The Way It Is ! ** Ziam

Part 4

It's exhausting, his life. Giving up privacy. Always on the road, or in the studio, or fielding questions from another pushy interviewer. But here, right now, this is worth it. He's standing on stage, Louis to his left, Liam inches to his right. He's got a microphone in hand, and the stage lights are blinding but he can still see the crowd, clear as day. Thousands of people, all transfixed on him, screaming and crying and singing along as he delivers that last line, as his throat gets tight and he strains to get that last breath out. He holds the note until he can't any longer, and then he's lowering the mic, gasping in a breath, and the crowd gets louder, but it's drowned out by Liam's, "Another breathtaking performance from Mr. Zayn Malik!" and Zayn's grinning so wide it's dopey. "Isn't he wonderful?"

Louis' hand slaps his back, and there's a flush in his cheeks now, as there always is when Liam does this. He hasn't quite worked it out, why Liam always feels the need to praise him, but it never gets old. None of this does. They can — and will— perform the same songs for months, over and over again, but it's never tiring. Being on stage, doing this is never tiring.

Another song starts up, more upbeat and Liam opens it, until Harry's taking over and Louis and Niall are making up the chorus. Zayn reaches for a water bottle, tosses the lid somewhere and tilts the bottle until the luke-warm water is sliding down his parched throat. And then it's sliding down his back, too, and he's turning, eyes wide, a shiver going through him.

Liam laughs and jumps out of the way before he can retaliate, a half-empty bottle of water in his hands. "Oh, it's on," Zayn says, and Liam waggles his eyebrows in reply.

Louis ducks as Zayn flings the last of his water in Liam's direction, but Liam's already moving away, avoiding all of it. Zayn reaches for another water bottle and takes off, careful to avoid the wet spot. The crowd eats it up, always does, and it's fun. The way Harry tries to stay professional with his solo even when Liam's grabbing his shoulders and using him as a shield. Even when Zayn accidentally knocks into him as he chases Liam around the stage. Liam's laughing, tossing him grins over his shoulders, and Zayn's sweating and panting when he finally gets his arms around Liam's waist.

And then Liam's pushing back, circling his hips against Zayn's groin, and Zayn lets out a surprised, accidental gasp. "You got me," Liam says, not trying to get out of his grip at all. "Now what are you going to do to me?"

He's a guy, okay? He thinks with his dick, like, 80% of the time, he can't even help it. And right now is one of those times. His brain goes foggy, slow, and his eyes go out of focus as his arms tighten on Liam's waist. He's got a hand splayed on Liam's stomach, and for a second he doesn't even think, he just inches it down and —

Everything comes back to him. The crowd, Louis gaping at them, the fact that Niall and Harry are trying to look casual while attempting to steal all the attention away from their little show. And it's Liam in his arms. It's not his girlfriend, or some random person at a club that he got too close to after a few too many drinks. As if burned, Zayn releases Liam and shuffles backwards, eyes wide.

Liam turns, a smirk playing on those ridiculously, offensively pink lips of his. His gaze drops to Zayn's crotch, where it's got to be painfully obvious, at least this close up, that he's definitely sporting a semi. That smirk gets wider before Liam winks at him, and then he's slinking across the stage again, turning every few feet to give Zayn a daring look, trying to pick up where they'd left off. Like a mischievous mouse, taunting the cat. And Zayn's the cat.

So why does Zayn feel like he's the one that's about to get eaten alive?

—

Zayn is still awake this time when Liam stumbles into his room. It's a little after two and he's on the balcony, one that thankfully faces the back parking lot of the building. It's not an ideal view by a long shot, but it's one he's learned to request. Less screaming girls out front, but more garbage bins. It's privacy, though. Or as close as he's ever going to get.

There's a bang on his door first, one that he ignores as he blows out another cloud of smoke. Then there's the jiggling of the door handle, and his eyes narrow as he leans against the banister. The door opens, and worry bubbles up inside of him for a just a moment before he recognizes the body, silhouetted in the dark room by the light from the hallway. The door closes and plunges them back into darkness as he relaxes back against the banister again.

"Zayn," Liam calls out, and he sighs at that single word, the way the 'a' is dragged out and the 'n' slips away into nothing.

"Out here," he calls, and he hears Liam shuffle through the spacious hotel room, letting out a sharp hiss when he trips or walks into something. Somehow he manages to get to the open doorway of the balcony, and he leans heavily on it. "Drunk again?"

"Uh-huh," Liam admits, face shinning silver in the moonlight. "Went a little overboard. Didn't mean to. Gonna regret it in the morning."

"Second night in a row," Zayn comments, trying not to sound like a mother chastising a child.

"Fourth, actually," Liam corrects. "Not that we're keeping score."

"Are we going to talk about that?" Zayn wonders.

"Nothing to talk about," Liam says with a shrug. He yawns, not covering his mouth. "You coming to bed?"

"Is that what you're here for?"

Another shrug. "My room's cold. Your bed's more comfortable."

"It's literally the exact same bed," Zayn argues.

"If you don't want me here, then—"

Zayn flicks his cigarette over the balcony and steps past Liam, into the room. He flops into the bed, still dressed in jeans and a t-shirt. "I never said that," he says, softer, face stuffed into his pillow.

The bed dips as Liam climbs on, under the covers, and then an arm's thrown over his waist and Liam sighs against his shoulder, "Good. I don't wanna sleep anywhere else. Night, Zayn."

Zayn stays perfectly still, not giving into the temptation to lean back and suck up more of Liam's warmth, to get more of them pressed tightly together. And he ignores the logical part of his brain that says he should move further away, disentangle that arm from around him and put a respectable distance between their bodies. He falls asleep in that exact position, with Liam snoring softly behind him and a thumb pressed against his hipbone.