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Zayn's been quiet for days.
Liam knows it, knows too that he's been tip-toeing around the issue for weeks now. That it’s his fault that Zayn’s silent and skittish and not too happy.
(It’s been six weeks since they got drunk, since Liam accidentally whispered to Zayn "I have a crush on you" and when he ended up crying because he was, is so scared of those feelings, Zayn had pressed a kiss to his cheek. Had told him, "I have a crush on you too, babe," entwined their fingers, let Liam fall asleep on his shoulder and then petted his hair the next morning when he was throwing up in the studio loo).
He’s aware that he really should talk to Zayn about this—or even to Louis or Harry or Niall, because he knows they won’t judge him, but the thought of anyone finding out still has his stomach churning and his heart kicking up a notch.
Of course he’s known about his feelings for a while. Three years have been more than long enough for him to come to the realisation that he isn’t just staring at Zayn while they perform because he admires him. That it’s not normal to think of the way your mate looks in his swimming trunks (oh god, or while skinny dipping), not while you’re having a wank.
That it’s not normal to lean in for a hug and think, “An inch and we’ll be kissing.” To want the hug, but that kiss too.
He’s become a master at avoiding those thoughts though. Like, he’ll let Zayn touch him and he’ll touch Zayn back, but he’s careful to keep his mind blank.
Of course, then he slipped, but only because he was piss drunk.
He wants to beat himself up for it, feels miserable. He’s thrown up several times in the past month and a half, simply from being a nervous wreck, from not knowing where to go with these emotions of pure, pure and blinding fear.
Because while before he could ignore it, now he’s got Zayn’s eyes on him. Now—now he knows that it’s not just him, and Zayn looks at him like he’s expecting something more from him and that makes Liam want to cry because he can’t give Zayn what he wants. Not just yet. Maybe never if he stays afraid.
(It’s been three weeks since he and Zayn were talking in the back of the bus, the other boys blessedly absent until the moment Zayn had sat up and looked at him. Until Zayn bit his lip and his gaze dropped down to Liam’s mouth and he whispered, “Can I kiss you, Li?” And Liam shook his head, fumbled for an excuse as he got up from the couch and into his bunk because yes, but, no, no, no.)
So he continues to avoid being alone with Zayn, continues to look away from his eyes, continues to feel scared and miserable and alone.
-
He thinks the others want to corner him about his behaviour a couple of times. Louis is the one who gets closest, has himself and Liam in one room and his mouth opened, but then Paul’s calling out that they’re leaving.
Zayn’s the first who actually manages, though.
Liam sits on the bed as Zayn paces back and forth through the room. He doesn’t seem to know how to start, and Liam understands that, but he’s not—he can’t talk about this. He’s feeling sick, again, fumbling with a thread on his jeans.
“I can’t—“ Zayn starts, raking a hand through his hair. Stops walking. Starts talking again. “I can’t do this, Li. I’m—I’m sorry, babe,” and that shouldn’t send of redhotwarmth through his belly but it does, his pulse suddenly fluttering wildly at a nickname Zayn’s used for him for ages (but Zayn’s apparently fancied him for ages and that he knows now makes it so different). “I just. It’s taking so long and I don’t want to pressure you—“
“You are,” Liam croaks out. “Pressuring me. I’m sorry, Zayn, but-“
But instead of a nod, instead of Zayn going quiet all over again, he snaps at Liam. “But what, Li? I’ve been waitin’ for seven weeks. What’s so hard about it? Like, what?”
The quick response, the easiest one that’s coming to him so easily, used so often especially in his own head, lies thick on his tongue. I’m not gay.
And he’s not, of course he’s not, he did love Daniëlle when he was with her and he’s never not felt things for girls, does not identify with the way Louis talks about girls. But he’s also heard Harry talk, about boys and girls, and that. That makes sense to him, not when he thinks about any boy but when he thinks about Zayn.
He doesn’t say it.
“I just—“. I’m scared.
“You what, Liam?” Zayn gets more agitated, his hand petting his hair flat before pulling it back up. “What is it? I like you, you like me. Clearly you’re not homophobic then, are you?”
“No, I’m not-“ Liam manages, too scared to look at Zayn.
“Then what is it?”
“I’m scared,” he finally confesses, and Zayn does stop moving for a moment, going rigid.
“You’re scared. What of? You’ve already told me. You know the other lads won’t mind—“
“I can’t do it, Zayn, I just,” Liam shakes his head, and then Zayn’s walking to the door, his steps big and his shoulders stiff and he’s shaking his head and this isn’t want Liam bloody meant.
“If you can’t do this, Li,” Zayn is clearly pissed, and his glare is fucking terrifying. “If you can’t fucking do this, then I’m not gonna put any more effort into this either. You’ve had the time to sort yourself out.”
And that has Liam panicking because he does, does want to be able to kiss Zayn at some point in the future, just not when he’s so scared he thinks he might throw up any moment. His body acts before he can think, though, so he is up and halfway across the room to where Zayn is and then Zayn’s body is pressed between Liam and the wall and their lips are close, so close—
And Zayn’s hands are pushing against his chest, and if this had been anyone else Liam would’ve backed away right now but it’s, it’s now or never and he’s scared but he’s even more scared that he’ll lose Zayn and then he’s kissing him, desperately meshing their mouths together even as his knees are trembling with fear.
The world doesn’t tip off its axis, though. It doesn’t burst into flames.
When Zayn relaxes against him, his hands smoothing over the muscles of Liam’s stomach and then coming to rest on his hips, Liam can still breathe.
His mind doesn’t explode, it just goes quiet for a while as he sinks into the kiss.
It’s mostly much, so much easier than Liam had expected. He doesn’t mind Zayn’s beard or, when he brings up his hand to rest on Zayn’s collarbone, the lack of boobs. He just really enjoys it.
Zayn’s the one who breaks the kiss, nipping at Liam’s lower lip before he takes his face between both hands.
“Thanks,” he says, with a little smile.
And Liam’s pretty sure he’s blushing, and it’s a bit awkward when they finally step away from each other because he’s not sure where to leave his hands or where to look. Every time he looks at Zayn he thinks, “I kissed him,” and it’s on repeat in his brain but it’s not—it’s not bad, particularly.
The awkwardness gets even worse when they walk into the room where the other boys are, though.
Mostly thanks to Louis, who takes one look at the both of them and shrieks, “Li’s got beard burn, I called it, Harry—“ before Harry slaps him while giggling at Zayn and Liam a little. Niall just looks glad (probably because they aren’t fighting anymore).
And Liam, Liam just shrugs even though he’s blushing furiously and when Zayn stands close to him, he doesn’t step away. It’s... it’s still scary, but it feels good.