The Way It Is ! ** Ziam

Part 5

It's an early morning the next day, yet again because of a cell phone going off. At least it's not his cell phone, and he's allotted a few groggy, half-asleep moments of bliss before he has to talk to anyone. Unlike Liam, who moans in pain while reaching for his phone, and swears that he'll never drink again as he presses Talk and says a weak, "Hello?"

The change that comes over him is instantaneous. He sits upright, eyes widening, back straight. The phone is clamped to his ear, and he's turning away from Zayn, like he's trying to get some privacy but is unwilling to get out of bed.

"I'm aware," Liam says. "And I'm also aware that I should have maybe talked to everyone about it first, but — yeah, okay I know that, and I'm sorry— I didn't realize so much damage had been caused," he says flatly. "Oh, right, Twitter. Oh, it was trending. And that's bad … why? It's still press. I thought any press was good press, that we should be worried when our scandals aren't on the front page of—" Liam takes a deep breath, face going red, and he's angry.

It's not something that happens… ever, really. But on the off chance that you do manage to really rile him up, really piss him off, Liam is sort of scary. His face gets blotchy red, and this vein sticks out in his neck, and for some reason his arm muscles are bulging under his t-shirt, and he looks lethal. Hungover, exhausted, but lethal.

"What are you going to do?" he snaps. "Fire me? You can't fire me. You know you can't. Right. Right, I know. Yeah, okay. Okay. Got it. I'll be there."

When he finally lowers the phone and lets out a sigh, Zayn asks, "You in shit for yesterday?"

"I've got a meeting," Liam says with a sneer. "We're going to 'discuss my options'. Whatever that means."

Zayn chews his lip. One side of him wants to wrap his arms around Liam's shoulders, somehow take the brunt of this all because he's used to it. He's used to being the black sheep, the one doing things he's not supposed to, going directly against whatever their management needed of them at the time. He's used to the long, drawn out phone calls; the meetings where he gets sighed at for minutes on end. Liam isn't. But, at the same time, he knows that it's sort of called for right now. What Liam did yesterday, now that the initial shock has worn off for him, wasn't smart. Or cool. He agrees that it's Liam's life, and it's up to him if he wants to share those parts of it with everyone else, but there should have been some warning for the rest of them. It could have been handled better.

And he thinks that yesterday, along with the drinking and the flirting, are all problems with the same root cause. He just can't figure out what it is.

"Whatever," Liam says again. "I don't even care." He gets out of bed, and immediately his body tips sideways. "Oh, God. Tequila."

"What?"

"I shouldn't drink tequila," Liam explains, eyes closing, face going white. "I'm gonna throw up," he announces, and then he sprints across the room and manages to just get into the bathroom before the sound of retching reaches Zayn's ears.

Automatically, he grabs a bottle of water from the mini fridge and makes his way to the bathroom. Liam is on his knees, hugging the toilet, head tilted down as he continues to throw up probably everything he's eaten in the last 24 hours. Ignoring the smell and the disgusting sounds, which make his own stomach churn, he rubs soothing circles on Liam's back and waits for it to pass.

Eventually Liam straightens and wipes at his mouth, and then he flushes the toilet and runs the sink, washing out his mouth with one of those cheap, disposable toothbrushes they find in the bathroom of almost all the hotels the stay at. When he's done, he takes the bottle from Zayn, uncaps it, and downs it all in one sip. "Thanks," he adds.