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Liam and Zayn had had their fair share of fights. Years of a committed relationship is bound to have it’s ups and downs, but it had never been like this. It had never been this bad—trading verbal blows like they were in a fucking boxing ring, like it was a fight to the death and by God one of them were going to come out on top.
“It’s not the same thing, Liam, and you should know that!”
“Jesus, Zayn,” Liam muttered back, bringing a hand up to scrub roughly down his face. “I thought we were on the same page about all of this.”
Zayn let out a bitter laugh across from him. “Yeah, and I thought you loved me.”
Liam’s head jerked up, his gaze burning hot with sudden anger as it met Zayn’s own. “What did you just say?” He growled, his voice dangerously low.
“I’m just saying, Liam. You’re not even trying to see this from my point of view.” Zayn put his hands on his hips, his scowl deepening.
And Liam, well, Liam did his best to hide the sharp, sudden stab of hurt that moved through him. Dimly, he was aware Zayn had meant for his comment to hurt, that he wanted it to hurt and that was the only reason he had said it. They both had a tendency to use sharp words during a fight—but they were never. They were never like this. It was never questioning the love they had for each other. Their intelligence, maybe. Their judgment? Sure. But the love they had for each other? Liam had never even thought to call it into question—he knew Zayn loved him, he hadn’t ever doubted that, even when they fought. But Zayn—apparently Zayn didn’t feel the same way and Liam felt—he didn’t. Liam didn’t know how he felt about that. Hurt. Angry. An overwhelming sense of grief.
“Get out,” Liam barked, trying to focus on the anger he was feeling and obviously startling Zayn in the process, if his jump was any indication.
“What?” Zayn asked.
“I said,” Liam hissed. “Get. Out.”
Zayn shook his head, confusion creeping over his feature. “W-why would I get out? Liam what the fuck are you on about? Why are you—”
But Liam was too angry to listen, too worked up by Zayn careless jab to even think straight. He reached out, grabbing for the nearest object to lob at Zayn. It was his sketchbook—filled with countless doodles of Zayn, of their dogs, of happy moments Liam wanted to hold onto—and he watched as it arched through the air, his throw wide on purpose. He wanted Zayn to shut up and leave, he didn’t actually want to hurt him.
Still, even as he felt the book leave his fingertips, he regretted the action. Regretted the ramifications it would have, the fear he might see in Zayn’s eyes, the damage it might do to their relationship.
Zayn ducked, looking back up at Liam with wide, wide eyes when the impact never came despite the dull thud of the sketchbook making contact with something—the wall, of course it was the wall. Liam loved Zayn, he would never do anything to hurt him on purpose, even half out of his mind with rage and grief as he was.
“Liam,” Zayn breathed, his expression more confusion and caution than fear—but it was there, barely, just lingering. Liam felt like he was choking. He was only very dimly aware that he was shaking. His hands, his knees, his whole fucking body. He was trembling like a leaf, his mind playing Zayn’s words over and over again.
I thought you loved me. I thought you loved me. I thought you loved me. Like a sick fucking mantra of Zayn’s doubt; like a chant of Liam’s obvious mediocracy.
Apparently he couldn’t even love Zayn right, not if he was so easily able to say something like that—like Liam’s love was so inconsequential that it became a throw away line in an argument in order to hurt him.
Liam felt like he couldn’t breathe, like his throat was closing up on him and his vision was starting to blur. Tears, Liam realized with a jolt. He was crying, his body shaking with the effort to suppress it. It wasn’t working.
“Liam,” Zayn started again, taking a step forward, but no. No, that’s not what Liam wanted. What Liam wanted was for Zayn to leave, for him to walk away and just let Liam sort his thoughts in privacy.
“I said leave,” Liam heaved. He reached out, blindly grasping for something again—his pencil, it was sitting next to his sketchbook—and throwing it again, the pencil arching even further away than the notebook had. Zayn didn’t even flinch this time. “Just…please just go.”
“No,” Zayn murmured, taking a slight step forward. He was still so far away—a rooms length away. It felt like miles. “Li, tell me what’s going on. What happened? What did I miss?”
Liam shook his head. He couldn’t—he couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to. His throat was so tight now, the all too familiar sting of tears closing his throat off to everything but a choked-out sob. And then—then the ground was closing in on Liam, too. The ground getting closer and closer until impact was imminent. Liam’s knees hit the floor with a jarring thud, the pain reverberating up his spine and causing pain to splinter in all directions.
He was—he was so lost right now. His reaction to Zayn’s words so violent, and he wasn’t even sure why. Why did—why did Zayn’s doubt in him cause him so much pain?
“Liam,” Zayn gasped, rushing across the room to wrap Liam in his arms. “Liam, baby, sweetheart, please. Talk to me. God, Liam please tell me what’s going on. What is it, baby? What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” Zayn wound a hand around Liam’s back, the other coming up to stroke the hair on his forehead back. He ducked down, trying to meet Liam’s blurry gaze.
And Liam knew, he knew, in that moment why Zayn’s words had effected him so harshly. Maybe to Zayn they were casual, a way to cut Liam to the bone and make him angry—and they did, God, did they make him angry at first—but it was more than that. Liam had spent over half his life in love with this boy, doing everything to prove it to Zayn. And the thought, just thinking about Zayn doubting that? Thinking about Zayn doubting everything they had worked towards—worked so fucking hard for? It was soul crushing. It filled Liam with a sense of hopelessness and dread—if Liam has spent most of his life trying to show his love for Zayn and Zayn still doubted that? Fuck, but it made Liam want to die.
“No, no, no, no, no, Liam please, sweetheart. God, no. I don’t think that,” Zayn was muttering into Liam’s hair, his sentences jumbled and mostly filled with ‘no’s and ‘I’m sorry’s. It didn’t make sense—why Zayn was saying that—until it registered that most of Liam’s stream of consciousness had been vocalized—without even realizing it, he’d told Zayn exactly what had made him so desperate and wretched in that moment.
“Zayn,” Liam croaked, his voice shaky and choppy and more breaks than actual, coherent sounds. “Zayn, I do. Please I do love you, don’t—”
“No, god, Liam, I know. I know you do, sweetheart. You’ve done nothing but prove it. I didn’t—I didn’t mean it. I was angry and I wanted, wanted. God, Liam, I’m so sorry. I know you love me. I’ve never doubted that, okay? I’m just so fucking stupid sometimes, I—”
Liam let out a wet laugh, his body still shaking and his mind still reeling, still grasping at the sheer amount of emotion coursing through him right now. He launched himself into Zayn’s arms, cutting off whatever the other man was saying.
“Zayn,” he choked. “I need, please, I need—”
“Whatever you want, Li. Just tell me, please. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you, just ask. I promise.”
“Just, please, Zed. Please, hold me and never let go.”
It was Zayn’s turn to let out a wet chuckle, his grip on Liam tightening just this side of painful. “Never, Li. God, I’m never letting you go anywhere. Even when I’m dumb, I’ll—”
“I’m dumb sometimes, too,” Liam mumbled, and Zayn laughed. Bright and loud, and so, so soothing for Liam’s still-cracked heart.
“So we’ll be dumb together, then. Forever. God, I love you so much, Li.”
Liam burrowed further into Zayn’s arms, still shaky and his vision still blurred with tears. But—but Zayn was holding him, and Zayn knew he loved him, and that was all that mattered—that was all that ever mattered.
“I love you, too, Zed.”