Z.A.Y.N.

TRACK 2

Despite the bossy attitude that Zain takes whenever their timetables are brought up, this time, Liam only has to wait three days for his next text.

Got some free time in a few hours

The address attached to the text that had come in at six that morning wasn't far from the diner they spent a couple hours getting to know each other at a few days ago. In fact, the second Liam's maps application opens, he doesn't have to guess where he's assigned to meet that day, it's obvious by the ethnic neighborhood: Zain's place of work.

Even though the singer could see that the message had been delivered before sunrise, he didn't actually read it and respond that he'll be over at round ten, traffic depending, until an hour later.

Walking to the Chinese restaurant from a nearby valet car park, Liam wonders if showering was worth it after his session at the gym earlier. He'd been training hard as of lately, wanting to put on some muscle for a change, rather than living with his lean build for another winter, but given how Zain had smelled in the past, he wondered if the shower would go to waste now that he was going to spend however long he was allowed in a place full of such strong scents. Fish scents nonetheless.

Except, as he walks through the doors of the noted storefront at the beginning of an extremely deserted Chinatown, his nose doesn't pick up any hints of seafood at all, only onions.

He's in the middle of trying to piece together what meal might be cooking when his thoughts are interrupted by a medium sized, older Asian gentleman wearing black trousers and a white apron covering, what looks to be, a blue button down. Liam's head spins as he's being bombarded and yelled at in a foreign language he's got no way of identifying.

"I'm here to see Zain," he reasons, eyes blown wide in worry at having possibly walked into the wrong establishment, subsequently embarrassing himself into the next universe. He's about to get his phone out to show the man the address he'd been sent, but another voice cuts into the very one sided conversation.

Liam doesn't even care that the white apron over Zain's usual black jeans and t-shirt is stained with who knows what, he's just glad to see someone familiar - someone who can speak whatever language the other worker can to let him know that Liam's harmless.

After the old man backs down and nods to Zain in understanding, he retreats to one of the tables in the middle of the restaurant where he was sitting when Liam walked in.

"Sorry about that," Zain says as he passes Liam to lock the front door. "He didn't know you were coming and we don't open until noon."

Not knowing where to go, and very well aware that the man who's back at his seat is watching him like a hawk, Liam keeps still. "You know Chinese?" The language wasn't entirely a shot in the dark. Given their location, it was an educated enough guess that Liam didn't feel too much like an idiot voicing it.

"Simplified Mandarin, yeah." Zain looks over his shoulder at Liam when he walks past him once more, motioning for him to follow. "I mean, I'm not fluent, but I'm getting there. I've got about six years under my belt, but it's so different from English or Urdu that I'm going to need a lifetime to be able to consider myself half decent."

From living in London as long as he has, Liam's become aware of a world of cultures. It's the only way he knew what part of the planet spoke Urdu and he was glad for it. England was a small country with lots of immigrants, but Liam hadn't paid a lot of attention to that when he was younger. Hearing someone the same age as him be able to speak three languages, especially as difficult as the ones Zain knows, reminds Liam of how much he regrets not taking the required French classes in school more seriously.