The Way It Is ! ** Ziam

Part 12

"Okay," Perrie says happily. "I've ordered room service, we have that movie ready to watch on TV, and I even managed to get us a bottle of Cabernet."

"Sounds great," Zayn says honestly. He could use a night in with nothing but food, shitty movies and wine.

"Is it okay if I wear these?" Perrie asks, pulling a pair of sweatpants out of his bag.

"Uh— sure, yeah, go ahead," Zayn says with a shake of his head.

She pauses. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Okay, sorry for asking."

Zayn groans to himself. He wishes she would stop apologizing. It makes him feel worse because he should be apologizing. Over and over and begging her for forgiveness that he doesn't even really want, not when he knows he doesn't deserve it. Instead of doing that he sits on the bed, perched on the edge. He eyes his chair, the one he claimed last night as his bed, and he wishes he could sit there without her asking him about it. It's just easier when he distances himself; when he has a reason not to touch her because he shouldn't be touching her. She sure as shit wouldn't let him if she knew.

Perrie, unlike him, stretches out on the bed, the picture of comfort. She pats the spot closest to her with a come hither look on her face that he can't say no to. She tilts her head onto his shoulder, eyes on the TV; Zayn hadn't even noticed that the movie started.

Room service arrives, and Zayn barely tastes the ravioli Perrie ordered. What he does taste doesn't taste all that good, honestly, but he clears the plate so quickly you'd think he was starving. He drinks the wine in the same fashion, only for different reasons. Having a buzz right now sounds like a great idea.

"Do you like the movie?" Perrie asks.

Zayn shrugs. "It's good."

"What's it about?"

"Um. The one guy… and the, uh, girl are in love? And, um…"

"Where has your mind been all day?" Perrie asks. It's not accusatory or demanding. She just sounds worried.

"I'm just— tired," Zayn tries.

"Probably because you slept on the chair."

Zayn looks at her, alarmed. "I didn't think you noticed."

Perrie shrugs. "I didn't say anything because I'm kind of used to sleeping alone."

Zayn winces. "I—"

"I'm not trying to make you feel bad," she says quickly. "I'm just trying to work out what's wrong with you…. Or with us. Is it us?"

"It's not—"

Both of them look up sharply at the door. The same loud, pounding knock that had their attention the first time sounds again, and Perrie reaches for the phone, looking almost scared. "Should I call the front desk?"

Zayn goes to tell her she's overreacting, but the voice comes through the door before he can. "Zayn."

It actually hurts, how torn he feels in that moment. Perrie is gaping at the door, and Liam's still knocking, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Of course it's him," Perrie snaps. "Of course."

"I think he's drunk," Zayn admits. "I should—"

"No," she says firmly, swinging her legs off the bed. "I'll get it."

Zayn tries to race her to the door, but she gets there before him and pulls it wide open. Liam is leaning against the doorframe. Or— swaying against it. He doesn't look good. His face is blotchy-red and sweaty, and his eyes are so out of focus that it's like he doesn't even see them. He smells like a bar. Like he'd taken a freaking bath in something strong, like vodka or rum or— something.