Let's Be Alone Together

Chapter 1

He first meets him at the airport. Liam walks up to the counter of an airline and says "What's the first flight that I could still get a ticket for?" The lady behind the counter looks shocked and confused, and it takes her a moment to sift through the system, while Liam hopes that the first flight doesn't leave for like, Denmark. Not that he's got anything against Denmark, he's just not quite sure what he'd do there. But then, he's not quite sure what he'd do anywhere, really.

"Amsterdam," she tells him, and Liam nods, wonders if he'll be able to rent a car there. He doesn't know much about Amsterdam, other than the stereotype, legal prostitution (no thank you), weed, and endless amounts of people on bicycles.

"Done," he says, and slides his passport over. He fiddles with his backpack while she goes through the process of booking him a ticket, tells him what gate the flight's boarding from, handing him his passport back when he's paid for the transaction. She tells him to have a pleasant flight and he thanks her, steps away from the counter to let the next passenger book his ticket, soft voice filtering through the haze of oh my God did I really just when he hears the boy scrape his throat, and say

"The same for me, please."

He turns back to watch the airline employee look at a boy roughly his age, hears her ask, just to confirm, he thinks, "Amsterdam?"

The boy grins. "Anywhere."

They meet again by the gate, where the boy sits in a seat opposite from him, grinning at Liam when he glances up. Liam nods back but he's not really in the mood to make conversation, so he just thumbs through his contact list, sends messages left and right. To Louis (don't make a mess of the apartment, key's under the mat, dunno when I'll be back), to his parents and his sisters (don't worry about me, I'll be fine, I just need a break), to his now ex-colleague Niall (remember that no matter how foul he acts, at the end of the day he's still the one that pays your bills!).

It's maybe fifteen minutes until boarding, and Liam spends the remaining thirteen playing angry birds on his phone and dodging any phone calls.

When he sets foot on the plane, he makes his way to seat 28C, finds the boy from before sitting across the aisle in 28D. "She must have thought we knew each other," the boy says, and Liam nods and stares determinedly out of the window until a couple in their thirties occupy the seats next to him.
It's a short flight, feels like it's over before it's begun, and with no dropped off luggage, Liam's quick to make his way out of the airport. Seat 28D is just as quick, and they wind up standing outside of Schiphol airport, Liam with no clue where to go from here, and the boy lighting a cigarette.

"Where are you going?" He says, and Liam glances up from where he was trying to draw up a map on his phone, shrugs a shoulder. He's still not in the mood for conversation, but he's been raised proper, and not answering a direct question would be rude.

"Don't know yet," he says, looking at the cars that pull up and stop, watches people piling out and others get in, watches family and friends reunite and he was hoping to avoid this, to not have to see how there's still people that can be genuinely happy. Liam's lost the ability to, he feels, and he's sure he'd be sad about it but that would mean he'd be feeling anything at all, and right now, he's just not.

Minus maybe vague annoyance, because the other doesn't seem to get the hint that Liam's not asking him the same question for a reason. "Yeah," he says, voice still soft and it's a little scratchy – from the cigarettes, Liam assumes. "I get that."

"Do you," he grits out despite himself, and he finds himself meeting hazel eyes, that look amused more than anything at the shocking lack of courtesy that Liam's displaying.

The boy nods. "Yup," he says, popping the p before taking a drag from his cigarette. "'s where I'm headed too. Nowhere. Anywhere. Everywhere. Liberating, isn't it?"

Liam wants to tell him it's anything but. Wants to say that no matter where he goes, he can't run away from his past, wants to chastise him for thinking that he can, hypocritical as it would be. At the same time, he's sick with jealousy for the other's seemingly carefree attitude. As it is, he watches him take another drag from the cigarette, watches him tilt his head back to release the smoke into the crisp March air. "Well," he says, tugging the collar of his shirt up, despite the fact that his sister's always said it makes him look like a tosser (it does). "Good luck with that."

The boy sounds amused when he tips the ashes from his cigarette, one hand stuck in his pocket. "You too," he says, and he still manages to sound sincere, and not at all like he thinks Liam's either crazy or a pitiful excuse for a human being.

(Liam kind of feels like both right now)

"Thanks," he says, lingers on the word because a cab pulls up and Liam suddenly realizes he has no idea what he's doing, whether he's going to get in, whether he could pay with pounds since he's fairly sure they have a different currency over here, and the boy takes the silence as a cue to introduce himself.

"Zayn," he says, and Liam nods. Right.

"Liam," he says, to be polite, because they're both standing here and the cabbie's giving them annoyed-or-calculated looks like he's not entirely sure to keep waiting or to signal to another traveler, so Liam takes a step closer to the curb, digs in his pocket for his wallet and prays that they speak English here. The window opens slowly and a man looks at him, uninterested "Ja?" making Liam stumble over his words, and the last thing he hears is Zayn's laugh.

"See you around Liam!"