They don’t talk about it over the next three days. Liam keeps, between going into the city and night watches with other people, attempting to catch Zayn’s eyes or something. Nothing. The Aghani boy keeps to himself even more so than normally, and Liam can’t. He has been using Zayn as an anchor amidst all of this. War is chaos and pain and crazy, and Zayn isn’t. Zayn is airy moans and the cautious sound of his feet on Liam’s barrack floor. The thing is that Zayn’s got these hipbones. They rise out of his tan, delicate skin like two cliffs, and Liam has never been able to say no to a challenge. Sometimes, when he is mouthing across the bulge between them, the protrusion of muscle there, he imagines that he’s jumping, jumping, jumping, and he wonders if he’ll be able to swim. He’s never been bad at swimming, but if he was going to drown somewhere, he would drown in Zayn. Other times, he can’t escape the war that they are fighting for a country that hates them, even when he is licking into the hollows of Zayn’s collarbones, tracing loops of goosebumps into his chest. In the private, dusky places, his skin tastes sweet and wistful, just like a war, like the smile of a mother who thought she’d never see her children again. In the exposed places, just like a war, Zayn tastes of sand and grit and sweat and fear. Constant fear. But then he kisses Zayn and everything in his body is lit up and on fire, ablaze with all of the things that neither of them are brave enough to say as often as they should. The thing is that Liam loves Zayn so much that it hurts.
It is Friday night, and Zayn has been in the city all day. Liam knows this because, despite his extensive searching of the camp, the boy that he loves is nowhere to be found. He still feels the prickling nervousness along his spine at the knowledge that Zayn is out there with people who hate him, who would kick him in the stomach in front of the whole camp just to feel strong. The tenuous string connecting them, his own awareness of Zayn’s aliveness, still feels like it’s working though. Liam thinks that something would alert him to the fact that Zayn has died.
To combat all of this, Liam has decided to hide out between the same two buildings that he and Zayn always hide between. The cracks on the wall, the dust on the ground, the fading of the paint color because of the sun, all of it is familiar. All of it reminds him of Zayn.
Who is standing at the entrance to the alley, hands buried deep in his pockets.
Liam is walking forward before he even has time to think. “Zayn.”
The other boy draws back. His eyes jump between Liam’s face, his lips, his eyes, then fall to the ground. “’S not a big deal. I just, like. I need you.”
“Zayn,” he fits under Liam’s chin just like he always has, fists curled into the collar of his shirt like an anchor, “Zayn, I missed you.”
There are a pair of lips, pink and wet and dented with teeth marks, travelling up his neck. His body trembles at the contact. God, he missed this. He missed this so much, he hasn’t been allowed to need this in so long, and Zayn is still pliant and so alive under his hands when he presses the boy back against the wall.
“Hey, babe.” Zayn whispers in his ear. His teeth sink into Liam’s earlobe. Between his heart running along in his chest, his breathing coming and going to rapidly, Liam feels like he’s going to die if he can’t have Zayn’s skin against his. He slips his fingers, knowingly, under the hem of Zayn’s jacket, pressing hard along the tattoo he has gotten so intimately acquainted with over the last two months.
“I love you,” Liam whimpers. “I love you, and why’d you leave?” Zayn’s hands tug his face back, seal kisses to his parted lips. “I can’t bring you down with me, I won’t, Li.” “I want to help you. Let me help you.” “No, babe.” Zayn kisses across the absurdly dark bags under his eyes, the stubble on his chin, the floppiness of his hair on his forehead, the wrinkle between his eyes, “I love you too much.”
After that, they don’t talk. Liam spreads his hands along the line of Zayn’s spine and sinks to the ground. On his knees, he preps the other boy, a trembling, wrecked mess against the grey walls. It’s heat and pain and the knowledge that nothing about their relationship is certain. Zayn could die tomorrow, and Liam tries to bruise his body because he can’t stand the thought of Zayn lying in the desert, dying, without remembering Liam’s love, without the knowledge that they were going to try to make themselves into a real relationship in the real world, because war isn’t real. Purple and blue marks splashed across Zayn’s hips, thumb prints in his Venus dimples, a reddened bite mark across his right arse cheek. Then, the quiet reassurance of Zayn’s voice, “Kal, rahoon main rahoon na magar/ haan magar ye lori to reh jayegi.”
Ooops, sorry about this. xD
