for it to be there in the first place at all. He adjusts the fit of his T-shirt, biting at his lip, and is about to knock again when the door swings open. Perrie beams one mega-watt smile his way, all gorgeous teeth and giant blue eyes. Zayn immediately feels overwhelmed, like he’s been blasted by a molecular gun or sommat like that. Her head’s tilted and it looks like she’s fixing one earring on.
Christ, help him prevent this from getting all awkward. He hates those type of situations and he especially hates them with pretty girls he likes.
“Come in, come in!” Perrie beckons him inside, energy massive. Zayn feels jittery just by association. She seems to be everywhere, all around, all at once. “I’m nearly ready, promise. I’m so sorry, I’m running so behind.”
Zayn moves into the flat, feeling a bit like he’s been hit in the face by a careening truck. She’s a small whirlwind, chattering away in her bright Geordie accent, all blonde hair in a dark outfit. She’s gorgeous and just—just a a lot to take in in thirty seconds. A whole hell of a lot. Zayn wipes his hands on his jeans again, hoping she doesn’t notice, and then she looks up at him expectantly and he startles, scratching the back of his neck, feeling like he’s been caught. God. He is so terrible at this.
“Um. Hi,” he says, because there’s not much else to do.
“Oh, god. I forgot that, didn’t I?” Perrie gives this great big belly laugh, still beaming up at him. It’s making Zayn feel awkward because no one’s been that genuinely excited to see him in the last two weeks since he’s gotten a little dickish and he knows it just like they do. “Hi! You all right?”
She hugs him round the middle, squeezing tight. It surprises a huff of air from Zayn and he stands there for a second, unsure, then wraps his arms around her too. He can smell her shampoo. It’s floral and clean and—nice, he guesses. It feels weird hugging someone who’s not one of the other lads and therefore more of a size with him though. Really weird. That’s the only thing he can think about, except that he can’t decide if her shampoo is violets or lavender. It’s strange being close like this to someone who feels small and delicate and—and fragile. Zayn is careful with the pressure he returns, careful in a way he only is around his mum and sisters, but Perrie doesn’t seem to notice when she tilts away just as Zayn has decided her hair definitely smells like lavender. She’s still smiling her giant smile and it makes him smile unintentionally back. She is really, really ridiculously pretty.
“Give me five minutes to finish getting ready, yeah? And then we can go.”
“Um, okay.” There isn’t any choice. From the way she’s phrased it, it’s clear she isn’t looking for approval and he kind of likes that. “I’ll just—”
“My mum took my brother out for some things, so you can wait or whatever you wanna do.” She waves one hand glittering with rings in his general direction. It seems like a “go ahead” gesture. “Will just be a second.”
She dashes off down the hallway, leaving Zayn standing near the door, blinking slowly and wondering if he’s about to go out with a girl or a force of nature. He kind of reckons it might be both and wonders, for about the twentieth time since he came inside, what he’s doing. He glances round the flat, unsure of whether he should be here or not. It has only been two weeks and his friends—his friends are not down with this at all. Does that mean anything? He doesn’t know whether he should be concerned about it or not. Rather than contemplate it more—and risk giving himself a headache—he slides his hands back into his pockets, rocking forward and back on his his heels, until Perrie comes back after what is definitely more than a second later, grinning hugely.
“Shall we?”
“Yeah, okay.”
She grabs him by the hand and tows him unceremoniously through the door, talking a mile a minute with a pink lipsticked mouth that looks dangerous, far more dangerous than Zayn has ever seen a girl be. He just follows, dumbstruck by the massive energy issuing from in front of him. She’s like the Energizer Bunny; all go, go, go. Zayn’s beginning to think that keeping up with her is going to be a small miracle of sorts. He’s beginning to think he might not honestly be up to the task.
They go to a Chinese place just a few blocks over because it’s her favorite. They eat lo mein with jasmine tea because he has to try it, apparently. Perrie’s happy and spirited, constantly talking with her hands, her face lit up with every emotion she feels. It’s easy to keep a conversation going with her, because he only has to fill in and not really offer anything back. Instead, he watches her, watches how she flips her blonde hair off her shoulders when she’s particularly excited, watches her tiny wrists and compares them with the ones he’s used to. He stays quiet except where he needs to respond and she doesn’t seem to mind.
Zayn is grateful.
He had a crush on this girl last year and the reality of being here, being with her now, is somewhat difficult to wrap his head around, considering where he’d been a month ago. It is rather fun, though, even if his laughter is somewhat forced. He’s frustrated that it is and it’s even more frustrating that he knows why. He throws himself wholeheartedly into the conversation once he realizes it and pays for the both of them when their cheque comes. If Perrie notices any difference in his behavior, she keeps it to herself, and he reckons she must be either a great actress or just very, very nice.
They leave the restaurant to traipse down the sidewalks, melding into the rivers of people, only to become lost among them. Perrie reaches for Zayn’s hand and tugs him after her, smiling all the while. They get ice cream from a tiny little store along the walk; he watches the way she bites at it, lips pink against the cream. The sight is a pretty one and even he can’t deny it. He also can’t deny that her fingers feel nice in his, when he’s used to the hand around his being the same size. He likes the feeling of being bigger, of being a protector, especially when he is no longer being protected. He is lightheaded and heavy-hearted, though he tries to drown it in her laughter.
They talk about their families. She has a brother and loves her mum to death. He tells her of his sisters and his mum and how patient his dad had been with him when he was growing up. They talk about music—she has an overwhelming love for Katy Perry—and figure out that they both like hip-hop. They eat their ice cream, fingers tangled still.
It feels good, getting to know someone and their intricacies. It’s nice, focusing on that instead of how he had gotten to know a boy with much the same questions asked across a small pixelated screen.
It isn’t long until he notices the looks Perrie gives him and, well, shit. He had thought this would come but he wasn’t sure and—Zayn’s finds his eyes lingering on her pink, pink mouth and their fingers tighten. It feels good, being attracted to someone else. It makes everything seem that much more optimistic. It isn’t long until his stomach is tight and his throat tickling. He thought it would take more for him to feel like this but she’s gorgeous and he wants to put his hands around her waist and taste her pink mouth and—
She’s beautiful. She’s hilarious. She’s small and loud and so different from Liam in every way that Zayn can’t even feel guilty for seeing her so soon afterwards. He certainly shouldn’t feel guilt about being attracted to her. Why should he? She and Liam are so different that there are no parallels between them. None at all. Liam is tall and rather shy and laughs from his heart out. Perrie is the complete opposite of him in nearly every way and Zayn shouldn’t feel any guilt over it whatsoever, he shouldn’t.
Goddammit.
They end up meandering back to hers and Perrie says her mum and brother are still out. Zayn is having a hard time believing that any of this is happening, but it is. It’s happening when they go into her building. It’s happening when they go into the lift. It’s happening when they get to her floor and she opens the door. Their fingers are tight and their eyes heavy as she draws him down the hallway to her room, smile nothing but a curve of pink in the semi-darkness. His palms are tingling. It’s been only a few weeks since he felt such a need, but it feels like millennia. It’s been even longer since he felt this way about a girl. Zayn’s fingers trace over her cheek and he marvels at how soft her skin is. He hadn’t expected to be here but he doesn’t regret it, not when he looks at her big blue eyes and sees they are just as hungry as his own.
Their first kiss is soft and tastes like jasmine tea and raspberry ice cream. It makes Zayn immediately want more.
They tumble into her room and hit the bed. Their coats seem to melt off and then their hands are everywhere, touching and stroking at warm skin. He looks at her and her flushed cheeks and thinks he’s never seen anything more beautiful. She’s fucking gorgeous and soft and smiling again like she couldn’t be happier. Zayn wants to make her happy. He wants to make her laugh for putting up with him today. He wants to give her something for putting up with all his shit. He wants to make her head spin like his is.
They kiss again and it only makes him want more. One of his hands knots in her hair and pulls. Perrie leans in, apparently not caring, and that makes everything in him flare higher. He’s missed this. Missed feeling bigger and in control. He’s missed perfume and lipstick and long hair and florally smells. They kiss and kiss and kiss like they’re never going to stop. Then he blinks and he’s drawing his shirt over his head to throw it the floor. He blinks again and hers has joined it. All he can see is pink lace. All he can smell is lavender.
“Is this okay?” Perrie leans closer, face pale in the gray light. Her lipstick is almost all gone, a small corner of her mouth smeared with it. Zayn leans in to kiss it off, not caring about the taste. It’s another part of being with a girl and he likes it too, in a strange way.
“Yeah.” He sounds all breathy and rough but doesn’t care about that either. He doesn’t care about how eager he seems. He needs this, needs this to happen so he can get everything out of his system, all the anger and the confusion and the stress. He ignores the voice telling him he’s trying to get Liam out and smiles at Perrie, leaning in to press his mouths to hers again.
They eventually fall back and she’s above him, hair tickling at his face, lips soft. She licks into his mouth and Zayn sighs, hips arching lazily with response. His hands map over her torso and hers fall to his zipper and then—and then—and then—
Zayn inhales, eyes screwing up as her fingers wrap around his cock. Oh shit. Oh god. He falls into her rhythm, but it just feels weird. Off. Wrong. It’s not that she’s bad but—Zayn’s used to big fingers, big hands, and this…this doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like enough. God, what is wrong with him that he can’t even stand to the occasion when a hot girl is all over him? He stares at the ceiling, teeth grit, willing himself to get hard because it’s getting to the point of being embarrassing now. He can feel Perrie’s eyes on him and his own close because, fuck, it’s terrible. He can’t believe that this is actually happening, now of all times.
Perrie’s hands still. Zayn wants to fucking die. “Is everything all right?” she asks quietly. “Am I—am I doing this right, Zayn?”
He wishes the earth would open up and swallow him whole. He does not want to have this conversation. He does not want have to look at Perrie and fucking verbalize what’s going on right now. Zayn feels physically ill when he opens his eyes to see her staring back at him.
Fuck.
“I—yeah, yeah, it’s okay.”
It’s not but he can’t stand to tell her that, not with her doubt leaking off of her in palpable waves. If that makes him even more of a terrible person, so be it. He’ll deal with it, just like he is everything else going on his fucking life right now.
This is just the icing on the motherfucking cake.
“Are you sure?”
Perrie gives him another tug and pull. In that moment, Zayn wishes he didn’t have a penis. He wishes he didn’t have one so it wouldn’t be so obvious that he isn’t exactly enthused about the situation. Fuck men and their super obvious pricks. It’s causing him nothing but problems right now.
“You don’t really seem… that into it.”
“No, no, it’s okay.” He does his best to smile and isn’t sure how successful it is. She doesn’t look exactly convinced. “I just—take a while to get started.” He’s thankful it’s dark so she can’t see him flush at the stupidest thing he’s ever said in his life. Ever.
“All right. Well, let’s try something else, shall we? Something a little more…hands-on.” Perrie tosses her head and starts moseying down his body, eyeing him steadily. Zayn feels a bolt of anticipation go zinging through his midriff and, yes yes yes, straight to his dick. That’s good. That’s very good.
Her mouth falls onto him, all wet heat, and Zayn bites his lip, feeling himself responding. At least there’s that. At least this seems to be working. A blowjob is a blowjob after all…or is it? Because he can tell, so clearly now, the contrast between a bloke and a girl doing it. Or is it the contrast between Perrie and Liam? Is that what the essential difference is? Zayn finds himself wishing, again, for what he had before with a type of yearning he’d usually only associate with the need for water after a long and exhausting run in the middle of July.
That seems to decide things for him pretty quickly.
“Perrie. Perrie, stop.” Zayn grabs her by the arm and pulls her gently up before he can fully accept what it is he’s doing. Niall would kill him for doing, absolutely murder him and scatter all the pieces. “Please.”
Perrie follows his directing and his stomach flips to see the insecurity on her face. He can’t believe he’s doing it, he can’t believe he’s stopping her, stopping this but—
“I can’t do this.” He sits up slowly and they withdraw into their own separate spaces automatically. He rubs her arm briefly before letting his hand drop, unsure if it’s appropriate to touch her now or not. Zayn draws his pants and jeans back up his hips and wishes, briefly, that she would put her shirt back on. It’d make things that much less awkward. “I’m so sorry, but I can’t do this.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No. No. Not with—not with you.”
“So what’s going on?” She frowns. “Is this about Liam?”
Zayn swallows, eyes closing. He considers it, thinking of everything that has just transpired in the last five minutes. He thinks of what he had just been wishing for and sighs. His nod is ragged.
“Yeah…yeah, I think it is.”
“You love him,” Perrie states simply.
Zayn can only nod again.
He wants more than he could say that he could go through with this. He doesn’t want to push her away. He doesn’t want to still be reeling over the loss of Liam but he is and he can’t stop it and it makes him feel all the worse for what happened…and what nearly happened…
“I can’t do this, Perrie,” Zayn repeats.
He stares at his hands and sees Liam’s, remembers their phantom touch. He swallows down the tears crowding the back of his throat because he’s not going to add to the discomfort of their situation by crying on top of everything else. That’d be bloody fantastic.
“I—I can’t when he’s all in my head like this and…it’s not fair to you. None of this is fair to you.”
She touches his shoulder and his eyes shutter closed. “It’s okay, Zayn. It’s okay, I get it.”
“It’s not okay. I never should have—I’m not ready—”
“You want him back,” she says simply. Zayn’s eyes fly open but Perrie’s just watching him, compassion all too apparent.
He stares for a moment and then nods again in the darkness, too scared to give voice to his wish should it disappear. Here, with Perrie, and memories of Liam all around, he feels like he’s delicate enough to puncture, like he’s nothing but the most stretched out of bubbles and just as akin to burst. If he says it, if he says he actually misses him, if he acts like he’s not fine for just one second, it will all disappear.
Pop!
Gone forever.
And Perrie, God bless her, doesn’t push. She just leans back and fumbles at the floor, pulling her shirt over her head without another word. Zayn sits there, not knowing what else to do. She’s back in a moment, smiling gently, saving him from trying to piece together if that was his cue to leave or not.
“So, this didn’t go the way I planned.” They laugh weakly until she sighs, fingers threading through his own. “I saw the two of you around college this term, yeah? Looked like you got on really well. Like there were little cartoon hearts coming out your eyes every time you looked at each other. I used to wish you’d look at me like that, you know?”
“Really?” Zayn breathes quiet laughter. “I had no clue.”
“Yeah, ever since I was fourteen. Seemed mad, didn’t it, until I decided to ask you out when you seemed single and you said yes.” She smiles at him and Zayn thinks he sees a flash of something like regret before it’s gone again. “I wondered that it hadn’t been long since I’d seen those cartoon hearts going his way, but I wanted them too, so I didn’t think about it. Much.”
“I’m sorry,” Zayn whispers again. “I’m so sorry, Perrie.”
“Don’t be.” She squeezes his hand. “You’re not ready and I’m not pushing, just telling you my side, cus I want those hearts, Zayn Malik, but I’m not gonna go round taking them from a perfectly good lad just because I do.”
“What are you saying exactly?” he asks slowly. His ability to read between the lines has been exhausted what with the emotional night this has turned into, compounded by the fact that he’s still half-hard and reeling from the change of pace.
“I’m telling you I want to help you. I want to see you looking happy again, Zayn, and it seems like he’s the best way for you to be, yeah?”
“Yeah, yeah…I think so. Mad, innit?”
“Not so mad as a girl going goofy over a fit bloke who’d just broken up with his boyfriend and thinking she wouldn’t be the rebound.”
They laugh quietly, both somewhat pained, until her head droops to his shoulder. Their palms squeeze, returning a gentle pressure back and forth. Zayn isn’t sure he’s ever been more grateful to another person than he is to her. She’s radiant and he wishes whichever bloke she does end up with the best of luck, because he’ll be round to punch his teeth in if he treats her wrong. She deserves the world and the moon and anything else she could ever want. Zayn would give it all to her, if he could.
“Promise me something?” Perrie whispers. Zayn nods, relieved to be close to someone for the moment, happy he’s not feeling angry and confused and out his head anymore. It’d been a long two weeks.
“Yeah, anything.”
“Promise me we’ll be friends? We don’t have to be, like, proper mates but I just want to be friends. Can we do that?”
“I think we could.” Zayn gives her fingers a squeeze and then, because it seems fitting, leans in to kiss her temple softly. “Especially if you don’t give me shit about not getting up for you.”
She laughs, louder than she has since they started really talking, and slaps his arm lightly. “I never promised that.”
“I’m just saying it’d be a right pain in the arse explaining I was gone over some dude and couldn’t get it up for the most gorgeous girl at school.”
“You reckon so?”
“Yeah, definitely, babes.”
Perrie laughs again and kisses his cheek, quick as a flash before she moves away. “All right then. I promise, especially so we can be friends. You’ll owe me anyways, since I’m going to help you get Liam back.”
“But, like, can’t the lads help me out or something too? We’re all friends.”
“That’s why they can’t. They’re all too close to the situation and the two of you to get a proper look at it. It’s why you need me.”
“Oh, I do, do I?” Zayn laughs, taking the piss because he can, even though what Perrie is saying makes sense. Her confidence is certainly contagious.
“Yes, you do. Clearly. How long has it been? A week? Two weeks?”
“Two weeks.” Zayn jerks a shoulder and tries for a joke. “Clearly I’m doing really well.”
“I think I’d like to argue that one.”
“Do you really wanna help? Like, really?”
“Yes, really. Really really. But I need to know what happened so I can.”
“Yeah, okay…Makes sense…”
Zayn curls toward her and her quiet and spills his words into the small space that exists between them. In between small sighs and softly murmured words, he tells her the story of Liam and him. He tells her of his bleeding heart and the last two insomniatic weeks. He tells her of his fight with the other boys. He tells her everything, because she listens, one hundred percent, and doesn’t try to comfort and soothe him through it. No one’s just listened to him and let him shed his silence since this all began.
At the end, he feels better, enough so to be noticeable. His words had been a weight and telling them to Perrie has taken that away. Simple, but huge. He holds her hand, breathing in the darkness of her room and the smell of her lavender shampoo. His heart thuds, because he hasn’t spoken so much at one time in what seems like years. He wonders what she’s thinking, all circumstances considered. He hopes it’s good things.
“You love him a lot,” Perrie finally whispers. She sounds a bit awed and it would make Zayn feel uncomfortable normally but, as it is, he’s spilled the last few months of his life to her so that’s kind of a moot point by now.
“Yeah, yeah I do.” He coughs out a laugh, head shaking. “It’s fucking mental, innit, but I do. He’s one of the best people I know.”
“Good. That’s why we’re gonna get your boy back.”
“And that’s why we’re going to be friends. Plus, you’re really fit.”
Perrie shrieks out a laugh and pushes him over, making Zayn laugh too. They push and slap at one another ineffectively until he ruffles her hair up and she punches him in the throat and it dissolves into more hilarity and wrestling from there.
And Zayn is happy. He’s hopeful. He’s excited. He’s looking forward to talking to Liam and working through this because he loves him—he loves him—and he can’t let that go just yet.
All it took was Perrie Edwards to make him see that.
——————————————————————————
At the end of the day, some of the things Liam had told him that night on the pitch had been closer to the truth than Zayn would have liked them to have been. Clearly Liam had been wrong about this being “just a phase,” but he hadn’t been off the mark when he had said Zayn was scared—because he is. He’d really only just come out to his friends when he and Liam had started officially dating and no one else knows, especially not his family.
That’s something he decides needs to change.
So Sunday, after their dinner, he helps his mum with the clean up. His sisters have scampered off to do coursework and watch telly, so they’re left alone. If she thinks it’s weird, she doesn’t say anything. They pick up quietly for a while, clearing the table and bringing all the dinnerware into the kitchen to package up the leftovers. Zayn is so worried about talking to his mum that he feels almost sick from it, throat all tight and hands sweaty. He doesn’t want to tell his mum, he really doesn’t, but if there’s any hope whatsoever of salvaging things with Liam, he needs to do it.
More than that, he needs to do it for himself.
Finally, after minutes that seem agonizing, Trisha reaches over and grabs his hand, stopping him from drying a plate. She peeks round at him, smiling, though she has her Concerned Eyebrows on. Zayn realizes, not for the first time, that they look a lot like Liam’s when he has that look on too. He wonders, slightly panicky, if he has them as well. Is it possible that he’d inherited it? Or maybe just picked it up from the other boy? Can you do that?
“Is everything all right, love? You’ve been drying that same plate for over two minutes.”
Zayn frowns and sets the plate away, picking up the next one absentmindedly. His mum’s staring at him still, apparently waiting for an answer. He wonders why his hands aren’t shaking or why he’s not vomiting all over the counter because it seems like a very, very close call. He can say without a doubt, that this is the most nervous he’s ever been in his entire life.
Zayn looks down at the plate, tracing the blue china glaze, noticing the brushstrokes that had made it up. He’d say it was amateur work but he knows fuck all about painting. It’s just serving as another distraction. Realizing it, he clears his throat and turns to his mum—the absolute rock in his life and the strongest and most beautiful woman he knows—and he freezes.
Trisha is up to nearly her elbows in water and soap, washing off the dishes from dinner, but she’s lovely for it, despite her hair being a bit flyaway and her eyes a little tired. It hurts in that moment knowing how much he loves her and how much he might disappoint her because of this. His mum has given up so much for his family to make sure that they’re happy and Zayn couldn’t stand it, he absolutely couldn’t stomach it, if he upset her or let her down. He could stand anyone else, even the girls, but never, ever Trisha Malik.
It hits him in that moment how ridiculous it is that he’s going to talk to her about his sexuality or whatever when they’re washing dishes in the kitchen and his sisters could come in at any moment. It seems a bit mad because it’s a Sunday night and they’d had a nice roast like any other English family and yet, here he is, about to drop a bomb into their lives.
His mum rinses off the next plate and sets it in the rack for him to dry with the others and then turns full-on to look at him, faucet still running and her wrists covered with suds.
“Darling, what is it? You’re starting to worry me now. It’s not like you not to spit out something you need to say. Go on then.”
Except he’d never needed to tell her something like this. There’s never been anything of this magnitude or weight, not even when he’d broken the expensive toy motorbike she’d gotten him for his birthday just hours after he’d unwrapped it and had to go and tell her.
Zayn takes a deep breath, hoping it will still all the chaos inside of him. He looks his mum in the eye, remembering how much she loves him and all of the things she has done for him and for his sisters. He remembers it as he opens his mouth and tells her—
“Mum, I like boys.”
He can tell she’s surprised. He can tell she wasn’t expecting that because her eyes get big and her mouth drops a bit before she catches it. Zayn is so nervous he feels like he might fall apart at the seams, just rip apart and fall into nothing but his own anxiety and nerves. A thousand thoughts fly through his head all at once, worst possible situations and accusations and tears. Would Louis let him live with him? Maybe Harry would. His mum is a lovely woman and probably wouldn’t mind having someone else around, especially since he’s not nearly as chatty as Harry is. Would that ever work out? Would he have to share a room with the other boy? He’s not quite sure he’d be able to snuff it because Harry is a slob and it’d get on his nerves fairly quickly. Maybe he’d just be able to kip on the couch—-?
“Zayn,” his mum says, bringing him out of his wild imagined world. Thank God. He was worrying what he’d do if Harry’s socks ever ended up on his side of the room and how he’d tell him he needed to be neater. “What are you trying to say exactly? Are you—are you telling me that you’re gay?”
There it is, there’s that word again. Gay. It’s been something he’s been avoiding for a while now, because you’re not supposed to like it. The kids at primary all made fun of the one boy in their year who liked playing pony games with the girls instead of kicking a football around the yard with the boys. They called him gay in their sharp little voices, not even knowing what it meant, just that it meant he was different. In Year Eight, Joe Accorsi kissed Ian Watkins at a party and was teased so much for it the next day that he’d gone to the loos and cried all during lunch hour. Zayn had seen it all and so, so much more. He’d been there for it. For fuck’s sake, he’d done some of it.
And then, when he’d gotten a little drunk at the odd party or two, he’d found himself exchanging sloppy kisses with boys with soft hands and more than a little alcohol on their breath too but it hadn’t meant anything. It certainly hadn’t meant he was gay. They’d just been kisses and he’d been drunk and it didn’t matter because people always did mental, stupid, ridiculous things when they were pissed. But the kisses had been nice and made his belly go all funny and his hands itch in a way that kissing girls never had and that had made him want it more. That had turned into hands in places they hadn’t gone before then James was watching him when they went out because he’d caught him kissing a bloke and Zayn had been a wreck of confusion and guilt—
And then he’d met Liam.
Thinking of the other boy, with his soft hair and his crinkly-eyed smile makes him feel better. He takes a deep breath. Zayn keeps him at the forefront of his mind—with his kindness and his laugh and his strength—and looks his mum dead in the eye. No going back now. Not ever again. He nods, knowing that this is the biggest hurdle he’s ever crossed in his life.
“Yeah, I am. And Liam—Liam wasn’t a new mate. He was…he was my boyfriend.”
“Oh.” Trisha watches him and he wonders how her world is realigning. He wonders if they’re going to be okay. He swallows, nervous, though the sick feeling has backed off, if only slightly. It’s out of his hands now, innit. “Okay, that’s—all right. Okay.”
“Mum—” he starts but she shakes her head, reaching out to touch his face with soft fingertips slightly pruned from washing.
“I love you,” she murmurs. “I love you so very much.”
“I love you too.” Zayn’s a bit thrown—okay, maybe a lot because he was expecting some sort of opposition—but his mum leans in and up to lay a gentle kiss on his forehead before she hugs him, squeezing tightly. “I’m always going to love you, Zayn. You’re always going to be my sunshine. This is…a lot to take in but—okay.”
“Okay? Like…okay okay?”
“Like okay okay.” She laughs a bit damply. “It’s a lot to take in and adjust to but…but you’re still my son and, at the end of the day, every day, I still love you.”
“But the—”
She shakes her head, effectively stopping anything else he might have said. “No but’s.”
Trisha leans away then and Zayn is able to see her properly again. It makes everything in him swell up to the point that his throat is tight and his chest about to burst. Her eyes might be a little teary, but she doesn’t look upset. She doesn’t look angry. She looks—shocked, a little, but she’s not angry and that makes him feel impossibly happy because it is going to be okay. That thought, in and of itself, makes everything a hundred times easier because his mum loves him and she accepts him—for everything he is.
Zayn feels tears prick at his eyes and doesn’t try and bat them down, because he and his mum are having a fucking moment and tears are okay. If living in a household of mostly women has taught him anything, it’s that sometimes tears are had for good reasons and that’s perfectly all right. Healthy, even, innit.
They move to the couch, dishes abandoned, and he tells her everything—or as near as he can get without cringing because his mum doesn’t need to know all the dirty details. He tells her about kissing the first boy he did at a party and how he’d always thought David Beckham was fit—and he tells her about Liam. He spends what feels like an hour telling her everything about the boy he fell in love with: from Liam’s laugh to his love for Batman and his family and, basically, everything he knows about him.
Except for the sex. He’s doesn’t tell his mum about that. Or the almost blowjob in his room upstairs. His mum definitely doesn’t need to know about that one.
They hold each other for a while after his speakathon, her arms around him like they used to do when he was little and poorly. It had made him feel better then and it makes him feel even better now. What they say about a mother’s love seems unaccountably true for him and he’s so glad this didn’t turn into one of those horror stories he’d read on the Internet. He’s proud of his mum and loves her so much it’s like a beaming spotlight in his body, illuminating everything else.
They kiss each other goodnight and hug one last time, trading “I love you’s” before going their separate ways, Zayn upstairs and Trisha to the kitchen, to finish cleaning up as if nothing monumental had just happened.
Bless her.
Zayn crawls into bed, smiling to himself beneath the duvet. He knows now that everything is going to be all right and that somehow, someway, it’s all going to work out. He knows that he can get Liam back because he has his mum—the single most important woman in his life—on his side now too.
——————————————————————
Except that it’s proving impossible.
It seems like the entire world is out to get him because he can’t seem to get Liam alone. He’d tried after English, he’d tried during lunch, he’d tried after the last bell rang and nothing. The other boy was constantly surrounded by other people or never looked up when Zayn tried to catch his eye. It’s incredibly frustrating, but he guesses it’s nothing less than what he deserves with how he treated Liam. There’s nothing for it now except to get changed out for football and hope that somehow he’ll be able to talk to Liam before or after practice.
He, Niall, and Louis take the bus to their practice fields together, Harry on a separate one with Liam. Zayn really has no idea how they’re managing these crazy schedules and switch-offs but he doesn’t try and think about it too hard because hopefully, hopefully, it won’t be lasting for too much longer.
Please, god, let this all work out.
He doesn’t know how he’s going to get Liam to talk to him and it’s something he’s been struggling with all day. Perrie told him just to go up to him but that seems to brash. It seems too assuming. Zayn told the other boy very clearly that he never wanted to talk to him again. Going up to him now and asking to talk just seems—it just seems wrong somehow. But how? How can he talk to him and how is this—
“Jesus, will you stop?” Louis’ voice is sharp but his eyes are slotted with something entirely different than irritation. “I’d think you were Haz with the way you’re bouncing around. You all right?”
“Yeah, fine.” One of Zayn’s shoulders jerks in a shrug.
“You sure?” Louis watches him skeptically, clever face considering. “I haven’t seen you this antsy since you had that limited edition Batman comic.”
“I’m fine.” Zayn meets his eyes from a moment and then throws up his hands before he buries his face against his palms, speaking through his fingers so he doesn’t have to see the two other boys watching him. “I’ve been trying to talk to Liam all day.”
“Oh really?”
“Trying?” Niall asks from the other side of Louis.
Zayn groans into his hands. “Yeah, trying. I could never get him alone and I want to try after practice but—”
“The world made it hard, like it always does in these types of situations,” Louis fills in.
“Yeah. I just—I just need to talk to him.”
“What about?” Louis sounds casual but Zayn can feel the intensity of his curiosity.
He suddenly wonders if this is a good idea, telling Louis and Niall, the notorious troublemakers that they are. Had Harry been here, he would have immediately launched into some sort of plan to make sure he and Liam wound up alone together, because he’s a hopeless romantic and doesn’t even try to hide it.
Niall and Louis though…
Zayn sighs, knowing he has no other choice and besides, what the hell, maybe his friends will rise to the occasion. They’ve done it many a time before, bless them.
“I want to apologize,” Zayn mumbles into his fingers, still not quite able to look at his two mates. “I want to see if we can get back together…”
He doesn’t have to be able to see to know that the sharp inhale he just heard was Louis and, well, Niall’s laugh is about as identifiable as you can get. Zayn groans, raking his hands through his hair as if it will release his pent-up frustration.
“I know it’s stupid, I know it’s mad, but I’ve got try. I have to. I love him and—”
“How can we help?” Louis interrupts.
“What?” Zayn looks up, completely shocked, and then feels ashamed because he is. “You want to help?”
“Of course we do.” Niall cuts in, laughing slightly still. He’s cheerful and happy, waves of it coming off of him. “It’s been miserable the last couple of weeks with the two of you not together and so, yeah, we want to help.”
“Oh. Okay.” Zayn shakes his head. The love and support he’s received in the last two days is slightly staggering and he doesn’t really deserve it. From his mum, yeah, sure, because she’s his mum. But he’s been shit to his friends lately and this sort of support is—overwhelming. He should give every single one of them gift baskets or something. “But how?”
“We’ll figure it out.” Louis smiles, eyes blazing with that light that means he’s got plans. Zayn doesn’t care. Plans are good. He needs plans. He’s run out of them so maybe Louis, somewhat maniacal mastermind that he is, can figure it out. Zayn is at his wit’s ends. “Promise, Z. We’re gonna work on it.”
“Thank you,” he whispers fervently. “I couldn’t think of what else to do and I need this to happen and—”
“It’s okay.” Louis pats his knee, smile huge. Zayn can’t help but smile back.
Louis has been one of his best mates nearly his entire life, ever since he moved to London. They’ve been through fights and pranks and whispered confessions and more than he can fully grasp. Years’ worth of history. It’s only fitting Louis would help him with this—it makes sense that Louis would want to help with this—and Zayn wonders why he never thought to tell them or ask for help because, contrary to what Perrie said, he trusts Louis, and the rest of the boys, with his life so something like fixing things with Liam?
It’s going to be a cinch with them on his side.
Zayn nods and throws an arm over Louis’ shoulder, beaming at Niall too who just shrugs back happily. They can do this. They can figure it out. He’s got his boys, so what could go wrong?
“Yeah, yeah it will,” he mumbles, and knows down deep in his bones how true it is.
—————————————————
Liam. He needs to hold onto Liam before he’s gone.
Zayn watches him during practice. He watches the way he laughs and seems relaxed around some of their teammates. How they’ve become friends. He wonders if it’s them that Liam goes out to pizza with now and has to shove the thought aside because it’s not one he can entertain. Not with what he has on tonight’s agenda. He also keeps looking at the other guys, who just shrug and point to Louis, who’s directing drills as co-captain.
And apparently directing their plan, the plan that Zayn knows nothing about. Jesus.
He should be paying more attention to practice and not the people there because they’re prepping for their next big match. If they win, they go onto the championship match of their league. They’re playing against the Cats, their biggest rivals, in three days’ time and Zayn needs to be paying attention. This is their biggest match to date but—he’s distracted.
And he pays for it more than once when he gets tripped up and falls and takes a ball to the face.
Niall laughs every time, of course, because he’s Niall and he’s secretly five and Zayn can’t really blame him. He gets it. He’s being a bloody moron and he knows it. He just can’t seem to focus and he can’t settle down because he’s going to talk to Liam tonight and the prospect is exciting but also terrifying because what if he brushes him off? What if Liam brushes Zayn aside like Zayn did him? He’s so nervous at the thought that he’s almost sick from it. He knows it’s a possibility—and a high one at that—but he hopes that Liam’s good natured ways will stop him from being as rude as Zayn was.
Plus, he texted him, Liam did. Right after they broke up. And he tried to talk to him that Monday at school. And he texted him again, saying he still loved him. That had to mean something, didn’t it? Didn’t it at least seem to say that Liam would still be up to talking to Zayn, especially if it meant they were trying to figure it out?
He hopes so. He prays so. God, he’d do anything Louis asked of him for a year if it meant that he and Liam got back together. That’s how serious he is about it.
Practice gets closer and closer to the end and Zayn focuses more, throwing himself into the drills and scrimmage they have at the end because it helps with the nerves boiling at the bottom of his belly. Coach doesn’t give him his squinty eyed, what-the-hell-were-you-doing look when he calls the end of practice huddle so Zayn thinks that his distraction at the beginning was forgotten. It’s back in full force now, though, because the end of practice huddle means the end of practice and he still has no bloody idea what the hell he’s doing or what the boys have concocted. No matter how many pointed looks he sends their way, they just shrug and make eyes at Louis, who fastidiously ignores him.
Which really doesn’t help with the nerves.
They break and do a chant and head back to the changing rooms, most of the lads all talking and laughing, having become a little unit over the course of the season. Zayn would normally notice it and smile. He would normally reminisce over how different it was when they’d all tried out and been thrown together, virtually strangers, but he doesn’t have the space left in his mind because it’s all preoccupied with Liam. Liam who is walking ahead of him with Tommy Gorgeson and Ezekiel Lake. Liam who is smiling and laughing and clearly at ease. Liam who looks really fucking fit in his football kit.
Nope, nope, back it up, Malik. Dangerous territory. That is definitely not something he should be thinking of right now, no matter how true it is.
They get inside and boys start changing out, pulling T-shirts and jeans on now they’re free. Zayn tries, and fails, not to notice the line of Liam’s back or the curve of his hips and forces himself to turn away. He shouldn’t be this goddamn horny, especially since he’d had Perrie fucking Edwards kissing him of the weekend—except that didn’t go far, because she wasn’t Liam and that’s what’s gotten him into this mess. Well, that, and the fact that he’d made a giant mistake.
Zayn dawdles, wondering if he’s going to get instructions on what’s going down or what to expect, but none come. Niall is the first to go. He gives Zayn a pat on the back and a wink before he saunters out, mobile to his ear and the word “babe” on his lips. Zayn wonders who the lucky lady is but then other mates are saying goodbye and then Louis and Liam—and Liam why is Liam leaving?—head out. Louis leans around Zayn before they exit the door and mouths “wait” to him with a giant wink and a thumbs up. Zayn just stands there, more confused than he’s ever been in his entire life. Wait? Wait for what?
He pulls his shirt over his head slowly, frowning at the green metal locker in front of him. He has no idea what he’s supposed to be waiting for, because no one is telling him anything and it’s becoming extremely frustrating. But whatever. He’ll wait for ten minutes and then leave. He’ll figure out what to do about Liam later, if this—whatever this is—doesn’t work out.
He hitches his jeans up on his hips, trying to think of what he would do if he has to try and talk to Liam again when the boy himself walks through the door. Zayn stops on the verge of doing his button, feeling like an idiot. Liam looks just as confused.
They’re also alone.
“Louis—Louis said he needed me to grab his jacket. You seen it?”
Zayn just shakes his head dumbly, because the plan is good and devastatingly simple. He watches Liam wander back towards the lockers to where Louis had changed out, his heart pounding in the vicinity of his throat.
Now or never. Big breath. Take the plunge.
“Liam—” Zayn starts as Liam talks at the same time.
“I don’t think—what?”
He looks up with big Bambi eyes, clearly shocked that he’s being spoken to directly. That makes Zayn’s insides twist and shrivel up a bit because he did that, he did that to Liam, and he can only hope that he can fix it now too. Please, god, let him fix it.
“I…I wanted to talk to you.”
“All right.” Liam moves closer, arms crossing over his chest. Walls up. Zayn really can’t blame him in the least.
“I just…I wanted to…” Zayn doesn’t know how to say what he needs to because he’s scared the words are going to come out twisted and wrong. He wants them to be perfect. He needs them to be perfect so that he can win Liam back. Saying the wrong thing here isn’t going to do that and he’s terrified of it, filled with the dread of it.
“I was wrong.” He swallows and looks up at the other boy because he knows he needs to. “I was wrong about it all. If I could take back every single word I said that night, I would.”
“Zayn—” Liam breathes but he just shakes his head and keeps going.
“I’m sorry for hurting you, Liam, more than I can even say. I’m angry with myself for it, so angry. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve me saying any of that to you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything. I’m especially sorry for not letting you talk to me. It could have solved a lot of pain on both our ends.”
“It could have.” Liam nods. He’s edged closer slightly, body tipping towards Zayn. It’s something, at least. “But it doesn’t change it.”
“No.” Zayn sighs, chewing at the inside of his lip nervously. Please, god, let this work. Bring some magic or salvation into his life. He needs a bloody miracle. “It doesn’t but I wish I could.”
“But you can’t.”
“No, I can’t.” Zayn shrugs helplessly. “But I would if I could. I was pissed and keyed up from the match and my entire body hurt. It’s no excuse for what happened but there was just so much and I overreacted.”
Liam laughs, the sound hollow, his head shaking slightly from side to side. “I appreciate the apology then. I’m sorry too. I’m sorry for how everything happened.”
He starts towards the door then, clearly intent on leaving. No no no. He can’t leave. Not now. Zayn hasn’t said everything he needs to yet. His fear blossoms and overtakes him so that he reaches out blindly for the other boy, hand closing around his wrist to stop him.
“Wh-what are you doing?”
“Leaving.” Liam’s looking at him like he’s mental and maybe he is. He feels like it. He also feels like he can’t breathe because his throat is constricted by a band of anxiety.
“But—I wasn’t done.”
“You weren’t done?” Liam frowns. “What do you mean? You apologized, I apologized. We’re good. I’ll leave you alone now.”
“I don’t want that,” Zayn rushes out. “I don’t want you to leave me alone.”
“I don’t understand.” Liam’s mouth works around the words carefully, his forehead wrinkled with confusion. Zayn wants to kiss each and every line smooth, given half the chance.
“I’m not sure I do either. Why do you think I want you to leave me alone?”
“Ehm, the last two weeks?” Liam coughs out a brittle laugh. “And—well—”
“What? What else?”
Liam mumbles something and Zayn leans closer, fingers still round the other boy’s wrist. He can feel his pulse jumping and hopes it’s a good thing. Is that a good thing? He can’t remember if it’s supposed to be a good thing or not.
“I—I didn’t quite catch that.”
“What about Perrie?” Liam looks up at him and, god, the look on his face is enough to make Zayn feel even worse. Liam is betrayed. He’s hurt. He’s devastated. It’s all right there in those big brown eyes Zayn has come to love so much. He wants to hit himself for putting that look there. He wants to hit himself because his mates had warned him about this and he’d been too much of a prat to listen.
“Perrie’s just a friend,” Zayn says firmly, giving Liam’s wrist a squeeze. “We went out once and it—it didn’t work out.”
“Why?” Liam questions. “She’s beautiful. Heard she’s liked you for a while.”
“Yeah, well.” Zayn shrugs. “I couldn’t give her what she wanted.”
“What does that even mean?” He pulls away from Zayn, eyebrows low. “You couldn’t give her what she wanted?”
“Ehm.” Zayn flounders, unsure of how much he can say. Is Perrie going to be mad at him for telling Liam, of all people, why they’re just mates? He decides that Liam doesn’t exactly need to hear all the dirty details. “She wanted a boyfriend and I couldn’t give that to her because I could only think of you whilst I was with her.”
“What?” Liam breathes it, as if he didn’t entirely want to voice it. “You—what?”
Zayn laughs quietly. “Yeah. Beautiful girl, gorgeous, you know, and I could only think about you. I thought about the times we went out and how it was always such a laugh. I thought about your laugh and how much you love people watching. I could only think about your hands and your mouth and just…just you.”
“Are you serious?”
“One hundred percent.” Zayn spreads his hands, smile weak and a little foolish, like he feels in this moment. Jesus. Could this be anymore awkward? So much for winning Liam back. He’s not even being smooth. “She was a bit put out over it but understood when I told her I’m still in love with you.”
Liam rocks forward and backward on his heels, expression impossible to read. Zayn wishes he could touch him again. He wishes he could trace the curves of his mouth and the corners of his eyes so he could maybe, maybe, figure out just what Liam is feeling.
He’s hoping so fervently that it’s good that he feels fairly unsettled because of it.
“You told her you’re still in love with me?” Liam asks quietly, watching Zayn so seriously it makes his heart pound a little harder.
“Yes.” Zayn watches him back, hooked. “These last few weeks have been miserable without you and I wish they’d never happened. I fucked up, Li, and I know it. I’m so sorry. I—”
“I’m sorry too,” Liam blurts out, interrupting him but it’s not as if he cares, not with what the other boy is saying. “I’m so sorry. I never should have said some of the shit I did on the pitch. I was just upset and mad and—”
“Me too. I’m so sorry, Liam. I’ll make it up to you anyway I can, please just—”
“I love you too,” Liam rushes on and Zayn stops, mind wiped blank because hearing those words again is more than he had ever hoped for. “I messed up just as much and I’m so sorry. I don’t ever want to be mad at you like that again.”
“Me either. It was terrible.”
“Seriously awful.”
“What do we do now?” Zayn slides closer, glancing at the ground and then back up at Liam, unaccountably nervous again. His belly roils with it. “Are we okay? Do we—”
“We kiss and make up,” Liam whispers.
They hover as if scared to disrupt the peace they’ve created, but the next second surge forward, arms twisting round each other, their mouths locked. Zayn makes an embarrassingly needy noise, pressing even closer, and bunches a hand in Liam’s short hair. Their kissing is not graceful or nice in any way—it’s desperate and too hard and their teeth clash. They hold onto one another hard, fingers white-knuckled with reckless need. It’s everything he needs in that moment and he can’t imagine it being perfect like in the films because they’re not perfect. Never have been. Never will be.
It’s a great place to be.
“Please,” Zayn mumbles against the other boy’s skin. “Please.”
“What do you wa—”
“Please.”
Lips fuse and they’re stumbling backward until Zayn’s back hits a locker, the ridges of it and the lock digging into his skin. He doesn’t care. He couldn’t possibly care, because Liam is even harder and insistent against his other side. His shirt is ripped over his head and tossed away, Liam’s mouth and his teeth and his tongue darting over his skin in its absence.
Zayn is completely overwhelmed but it’s a good overwhelmed. It’s fireworks in his head and clouds swimming across his vision, because it’s Liam touching him and it’s Liam kissing him. The difference between this and Perrie is astronomical.
Because this is real. Because this what he wants and loves and craves.
Liam. Just Liam.
There’s tugging and pulling and frantic little breaths and then Zayn is bent over one of the benches, chanting “yes, yes, yes” like it’s the only thing he can think of and Liam is behind him, scrabbling at his back, breath harsh in his ear. The next second, Zayn hears the sound of the other boy’s zip and his own jeans are ripped from his hips. He feels Liam, pausing there, before he feels his fingers against his skin and then inside him.
Zayn actually moans from the bottom of his toes and arches back against the feeling of his long fingers, panting already. Liam just laughs breathlessly and spreads him wide, working at him for a desperate minute or two. When he pulls away, Zayn whines like the pathetic idiot he is but then he feels the head of Liam’s cock against his arse and looks over his shoulder at the other boy, biting his lip hard to keep from demanding he keep going.
God, he is fucking beautiful.
Liam is wrecked, his hair a mess and his cheeks pink. He’s biting his lip too, looking at the sight of his cock lined up against Zayn’s arse, and then his eyes flick up and he sees Zayn watching him and he smirks, this sort of devilish look crossing his face before he slides into Zayn, eyes never leaving his. And if that doesn’t just go straight to Zayn’s head, he doesn’t know what would.
It’s rough. It hurts a bit because they weren’t prepared but it seems fitting. Zayn breathes through the first few strokes because they twinge and then Liam leans over him to kiss him and he forgets all about the slight pain and focuses on the fact that Liam is here with him and they’re okay. They’re okay, they’re okay, they’re okay.
It’s sloppy and more than just a bit messy. They both end up with scratches and bites and are so loud that Zayn is worried, in the small part of his brain still functioning, that someone will come and see them. He also knows he’ll be feeling this for days afterward but can’t quite care about that because it, too, is fitting. And wanted, in a somewhat masochistic way he can’t explain in any other way except it will prove that he’s Liam’s again and Liam is his.
Fuck.
When Liam starts to tremble, Zayn arches further back into him, wanting more than anything for him to come first. They kiss again, teeth clacking, nails biting into skin, as Liam pounds against him, hips slapping his so hard Zayn wonders that they might be bruised in a matters of a few hours.
He doesn’t mind.
They sprint to the end, his arms aching from holding himself up off the bench but that just seems to make it all the better, all the more worthwhile. Liam lets out a strangled moan that goes straight to Zayn’s dick and thrusts into him, hard, another two times before he stills and comes with another moan that makes Zayn’s eyes roll.
He reaches for himself, intent on finishing himself off too, desperate for it even, but Liam bats his hand away almost lazily, laughing low in his throat.
“Nuh uh uh, that’s for me to do.”
Zayn shudders, glancing back at him and his flushed face. He licks his lips because, Jesus, Liam is beautiful when he’s all sexed up and rumpled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind. Just…just enjoy the aftershocks.”
“I intend to whilst I get you off too.” Liam smiles pleasantly enough but there’s that look in his eyes again and it has Zayn shivering. Who knew? Who knew the sweet-faced boy could be so…hot?
His hand wraps around Zayn’s cock and he starts to tug and pull at him, rutting up from behind. He slips his other fingers inside him and hums lowly in his throat, clearly appreciative and Zayn has a good idea of what. They rock back and forth and it doesn’t take long before Zayn comes with a gasp, eyes screwing shut, Liam’s fingers crooked inside him and his lips against his neck.
“Mmmm, love that sound you make,” Liam murmurs, mouth running a line up and down his neck. It makes him shudder. “Gets me every time.”
“I—could say the same.” If Zayn seems a bit breathless with his reply, neither of them comment on it. Instead, Liam maps the length of Zayn’s back, trailing kisses in the wake of his palm.
“I missed you. I missed you so fucking much.”
“I missed you too.” Zayn turns around and sits, not trusting his shaky knees in order to stand. He smiles and reaches for Liam’s face, fingers dancing along his cheekbone. “I’m so sorry for everything that happened.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“I know.”
They lean in for a soft, soft kiss, falling into the feeling of being with one another again. The taste is sweet and familiar. Zayn smiles through it all, unaccountably happy because the boy he loves is his again and there’s no better feeling in the world, none at all. Falling for Liam had been one thing but keeping him?
It’s a whole other matter entirely.
They clean up quickly, laughing and poking and teasing one another the entire time. Zayn can’t stop smiling. He can’t stop the happiness from billowing upwards and dragging him back down. They giggle at each other and wrestle and, on the way out, when Liam reaches for his hand, Zayn laughs out loud and kisses him wildly, because he can’t believe the complete 180 his day has done.
And because he’s in love and is loved in return. There’s certainly that too.
—————————————————————————
Honestly, Zayn doesn’t blame them but he doesn’t try to stop it either.
He told his mum that he and Liam had gotten back together as soon as he got home that first night and she’d hugged him and gave him a kiss and told him to invite Liam over for dinner of the weekend because she needed to meet him. He’d been overwhelmed by how calmly she had taken it and how soft her smile had been but she had told him that he was obviously happy and she needed to make acquaintances with the reason why.
That had been the topping to any already perfect day.
Perrie had sat with them the day after everything happened at football practice, bringing along her three friends. Zayn really likes Jesy, Leigh-Anne, and Jade. They are a motley of different years too and it makes it fun, having that around. Niall had certainly taken a shine to Perrie, but she just smiled his way, clearly oblivious to his attempts. The last three days, their lunch hour had been even louder and more hectic than before, but it was nice, in a way, and the other boys clearly don't have any problems making room for the new members to their group, especially when they found out how Perrie had helped Zayn.
Honestly, everything seems absolutely fucking perfect. Zayn could not have asked for more, he really couldn’t have. He has his boy, his has his best mates, and he has new friends in the making. His mum seems okay with him coming out too, which is huge, and he supposes that his sisters will need to know as well, though they already suspect because of everything that happened weeks ago. But that’s okay, everything is okay when Zayn is holding Liam’s hand because he feels brave enough to face everything.
Even James.
The only wrench in his otherwise perfect world is football. He still loves it, but he doesn’t love not being able to touch Liam as much as he wants whilst they’re there. He doesn’t love not being able to kiss his boyfriend to congratulate him on a job well done. He knows why. He remembers quite well how James has treated him last year or two and how suspicious he is. He knows how big of a homophobic arsehole the other boy is. He remembers the fight at the party, he remembers the accusations.
He just doesn’t care anymore.
He came out to his family, which was the single scariest thing he’s ever done. Ever. Despite his fears, he’s faced nothing but love and acceptance from his mum because of it. And he knows that Liam is honest about his sexuality too and that the only reason he ever hid it was because he was worried about Zayn. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t want the other boy to have to do that anymore because he shouldn’t have to. Zayn is proud of who he is and he’s so fucking proud of who he’s dating. There’s no reason to hide that, there’s no reason to pretend like it’s not happening. He owes Liam more than that. He owes the boy with the sunshine smile and the sweet soul more than that. Losing him made him realize that and take stock of a lot of the things in his world.
And one of those things is being honest with who he is no matter where he is.
So, for the last three days, Zayn hasn’t kept his hands to himself. He hasn’t compartmentalized his life. Liam seemed shocked at first but then went with it and his smile—one of those huge kinds that make his eyes crinkle up and look like he’s on the verge of laughing—made it all worth it. So they’ve been touching and they’ve been laughing and they’ve been happy.
They’ve also gotten looks. Zayn isn’t going to pretend that they haven’t. He isn’t going to pretend that he hasn’t seen a couple of the boys snickering but he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care, he doesn’t care. He has someone in his life who has made him happier than anyone else and that, in and of itself, is worth anything negative that comes their way. If there’s one thing that his mates and his mum have taught him, it’s that he just needs to be himself and not worry about the rest—because the people who love him, people like Louis and Niall and Harry and his mum and his sisters and Perrie—will love him no matter what, as long as he’s honest with himself and them.
It just took something hard and painful to teach him that.
Now, here they are, the day of one of the biggest matches of his footballing career. The rest of the team is tense and their nerves are catching when they get changed out. James is hellbent when he gives his prep talk, hands shaking and eyes blazing. It certainly drives home the importance of the match for them all. It even helps Zayn to focus more, even though his and Liam’s hands are just barely brushing and that makes it harder. They leave for the pitch after they talk strategy and get a talking to by Coach, determined and ready to win.
The Cats are already there, faces grim, clearly just as determined. Zayn sizes them up, the flutterings of anxiety stirring in his stomach. Okay. So maybe the match is pretty important. Maybe he does want to win. He glances at Liam taking up his position and smiles because he knows they’re going to destroy their rivals, because there’s no way they won’t today.
The whistle blows and they’re off, the ball on the grass and twenty two boys go streaking after it, dead set on a win. The game is fast-paced and brutal from the beginning. The ball changes possession so many times that it’s a wonder anyone watching can keep track and they all battle for the upper hand, doing whatever is necessary to gain it. There’s penalties galore and their breath steams in front of their faces, evidence of just how cold it is underneath the stadium lights.
Near halftime, they’re still 0-0 when Louis gets the ball and dribbles downfield only to have it stolen just as he winds up for the kick. There’s a collective groan from the crowd but they all go bulleting down the field again, chasing after the white and black squares. Zayn can tell from even twenty meters away how pissed Louis is and makes a mental reminder to tell him it wasn’t his fault and that he still did well.
They go farther and farther down the field and Liam, playing defense, tenses, ready. The ball circles around and around as the boys from the Cats run a play. Just as the ball goes spinning toward the boy closest to the goal box, Liam comes darting in, kicking the ball back behind him and intercepting it. One of their own teammates from the Blacks grabs it and runs upfield toward the opposite goal. Zayn darts toward Liam since they’re close and gives him a hearty smack on the back, grinning like the proud boyfriend he is. His breath is fog in front of his face from his panting.
“That was fantastic, Li! They would have had it if you wouldn’t have intercepted it.”
“Thanks.” Liam grins and shrugs, ever modest. “Glad I pulled it off.”
“Me too.”
They smile at each other with happy eyes and closed lips and something overtakes Zayn. He’s so happy and relieved that everything is going well that he doesn’t even think. He just looks into Liam’s warm brown eyes and leans closer until their mouths touch in a brief, cold kiss. It lasts all of second before he sprints upfield where the action is at, but he’s grinning to himself and his palms are on fire, contrary to the freezing late fall weather.
Five minutes later, the whistle sounds and it’s halftime, the score still tied at 0-0.
Zayn jogs over to the sidelines and meets Liam halfway there. They bump hips companionably and grin at each other, coming to a stop next to their teammates with their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders. The game has been stressful and hard-pressed but Zayn feels himself settling down as he catches the water Niall tosses to him and downs a huge swallow or five before he passes it to Liam, who wiggles his eyebrows as he takes it. Zayn smothers a laugh and moves even closer in an effort to leech some heat off of Liam because, fuck, it is cold.
From the front of the huddle, James watches the entirety of the team with slitted eyes. Coach Ganger stands at his side, arms crossed over his chest and breath misting. He launches into a tirade about how they need to clean it up and play smarter, not harder, but Zayn tunes out because Liam is ever so lightly brushing the back of his neck with his fingertips and it feels really, really nice, especially since Liam’s hands are so warm. Football seems to pale in significance in comparison.
After their coach finishes, James steps up and adds his own thoughts to their performance, looking very pointedly at Liam and Zayn every time he says the word “focus.” They don’t care, or even notice for the most part, too wrapped up in each other to take note of it. Liam just shrugs and Zayn covers a laugh and they continue on, fingers tracing over vertebrae and hairlines as they lightly trace each other’s necks.
Louis finishes the round of pep talks up, yelling at them all and getting them fired up to go back out and kick football arse like only he can do. The pint-sized Viking, not that Zayn will ever tell him of the nickname that most of the team has for him. They cheer, hollering like the almost-men they are, and race back onto the field, pumped up and ready to go. Niall grins at them like a maniac before he takes off and, for their part, Zayn and Liam quickly grasp hands for good luck before separating. They’re just about to jog back to their respective positions when James bears down of them as ominously as thunderclouds in April and his eyes just as dark. They both stop, expecting to be reprimanded for not paying attention to all the little team speeches and grimace at each other before the other boy gets there.
“What do you think you’re doing?” James demands. “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Ehm, going out to play football?” Liam responds. Zayn just barely contains the urge to laugh because, Jesus, what a way to be Captain Obvious.
“I meant what were you doing during team huddle just now?”
“Listen, I’m sorry we weren’t paying attention,” Zayn tries to explain quickly. He can tell that James is a bomb about to blow and doesn’t want it happening, especially right now. He’s seen it happen before and they really can’t afford it at the moment. “We’re just really keyed up and excited to play.”
“Are you sure that’s what it was?” James practically sneers, leaning closer to get into their faces.
Zayn frowns and tips backward, a little perturbed and more than a little confused. “Yeah? That’s what it was.”
“Honest,” Liam adds in. “We just wanna win this match.”
“It seemed to me that the two of you were having a problem keeping your hands to yourselves more than you did paying attention.”
Zayn and Liam are both quiet.
Zayn is too shocked to say anything, his happy bubble of the last three days about to be punctured because of the biggest dick he’s ever known. He glares at the co-captain, tipping past mad into area of enraged. How dare he? How dare he ruin this? Zayn sneaks a glance at Liam but he, too, seems too surprised to say anything, though his ears and neck are flushed with heat. Zayn can feel his affront and it only adds to his own, making for a toxic mix.
“What’s going on here?” Louis jogs up and flips the hair out of his eyes, oblivious to the tension he’s walking into. Sometimes he does it intentionally, Zayn knows, but this time it’s clear that he has no idea what’s happening.
He almost feels bad for him, except that Louis can tear anyone down to size in the span of five minutes, whether it was him being insulted or no.
“Nothing,” James spits. “Just you rescuing the little boyfriends again.”
“Excuse me?” Liam demands.
“Sorry?” Louis frowns, swinging closer to Zayn and Liam’s sides.
Zayn just stays quiet, jaw clenched, glaring at James, wishing he could incinerate him on the spot right there. He wishes he could make the boy disappear in a cloud of ash and smoke because he’s being rude and is insulting not only him but Liam again. And this time…this time he isn’t going to stand for it.
“You here to save these two like you did at that party?” James scowls, chin jerking at Liam and Zayn. “You going to try and pretend like they’re mates now when they’ve been touching each other every chance they get the last three days?”
Zayn flushes but stays silent, trying to wrest his temper into check because he’s pretty sure that decking your co-captain right before the second half of a match probably isn’t the best thing to do.
No matter how tempted he is to do it.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Louis begins but Zayn stops him with a hand to the arm.
He meets James’ eyes and steps forward, chin raised as if daring him to hit him. He’d relish it, he would, but now isn’t the time. Unfortunately.
“Shut the fuck up,” he murmurs quietly, still trying desperately to stop himself from hitting the homophobic bastard in the face.
“Excuse me?”
“I said shut the fuck up. I’m tired of getting hassled all the time over Liam and me. You want to know something? We are together. We’re together and we’re happy and I’m tired of a twat like you trying to get in the way of that.”
“It’s wr—”
“I am happy,” Zayn interrupts and throws up his arms, voice increasing in volume too. He so rarely actually yells, but the floodgates have been opened and he will not be stopped. “Why is it such a big deal who’s making me so happy? I’m in love with Liam and it’s not going to change. You’re my friend. Why can’t that be enough for you?”
James stares, mouth working silently, his eyebrows all confusion. “Because, Zayn, I don’t want anyone calling you a fag. I don’t want—”
“The only person doing it here is you,” Louis points out snidely. “The rest of us—the rest of their real mates—couldn’t give a shit. Seriously, what the fuck is your problem with them?”
“I—”
“I’m tired of hiding it,” Zayn barrels on. “I’m tired of acting like it’s not happening. I love him, okay? That’s just something you’re going to have to deal with.”
On Liam’s other side, Niall comes jogging up, interrupting without knowing what he’s stepping into, an eyebrow quirked. “Ehm—what’s going on here, lads? Aren’t we meant to be playing football?”
“Yes, we are, Niall.” Louis tosses his fellow co-captain an icy look. “We were just setting dear old James here right on a couple of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like me and Zayn.” Liam looks at Niall and it isn’t until then that Zayn notices the slightly shocked look on his face. He remember vividly the party they’d had weeks ago when James had accused them of being together and he’d just stood there, silent, letting Liam explain it all away. He hopes that this has made up for that. He hopes that this has proved how serious he is about them being together again. “Zayn just told him to bugger off and leave me and him alone because we’re together.”
“Sounds about right to me.” Niall shrugs, unfazed as always. Zayn wonders where he gets such huge amounts of inner piece from because, surely, wanking isn’t going to get you to it. “Who cares if you guys are boning each other? It means you’re not cranky and I have less competition for the birds.”
“Exactly.” Louis turns back to James with the thinnest smile that Zayn has ever seen. “That’s exactly what it means.”
“We’re not going away,” Liam tosses in. “We’re not going to stop being who we are just because other people don’t like it.”
“No, no we’re not,” Zayn agrees.
Niall laughs. “All of this is really cool and all, but can we get back to the football now? I really want to kick some of these pussies’ arses.”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Zayn smiles at the blonde boy and turns around, grabbing Liam’s hand defiantly. In the stands, he can see Harry waving like a nutcase and waves back, still holding tight to his boyfriend. He dares anyone else to say anything and dares everyone else to look. He’s past the point of caring what anyone else thinks.
“Haz looks like he’s about to fall over.”
“Probably is because he doesn’t know what’s going on.”
“Suppose we’ll have to tell him after then.”
“Reckon so.”
Zayn smiles at Liam and gives his fingers a squeeze before they go off to take up their positions. He feels slightly giddy from the last two minutes and wonders if it really happened. He wonders if he actually just told someone he thought was a mate to bugger off. He thinks that he did, judging by the way his stomach feels wonky and kind of happy all at once.
“I’m going to kiss you bloody senseless if we win this.”
“Right back atcha.”
They both laugh and then squeeze hands again before they finally leave each other. Zayn jogs over to his spot, unable to keep from grinning. He doesn’t give a shit if it makes the opposing team think he’s weak. He could never be weak, not when he has amazing mates and an equally great boyfriend on his side. He knows now that, whatever comes, he can handle it because he has them. He has love and he has family and he has people who will be in his life forever. It’s what truly matters. Winning this football match would be brilliant but, at the end of the day, it pales in significance to everything else.
He just has other things on his mind. He has pizza to look forward to with his best mates, all four of them, win or lose after this. He has a boyfriend who’s the kindest person he knows to keep his hand warm in the chilly air and also keep him on his toes. He gets to introduce his boy to his family this weekend and, while he’s nervous, he can only hope that they love him as much as he does. He thinks it’s kind of impossible, but they can try. All he wants from them is the same acceptance he’s gotten—nothing more and nothing less.
Right before the whistle blows and the second half begins, Zayn swears he’s so happy that he could scream.