Even when I lose I'm winning \ Ziam

Day six & seven & eight

Day six

“There we go, let it all up, big guy,” Ant says, stroking down Zayn’s bare back as he pukes up everything he drank last night.

“Fuck!” he groans weakly, pushing his sweaty fringe out of his eyes. “Can you get me some water?”

Ant nods, disappearing for a second before he reappears with a bottle from the mini-fridge. Zayn takes it as he stands up on shaky legs, cracking it open and leaning against the sink as he flushes the loo.

“What the fuck happened last night?” he croaks between gulps.

Ant steps sheepishly from one foot to another. “If I told you you drank about fourteen shots in an hour and then One Direction came on in a club would I need to say anything else?”

Zayn chokes on his water.

“I’m not judging!” Ant hurries to say. “And I won’t tell Danny, I promise. But Zayn, what the fuck are you doing?”

“Sounds like you’re judging to me,” Zayn says, grabbing his toothbrush.

“I’m not, I swear, I just… I just want to make sure my best friend isn’t some famous dickhead’s holiday experiment.”

“He’s not a dickhead,” Zayn says warningly, spitting out a mouthful of foam. “And I’m not. He can’t come out yet because they think it’ll affect ticket sales or something fucking stupid that doesn’t make sense in 2013.”

“Bloody hell,” Ant mutters, running a hand through his hair. “Where the fuck did you meet, for a start?”

“On the plane,” Zayn says, pushing past him to flop on the bed. “His loos were occupied so he came through to ours and there was turbulence so he was asked to sit next to us.”

“And I slept through that?” Ant asks incredulously, leaning against the doorway. “Jesus.”

“Look,” Zayn says, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “I really fucking like him and I was drunk, okay? You really fucking like Leigh but it doesn’t mean anything’s going to come of it, right?”

“Well, no, but…”

“But what?”

“We’re going to be living in the same city, Zayn,” Ant says, flopping on the bed opposite. “Her at Manchester Uni, me at Manchester Met. It wouldn’t be the most difficult thing in the world. I mean, after freshers, of course, but, you never know.”

“Oh fuck off,” Zayn snaps. “Trust fucking fate to work in your favour while I fucking fall for the pop star who can’t love boys.”

“What are you talking about love for? It’s been five days, mate.”

“I know, I know,” Zayn groans, fisting his hands in his hair. “I need to snap out of it, don’t I?”

“Yeah, you do,” Ant says. “Mate, you agreed it’s going to be a holiday thing, right? So it’s only feeling like a big deal because it’s happening right now, yeah? By the time you’re back in England and at uni shagging your way around London you’ll forget about him.”

“I suppose,” Zayn mumbles. “Just… promise you won’t tell Danny? Or Leigh, or anyone really.”

“Promise,” Ant agrees, holding out his hand for Zayn to clasp. Zayn grips it back, grateful to have a friend like Ant. “So when are you seeing him next?”

“Tomorrow,” Zayn says, reaching into his suitcase for a t-shirt. “He’s got some band thing today.”

“Fairs man,” Ant says. “So you and me can chill today then, yeah?”