Let's Be Alone Together

Chapter 11

There's something nice about this. Intimate. Liam's not sure that's the right word for it, for two blokes sharing a bed, isn't sure how he feels about intimate being the best word to describe the situation nevertheless. Zayn's asleep, breathing gently onto his skin, his head pillowed on his shoulder and his leg thrown over his body. Liam doesn't feel trapped, but he thinks he should.

Because it's not, it's not very normal, is it? He's shared a bed with Lou before, but that was after nights spent talking, and they always kept to their own side of the bed. Niall's passed out on top of his comforter once, but they didn't snuggle.

Zayn snuggles. And Liam thinks that might be a problem. Should be a problem. Because Zayn's gay, and, well, he doesn't want him getting the wrong impression. Because Liam's not. He's very very much not gay, has got an ex to prove it.

(Then again, so does Louis, and Liam's honestly not sure why his brain chooses to remind him of that)

It kind of weirds him out, how much this doesn't weird him out.

Warmth seeping into his bones, from the blanket and the body pressed smoothly to his, Liam eventually finds his eyelids drooping, finds himself succumbing to sleep, thinking Zayn's right, Paris will still be here tomorrow. But this bed, this, won't be.

He blinks awake what feels like only minutes later, finds Zayn looking down at him sleepily, a little confused as to what Liam's doing in his bed. Oddly enough, Liam feels like apologizing, when Zayn's the one that dragged him in. "Hi.." Zayn says slowly, rubs at his eyes and blinks as though that'll magically solve whatever's got him so confused. "Did I-?"

Liam doesn't know why he's blushing. "You, um, refused to get up."

"So you got into bed with me?"

It doesn't sound like Zayn's accusing him of anything, but Liam still finds himself protesting, wonders why his body is so treacherous, refusing to let him scramble out of bed, wanting to hold onto that moment of peace he experienced in Zayn's arms. "You kind of dragged me," he says, softly, almost apologetic.

"Oh." Zayn blinks at him again, face still blank for a second before he kind of grimaces, looks away, and Liam - he wonders if it's really that awful, to wake up next to him. Swallows down the question and just nods, mutely. "Shit," Zayn says, and Liam can only nod to that too.

"'s ok," he mutters, at the same time that Zayn asks a tentative "Did I come onto you?"

It's his turn to blink. "Huh?"

He's pretty sure Zayn was awake, coherent enough to insult him and manhandle him under the covers, he's pretty sure he remembers what happened. Doesn't he?

"I mean," Zayn says slowly, and he sounds more awake now, sounds like he's piecing things together, foggy memories from earlier that morning. "I didn't. I know I didn't. But, you might think I did?" He shrugs a shoulder. "I'm not. I mean. I wouldn't blame you if you thought - but just because I'm gay, I don't -"

Liam interrupts him, and Zayn almost looks relieved that he gets cut off from his ramble. "I didn't," he says softly, trying to meet his eyes and Zayn does, though Liam's quick to look away once he's established eye contact. "I didn't think you were hitting on me." There's a slight, awkward pause. "I thought you might've hit me, but, I should know better than to come between you and your sleep. 's an epic love story, that."

(It's not one of Liam's best jokes.

Thankfully, Zayn still laughs.)

After a long shower, Zayn announces that he feels moderately more human, and after a cigarette, he drags Liam out onto the streets of Paris for some breakfast and a cup of coffee. Their hotel, expensive as it was, isn't too far from one of the many quaint shopping streets the city has to offer, and they don't have to walk far before encountering a café that has mismatched little tables and chairs outside, for those wanting to soak up the feeble March sun.

They keep their jackets on, peruse a menu that's solely in French, and Liam wishes he'd taken languages in school, but then he'd never expected to really travel. At least not in the way that he does now. He might've expected a honeymoon in Paris, but he would've had time to prepare, would've brought a dictionary or something.

Zayn stubbornly reads through the menu though Liam's pretty sure he understands as much as he does, finds himself looking at his mouth when he's spelling out unfamiliar words, trying to wrangle them into something recognizable.

They end up ordering chocolate croissants and large coffees, and maybe it's because they're in Paris and the sun's shining and Liam has somehow managed to hold onto a little bit of that peaceful feeling that he experienced when Zayn was asleep on his shoulder, but he's pretty sure it's the best meal he's had in his life.

Once all that's left of their breakfast is little pieces of chocolate and flakes of pastry, once Zayn's smoked another cigarette (politely asking the waitress, in English and hand signals and s'il vous plaît and merci, if it was okay to smoke a cigarette, and Zayn's so considerate that way) and they've left a tip that Liam would be uncomfortable with (because he is going to need that money, but he doesn't want to look cheap to Zayn) if Zayn hadn't smiled at him, crinkles and all, they finally make their way further into the city. It's a nice day, and rather than spending it cooped up in the Louvre, which Liam knows Zayn's dying to see, or the Notre Dame, they decide to buy a map in one of the souvenir shops scattered throughout the city. They spend a good five minutes scrutinizing it, debating on where to go and not really able to come to an agreement, before Zayn shrugs his shoulder, carefully folding the map back up and sticking it in his pocket. "Let's just forget about the map, and get lost," he says, and Liam's first instinct is to protest, though he sees the glint in Zayn's eyes and takes it as the challenge he knows it is.

"Yeah," he agrees, much to Zayn's delight. "Let's."