Ziam one shots

My Favorite book

retts

Summary:

The thing he missed most was Zayn. All of him, from his cranky morning self to the wanton boy fucking down on Liam's dick later that night (and sometimes in the afternoon as well). The one who could spout poetry like it was his native tongue and the one who could barely say anything when he was deeply upset. The one who wore fake glasses and felt at home in Liam's clothes. The one who was mad for kids and shrieked at the sight of spiders. The one who cried in Ghana and the one who drew superheroes who looked like Liam. The one who didn't eat pork and the one who quietly but fiercely loved Allah.

Zayn. Liam's Zayn. The one who, not long ago, had whispered things in Urdu into Liam's neck that felt like beautiful promises.

They didn't tell anybody. It was just obvious; even when they stood next to each other it felt like they were occupying different spaces. Harry had taken Zayn away to somewhere quiet whilst Louis and Niall surrounded Liam with constant noise and distraction. They were there on either side of him, trying to fill the gap that Zayn usually stood in and sometimes they were the right shape, the right size, but other times it was blatant how ill-fitting they were.

Liam felt like he was falling on those times and the only one who could catch him was the one who was gone.

(Harry only came to Liam once about it, and Liam had been sort of terrified because it was Harry, but the younger boy had just hugged Liam tight and whispered, 'I'm sorry, Li,' and Liam had finally felt like crying.)

(He didn't.)

The thing that Liam missed most was having someone to sleep next to in bed. Zayn would do this thing with his mouth, purse it a bit in sleep, wrinkle his noise as he shifted to his side, hand tucked under his cheek. When Liam rolled away too far, Zayn would grumble and wriggle closer until some part of them were touching.

Liam missed those.

His mum had been devastated and did all of the crying Liam couldn't seem to do. She clung to him, stroked his hair, and Liam sighed into her neck.

'Do you want to talk about it?' she asked in that gentle tone she'd used when he came home with grass stains on his elbows and worn shoes. When there'd been a scrape on his cheek and no one had come to his birthday.

And like always, Liam shook his head. 'I'm fine,' he said, fooling no one. There were dark shadows under his eyes and he was losing weight. 'I'm fine, Mum.'

His mum looked at him sadly. 'You were so happy with him.'

I wasn't, Liam though. I was fucking glorious with him.

'Mum,' he said firmly, and she sighed and kissed his forehead.

Later, he heard her on the phone with Tricia. She was trying not to weep, and Liam knew that Zayn's mum was probably already soaked with tears. He wondered if Zayn was listening to her, sat in the shadows like Liam. But Tricia would be careful, made sure that Zayn was tucked in close to Waliyha or Safaa before ringing her best friend.

'I know, I know, but I'd hoped they would - ' Karen stopped herself and Liam finished her sentence in his head: last. Loved each other enough to get past it.

It. What was "it" anyway?

It had been Perrie one minute, the secrecy the next. It had been the constant demands to separate and the growing silence when they found it hard to talk to each other. It had been the ring on Zayn's finger that didn't come from the box hidden behind the exercise books on Liam's bookshelf. It had been dark thoughts on the nights they weren't allowed to share a room. It had been so many small things that shouldn't matter, but they did, and they piled on top of one another until it felt like they were miles separating him and Zayn even when they slept on the same bed.