x Ziam One Shots x

Can't stop singing, it's ringing in my head for you.

Summary: Liam knew, deep down, that he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

He was the one who had looked into Zayn’s dark, lovely eyes, listened to the pleas made by his fine, beautiful mouth, and said yes. He stood, his heart in his throat, nodding like an idiot, as the man he loved asked him to write a love song and play it for him on the day that Liam would lose him, finally and forever.

Pairings: Zayn Malik and Liam Payne (Ziam Palik)

~*~ 

Naturally, he wanted to blame Perrie. For deciding that Jade and Jesy and Leigh-Anne couldn’t be bridesmaids because she simply had too many girls in her family who wanted the role. For arguing with Zayn that it would be unfair if his band members were in the wedding party, because hers couldn’t be.

It would be easy to blame Zayn. For agreeing to her request, and then for coming and telling them that he still wanted them to be involved in the wedding, because he couldn’t - didn’t want to - imagine it without them. For asking them to think of a way, any way at all, to play a part in his big day.

Maybe he could blame Harry. For suggesting idly that they write and perform a song for the happy couple, for planting the seed of the idea in Zayn’s mind, and then flitting off to LA and forgetting about it altogether, basically uncontactable (as always) except for random texts full of fruit and vegetable emojis at four o'clock in the morning.

He could even blame Louis, for breaking up with Eleanor a month before the wedding and failing to produce anything but angry, angst ridden ballads ever since, which - no, Tommo, are not actually appropriate for the day when your best friend gets married (even if they actually did suit Liam’s mood quite well.)

Hell, Liam might even find it in him to blame Niall, if he really tried. But - well, no, actually, he couldn’t. It really isn’t Niall’s fault that his Da broke his hip, and that he decided to take advantage of their time off and fly back to Mullingar for the month before the wedding, to help him get back on his feet.

But, ultimately, Liam knew, deep down, that he didn’t have anyone to blame but himself.

He was the one who had looked into Zayn’s dark, lovely eyes, listened to the pleas made by his fine, beautiful mouth, and said yes. He stood, his heart in his throat, nodding like an idiot, as the man he loved asked him to write a love song and play it for him on the day that Liam would lose him, finally and forever.

(He never could say no to Zayn.)

No - Liam had definitely got himself into this mess.

He looked down at the shambles of paper around him and groaned. Nothing he wrote was workable! He simply couldn’t do it. He’d written dozens - no, hundreds - of songs about Zayn but every single one of them was so clearly a plea from his heart, a desperate request - ‘notice me - pick me - love me’.

And Zayn would know. There had always been a silent, wordless connection between them, ever since they were boys. Children, really, he could admit with the benefit of hindsight. The two of them, shyer and more reticent than the rest - Zayn because he naturally let people in more slowly, Liam because his peers had taught him not to trust. But for the two of them, letting each other in had been as quick and simple as breathing.

That easy, immediate bond was still as strong as ever. Liam knew without a doubt that if he sung one of those songs that he’d crafted and formed in the grey hours of the morning, that Zayn would know. He would just look at him - look at him with those piercing, clever eyes, and he would see the love that glowed in Liam’s heart, and desperately wanted to shine.

It was no good. He hated it, hated letting Zayn down - hated this whole terrible, unbearable situation - but he was going to have to tell him that he hadn’t been able to do it.

He’d make an excuse - writer’s block? Maybe cite lingering emotions over his last breakup? It was working for Louis.

No - Zayn wouldn’t believe that. Liam hadn’t dated anyone seriously for going on a year now. After the slow decay of his relationship with Sophia, he’d made the decision that it simply wasn’t fair to be in a relationship with someone when he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would never love them back.

Liam took a careless twig from the half empty bottle of fifty year old Glenfiddich balanced precariously on top of his piano, wincing at the burn at the back of his throat. It wasn’t really his style - a gift from one of the studio execs, and he’d never really developed a taste for anything that wasn’t Jack Daniels, but right now, he’d take what he could get.

He crumpled the piece of paper in his hand, obscuring the the lyrics that he’d scribbled out - ‘you've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down’ - in one hopeless last ditch attempt to produce something that he could show to Zayn.

And Perrie, a little voice in his head reminded him bitterly. Can’t forget her, after all. She’d latched onto the idea of the boys writing a song and performing it at the reception, exclaiming over how romantic Zayn was, never mind that he hadn’t even come up with the idea in the first place.

Liam grimaced at the roiling of his stomach, a mixture of disgustingly expensive whiskey and bitter jealousy coating the back of his teeth and his throat. He already had a vague feeling that tomorrow morning he was going to regret getting trashed, but in that moment, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

In for a penny, in for a pound, he thought to himself, grabbing the bottle and the piano to haul himself up onto unsteady feet. He just wanted to crawl under his duvet, shut out the world, and drink enough booze to forget, for just one night, that he’d committed the ultimate mistake of falling in love with his straight, engaged-extremely-soon-to-be-married best friend.

*

Liam woke up with the impression that a marching band had decided to set up shop in his brain. Cracking one eye open, he groaned at the stabbing pain that went shooting through his skull as the early morning sunshine assaulted his eyes. His mouth felt like something had died inside it.

Rolling off his bed and tumbling onto his hands and knees, he stumbled to the bathroom and was violently sick, retching as both the alcohol he’d drunk and the memories he’d been trying to obliterate came flooding back.

Shit.

Why had past-Liam thought it was a good idea to down the best part of an entire bottle of ridiculously expensive whiskey?

He hated past-Liam. He wished he could time travel back to the previous evening and kill past-Liam so that present-Liam wouldn’t have to suffer this agonising pain.

It was as he knelt by the toilet basin, his sweaty forehead pressed against the cool porcelain, that he realised that the pounding he could hear wasn’t just coming from inside his head.

There was someone at his door.

Still shuddering, Liam hauled himself up and stuck his head into his sink. He turned on the tap and gulped down several mouthfuls of tepid water, grimacing at the mineral taste in his mouth. Still, it was better than the acrid taste of vomit.

He stumbled down his hallway towards his front door, his hand shading his eyes in a desperate attempt to reduce the pounding pulse that was reverberating around his skull. Who could want him at this time in the morning? And how had they got past security downstairs without him having to buzz them up?

When he opened the door, he came face to face with the last person he expected to see.

“Perrie?”

“Morning, pet!” She grinned at him, her blue eyes sparkling, her face flushed and bright with the morning chill. She looked beautiful and happy, and Liam violently despised her.

He stared at her in blank confusion, noting the two coffee cups that she was clutching in her hands absently, mostly preoccupied with what Zayn’s girlfriend (fiancée, the hateful voice in the back of his voice whispered) was doing on his doorstep at 9 o’clock on a Tuesday morning.

“Coffee?” she offered brightly, raising her eyebrows expectantly at him.

“Erm. Yeah, okay. Thanks...” he managed to reply, half wishing he could reject her offer of caffeinated goodness and make her go away, half aware that if he couldn’t really deal with Perrie on a good day, he would definitely need coffee to deal with her at arse o’clock in the morning. Especially with a stinking hangover, smelling like a brewery and probably looking like he’d just crawled out of a pit.

God, why did she have to look so radiant? It was like she enjoyed rubbing his nose in it!

Perrie handed him one of the styrofoam cups, and pushed past him into the flat, even as she asked “can I come in?”, not waiting for him to respond. He shut the door behind her and followed her into his living room, bracing himself for whatever unknown battle was coming. He couldn’t think of a single reason why Perrie would need to talk to him, but he sensed that he wasn’t going to like whatever she had to say.

“Er, sorry it’s a bit of a mess in here. I’ve, um, I’ve been a bit busy so...actually I was just about to-”

She whirled around to face him, a bright determined smile still fixed firmly on her immaculately lipsticked mouth.

“Sorry to barge in on you like this - it’s just, I was passing by and I’ve actually been wanting to ask for a bit of a favour? Thought I might be able to bribe you with coffee...and maybe maybe a bacon sarnie, like?” She wiggled the paper bag still clutched in her hands temptingly.

Suddenly, Liam was ravenous. A bacon sarnie on cheap white bread with lashings of red sauce sounded like heaven - and just the thing to alleviate the ever present ache in his skull, the slight churn of nausea in his stomach. Still, he just clenched his jaw and looked mulishly at the floor.

“No, thanks.”

She sighed. “Liam, can I say somethin’?”

“Yeah?”

“Look, I know you're Zayn’s best friend and I know you've never particularly warmed to us.” She glanced down, rueful and suddenly uncomfortable. Liam opened his mouth to - what? To argue? If he was perfectly honest, it was true.

“No, don't, don't argue. We've never got… friendly. But I just wanted to say, I hope that can change. It would be really nice if we could be friends, like?” She beamed at him charmingly.

(He hated her.)

What was he supposed to say to that? Liam didn’t want to be friends with her. But now that she was here, all conciliatory and hopeful looking, he couldn’t actually refuse the hand of friendship that she was offering, could he? He was well aware that doing so would make him the bad guy in the situation.

And...she was Zayn’s fiancée. Soon to be his wife. (He. Hated. Her.)

For his sake, Liam had to try and make an effort. Zayn hadn’t caught on to Liam’s palpable dislike just yet, but if he refused Perrie’s offer of friendship, he had a feeling that Zayn would come to know about it pretty quickly. That would not only make Zayn unhappy, something that Liam strove never to do, but also run the risk of exposing Liam’s own feelings for his best friend.

He tried to smile. “Um, yeah, definitely. Absolutely, we can be friends.”

“Great! So...with that in mind, could I ask you for a small favour?” Batting her eyelashes, Perrie folded her hands together like she was praying and stuck out her lower lip. If anyone else had done it, Liam would have definitely found it cute, but he just got more annoyed. Why did she have to act like a little girl all the time?

Besides, he’d been subjected to Harry’s puppy dog stare on a regular basis for the past four years. Perrie had nothing on him.

Still, he was trying, wasn’t he? Making an effort. And that had to start somewhere.

“Go ahead.”

“So, I know that Zayn asked you lads to write a song to sing at the wedding? And I thought it was such a sweet idea! But he says that he can’t really get hold of Harry or Niall, and Louis - well,” she grimaced. “Probably love songs and weddings and all that might be a bit of a sore spot at the mo’.”

Liam cleared his throat, panicking inwardly. Oh no. “Yeah, um. He’s not in a great place right now, to be honest.”

Perrie nodded sympathetically. “Right, yeah, I know. Well, um, have you had any luck then? ‘Cos Zayn said he hadn’t heard from you much about it and-”

“Oh, uh, no. Sorry. Don’t think I’m much of a songwriter without the other lads, to be honest.” He forced himself to chuckle, taking a sip of coffee just for the sake of having something to do with his mouth.

Perrie’s eyes narrowed, and before he could stop her, she stepped towards the piano in the corner of the room, picking up one of the pieces of paper that sat crumpled in a ball on the stool.

“Well what about this one then?” Her brow arched challengingly, and she smoothed out the creases, holding it up to show Liam. “This one that says, ‘For Zayn’ at the top?”

Liam froze. No. Not that one.

Too late, he rushed forward to try and pull the lyrics out of her grasp, but he was hungover and slow and still felt a bit sick if he was honest, and Perrie was quicker.

“Liam this is perfect!” she cried, her eyes skimming over the page. “‘Cause all of me loves all of you, love your curves and all your edges, all your perfect imperfections...’ - oh, it’s so romantic! ‘Give your all to me, I'll give my all to you, you're my end and my beginning, even when I lose I'm winning. Liam, I love this! Zayn will love it too, I just know he will. Please, please play this at our wedding!”

She widened her eyes imploringly at him and Liam could only stare at her, his pulse rabbiting rapidly and his hands shaking. She...hadn’t guessed? She hadn’t figured out that he had written that song about her fiancé, for her husband to be?

“Look, Perrie, I’m really sorry, I do want to be friends and to - get along,” he rushed out. “But I just... can’t sing that song at your wedding… it’s, it’s not ready, it’s crap really, I haven’t even written a proper tune and - ”

“Liam, please. This song is so, so beautiful, and you still have just under a week to compose the music. And it would mean so much to me, and to Zayn. Please, Liam. Please.” Seeing Liam’s hesitance, she rushed on, clasping her hands together imploringly.

“I just - I know he would so be grateful - and, I tell you what, it could be like a little surprise for him on the day? Like, you can tell him that you haven’t been able to write anything and then at the reception…He’d love it. He’d be so happy. You’re such a good friend to him, Liam. Please?”

Liam stared at her helplessly.

“I -”

The words stuck in his throat. He couldn’t sing a song he’d written about the man he loved, at his wedding to someone else… but he also couldn’t think of a single excuse to explain why not.

Fuck.

*

The rehearsal dinner was torture.

Liam felt like he was going out of his mind.

He didn’t need to be there, trussed up in his second best suit, making polite conversation with one of Perrie’s many assorted cousins and doing his best to dodge Harry’s concerned glances. According to Perrie’s original request, neither he nor the other boys were officially involved in the wedding party - Zayn’s cousin, Jawaad, was standing as his best man, and Ant and Danny were the only groomsmen.

None of the band had been required for the actual rehearsal ceremony - thank god, Liam knew in his very bones that he didn’t have the strength to watch Zayn say his vows twice. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to manage once. He didn’t trust himself not run up to the altar and drag Zayn away, hold him tight and kiss him hard.

But his presence, and the other boys’, had apparently been required for dinner at the lavish countryside hotel in Surrey where the wedding was scheduled to take place in forty-eight hours. So there he sat, feeling like he was being slowly choked to death by his tie, his steak and kidney pie just ash in in his mouth as he watched Zayn and Perrie from across the room.

He had to tear his eyes away from the sight of Perrie’s hand curled firmly (possessively) around Zayn’s neck as she clutched her stomach, shrieking with laughter at something that her mum had said.

He felt like he was going to be sick.

"C’n I have another glass of the red wine, please," he murmured to the waiter passing behind him. Harry shot him another inscrutable look from his seat, several places down the table, but Liam refused to meet his gaze, staring down at the empty wine glass in front of him.

He hadn’t drunk nearly enough alcohol to cope with this shit.

Stabbing his fork angrily into a particularly unappetising carrot, Liam’s jaw clenched and his brows furrowed heavily. He didn’t trust himself to open his mouth, sure that he couldn’t sit there for even another minute without saying something. Maybe he would have felt differently if Zayn had been entirely happy and excited for his wedding day, but Liam knew - he just knew - that he wasn’t.

Oh, he wasn’t so deluded to think that Zayn somehow regretted his engagement or returned his undeclared feelings - he’d always known that he never stood a chance with the other man.

Zayn was just - he was so bright. Yes, he was basically the loveliest human being that Liam had ever seen. Soft inky black hair, a supple, soft mouth, all eyelashes and limpid gazes and shining glances. Skeins of caramel skin and the delicate slope of his body, the tender fragile shell of his ribcage and the slant of his cheekbones, the dip of his waist and his hips and the curl of his wrists. Everything crafted so finely and carefully, as if under his skin he wasn’t made from bone, formed instead from ivory and china and finer things than other humans were.

But there was more to Zayn than his obvious, undeniable beauty. His humor and his intelligence, his warmth and kindness, the way he could be so gentle, so secretly soft, despite the bluster that he projected when he wasn’t quite ready to let people in. All of the contradictions and complications that made up a human soul - it was those things, the secret, precious layers of him that really made Zayn shine, and truly put him so firmly out of Liam’s reach.

Liam knew that he was attractive enough, decent company and more or less well liked. He knew he wasn’t that friendless sixteen year old boy anymore, too serious and too earnest, so awkward and self-conscious, slow to catch on to a joke and quick to feel the sting of other people’s laughter.

And yet, he couldn’t quite shake away the echo of that lonely boy. Sometimes, he still stood in the middle of a crowd of friends, unable to entirely shake the persistent, nagging feeling that they were all secretly bored of him, wishing he wasn’t there.

It had never been on the cards that Zayn - clever, wonderful, talented Zayn who could paint and draw and who read books by Shakespeare and Don Quixotic (or whatever his name was) would love him back. Not Liam - the not-so good-looking one from One Direction, as someone had once said, who wasn’t that funny, wasn’t at all clever, and said the wrong thing all the time. He’d resigned himself to that a long, long time ago.

But still - putting aside his own feelings for the other man, Liam was frankly worried about Zayn as his best friend. Nothing about the upcoming nuptials was what the other man would have chosen himself. Intensely private, Zayn, who prized family and close friends above anything else in the world, had ended up conceding to Perrie’s desires for a big, lavish wedding with hundreds of guests and an extortionate price tag.

(Oh, Liam knew that Zayn could afford it. The money wasn’t the issue. But he also knew that a wedding like something out of Keeping Up With The Kardashians had always been the last thing that Zayn had wanted.)

Even worse, the other man had been moody and snappish for a while now, alternately sullen and then maniacally cheerful. He’d been surprisingly evasive for days, even with Liam, which was unusual to say the least. They hadn’t had the chance to properly talk, and when they did, it was always in front of other people and about the fucking wedding.

Another carrot fell victim to Liam’s fork, violently impaled as he gave up all attempts at making small talk with…Ellie? He thought that was her name, but he truthfully wasn’t sure. To be honest, he didn’t actually care.

God, he needed to get out of there. He felt like he was suffocating.

Liam was in the midst of formulating an elaborate escape plan - could he convince one of the lads to make his excuses? Maybe he could say that he’d eaten something that didn’t agree with him? - when he heard the delicate chime of a fork against one of the crystal champagne flutes the party was drinking from.

Perrie cleared her throat, and the room fell silent. She smiled. “First of all, Zayn and I just wanted to say thank you so much to everyone for comin’ today. We’re so excited for Wednesday, and we wanted to have our nearest and dearest here with us tonight to celebrate with us before the big day.” She glanced down at her fiancé fondly, and Zayn nodded, a firm smile fixed on his face.

“I also wanted to share something with you that I am so, so excited about.” She continued blithely. Liam’s heart stopped. Fuck. Was she pregnant?

“This was supposed to be a surprise -“ She glanced in Liam’s direction. “- but I thought that, tonight being the official rehearsal and everythin’, this would be a good time to tell you -”

Oh no. oh no oh no oh no.

“- Liam is going to be playing a song that he wrote for Zayn and I -“

This couldn’t be happening.

“ - at the reception - ”

Fuck! Liam had just been planning to mention to the two of them on the day of the wedding that he hadn’t been able to finish the song, counting on the stress of getting married to distract them and get him off the hook.

“- and I was thinkin’ it would just make this evening so, so special if he would play it for us now. After all, what else are rehearsals for?” Perrie laughed, and room tittered obligingly.

They were all looking at him. Harry’s expression was wary and Niall and Louis both looked utterly nonplussed. Zayn’s expression was completely unreadable, his black eyes hooded and inscrutable. Everyone else was watching Liam expectantly, the weight of their eyes heavy on his shoulders.

He felt like he was having an out of body experience. Standing, he forced himself to chuckle, the sound rusty like a crumbling car engine. “Um, thanks for that Perrie.” Everyone laughed. Liam wasn’t not sure why. He wasn’t trying to be funny. “I, um. Well. I’m not sure how I’m supposed to play for you all, since -“

“There’s a piano in the corner!” someone cried out helpfully. Liam felt his last ounce of hope slipping away.

Oh fuck, he really wasn’t going to be able to get out of this.

He was never sure how his feet carried him to the piano. He didn’t remember sitting down, or lifting the lid, or the touch of the keys against his fingertips. He only knew that abruptly, he was sitting there in front of the instrument, feeling like he was in a dream and playing - singing - almost without his own volition.

“What would I do without your smart mouth?

Drawing me in, and you kicking me out

You've got my head spinning, no kidding, I can't pin you down…”

Liam could barely hear the words coming out of his own mouth. He felt like he was drowning, and the only thing he could do was to carry on. It wasn’t really a conscious act - now that he had finally started to express his long denied feelings, they were pouring out of him like a river that had finally burst its banks.

God, Zayn had excited, mesmerised and confused him since they first met all those years ago, standing trembling in McDonalds and feeling like he was on the precipice of something huge.

One minute he was so sweet and gentle - all slumberous lashes and softly parted lips. The next, he an absolute terror - acting up with Louis, a tag team of mischief leaving destruction in their wake, with a sharp cackle and flashing eyes. All soft glances and spiky edges, push and pull. Sometimes he felt like coming home to Liam, sometimes he felt like an electric shock.

“Cause all of me

Loves all of you

Love your curves and all your edges

All your perfect imperfections -”

And he did, he really did.

Zayn’s morning grumpiness, his sleep-deprived sulks, his temper, his passive aggressive silences, his cutting sarcasm, his messiness, his laziness, his utterly frustrating inability to pack enough clothes to last him more than a few days, his unwillingness to jump through the hoops that life as one fifth of the world’s biggest boy band sometimes required…

Those things only ever made Liam love him more. Zayn wasn’t perfect - he had his flaws, like any other human being. But he was perfect to Liam.

“You're my downfall, you're my muse

My worst distraction, my rhythm and blues -”

“You inspire me.”

Liam had told Zayn that once.

What he hadn't told him, couldn’t put into words, was that Zayn was literally the thing that got him out of bed into morning, that force that stirred him into action. He was the fuel running through Liam’s veins, the voice in his head that reminded him of who he was and who he could be. He was Liam’s courage and the hunger that kept him from faltering, the force that pushed him to believe, to dream.

He wasn’t sure he could exist in this miserable, mixed up world without him.

“I give you all of me

And you give me all of you.”

Liam stared down at his hands on the black and white keys of the piano. The dull roar of clapping came to him as if he was under water, and it seemed to take a very great effort to drag his eyes away from his own fingers, up, up, to face his audience.

His eyes found Zayn’s, drawn to him instantly and helplessly, like a magnet.

The other man looked pale and strange, his lips pinched tightly and a patchy flush of colour sitting high on his sculpted cheekbones. His eyes were dark and fathomless, glittering strangely but giving nothing away.

Liam felt like a small animal, trapped under the watchful, scornful gaze of a predator.

It wasn’t until he felt Louis’ hand on his shoulder that he was able to tear his eyes away. The other boy sounded completely relaxed as he chattered amiably, but the white knuckle grip of his hand on Liam belied his apparent serenity.

It was Louis who dragged him out of the room, ever the unstoppable force of nature. He put on a grand performance, a pantomime of chilarking and ‘banter’ that held up just long enough to let Liam make his escape with as little interaction as possible.

It was Niall who met them outside with a clap on the shoulder for Louis and a warm, bracing cuddle for Liam. He didn’t say anything, just steered Liam gently but firmly towards his room of the fourth floor, filling the silence with comfortable gossip, whilst still managing to say very little.

And it was Harry who was already waiting for Liam in his room, who greeted him with nothing but a solemn ‘Oh, Liam’, and arms open wide, face completely free from judgement.

He fell asleep to the soft, comforting repetition of Harry stroking his fingers through his hair.

*

Liam woke up alone, in an unfamiliar bed in the small hours of the morning, long before the sun was even really thinking about showing its face.

His head felt muzzy, the kind of cotton woolish feeling that said he’d slept too deeply for too long.

Why had he woken up?

Then he heard it - the rattatattat of a knock on the door, louder this time and faster, as if the person outside was losing their patience.

Could he pretend not to have heard?

The knock sounded again.

Apparently not.

Dread slunk through his bones as he shuffled hesitantly towards the door, slapping a light on as he went.

It was Zayn. Of course it was. Because his night really couldn’t get any better.

He pushed past Liam wordlessly, leaving him standing there holding the door like an idiot. Shutting the door gently, he turned just in time to see Zayn whirl around. He looked furious.

"What was the point of all that then, Liam?" Zayn demanded. "I don’t - I don’t get it. What was that song.”

Liam had no idea what to say. He was drawing a complete blank.

“Uh…”

“Tell me!” he spat. “Because from my standpoint, it kind of sounded like you were singing a love song, about me, at the rehearsal dinner for my wedding to someone else.”

Liam swallowed weakly. The sound was deafening in the sudden quiet of the still morning.

“What makes you think it was about you? Bit conceited, mate.” He managed to scoff, clinging to a semblance of hope that he might be able to bluff his way out of this.

Zayn leveled him with an unimpressed glare.

“Oh, don’t play dumb. “ He said scornfully. “‘How many times do I have to tell you, even when you're crying you're beautiful too?’ And, ‘you’re my muse?’ ‘You’re my worst distraction, my rhythm and blues?’ Those are all things you’ve said to me before, almost literally word for word! Did you think I wouldn’t twig? I know you! I mean, come on, just admit -“

“Fine, then! Fine. It was. About you, I mean.” Liam interrupted, unable to stand any more of Zayn’s careless mockery.

The other man’s eyes widened.

“Why. Why would you say those things, why would you say them tonight?!”

And then, to be honest, Liam lost his temper a little bit.

"Because I want it to be me!" he ground out. The silence that followed that statement was deafening.

"Because I want to be the one marrying you, starting a life with you, waking up with you every morning for the rest of my life! I want to be the one that people ask you about in interviews!” He spread his arms wide, vulnerable and honest and open, finally.

“I want to be the one who argues with you about whose turn it is to take the dogs out in the morning and why you’ve just left your clothes beside the laundry basket, not inside it. 've been in love with you for so long, Zayn. It’s been killing me to watch you with her, I’ve been so fucking jealous and bitter.”

He scraped a rough, trembling hand through his hair, looking down at the ground, unable to look at Zayn.

“And! I never wanted to say any of this to you! I was never going to tell you, never going to let you know because I knew that you were happy with her! I never wanted to sing that song, never wanted to write one in the first place, but then Perrie came round to my house and found it and begged me to!” Liam paced forward, unable to stop himself, coming to a stop barely a hair’s breadth away from Zayn.

“What exactly was I supposed to say, ‘no, sorry not that one, I wrote it for your fiancé who I’m in love with? Oh no not that one either - in fact none of these because every love song I’ve ever written is for him really!’ Was that what I was supposed to tell her?” He finished in a whisper, taking a deep gasping breath. He felt like he’d just run a marathon. Ironically, it actually felt pretty good to finally get everything off of his chest.

Zayn’s face crumpled.

“Oh - oh no, Zayn, please don’t. I’m sorry, okay I’m so sor- “

And then Zayn kissed him, catching him completely off guard. His mouth was desperate, his lips bruising and insistent as they pressed against Liam’s own. Liam didn’t care. He kissed back immediately, groaning as he brought his hands up to cradle Zayn’s face. They clung to each other as their lips met again and again, kissing like starving men drinking water after weeks in the desert.

It was only when Liam was forced to pull back for air that he saw that the other man was crying, crystalline drops clinging to impossibly long, spiky-wet lashes. He leant his forehead against Zayn’s, swiping his thumbs across the delicate lilac bruises staining the skin underneath his eyes.

“Don’t cry, Zayny, please.”

Liam wasn’t sure what was happening. It was like all of his dreams coming true at once, so it was entirely possible that he was actually still asleep - except that Zayn wasn’t usually crying in his dreams.

The dark haired boy pulled away, swiping under his eyes and pacing towards the middle of the room, wringing his hands together.

“It’s been the greatest tragedy of my life, you know.” He started, voice trembling. “The fact that my soulmate was straight.” He looked at Liam, a bitter rueful little smile twisting his lips.

“I’ve known that you’re the one for me since the first moment that I met you, standing in McDonalds, ordering an bloody Egg McMuffin. But you never -sometimes, I thought, the way you look at me, it must mean something.”

“But, then - you’ve only ever dated girls, Liam and you’ve never tried to kiss me, or said anything, not once, in five years of friendship. I waited, and hoped but…eventually, I just.” He shrugged sadly. “I gave up. And I moved on.”

Liam felt like he’d been plunged into a pool of icy water. This was worse. This was so much worse than thinking that Zayn could never be interested in him, would never want him or love him. This was having all of his dreams placed in his grasp, and then finding out that he’d let them slip through his fingers because he was too scared to hold onto them, to scared to try.

He turned away, trying to control the gasps that wanted to struggle their way out of his lungs. Whispering through numb lips, his voice hoarse with the effort of holding back a sob, he managed to say “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Zayn. I’m sorry for never saying anything before, and for saying something now, when it’s too late.”

Liam heard nothing from the other man for long minutes as he fought to compose himself, steeling himself against the tears threatening to break through. Just as he finally gathered up enough courage to look back, he heard the soft click of a door.

When he whirled around, his room was empty.

*

“Liam.”

Liam roused round slowly. There was a heavy, pounding throb in his head that reminded him of the tears he’d shed after Zayn had left, and all he wanted to do was roll back over and go back to sleep for the rest of the week, or month, or year.

“Liam, come on mate, wake up.” Louis shook his shoulder again, gently but insistent.

“Lou?” he rumbled, sitting up slowly, feeling like he’d ached years over the course of a single night. “Wassamatter?”

Louis gave him a strained smile in response. “We need to go, Liam. Everyone’s leaving. The wedding’s off.”

“Wh - what?” Liam stared at Louis in disbelief, his still brain working far too slowly to process this latest revelation. The solemn look on his face is jarring, out of place - Liam had rarely seen Louis look this serious.

“The wedding’s off, Liam. I just found out about half an hour ago - apparently they were both up all night, and and they just... decided about five o’clock this morning to cancel the whole thing.”

“I - I need to -” What? What did Liam need to do? The only thing he could think about is Zayn. Zayn who kissed him, Zayn who told him he loved him - loved, past tense, Liam reminded himself, Zayn who left and Zayn who had...apparently just called off his wedding?

“I need to see him, I need to - where is he? Is he okay, have you seen him -”

He swung his legs out of bed, totally prepared to dash out of the room in just his pajama bottoms, but was stopped short by Louis’ next words.

“He’s not here, Liam.” He suddenly couldn’t stand the look on Louis’ face, the pity he thought he saw in his eyes. “He left first thing with his Mum and Dad, they went back to Bradford.”

“He’s - he’s just left? Just like that?” Liam stammered, dumbfounded.

“Yeah, mate. I’m sorry, I don’t know what else to tell you. You literally know everything I do, now.”

He sank back down onto the bed with a long, shuddering breath. He was trying to think, trying to process everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours, but he couldn’t. It was like his brain was a broken record, constantly circling back to the same thought.

Zayn was gone.

*

Liam was doing… okay. Really, he was mostly fine.

It was both a good thing and a bad thing that One Direction had been taking a break for the wedding - a good thing, since Zayn had gone completely AWOL and the spotlight that touring or recording attracted would have been his worst nightmare. But for Liam himself, the inactivity felt like a particularly inventive form of torture.

He’d watched, unable to help himself, as the tabloids hounded Zayn and Perrie, meticulously documenting the slow, torturous process of two people quietly pulling apart the life they had started to build together.

Those rare glimpses of Zayn (pale and wan, thinner than he ought to be and always somber, never smiling) in The Sun or on Sugarscape, on tumblr via grainy fan photos, were all he’d had of the other man for weeks.

He hadn’t seen him since that fateful night, nearly a month before, and he missed him desperately, missed just talking to him and knowing that whatever he said, Zayn would listen and laugh and care. He missed texting him, song lyrics and stupid little thoughts at three in the morning, and indecipherable strings of emojis (see no evil monkey, smirky face, turtle turtle turtle).

But he was trying to give the other man some space, trying not to put any more pressure on him or make his life any harder than it already was.

Anyway, Liam was keeping himself busy. It was summer in London and the city was flourishing, acquiring a raffish, continental air. Walking down streets with tables scattering the pavements, he could almost convince himself that he was in Paris, or Barcelona, or Rome, just an average every day Joe Bloggs, rather than one fifth of one of the biggest bands on the planet. He was actually pretty impressed with himself, how often he’d managed to avoid getting spotted out and about.

He’d been working out a lot too, going for a run twice a day. He was fitter than he’d probably ever been, and starting to toy with the idea of training for the London marathon. He had no idea if he’d be allowed to actually run, of course, but Liam always did better with a goal in mind.

The other lads were helping. None of them had said much to him about the whole debacle, but they were each there for him in their own way. Niall in particular had been an absolute godsend - he was enamoured with the all-singing, all-dancing barbecue that he’d recently invested in, and in the process of testing just how long a human could survive on meat alone without contracting scurvy. Liam had a standing invitation to participate in the endeavour.

Louis had taken to bombarding him at all hours of the day and night with ideas for song lyrics and snippets of melodies. On the couple of occasions that they had managed to meet up since the almost-wedding, he’d had made a complete fool of himself, pratting around in a transparent attempt to made Liam laugh.

Harry, predictably, was back in LA, but continued to express his support and affection through poorly timed and badly lit snapchats, offering Liam occasional glimpses into his american adventures.

(Harry’s american adventures seemed to be involving an improbable amount of bananas. And bandanas.)

In summary, Liam was fine. He was coping. He was getting by.

Yeah, if he was honest, he was totally miserable.

Cuddled up with Loki in the corner of his big leather sofa, Toy Story 3 playing in the background, he gently tugged at his dog’s ears and pulled his face so that Liam was looking into his beautiful molten eyes.

“You’ll never leave me, will you Loki?”

The dog whined in response, cocking his head and pricking his ears curiously. Liam took that as an affirmative, bending down to press an affectionate kiss on the puppy’s forehead.

“That’s right. That’s why dogs are man’s best friend, isn’t it baby? Isn’t it, huh?”

He was interrupted from his conversation with his dog (which was probably a sign that things were getting dire, if ever there was one) by the sound of his intercom buzzing.

It was probably the pizza he’d ordered earlier. They were a bit early - he’d been told it would be an hour’s wait, but hey, Liam wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. Rummaging around in his trackie bottoms for his wallet, he pressed the button to let the delivery man up.

Goddamnit, where had he put that thing?

He was fumbling in his jacket pocket, his back turned, when he heard the someone at the door softly clear their throat.

“Just a minute, mate, I’m just looking for -” he turned around, “... Zayn?”

He looked tired, and a little bit sad, and thinner than he had been, but he was still undeniably, utterly beautiful, standing there smiling softly at Liam. Of all the things to notice, Liam immediately fixated on the battered old backpack he remembered from their X-Factor days slung across one shoulder. Did that mean - was Zayn planning to stay?

“You’re looking for me?” His lips twitched, and he shrugged. “I’m right here, Liam. I’ve been right here all along.” His tone was light, but there was something desperately brave in his eyes, the sort of devil-may-care wildness that people get just before they hurl themselves off a cliff.

Liam’s hands clenched into fists. He felt like he couldn’t breathe.

“Are you?” He croaked, almost unable to believe his eyes. His heart was beating like a hummingbird in the cage of his chest. “Here, I mean? With me?”

Zayn threw back his shoulders, his soft liquid eyes staring unfalteringly into Liam’s. “Yes. I am, Leeyum.” God, just hearing his name said in that old familiar way was like music to Liam’s ears.

He swallowed, moving forward to touch Liam’s face lightly, and tilting it down so that they were looking into each other’s eyes. There was no laughter in his gaze. “I am here. If - if you want me?”

“Of course I want you,” Liam said baldly, like it was the most obvious statement in the world. “You’re the love of my life.”

“Jesus Liam, I—“ Zayn started as he pushed Liam against the wall, dropping the backpack he carried and slamming the door shut in one smooth motion. He crushed his body against Liam’s, took his face with both hands and captured his mouth with his own.

Liam kissed Zayn back without hesitation, kissing him with everything he had. He could feel the swelling length of Zayn’s cock through his joggers as he grabbed him round his waist to pull him closer, exploring his mouth with his tongue.

God he - he just wanted to touch. One hand clutched desperately at the slender slope of Zayn’s waist, one hand carded through his thick dark hair, so soft to the touch. A tiny part of Liam’s brain wanted to dedicate whole hours of his life to petting him like a giant house cat, twisting and stroking and making him purr.

The other (larger) part of his brain wanted to make him moan.

Zayn pulled away for a moment, gasping as Liam’s hips ground against his own. “Are you sure, Leeyum? Are you really sure about me? Because once we do this, then - I couldn’t go back. This is it for me, yeah?” He breathed against Liam’s lips.

“Yes, Zayn, ‘m sure. Please, please.” He moaned, leaning in for another kiss. Zayn couldn't help but kiss him back, stroking one hand softly through Liam’s hair, the other just gently framing the side of his face.

Liam started walking to the bedroom, dragging Zayn along behind him. Their progress was somewhat impeded by the fact that he refused to let Zayn go, stopping every thirty seconds to press him against a wall, or a door, or the kitchen counter, to lick into his mouth.

Once inside, door firmly closed to prevent Loki from intruding, Liam reluctantly pulled away from Zayn and smiled at him ruefully, ducking down to press a chaste, gentle kiss to his neck.

“We could um, just cuddle? If you want? I know that you’ve just, I mean. You’ve just come out of, a relationship and I’ve been in love with you forever but I don’t want to rush you, or rush this, I want to feel like we’re starting this right.” He huffed out a frustrated sigh. “What I’m trying to say is… we can do whatever you want. It’s totally up to you.”

“You really want to just cuddle?” Zayn asked, arching his brow at Liam challengingly.

Liam scoffed. “Of course I don’t want to just cuddle,” he said, stepping back and dropping his joggers to the floor. He felt his heart slam against his ribcage, his entire body throbbing to the beat of his pulse. Zayn couldn’t seem to pull his heavy lidded gaze away from Liam’s sizable cock, straining his tight boxer briefs.

“I want to make love to you.”

He pressed his body against Zayn’s, heart to heart, hip to hip. They were both still almost fully-clothed but Liam felt, for a second, like he could swoon from the heat coming off his soon-to-be lover’s body. Zayn was gasping quietly, rocking down against his thigh, as Liam sucked on his lower lip, prising open his mouth and laying claim to it. He pulled away, biting softly at Zayn’s chin.

“I want to be inside of you, I want to make you mine forever.”

He swept his hands down the length of Zayn’s body, tracing the curve of his waist and the cradle of his sharp hips. God, his arse was perfect. Just the right size for his hands, clenching in Liam’s grip as he kneaded his fingers into the sweet swell of muscle. He was so heated, he felt mad with it.

“I want to kiss you while I’m riding you and look into your eyes as you come and I want to do it again and again, until neither of us can remember our names, until the only thing you know for sure anymore is that I love you and you’re mine.”

“Oh my god,” Zayn whimpered, staring up at Liam, stunned and rumpled and mind blowingly beautiful. He surged forward and kissed Liam, pulling away to whimper against Liam's lips, “I meant to talk to you an’ explain things, like, tell you what’s been happening, discuss things as grown-ups, but,” he gasped against Liam’s mouth, “now I’m here and I just never ever want to stop kissing you and touching you.”

Liam manhandled Zayn down on to the bed and leaned over him, “God, to think that we could have started this five years ago… I just, I didn’t think I could ever have you.” He kissed along Zayn’s neck, making him shiver, as he devoured him with lips and teeth and tongue. He dragged a hand down his side, silken skin goose pimpling in the wake of his fingertips, pulling back after a minute to softly blow against a rapidly bruising mark in the salted hollow of Zayn’s throat, the taste of him in his mouth like nectar after so many years of wanting.

They nipped and kissed at each other’s lips, urgency mounting as they both sought out mouths and hands and soft, bare skin. “Get. Naked,” Zayn growled out through gritted teeth as Liam’s mouth made its way back down along his neck, clutching at his firm shoulders in desperation.

His eyelashes brushed against his cheeks as he stared up at Liam, heavy lidded and hot eyed. The tilt of his head exposed the vulnerable place where his shoulder met his neck, that spot where Liam had already left his mark, swollen and purpled by his mouth. Liam’s whole body felt electrified at the sight, he was almost light headed with it.

He looked up at the stretch of Zayn’s long, lean body against the sheets and rubbed his hand roughly along Zayn’s jean clad erection, trying to establish a modicum of self-control. “Have you thought about me naked before?” he asked, a soft, delighted smile crinkling his eyes, unable to resist the impulse to tease a little.

Zayn groaned in annoyance. “Leeyum. It’s hard not to when you refuse to wear a shirt on tour eighty percent of the time, and the rest of the time you’re in those stupid tank tops that show off your arms and I swear, it’s almost worse than when you’re actually topless.”

Liam sat back on his heels and grinned happily, pulling off his t-shirt and giving Zayn an eyeful of his chiseled chest and tight abs, skin stretched taut over rippling muscles and sprinkled with dark hair, a thin trail leading into his pants. Almost as soon as he wrenched the shirt over his head, he ducked back down, his head swimming with love and desire and need.

Groaning, the darker haired man twisted and pushed Liam down onto bed firmly, his dark eyes shining and lips slickly parted as he bent to lick along the lines of muscle on Liam's stomach with his tongue. He pulled back slightly, flashing an impudent look up at Liam and confessing shakily, “I’ve always wanted to do that.”

Liam grabbed for the other man, hauling his body up the bed until Zayn sat, balanced on his hips. Unbuttoning his jeans, he slid his hand inside his pants, stroking up and down the length his cock as he leaned up to kiss him again, panting hotly into his mouth, fumbling clumsily with his eagerness to finally, finally touch Zayn. The other man groaned through gritted teeth, his hips snapping forward. Liam felt his dick twitch wetly in his grasp as he stroked faster and swiped his palm over the dripping head.

With a whimper, Zayn clutched at Liam’s shoulders, grinding himself down on his clothed erection. “Weren’t you -” he gasped, nipping on Liam’s plush bottom lip “- supposed to be getting naked?”

Slipping out from under Zayn, Liam stepped off the bed and dropped his pants to his feet. He smirked at Zayn’s glazed expression, before he hooked his fingers into his boxer briefs, pulling them down and setting his cock free. Zayn swallowed thickly and his tongue darted out, wetting his lips with a rapid, shining glimpse of pink, eyes eager and knowing.

Liam didn’t make it back to the bed - in a flash, Zayn had slunk down on to his knees in front of him, grabbing his cock and mouthing wetly up the length of it. Liam moaned and ran his fingers through Zayn’s thick dark hair, resisting the urge to grab on and just cradling the curve of his head so, so gently as his hips twitched restlessly.

Zayn bobbed his head up and down on Liam’s dick, tonguing softly at the sensitive head and lapping at the precome that bubbled there. His eyes were so dark, pupils wildly dilated, as he sucked in slow, sweet pulses on Liam’s cock, his mouth hot and wet and perfect.

Liam felt his jaw slack and his eyelids drop as he stared down at the man in front of him, feeling winded in the sight of Zayn on his knees for him, and the feel of that perfect, maddening suction. Zayn smirked victoriously when he heard a muffled groan through laboured breathing and he pulled off, reaching up to stroke gently at the cut of Liam’s hips.

“Condoms? Lube? ” he murmured hoarsely, gazing up at Liam from under his lashes, one dark eyebrow arched inquiringly.

“In - in the bedside table.” Liam groaned, holding himself still through sheer iron force of will, as Zayn’s hand continuing to lazily pump his erection.

Zayn reached into his bedside table, fumbling around hopefully, looking for - ah! There it was. He pulled out a bottle of lube and a condom, hurriedly stripping himself of the last of his clothes. Liam stared - he couldn’t help it - at the irresistible acres of skin that Zayn uncovered, golden brown and smooth, marked with black ink and bursts of colour, stretched so tightly, so temptingly across the planes of his body.

He made a hungry, desperate noise and pushed him to the end of the bed, pulling one leg up on to the mattress and leaving the other hanging over the edge, fumbling with the bottle of lube one handed. Zayn shuddered as one of Liam’s cool, lube slicked fingers circled around his arse, gently petting at his hole before he carefully slipped inside. His only response was to push back against Liam’s finger, his hips twisting restlessly as he silently pleaded for more.

Liam leant in closer and kissed him sweetly, adding another finger, stretching Zayn patiently. “Is this - um, is this okay?” He managed to gasp. “How do I - I mean, I want to find that spot, y’know?” Liam wasn’t a complete novice, he’d done this before but never with another man. He knew the theory though, and he figured that enthusiastic application of theoretical knowledge had to count for something, right?

Zayn groaned, tilting his pelvis upwards and then shoving down desperately onto Liam’s fingers, writhing and hungry for more. “You just, like, crook your fingers up like -” and he made a come hither motion, his face flushed and blissed out with pleasure. “Like that.”

Liam trailed kisses down the tendon that pulsed oh-so temptingly in Zayn’s neck, twisting his thick fingers inside him slightly, inching up, up, and -

Zayn’s back arched with bliss as he moaned. “God yeah, that’s it, that’s it, Liam!” Liam inhaled sharply and clenched his jaw, steadfastly ignoring the throb of his cock between his legs. “C’mon Liam, gimme another, yeah? C’n take it!”

He pushed another finger inside him, petting gently at that spot that made Zayn writhe so beautifully. Zayn was so tight, but he took his fingers so easily, bearing down on his hand like he was desperate for it, like he’d die without something inside of him.

Liam’s teeth were fitted so tightly against each other, he felt like his jaw might crack. “S’that good babe? Shit, you’re so fucking tight,” he muttered into the meat of Zayn’s thigh, sucking a bruise there for good measure, nuzzling at the soft fuzz of his skin.

Zayn got impatient - he twisted up and grabbed Liam’s cock, pulling on it a few times and moaning, “For god’s sake, Leeyum, just give it to me already, yeah? Please, I need to feel you!”

With shaking hands, Liam ripped open the condom, stripping it on and gasping as he struggled to resist the urge to keep touching himself. He leant down and kissed Zayn hungrily, lining himself up. “I love you so much,” he moaned into his mouth, pressing forward steadily but insistently.

It was slow at first - Zayn was so, so, tight. He was gasping, eyes screwed tight and lashes wet with tears and Liam would have stopped, worried that it was too much for him but at the same time, he was clutching at him, his hips arching up sharply, needily. It felt unbelievable.

“God - Liam, Liam, yessssss,” Zayn sobbed, gasping raggedly, his hands white where they are gripping Liam’s shoulder, his neck. “Waited - wanted - oh, oh, please!”

Liam couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, so he just kissed him again, sipping from his mouth over and over as he slowly built up a rhythm, all good, strong, steady thrusts, pushing forward a little harder, a little faster with each beat until he was gripping Zayn’s knee and pounding into him, hitting Zayn’s prostate with almost every thrust. Zayn clutched at every part of his lover that he could reach, stroking along Liam’s arms reverently and gasping silently as he was pushed closer and closer to coming.

Liam glanced down to see Zayn jerking himself off, and he groaned, “Oh shit. Zayn, that’s so fucking… hot, Jesus. Zayn,” He hitched Zayn’s legs around his hips, pressing in as close as he possibly could so he could kiss him, over and over. He never wanted to be further apart from him than this ever, ever again.

Zayn was so close. It only took Liam whispering against his lips, “Look at me, darling,” to take him over the edge, before he opened his eyes and started coming.

Liam couldn’t take his eyes away from Zayn's face, feeling like he was seeing something rare and spectacular for the first time - the flush that rose up his neck and stole across his cheeks, the inky blackness of his lashes against the caramel of his cheeks as he screwed his eyes shut and sobbed out his pleasure. Liam never wanted to forget that moment, never wanted it to be over. Could they just stay frozen like that forever? Was that allowed?

Just moments later, he groaned. His body stiffened as he thrust - once, twice, and then came inside of Zayn, his face contorting in a rictus of ecstasy as he rode out the waves of his orgasm, hips twitched helplessly. Finally, he collapsed on top of Zayn in a sweaty heap, shuddering, letting his body settle heavily over his lover.

Zayn immediately wrapped both his arms and legs around him, clinging onto Liam and pulling him impossibly closer to his body. He pressed his face into Zayn’s neck and inhaled, relishing the combination of sweat and sex and cigarette smoke that he would now always associate with his lover.

As their breathing calmed, Zayn leaned up and kissed Liam softly. “Maybe we took it a little fast and maybe we should have talked, about everything, first but… that was probably the best thing that has ever happened to me, babe.” He smiled tenderly at Liam, brushing a sweetly curling tendril of off his forehead.

The other man smiled jubilantly, his eyes shining. “That was definitely the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” He leant forward, pressing his forehead against Zayn’s and looking deeply into his lover’s heavy lidded amber eyes. They were already fluttering closed, dark lashes brushing the dark circles that lay underneath.

Liam knew the road ahead wasn’t going to be easy - they still had a lot of arguments to resolve, discussions to have and people to face.

But lying there, Zayn’s arms and legs clinging to him tightly, their entire bodies pressed together like they were trying to crawl into each other, trying to become an entirely inseparable, totally indivisible creature, he also knew, deep in his bones, that they could do it. That they were going to make it.

They would be together, and that was all that mattered.