I don't want just anyone to hold (Ziall)

Where do we begin?

Their friendship only grew from there. Louis and Liam would often drop by their dorm with chicken and mayo sandwiches from the cafeteria, and the four of them would have breakfast together.

All of them lived on campus, apart from Harry.

He was staying at his aunt's apartment a little ways away from the university. For some godforsaken reason, the woman had entrusted her cute studio apartment under the care of a teenage boy. The original plan had been that Niall would be living with him, but the blonde had wanted to stay on campus in order to enjoy what he called the 'full Uni experience' - bless his soul. It was a decision that Zayn was very glad the boy had made; or else, he wouldn't be walking in to the light strumming of guitar after classes, practised fingers sliding across the frets.

The strumming would pause, Niall would smile. On those days, Zayn knew they'd be enjoying a quiet evening together. They wouldn't go out. Those nights were quite predictable, as they'd order in some Chinese and watch crappy Spanish comedy shows on the telly, as Niall was usually too lazy to get up and give the machine a good rap 'round the head.

"I bet she murdered her twin and stole her husband," Niall opined as they watched a show they could make neither head nor tail of.

"What'd you reckon she did it for?" he asked Zayn.

"Dunno, maybe she was bored."

"We're bored, mate."

"Cheera ta that."

x

On other nights, Harry would come over, and Zayn would enter the dorm to see him and Niall cuddling on the ratty couch, and of course the brunette was missing a shirt. Harry would grin at him, and to Zayn, it looked like a taunt. Niall's lazy smiles placated him a little, and he usually ducked into his room right after to give them some privacy. The green eyed boy cooked dinner later - elaborate cheese and spinach crêpes or some delectable lasagna if they were lucky. The three of them would dine together and light conversation would ensue. Zayn almost felt comfortable, at home; but then Niall would lead his best mate into his bedroom, and his chest would tighten painfully until he had to make a conscious effort to breathe. He didn't want to go to bed with an aching heart and a confused mind. Those were the nights he called his mum.

The next morning, Niall's hair was ruffled adorably, eyes drowsy blue - like the calmness of a sea yet to wake. His milky skin looked warm and sleep soft, his petal like lips just as inviting as ever. "Mornin'," he would croak in that irresistible Irish lilt of his, and Zayn found himself wanting to drown in that voice.

Harry would murmur a greeting right after, and damn that guy needed to put on some clothes. There he was, flaunting his inked and toned torso, scratching at the supple skin covering his jutting hipbone. Who was he to walk around half naked in their dorm? 'Niall's best friend, ' his meddlesome brain supplied. 'And he'll hate you if you upset Harry.' Damn that fecking leprechaun.

x

"They're so sleeping together," Zayn muttered to Louis one afternoon during an English lecture. They'd all taken liberal arts and Louis was majoring in drama. English was simply one of his sideline subjects, so he hardly paid any attention to what was going on. He much preferred chattering Zayn's ear off with stories where Liam was always "Such a nutter, geez!" whilst sporting the fondest look on his face. In all seriousness, he hadn't really gotten over the highschool crush phase.

Louis scooted over so that Zayn could slide in next to him, an eyebrow raised in amusement. "Afternoon, Monsieur Melancholy. And who are these lovely folks that you speak of?" The Bradford boy huffed out an annoyed breath, setting his books down with a loud thump. "Niall and Harry," he informed, drawling the second name out with a grumble.

"Ah, of course." Louis had this wise, knowing look on his face, and that scared him. "And this bothers you, eh?"

Zayn was on his guard at once, schooling his face into a neutral expression. "Well, not exactly," he replied. "But I'd rather they shag at Harry's."

"Why? Do you have to wash the sheets?"

"No, but -"

"Are they too loud?"

"Jesus, no Louis, but -"

"Then why does it bother you?"

Zayn was fuming, but he didn't have an answer. He wanted to scream at Louis, scream that how was he to explain when he himself didn't understand? Naturally, he kept his mouth shut. A moment passed, and the only sound that could be heard was the scratching of pens on paper as students copied down the notes being projected onto the screen.

"It doesn't bother me," he exhaled finally, willing himself to believe his own words.

Right, of course you aren't jealous. I forgot you're straight. Does that mean you're not okay with having a fag as your roommate?"

"No! God no, that's not it, and - and I've never said I was straight? Like, I don't know. And don't call Niall that."

What? A fag?"

"Don't."

"Why?" asked Louis, waggling his eyebrows ridiculously. "Does that bother you?"

"It's not okay to call someone that, Lou," Zayn grumbled.

The blue eyed boy snorted. "And you say you're straight."

"I never said that!"