We're Okay

Chapter 9

Zayn

It was just work. He was just helping out a friend. Liam could be considered his friend at this point, he told himself. And Louis, every time Louis brought it up. It didn’t have to be a big deal, as long as neither of them made a big deal out of it. And neither of them did.

It was just work. Liam would come over, bringing his bag filled with his books and pens and, once, he brought a bag of takeaway and two cans of coke. Zayn would grab the book and start reading, and Liam would write down what he found important.

And he’d ask questions.

After the second question, Zayn knew that they weren’t just randomly blurted out. They were deliberate questions, ones that Liam thought before asking, and ones whose answers apparently meant something to Liam, like he wanted to get to know Zayn, no matter how trivial it all was.

Within three days Liam knew his favourite artists (Usher, Chris Brown, Paper Route, Nirvana, Pink Floyd), what season was his favourite (Autumn), whether he liked Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings more (Lord of the Rings, because he hadn’t actually read Harry Potter), and more unimportant things that felt weirdly important, when Liam asked about them.

It was just friendly. Friends knew those things about each other. It wasn’t, like, weird that Liam would ask, or that Zayn would answer. They were just questions asked between paragraphs and chapters, between important notes being jotted down.

And when they finished reading the book and Zayn put on the movie, which he’d had to get Louis to borrow from his English teacher, that was all they did. Zayn couldn’t remember the last time he’d just ‘watched a movie’ with someone who wasn’t Louis, alone. He’d had girls and guys over to watch movies before, but that wasn’t really what they’d do. And yet, that’s what he and Liam did. They sat on opposite ends of the couch, a bowl of popcorn between them, and just watched.

When Liam finished his paper -- with Zayn hovering over him the whole time to correct grammatical errors or to point out when a paragraph sounded too blocky, or how he could stretch out the word count by making a certain piece of information a different point-- that was it. And when Zayn watched him leave that night with a gleeful smile on his face, it definitely didn’t make Zayn feel sick to his stomach. And he didn’t wish that Liam had more time to work on it just so he’d have an excuse to spend all his time with Zayn.

Louis called him early on Saturday, sounding just as weirdly carefree as he always did lately. He had no idea what the hell had happened to his best friend, but it was weirdly intoxicating, Louis’ wonderful mood. And it made Zayn a bit sick, too.

“Get up,” Louis ordered immediately. “I’m coming over, and I’m bringing paint. Meet me downstairs.”

Zayn frowned at the phone and rolled over in his bed. He was sleeping in that stupid hoodie again, because his room was cold, and the hoodie was warm.

“I told you,” Zayn groaned. “My landlord said I can’t paint.”