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Even in medical school, Zayn discovers that people are flakes. Sure, everyone thinks that he's a nice guy, and they never fail to acknowledge him when he enters the room, but they never hit him up to hang out or even to study together. Because they assume that he has other friends that he hangs out with. And by other friends, they mean the roommates who spend all of their time with their newfound girlfriends.
Although Braden broke up with Rebecca in the fall, they made up over Christmas Break, and he was absolutely thrilled about that. He still hasn't forgiven her for burning his pot lid. Stainless steel was not idiot-proof, as he had discovered. Tom and Cory both got girlfriends in January, so that left Zayn as the sole bachelor in the four-by-four.
Coming to medical school, he didn't realize that he would be the only gay kid in a graduating class of 150. Coming out of the closet was hard enough during college, and now that he was out and about and honest with everyone, including himself, it seemed that he had landed in a desert with no oasis in sight.
He did hold out hope for a classmate named Mike, but as soon as he accepted the friend request on Facebook, he clicked on Mike's 'About' section and rolled his eyes when he saw "Interested in: Women".
So, even though he had no luck with any of the med students, he thought that he still had his friends.
Which is why he's holding out hope that he just entered the bar early and they'd show up any minute now. After all, Emily texted him "We'll be there at 9!" And knowing Emily, she probably meant somewhat later, so he showed up at 9:15, hoping to arrive when they've already snagged a table.
Instead, after the bouncer checks his ID and lets him in, he ends up looping the ground floor and deck twice and leaving just as soon when he spots absolutely no one from his class anywhere. The hostess shoots him an apologetic look, one that says "I'm sorry that you got stood up by your friends again,” and waves goodbye. He pulls out his phone and shoots Emily and Laura's roommate a text, wondering when they'll be coming.
He heads over to the parking lot across the bar and leans against the base of the statue, checking the news and Facebook updates while waiting for a response. About half an hour passes before he runs out of news and things to check and decides that it's too cold to wait any longer, and that they were probably never going to come anyway.
It makes Zayn feel like he's the only one who ever holds up his end of the deal, that he is the definition of consistency in a place where nothing is. Since high school, he's made it a priority to show up on time and honor his time commitments, and it's what helped him get into medical school, but he's learned that the people around him, no matter the age or place, always end up standing him up.
A senior in engineering once told him that he simply had too high a standard for friends and people in general, but he had to wonder how high his standards really were. Was it so difficult to send a text? Was it so difficult to be punctual? Were his standards really high or had everyone else’s simply atrophied over the decade?
It's frustrating. He tries not to feel as upset as he is when he trudges through the snow and ice back to his car, where he parked in front of a frat house. Two girls, one of whom is vomiting in an alleyway, shout "Happy Valentine's Day!" to him and he just awkwardly waves back. Thanks for the reminder, he thinks, not that he needs one.
It's not even 10 yet when he gets to his car. He drives back to his apartment and the only thing he can think is "Pity party, table for one." He sings along to “Hiding My Heart” when it comes on the radio, deeming himself a little pathetic for knowing every word, but he figures it’s absolutely appropriate for the time being.
It's ironic that for all their "professionalism" training and whatnot, that people would learn to hold themselves to a higher standard with everyone, not just patients. That teaching how fragile the body is would somehow instill the notion that every moment spent is precious. Shadowing in various clinics exposed him to diseases which had no cure, people whose suffering he might never understand but could try to palliate, and when he thinks back to the man whose wife had fallen into a coma, he swore to love someone as he did her.
But all that right now is far from his mind. He feels unappreciated and unwanted.
"Whatever," he mutters to himself. After all, his goal is to ace his boards, impress his attendings during rotations, and land himself an awesome residency in San Francisco, where he hopes that dating is a possibility.
He ignores Tom and Jess' giggling coming through Tom's door when he returns from the failed excursion and holes himself up in his room, his neuro notes strewn everywhere on his desk. "Just you and me," he says. He sheds his jacket, throwing it on his bed, and hunkers down on where he left off.
About ten minutes into a section about inflammatory myopathies, a clear knock rings through the apartment. He waits for Cory to answer, as he almost always orders food on the weekends, but when Cory stays in his room laughing at some stupid show, Zayn heads for the door.
He's surprised when it flies open because it's his neighbor from upstairs. The one he's sort of had a crush on since he moved in to the complex. They hang out from time to time but nothing serious. Just... neighborly interactions. Besides, he's probably straight, like everyone else on his godforsaken campus.
Zayn’s heart quickens somewhat at the sight of his toned body barely concealed by the wispy tank top and he wills himself to speak.
"Hey, Liam, what's up?"
"Hey, uh, is your water working?"
“Not sure. Let’s check.”
Zayn heads for the kitchen sink, followed closely by Liam. He tries the tap and it works just fine.
"Shoot, I think I have to call maintenance," Liam says, brushing a hand over his face. Zayn tries not to stare at the bulge of his biceps as they flex. Or any bulges, really, because they’re just about everywhere.
"Well, did you need anything in particular?" Zayn asks.
"I was going to shower but I guess that's going to have to wait."
Liam thanks Zayn and is on the way out when something catches his attention. He crouches down by the TV and sifts through the list of cartridges before stopping and holding one up with a bright smile.
"You have Mario Kart?" he asks, excitement obvious.
"Uh, yeah. Braden brought it over when he came back from break. Fancy a round?"
"Oh, bring it on!”
A minute later, Zayn finds himself on the couch right next to Liam, intensely focused on his character Toad. He’s about to win when Liam throws a blue shell, Mario passing Toad by and securing first place.
"Awww c'mon!" Zayn shouts, throwing his hands up.
"Don't hate the player, hate the game," Liam deadpans.
Zayn laughs hard at that and he realizes that he's forgotten all about being left alone at the bar. Liam makes him happier and less cynical than most of his "friends" do, and for now, that suffices.
"So, why are you alone on Valentine's?" Liam asks in between rounds. His eyes are still glued to the screen, cycling through racetrack after racetrack.
"Probably because I'm an undesirable basket case," Zayn lets out, almost too casually.
"You can't be serious," Liam says, nudging him with his shoulder, "You're all my female friends talk about. 'Ooo, he's so mysterious and pretty.'"
Zayn snorts and adds, "Yeah, well. Too bad none of the guys think so. Why are you alone?"
"It's not a holiday I tend to celebrate."
Zayn hums. He’s about to comment on how handsome he finds Liam and how any girl would be foolish to turn him down but leaves it when they start another race. Again, they glue their eyes to the screen, occasionally shouting or pushing each other to try and win.
Midway through, Liam pauses the game. Zayn breaks away from the TV and looks over to Liam, who’s looking down at the ground.
"Zayn..." he says, voice low and cautious.
"Yeah? What is it?”
Liam looks up at Zayn and he swallows the lump in his throat. It takes Zayn a second to realize just how close they're sitting next to each other. He can smell the sweat and musk emanating past Liam's thin shirt, and for a moment, he's not sure of what's going to happen.
It happens quickly, and he doesn't grasp what's going on until it's halfway over. Liam's lips are on his, and they're warm and soft and plump and a thousand different, pleasant adjectives. Zayn leans into it, slipping his tongue through Liam’s lips.
At some point, they break it off. It was simple and a bit passionate, and it left Zayn dizzy, flushed and overwhelmingly hot. Liam blinks a few times before smiling and burying his burning face in the crook of Zayn’s neck.
"Been wanting to do that since you first moved in," he admits.
"Really?" Zayn replies. "Me, too."
Liam looks up at that and smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He checks his watch and sees that it’s still a few minutes before February 15th. He caresses Zayn’s cheeks and jaw with a hand and whispers, "Happy Valentine's Day, Zayn."
"Happy Valentine's Day to you, Liam."