Waiting, Breathing and Living

i.

They were children when they met. The two boys had found each other on the field during a break from learning numbers and the alphabet. 

ii.

Tiny feet slapped against concrete as a small boy began his search for a football to kick around. He was often alone, the poor boy, but felt he would much rather stay alone than face the onslaught of teasing and insults from the bigger kids at his school. 

That day, he thought, was his lucky day. The bins that usually held the balls every child used during break were appeared empty, but a quick look inside revealed that there was one ball left. The boy grinned widely, his expression one of relief. Lifting himself onto his very tip-toes, he reached in and grabbed the ball. Or, at the very least, he attempted to grab the ball. His arms were too short! His fingers just barely grazed the football and no matter how far he bent over the bin’s edge, he could not reach. 

The boy was feeling the beginnings of frustration. His lucky day? He should have known better than to think such silly thoughts—he was not a lucky boy. 

"Here," a voice called behind him. Startled, the small boy rocked back onto his heels and nearly fell on his rump. Looking over his shoulder, he found another boy with dark hair and dark eyes—perhaps a year or two older. Almost immediately the little boy tensed and shifted his gaze to his feet and waited for whatever hurtful words this new kid would have to say. Much to his surprise, the older boy simply moved past him and carefully tipped over the bin and allowed the football to roll out without a problem. "You should have just done that. It’s easier." 

The boy blinked once. Then his cheeks flushed a deep scarlet. He hadn’t thought of that, but now that it had been suggested it was almost obvious. Quickly, he scooped up the ball and hugged it to his chest, his eyes darting everywhere but at the dark haired boy. “Thanks,” he said meekly before running away.

iii.

Later that day, the little boy and the older boy ran into each other during lunch. They sat together in the far corner of the lunchroom, away from the little boy’s bullies. 

The older boy introduced himself. “I’m Zayn!” His dimpled smile was almost shy but contagious. 

His own lips curling upwards, the little boy replied, “I’m Liam.”

They were inseparable from then on.

iv.

They were ten years old. Best friends for four years already. 

When Liam cowards under the harsh stares of his bullies, Zayn would swoop in and wrap a protective arm around his friend’s shoulders, effectively warding off those with poisoned tongues. Liam would smile widely and thank him. 

When Zayn found himself tongue tied when in a group of friends, it’s Liam who comes and fills the blank with a comment of his own—saving Zayn from stepping out of his comfort zone.

They worked well as a team, they discovered. Anything they could do together, they did. Any troubles or thoughts one or the other had, they shared. Secrets held under lock and key were whispered along with vows of silence. They trusted each other wholeheartedly. To them, it felt natural that way.

v.

They were seventeen and Liam was confused. 

He had been best friends with Zayn for thirteen years and never before had he felt so utterly perplexed by his emotions. 

Whenever Zayn knocked at his door with a suggestion for video games or a jam session, Liam’s dayinstantly brightened. Whenever Zayn would rest his arm on his shoulder or would happen to stand too close to him, Liam suddenly became hyper aware of every shift in their bodies. Whenever Zayn smiled, Liam couldn’t help but return the gesture and fight back the ridiculous urge to flush red.