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In the morning fog that wandered through the hills, a black sedan quietly rolled into the spot by the bench, as it did the first Sunday of every month. Languidly, he stepped out and felt the heavy, damp air sink into his lungs, making it harder to breathe than it already was. As if this entire ritual of his weren't difficult enough. Coming here was like pressing a finger against a healing bruise, only this was one that would never heal. In one hand, he tightly clutched a bouquet of flowers, and with the other, he shut the door.
He walked up the familiar canopy-covered gravel trail he’d tread over these long years, hearing the familiar crunch accompanying each step, and let himself be enveloped by the low hanging shade of the linden trees. The hills took form past the wooden railing as he went higher up until he could see a verdant expanse dotted with small blocks of white. At the top, he ducked through more trees and foliage to a clearing, purposely secluded and surrounded by a circle of untrimmed bushes. Above him, the layers of branches formed a thin trail of light, guiding it to the center of the circle. He hovered at the edge, a lump forming in his throat. Swallowing it, he took a breath to steel himself and went forward, setting the red carnations down. He pocketed his hands, pouting somewhat, and rocked back on his heels.
“Hey, how’s it going?”
The tall, engraved stone in the middle responded with an expected silence, but Zayn pictured him smiling and greeting him back anyway, a mirthful laughter echoing in his ears. He’d heard it so often it was one of the few things he could never forget, even if time inevitably chipped away at the precious memories of his friend. His eyes glossed over the date, and he glanced down at his feet with a slight grimace, still in disbelief that it had been almost five years.
“I’ve been promoted at work,” he started, “which I'm sort of skipping right now to talk to you. I can't believe I'm working on a Sunday. It's unheard of. Anyway, they've offered me the position in Islington, and I've taken it. It pays much better, and I can afford to send Patrick to a better school.”
An embittered chuckle escaped his throat as he said, “It’s ironic isn't it? I’m moving closer to where you used to live and it makes it harder for me to see you.”
“Anna's dating, finally,” he continued after a short pause, “It took her a long time to move on. She really loved you, but you know that, and it took a lot of courage for her to keep your promise. I ran into her at a Nando's - yeah, I know, I still eat there - and she's doing well. I think you'd approve of him. He doesn't look like you at all, to be honest, but he's nice to her and she's smiling again. And she's cut her hair short! Just the way you wanted it too. It really brings out her smile.
“Perrie's also well. Chances are good she'll get a promotion soon, but I think she just wants to spend more time with Patrick, especially now that we have to relocate. She's chuffed and keeps telling me about furniture. She's taking me out to dinner at that French restaurant to celebrate, and I know she's using this as an excuse to get me a present. Not that she's said anything, but we both know she's absolute shit at keeping secrets.”
Zayn laughed and imagined that they were laughing together, like that time in the diner, when Niall accidentally snorted pepper flakes to figure out what they smelled like. The smile gradually dissolved from his face as he went on, trying to ignore his singeing eyes.
“Louis called me on Friday in the middle of the night. Woke me up just to chat. Now that he's a football sensation, he actually makes time to keep in touch,” he snorted, “He's currently in New York on holiday. I think he's lonely, but at least he's with family. He hasn't been quite the same since he and El broke up, but he's trying. God knows he's trying. He's dated here and there but there really isn't anyone he fancies. I mean, hell, they almost got married, and she called it off out of the blue...”
He sighed and paused again, trying to push out the memories of the media fiasco that followed that day.
“He asked about you. I guess that's a good sign. He doesn't like talking about the uni days anymore. But he misses you, you know, although he wouldn't admit it even if you held him at gunpoint. He brought up that time the five of us went to a curry shop and the guy couldn't understand us, so he just gave us all random dishes, pretending he'd done nothing wrong at all.”
A long silence followed. Zayn struggled to catch a breath and blinked rapidly in a weak attempt to conceal the red creeping into his eyes. He pulled at his collar, keeping it off his neck long enough to catch a few decent breaths, and cracked a specious smile.
“Speaking of which, Niall’s flown back to Ireland for the time being. His dad’s sick, but it shouldn't be too serious. He’s handed control of the nightclub and hotel over to Addy, but we both know she’s loads better at managing money than Niall is. And Emily’s growing up so quickly. She has Addy’s red hair and says the funniest things, and sometimes, she’ll say it with Niall's accent. It’s uncanny.”
He broke off, stopping the choked sob before it could come out. Hastily, Zayn wiped at his cheeks, eyes burning. He looked away and shut his eyes as tightly as he could and tried to will the tears away. He dabbed them off with his sleeve and once he felt level, he turned back around.
“Sorry, I just— I’m not supposed to do that in front of you,” he muttered, voice thick and broken.
“Anyway,” he went on, sniffling, “Harry’s coming to Islington with me. He and Emma are coming back from Norfolk and teaching at Oxford. They’ve been invited there. Oh, lord. He’s apparently discovered some chemical that could potentially treat cancer,” Zayn laughed incredulously, “Isn’t that wild? We never pegged Harry to be the brilliant one, did we? I always thought you’d be the one who’d end up doing something like that.”
Haltingly, Zayn strode forward and lightly swept his fingertips over the top of the gravestone, eyeing the portrait of a young, happy Liam, pretending that he was running his hands through those brown curls like before. He still wondered what he’d look like now, were he still alive.
“Today’s my birthday, by the way,” he spoke, low and hushed, “I can’t believe I’m 27 already. I think you’re the only one who ever remembered. Did you know that every year, I still blow out the candles wishing on them? I’m silly, I know. It’s always the same wish too, but you never seem to be there when I open my eyes. And I keep thinking that maybe— that maybe there’d be some miracle— or excep—”
His breath failed him and his heart ached as it trudged along. Zayn knelt down, gripping the sides for support, and touched his forehead against the cold slab of stone and shut his eyes, pushing out hot tears that trailed down his cheeks. The only promise of theirs that Zayn ever broke was that he couldn't cry after Liam died, but Zayn figured he'd be forgiven today, and that would be Liam’s birthday present to him. Under his breath, he counted to ten, and after, he wiped his face dry with a ragged breath. He searched within for the warm, eternal smile and listened for the soft laughter, and he felt the knots in his heart loosen.
“I love you, Li,” he whispered, rising up, “I'll talk to you later.”
He placed his palm against the stone and in a swift movement, he turned around and headed out of the clearing and down the trail back to his car. All the while, he told himself not to glance back, the urge to do so increasing the farther he got. He let out a pent-up breath as he sat down, turned the keys, and pulled out of the lot, silently wishing to himself as the hills disappeared from view.