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Summary
Fuck Niall, honestly. Fuck him for telling Zayn about this – he of all people should know that despite his leather-jacket-and-cigarette façade, underneath it all Zayn is just a hopeless romantic. And when dealing with hopeless romantics you can’t go serving mysterious, hunky, salt-water-washed strangers up on a silver platter. You just can’t.
It's a simple concept, really: Take a photo, then leave a photo. But, like most simple things, Zayn manages to make it much more complicated. So by the time Zayn meets Liam for the first time, he's been carrying a picture of him around in his pocket for nearly five months.