✓ bromance one shots ✎ major editing ✐

Cologne (Ziam)

Zayn's POV

I refuse to believe that there is an exception in the horrid land of betrayal that beats one where my own boyfriend's daily routine has become 'discreetly' stabbing me in the back, then pretending like everything is sunshine and roses afterwards. Nothing beats knowing that I'm not sufficient for him, that I'm not wholly worthy of his love, and that he has to look outside to feel satiated again. The fact that Liam has been messing around my back for months now was not unknown to me, and I'm not just affirming my demeaning assertions wildly; I'm as sure about it as I am about my intact and unabated love for him, still.

The lingering smell of an unwelcome, malodorous (well to me it is) and foreign cologne reeks from almost all of his clothes now, the feral and vigilant look in his eyes whenever I make my presence cognizable in the room after surreptitiously watching his sly-fond smile that hasn't been directed my way for months now as his agile fingers moved across his phone's screen, the fact that Liam stopped attempting to unceremoniously still make his imprint in my life periodically like he used to do at the early stages of his affair, the longing look in his eyes that mustn't be present when I'm right by his side, completely neglected and disregarded, or maybe because he hasn't touched me in months; the same exact period this silent pandemonium against our relationship began.

My Liam used to always preach about my kisses and touches, but the way he flinches or huffs in annoyance once I invade his previously inexistent personal space had me thwarting all attempts in physically interacting with Liam anymore because that's the thing- he wasn't my Liam.

On the rare occasion where Liam had the decency to run a tense and awkward conversation with me, he never looked into my eyes. Maybe my forehead, nose, his fingers- anything but my eyes. The last time he did that, bore his eyes into my unreadable ones, which was months ago, he ended up cuddling me and crying into my neck, pleading me not to ask him any questions; and I had to hold back from telling him I know, that he doesn't need to beat around the bush with nonsensical apologies, but a foolish part of me wanted to see 'till when will Liam hold up this shallow veneer, which leads me to several months later and . . . who's counting?

I wonder if the person on the opposite side of the scene is aware of Liam's current status, if he knows that the malfeasant boy in fact has a boyfriend at home, waiting for him after they've done dealing their dirty cards.

It reached the point where I can almost sense anonymous's presence in our now cold and desolate bed. How can I not when the only person I have ever been infatuated with doesn't acknowledge my presence anymore? Liam could never sleep without having himself wrapped around me in a certain mechanism, but now he instantaneously falls asleep after he was done texting for the night, and it is like I'm a witness in this whole thing, like Liam cannot see me whatsoever.

And for once, I wish I wasn't so onto Liam, was not so mindful of everything about him. Maybe then, I wouldn't have known. I wouldn't have had to deal with incurable lacerations inflicted upon my heart by none other than their panacea, Liam.

In a moment of an epiphanic realization, does he think about me? Does he wonder if what he is doing is worth an eight-year-long relationship; is it worth everything Liam and I went through? All the tears, laughter, ups and downs, the love, the stolen kisses and nerve-wracking stunts we pulled together, everything we had?

Which brings me back to another prepossessing question, was it me? Was I the reason why Liam decided that he did not want this, us, anymore? The more I thought about it, the more it became a plausible factor. Wasn't I enough for Liam, do I not meet his needs anymore? Have I become a bane he could not deal with? Did Liam realize that he could do better? I was torn in an endless conundrum that had me doubting everything, even our entire relationship. Too many questions were flying around my head, pounding against my skull; their only way out is them being answered.