Archive of Our Own ^beta

January 2014

Zayn's been asleep since he got home two days ago, and he wakes up feeling no more rested and just as much like he's breaking as when he got back from his family's home. He thinks, for about the tenth time, that he shouldn't have left. That he should have sold this huge empty house and gone home and let himself and his crushing misery be babied. He couldn't, though — he hadn't been able to take it, the long pitying glances and the words of empty encouragement and the well-meaning of people he loves and has always counted on, but who can't fix this. He'd been there, in the room that serves as his but isn't really at all anymore, and after a while, it had just been too much. He'd felt like he needed to at least pretend to be doing better and making progress. He felt like that was what people wanted to see.

He couldn't do it. He's not better. Every day feels worse, actually. He wanted to wallow and not feel guilty. He wanted to be alone and devastated without letting anyone down. So he'd left, promising he'd be okay, and he’d come home and slept for two days.

And when he wakes up, tired and hurting in every cell, the whole fucking world has changed.

He wakes up, and outside, sirens are echoing, and it's darker than it should be. It feels — wrong. Worse than before, and the world has felt wrong to Zayn for months. He picks up his phone and —

And apparently, it's the actual zombie apocalypse. Actual, literal-eating-people-risen-from-the-grave-zombies are a thing Zayn's missed in the past two days. He blinks at his phone and resists, just barely, the urge to throw it at the wall. He goes to his living room and turns on the tv, watching the news in horror, until he falls into a nightmarish sleep.

The next time Zayn wakes up, there's a figure leaning over him, and his heart nearly stops. He sits up and flails wildly for something to use in defense, thinking, probably irrationally, that he's killed a video game zombie or two before, so maybe he's not totally fucked — until a familiar voice says,

"Just me, bro," and then, in the television lights, Zayn can see the very-much-alive face of Niall. Oh.

"You're not supposed to sneak up on people during a zombie uprising," Zayn says. Niall rolls his eyes,

"I called you, like, twenty times, and I rang the bell, and I stomped around while bringing all this in. Not sneaking," Niall says.

"What stuff? And how did you get in?" Zayn asks. Not that he's not, actually, absurdly glad to see Niall, who is the only other person in the world who actually gets it, who is just as raw and jagged as Zayn right now.

"You made us — " Niall stops and winces. "With the key you gave me. And supplies. We've got an outbreak to survive."

"Oh," Zayn says.

(He did give them all keys, he remembers that now. He'd been stupidly proud and giddy, passing them off like treasures. Grinning when Liam had blushed and Louis had quipped that he was going to steal all of Zayn's stuff now and Harry — )

"Yeah, they dropped it all off for us. We're supposed to go to some secret location, but I had Paul drop me here instead," Niall says, nodding.

"Wait, what?" Zayn asks, frowning, and trying to pull himself back to the conversation.

"Management came to see me. They probably didn't think you'd let them in. We've got all these supplies, food and water and weapons and tools and plywood and shit, and we're supposed to go to some top-secret pop star location, but — "

"But?" Zayn prompts, glancing around at the boxes Niall has brought.

"I thought — no one is allowed to cross borders or really travel- so I can't go home anyway, you either, and I figured, if anyone can ride this out together, it's you and me, yeah? Like, we can board up your place and hide out here, and if — I mean," Niall stops, but Zayn gets it anyway. And he agrees, he doesn't want to hide anywhere but his own house. And he, yeah, if he can't go back to his family (he swallows down the lump of panic at that. They'll be fine. They will.) then there is literally no one else alive he'd rather ride out the potential end of the world with than Niall.

"Yeah," he says. Niall nods and then ducks his head, a little overwhelmed gesture, like now that he's laid out his plan he needs a minute. Zayn thinks he needs a minute too, so he reaches out and puts a hand on Niall's shoulder. Niall leans forward immediately, wrapping his arms around Zayn. They hold tight in the hug for a long time, just breathing.

Two-fifths of a famous boyband, just on the edge of sobbing, wrapped in each other in a mansion while actual fucking zombies prowl outside. It's one way to go out, Zayn supposes.

Still, they're not knocked out yet. They've got some fight in them. So when they break apart, they get up and board up every window and exit; they put away food; they reinforce any spot that looks vulnerable, and they look through a box of weapons. For a second, it's almost thrilling.

It's the thrill, or maybe just the hysterical slap-happy panic, that makes Zayn say,

"Lou'd be so angry he's missing this," before he drops the gun in his hand on the floor, the clang of it echoing under the weight of what he's just said. It hurts.

"Might not be," Niall says, then winces again like he wished he hadn't said anything at all.

"What?" Zayn asks. For a minute he genuinely doesn't catch it, the implication honestly doesn't hit him.

"I — nothing," Niall says, looking guilty.

"No. What?" Zayn says. He feels something like a scream building up.

"Well, just like, they said — told me — it's topic secret and all, no one knows, and it coulda been- there's been so much chaos — they said crazed fans even — but. The graves. They're. Not in them," Niall says, getting progressively paler the more he talks.

Zayn feels his vision go blurry, feels his stomach flip, and then he vomits and gags into the nearest empty box; there's no food in his stomach. He hasn't eaten in days.

Niall moves over quickly and runs his hand in circles over Zayn's back and he coughs and throws up until his mouth tastes like acid and blood. Then he falls back into Niall, and they sit on the floor and shake and tremble and don't talk about it, or talk about anything at all for hours.

It's days before either of them is able to keep food down.

September 2014

The last thing Liam remembers is being in a van, snuggled between Louis and Harry, the two of them whispering messages and making Liam pass them along. ("Liam, tell Harold we've just passed an old woman wearing the same shirt he was wearing yesterday.") They're stuck in traffic and restless. It's not much of a game, but it's something. Harry is whispering some incredibly long story in Liam's ear that he's not sure how he's going to remember all of to repeat back to Louis, and Louis is poking his finger into Liam's cheek as Harry talks and then —

And then maybe, somehow, he falls asleep. Or maybe that was earlier today, or even yesterday. Maybe it's that, and he's forgotten the rest of the day. Maybe it's that, but the missing hours will slowly come back because now it's the very early hours of the next morning.

He's waking up now. He thinks he dreamt about drowning, and the water was dirty, red, and loud — crushingly loud. He thinks he was dreaming he was lost and trying to swim, but the undercurrent wouldn't let go. He thinks the water was freezing and hot all once. He thinks he was at the bottom of the ocean when he woke up.

He's awake now, but he doesn't know where he's awake, which is a little alarming, really. He stares around at off-colored walls that were maybe once white, a tile floor that's peeling a bit, and metal shelves with strange bottles on them. Oh, and a man in a lab coat, staring at him with a concerned expression.

"Hello, hi, hello there. Can you understand me? Can you talk?" the man says. Liam's stomach jolts. He thinks this man must be a doctor. Maybe he's fainted at that interview they were headed toward. Maybe this was the nearest medic of any sort. His fingers drum nervously, an old fear of doctors and serious faces coursing through him.

"Um, yes," Liam says.

"Good, that's very good. Can you tell me who you are?" the man says.

“Um, Liam, Liam Payne,” Liam says. He must have fainted then, definitely. Maybe hit his head too. He does feel weird, now that he thinks on it. He’s not in pain or anything, but something is very much off. Almost Like he’s still drowning. Sort of waterlogged.

Only that had just been a dream.

“Good, good,” the doctor says, and then he writes it down on the clipboard he’s holding and it’s like — the way he says good and the way he’s writing. It's. Liam could swear for a second the doctor was asking because he honestly didn’t know, and not because he was making sure Liam did. Which. Can’t be right. Can’t be.

“So um,” Liam starts, he doesn’t want to be rude, but something is starting to feel very, very wrong here. He feels very wrong.

“So, Liam, do you remember how you died?” the doctor says.

“No!” a new voice says, cutting in. “I told you not to say it like that, you’ll scare them! We want this to be gentle. Ask them if they know what year it is, break it slow!”

“Sorry, sorry,” the first man says. Around Liam, the room is spinning, titling, and cracking. His head feels entirely too light. He can’t breathe.

(Was he breathing to start with?)

“Now, Liam, sorry about that, but can you tell us what day it was on the last day you remember?” the second person says, sitting down next to Liam. He looks far away. Liam opens his mouth to ask what day it is now, or maybe to scream, or ask to see someone else, or to —

He throws up instead, gripping the edges of the table, not sure if it’s his eyes or the way the room is spinning or if that tar-colored substance is really coming out of him. He can’t. He can’t tell. Someone moves to get him a bucket, and he can hear, distantly, the two doctors fighting with each other, bickering about the procedure.

In his head there is an echo, a beat:

Do you remember how you died?

July 2013

They’re off to a signing, or an interview, or an interview and a signing all in one or — honestly, Zayn doesn’t remember. He’s having one last smoke, and it’s stupidly hot out. Louis is throwing water on every passerby he sees, laughing. Somewhere, he can hear Harry and Niall yelling at each other in the midst of some game. The vans are pulling up, two of them, and any minute they’ll be herded into them and off to screams and the same questions they’ve answered a million times before.

There are worse ways to spend an afternoon, really.

Liam slides up next to Zayn and grins. He's got water droplets sliding down his face, like Louis'd gotten to him already. Zayn raises his eyebrows and Liam shakes his head and giggles a little, meeting Zayn's gaze. Absolutely Louis, then. Zayn grins back and stomps out the last of his cigarette under his boots.

"You think I've got time for another?" he asks. not because he particularly wants another, even, but because he has an idea. Liam shakes his head again.

"Doubt it," he says, eyes bright.

"We could share," Zayn says. "half the time then."

"Don’t think we have time for that either,” Liam says, but he looks seriously tempted. Honestly, that’s what Zayn was going for. The way Liam looks all conflicted and serious and thoughtful. Zayn bites back a pleased smile.

“Stop corrupting Liam!” Louis calls.

“That is the most hypocritical thing you’ve said to me all week,” Zayn calls back. Liam flushes and Zayn laughs, mostly to himself.

“I amend my statement,” Louis says, walking over. “No corrupting Liam without me.”

“Hey,” Liam says, pouting.

“Are we meeting? Are we going? Niall’s cheating! He’s a cheater, you know,” Harry says, racing over to them, Niall on his heels.

“You just aren’t very good,” Niall laughs. Harry pulls a ridiculous face at that, all sad-eyed. Louis beams and throws an arm around him, pulling him in.

“I’m sure you were stellar,” Louis says, fondly. Harry grins up at him. Niall rolls his eyes, but it's good-natured and Niall-like.

“Niall cheats,” Harry says again.

“Slander,” Niall says, grinning.

“He does,” Louis agrees. “But also yes! We are leaving. I was just scolded before I walked over here.”

“I think that’s 'cause you were soaking people,” Liam says, smiling.

“Hush, Liam, you’re just upset because I got you,” Louis says, bouncing a little. He’s in a great mood today, all smiles. All the pranking people, probably, Zayn imagines. “Now, two separate vans, so we have to split. Harry comes with me because, as I’m sure you all know, today is the third anniversary of the seventh very important conversation we had."

Zayn is honestly not sure if he’s being serious or not, which is a little worrying.

“You’re both so weird,” Niall says.

“And you’re a cheater, apparently. We all have flaws,” Louis says easily. “And Liam, you come with us too.”

“Why me?” Liam asks. Zayn wonders the same thing.

“Because you were in the room. For the conversation. And because Niall is a cheater, and I’m very mad at Zayn right now.” Louis says like it’s obvious. He winks at Zayn as he says it and then tugs on Liam’s arm. Zayn rolls his eyes and flicks Louis off.

“See you there!” Liam calls, waving and getting dragged toward a van.

“Race you there!” Louis says back, still grinning.

“Careful, I hear I cheat,” Niall says, laughing.

As it turns out, Niall and Zayn do make it there first.

The other van never makes it there at all.

June 2014

They make it through winter, and spring, and then summer brings a new wave of rumors and whispers.

For the first few months, it was all they could do to establish a routine of some sort: get up, eat something, watch the news, hope with all they had nothing showed up to confirm one of a million fears they each had, check the internet for the same thing, remember to shower, remember to breathe, and try to sleep — sometimes curled together, terrified, sad, or just fucked up, just sort of broken.

They get a few zombies now and then, but they’ve done a good job with the fortifying, so none of them do more than roam around the property for a while before giving up and heading off. The food is lasting surprisingly long. Although, it’s not like either of them has eaten much. They’re not able to, really.

Zayn can’t get so many mental images out of his head — images of memories and imagined visions of terrifying future headlines. Every day he watches the news and checks headlines on his phone waiting with rocks in his stomach for the day it says that a girl somewhere was just attacked by her teen idol. He’s seen it in his sleep, seen it with pictures, more times than he can count. He knows Niall has, too. They try not to talk about it. It’s too much — it's something it feels wrong to say out loud.

Eventually, they stop checking, stop watching, and put their phones down save for a few “we’re all still alive” emails to their families. It’s just too overwhelming after a while, so they tune it out. There are too many nightmares as is, so many trickling and creeping terrors.

Some mornings, when Zayn can’t make himself get out of bed at all, when he wakes up and can't even tell if it is morning — all he can see is that last image of Louis, Harry, and Liam getting into that van, and it's, somehow, almost harder than anything else.

Zayn thinks sometimes, on those mornings, it would be easier — or would justify his feelings more — if he had some grand other connection to that day. If the day itself had been significant before — before.

Like, if he had some added great tragedy of how, if he’d only ridden in the van with Liam that day, he would have made some grand confession to him.

But there is no story like that, not even close. It had just been a day. Zayn, honestly, probably wouldn’t have ever said anything, that day or any other.

(Partially because he was never sure what, exactly, he'd be confessing.

That sometimes he felt — that with Liam, Zayn sometimes — that sometimes there was just something in looks, moments, and touches that he, so badly, wanted to hold on to and keep.

But that's not a confession, is it?

That's not anything at all.

Often, he thinks he's built it up more now because he never got the chance to decide what to do with it. He thinks that now it seems bigger than it was.

He doesn't know.)

This morning, they’re in Niall’s bed, neither of them asleep, but neither of them really moving either. They're just laying with the ever-present sirens sounding in the distance somewhere, when there is a terrible and sudden creeping and thudding sound on the porch. They both bolt up and jump to the window, peering through the slim lookout they’ve left for themselves in the wood. There's a zombie on their porch. He's swinging — sort of violently — and kicking, too. It looks like he’s searching for a weakness in the wood.

“Didn’t know they could do that,” Niall says, hand around Zayn’s arm, tight.

“Learning new tricks, maybe,” Zayn says, watching the zombie kick again and again.

“Fuck, um, weapons?” Niall says.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, nodding. They take a few steps back and grab guns from under the bed (weapons hiding spot #21).

“Like, fire from here, or go down if it gets in, or?” Niall says.

“Down? Because hopefully it gives up and goes away, but — in case,” Zayn says. He really, really would rather not clean a zombie corpse off of their porch. He’d rather not have other zombies come while they do. He’d rather not think about killing one unless he has to, honestly, because if he knows three potential zombies, then, well, whoever this is on the porch was someone, too, maybe very recently, and — this whole thing is so messed up.

“Right, we’ll stand guard, like,” Niall says. They nod at each other and head downstairs. They sit on the steps facing the door, ready to shoot at anything that comes through, listening to the awful sound of its attempt.

“Fuck,” Zayn says after an alarming breaking sound.

“We could, like — can we shove something against the door?” Niall says.

“What if it still doesn’t go away?” Zayn asks.

“Fuck,” Niall repeats.

The door breaks.

It’s a horrible, cracking, splintering break, and behind it, a huge zombie stares at them, stepping over the broken wood, with a terrible approximation of a grin on its face. Next to him, Niall’s hands are shaking. Zayn knows his are too. They both pull back on the triggers anyway, nodding at each other once —

But then a gun goes off before either of them has the chance, and the zombie falls, collapsing through their front door, dead. (Dead again?)

Behind it, a woman stands. She walks in, stepping on the zombie and shoving her gun back in its holster as she does.

“Christ, were you going to give the thing a party before you shot it?” she says. She’s got a military-style armband around her arm and now that she’s closer, Zayn can see she’s young — a teenager.

“Just getting a good shot lined up,” Niall says, weakly, looking equal parts relieved and sick. Zayn feels the same.

“Right, just thought you’d let it attack you first. Always get the first shots after you’re bleeding,” she says, rolling her eyes. “How long have you been up here, anyway? I thought this place was abandoned until I saw that thing trying to bust in like it was sure there was a feast inside.”

“Um, always? Since before,” Zayn says. She rolls her eyes again and sighs, without a flicker of recognition.

“Right well, you’re in my patrol zone so, here,” she reaches in her pocket and pulls out a stack of sticky notes made into hasty business cards. “Call this number if you have any more visitors.”

“Thanks,” Niall says, trying for a smile.

“Yeah, do you need, like,” she sighs and stares at them again, “food, supplies, or anything? There's a weekly truck we can have stop by.”

“We’re alright,” Zayn says.

“But maybe down the road,” Niall says. The girl nods.

“Call for that too. I see you have weapons. They are loaded, right?”

“Yes,” Zayn says. He feels a little annoyed now. But maybe that's unfair. Maybe it’s just because he hasn’t really spoken to anyone who isn’t Niall in months, so he’s out of practice.

“Couldn’t tell with how you weren’t shooting. Everyone hesitates now, saying they can cure ‘em and what,” she says, sort of grumbling the last part.

“What?” Niall says, sitting up straighter.

“Cure?” Zayn repeats, something hot and terribly dangerous breaking inside him.

“They don’t need cured, they need gotten rid of. Bullshit, you ask me. Besides, who would want them back? What family would want back this?” she says, kicking at the zombie by her foot.

“But they’re saying they can do it?” Zayn asks.

“Don’t get out much, do you? Not just saying — have, or claim they have. Whole lot of them, rehabilitated, or so they say. Some drugs and they don’t try to eat people anymore,” she says, rolling her eyes again. Niall reaches out a hand behind them like he’s putting his gun down on the stairs and then sets a hand on Zayn’s back instead like he wants Zayn to know they’re both thinking the same thing.

“Whoa,” Niall says.

“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes yet again. “Backup’s here to get rid of this. They’ll fix your door too. Call if it happens again.”

She storms out then, looking so very much like a teenager and yet not like one at all. Zayn shakes his head, at a loss. Niall turns to him, fiddling with the sticky note with his hand that isn’t on Zayn.

(Wendy| Area Q | Zone 9.)

“Do you think?” Niall asks.

“We should probably find out,” Zayn says. “Look it up.”

“Yeah,” Niall says, sort of dazed-looking. Another woman and a man appear at the door and start pulling away the zombie body without a word.

“Yeah,” Zayn repeats, the word cure repeating itself in his head like the chorus of a song they sang when they were young.

(It wasn’t that long ago.

It was a lifetime ago.)

“Z?” Niall says, moving his hands and putting the note in his pocket before grabbing one of Zayn’s hands.

“Yeah?” Zayn says again, squeezing back, heart pounding.

“If it’s true, and if for whatever reason they didn’t have anywhere else to go — do you want?” Niall asks. Zayn nods. It’s a terrible idea and a ridiculous thing to voice, but he agrees. He was thinking about it too.

Later that night, after their door is rebuilt, they spend hours looking up everything about this cure, about the odds, and about the facilities doing it. And then, Niall calls each facility up and tells them that if they happen to come across any of the boys and that if they need family or a place to go that they’ve got one. Tell them to call this number and send them to this address, because there is family here.

October 2014

In group sessions, they all have to repeat over and over that it wasn't their fault. It was like they had an illness, really. Couldn't be helped. But now that they're better, they can be reintegrated back into society.

Liam wonders if reintegration will stop the nightmares he can't seem to shake during the day. The ones where screams melt together — concert screams and screams of terror — confetti and blood. He doesn't know what's real, what's a memory, and what's his brain making things up. He can't sort out reality from his brain’s worst fears. He doesn't know what he's done.

They say he died, and then he came back. They say he was a zombie, but that now he's better. It all makes his brain feel too full — too crowded. They say he's doing well, and that he can go back into the world. They give him makeup and contact lenses, to help him look alive. They give him medicine to take and literature read. Liam feels like his hands shake all the time.

They say that's normal.

In group, they're supposed to talk about memories and dreams. Liam can't tell them apart. Last night, he dreamt he was on stage. They were all there, they'd performed and then attacked their audience. He is almost certain that's not real. But, he wonders — because he thinks he really does remember, in the cloud that feels like swimming through blood — if Louis and Harry were there. With him. He thinks that's real. He's not even sure if they, if they're — if they died too. No one can tell him, but he's almost sure.

In group, they learn that hunting zombies has been banned, and that they're all to just be captured and brought for treatment now. Liam wonders how that's possible. They're all meant to be dead already, aren't they? No one knows who all was involved, and no one knows who was already put down in zombie form. If people did go after those still out there, who would ever know? He doesn't ask. He gets the feeling they're not supposed to ask difficult questions. He thinks they're just meant to be glad to be there — grateful.

They tell him his family is coming, and that it's time. So Liam packs up a little bag, and he waits. He's thinking they'll have sent Ruth, probably. He's thinking he doesn't know how he'll face them — doesn't know what he'll say to his family at all.

The knock on his door sounds ominous when it comes, and he thinks he'd be sweating if he still could (things rehabilitated zombies can't do #8).

"Come on then, your brothers are here," the guard says. Liam opens his mouth to say he hasn't got any brothers, that there must be a mistake, before closing it again. Maybe it's a test, or a trick, or, maybe, he's actually being sent away somewhere else because he's broken a rule he didn't know about, or —

Even when he makes it to the lobby and sees, he doesn't get it right away. He doesn't understand, and he's convinced his eyes are playing tricks on him. He thinks, for a second, that this is one of those — those — those things his brain refuses to supply the word for, but then—

Then it doesn't have to because they move, and Niall breaks into a grin and a run, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he says,

"Fuck me, it is you," and pulls Liam into a hug. Liam can't remember the last time anyone touched him. He feels his hands shake. He wants to hug back, but can't, not just yet. Niall pulls away, still grinning. He's got a hat on his head pulled low, hair hanging even lower over it, almost down to his sunglasses, and he's got a scarf wrapped around his neck almost covering his mouth, like maybe they were, after all this time, trying to be at least a bit undercover. They. They, because over Niall’s shoulder, Liam can see Zayn. He's pulling on the brim of his hat and glancing at the ground, then Liam, then back at the ground, the ghost of a smile he doesn't seem sure about on his features. He looks tired, he's got sunglasses on too, and he's all scruffy, as if it's been a while since he's shaved. He's still stunning.

They both look so pale, so thin, and so amazingly — alive.

(Zayn almost doesn't look real. He looks like something Liam's mind created, like a cruel trick he's playing on himself.)

"Oh," Liam breathes, ducking his head into Niall's shoulder a little, trying to steady himself. Niall grins again and ruffles Liam's hair, like he's not at all bothered by the whole zombie thing. He's probably not, actually, which is so wonderfully Niall that Liam isn't sure what to do about it.

"Hi, um," Zayn says, taking a tentative step closer.

"Hi," Liam whispers back, looking at both of them. Family.

"Oh," a voice from their left says, echoing Liam's own response, and Liam looks over to see a girl about their age, holding a sign-out sheet and more pamphlets, staring at them with — recognition.

"Hi," Niall says. "Have we got papers to sign?" He says it bright and easy, like he's not worried. Liam is. For a second he's sure they're caught, that she's going to say they're not really family at all and drag Liam back upstairs where he'll never see them again, and where he'll be punished for the lie.

"Yeah, um — Sorry I — it used to be, I'd've been screaming, fainting, even at this," she says, voice just above a whisper. They all manage to smile sort of wanly at her. She shakes her head and rushes on. "I'm not going to say anything to anyone or anything. But I may cry. Brothers."

"Thanks," Niall says, smiling at her again, larger now.

She does tear up a little as she has them sign forms and take their educational material. They pretend not to notice. In the parking lot, before they get into the car and in view of multiple guards, Niall pulls them both into a group hug.

Liam thinks they might all be shaking.

October 2014

Niall talks the whole way home, and Zayn is not sure he’s ever been so grateful for anything. Liam is looking around nervously — he's looking at the road like he doesn’t recognize it at all. Maybe he doesn’t. In the back, Niall is talking about nothing at all, but it’s filling the space, and so it’s something.

Niall’d insisted he take the backseat, because it’s Zayn’s car, and because Liam is person of the moment. It’s a nice thought, honestly, but Liam is half smiling at things Niall is saying and half staring around in confusion, and Zayn is gripping the steering wheel while looking straight ahead as if he finds driving very difficult all of the sudden. The truth is, he’s sort of finding breathing difficult. It’s. There was a time when the very easiest person to talk to was Liam, but this, now — Zayn’s brain is full of questions he can’t ask and thoughts he can’t share.

What's getting to him most of all is that Liam is, or at least seems to still be, Liam. He’s here, and he’s so familiar — the most familiar thing in the world — but he’s also. He was dead, and it’s. It’s a lot.

(And Zayn can't say anything he's thinking.

How do you say it? How do you say, so that’s three of us then, any sign of the others? How do you say, I’m so fucking glad to see you, but you were dead. You were dead, and I thought I’d break, maybe I did because you’re here now and I still feel awful.)

It’s late when they arrive at home — after two in the morning. Niall still looks full of energy, but Zayn’s starting to feel the day catching up with him. He’d showered five times that morning and changed his outfit four, his heartbeat irregular and his mouth dry the whole time.

“Do you want a tour?” Niall is asking, gesturing around the living room. Liam blinks, looking unsure, biting his lip.

“Maybe in the morning, like,” Liam says.

“Right! Sleep first? We made a room up for you,” Niall says. Really, later Zayn will have to thank him because he could not have done this without him. He’s barely managed to say five words to Liam since they picked him up.

(He couldn’t have done any of this without Niall, he knows that too. He wouldn’t have made it through any of this on his own.)

“Um, okay,” Liam says. He casts a look at Zayn then, a familiar one, and so opens his mouth to say something, say anything.

“He’s been here before,” is what comes out. It’s probably not the best thing to have said, and it doesn’t seem to comfort Liam any at all.

“What?” Niall asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“A tour, he’s — Liam’s been, that’s all,” Zayn manages. Niall shakes his head and thankfully doesn’t voice the that was before that hangs in the air between all of them.

“But he has his own room now! Come on, Liam!” Niall says instead, pulling on Liam’s hand a little and taking him up the stairs. Liam glances back at Zayn one more time, face worried, tugging at his sleeves. Zayn tries to smile back, but he fails at that, too. He watches them go, listening to Niall still talking, when an idea hits him.

He heads up to his own room and into the back of a closet, digging through boxes he hasn’t let himself look at until he finds it. It’s a hoodie — it’s Liam’s hoodie, specifically, one Zayn had borrowed and never gotten the chance to return. It’s old and warm and it's — even if Zayn hasn’t been able to actually say anything, he can do this. It’s something.

He heads down the hall to the guest room they’ve made into Liam’s, after checking that Niall has left and gone into the bathroom. This feels like something that needs to just be the two of them. He raps his fingers lightly on the doorframe and Liam looks up, eyes wide.

“Hi?” Liam says, looking so unsure, so nervous.

“I um, never got to return this, and it gets cold in here. Drafts,” Zayn says, taking a few steps into the room and handing the hoodie to Liam.

“Oh,” Liam says, sounding quietly pleased and hugging the hoodie to himself. “Wow, that’s really. Thank you.”

“Yeah, I just figured you’d want it?” Zayn says, shrugging and watching Liam pull the hoodie on right away. Zayn swallows down a smile.

“Absolutely,” Liam says. “Thank you.”

“Anything else you need? For the night?” Zayn says.

“No, this — it’s already so much, thank you,” Liam repeats. He looks back up at Zayn fully and stares at him like he’s — like he’s afraid. His hands are clenched, fingers rubbing back and forth on his own palm. Zayn wants to grab them, wants to hold Liam’s hand and make him stop. He wants to tell him it’s okay. He doesn’t. He can’t. From here, he can see that there is a bit of makeup rubbed off on Liam’s face, a quiet little reminder that Liam was dead, and then he wasn’t, and in between, he was a zombie. It’s just. So much. Too much.

“Just let me know, or Niall,” Zayn says, trying to watch anything but Liam’s hands. He turns, and tells himself it’s time for space.

“Um, Zayn?” Liam calls. Zayn spins back around to face him before he can think not to. He hasn’t heard Liam’s voice say his name in so long, and it hits him low in his stomach, warmer than it has any right to. Zayn glances back at Liam. He looks outright terrified now.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks. Still not watching Liam's hands.

“Um. No one would tell me, and can you, is?” Liam stops and shakes his head. He stares at his own hands. Zayn follows the motion without meaning to. He can see that Liam's palms have red lines on them now. “No, never mind. I’m sorry.”

For a moment Zayn just stares at him, and he almost takes the out. He almost just says okay and goodnight and heads away. But it turns out he can’t do that, either. Not with Liam's scared eyes right there.

So he takes a step closer, almost to the bed where Liam is sitting, and he sighs as he says,

“No, go ahead.”

“I,” Liam stops and scrubs a hand over his face. “The last day I remember — they said that had to be the day I — the day I died, like, and on the last day I remember — I mean, it’s just you and Niall here, so, it,” Liam stops one more time and looks at Zayn again, eyes more terrified than before, sad now, too. Zayn’s heart hurts for him. It had not, until this moment, occurred to him that Liam might not know. “It wasn’t — it wasn’t just me, was it?” Liam finishes.

“No,” Zayn says, and when Liam’s face falls even more and when he looks devastated, Zayn can’t stop himself from sitting down next to him on the bed, not touching, but so close. “No, it wasn’t just you.”

“Fuck,” Liam says. “That must have been, fuck.”

“It’s been pretty shit, to be honest, yeah,” Zayn says. Liam winces. Zayn wants to hug him. He wants to hug him, hold his hand, hold all of him, and tell him it’s okay, that they’re okay. He doesn’t.

(He can't.)

“I can’t, I can’t imagine,” Liam says, shaking his head.

“Yeah,” Zayn says again. He doesn’t know what else there is to say.

“I think I saw them,” Liam says, staring at Zayn again, fully turned to him, looking so damn much like himself. Painfully like himself.

“What?”

“I didn’t know if it was a real memory or not? I don’t know what I really remember. Everything is a blur in my head, but I think they were. Like me, I think they were there,” Liam says, whispering like he's confessing a secret.

“Right,” Zayn says, nodding. It’s both the worst and the best thing to hear.

“I don’t remember anything else,” Liam says, shaking his head. Guilty, now. Zayn stands up. He doesn’t want to leave. Except, he wants to run away.

“We, me and Niall, we told the facilities if any of you were found that — we said you could come home here. Just in case,” Zayn says. It seems to help a little. Liam nods and looks thoughtful.

“Good,” Liam says, nodding again.

“I’m off to bed, long day, long drive,” Zayn says. It’s one of the most awkward-sounding sentences he thinks he’s ever strung together, and the words feel strange in his mouth.

“Goodnight,” Liam says, soft, fingers tracing the hoodie sleeves now.

“Night,” Zayn says.

“Thanks, again,” Liam says, looking back at Zayn again.

“Yeah,” Zayn says.

(He thinks, I missed you so fucking much. He thinks, I can’t believe you’re not still dead. Are you sure you’re not dead? He thinks, are you going to go away again? He doesn’t say any of it.) He really does turn and leave then.

He doesn’t go to his room. He goes to Niall’s, hides himself in the covers, and snuggles up next to Niall who opens his eyes long enough to say,

“I know,” before pulling Zayn in closer and falling back asleep.

Zayn could never do this without Niall.

October 2014

Liam doesn’t sleep at all that night. He stays up reading every educational brochure they’ve given him until his eyes burn. He stays up thinking about Harry and Louis and trying to pull memories out from the haze in his mind. He wonders about how Niall and Zayn have managed all this time. He wonders what had happened to the driver that day if he’d been okay, or not — if he’s like Liam. Like them.

He stays up smelling his hoodie, touching it, breathing it. He keeps thinking about how Zayn had not only saved it but had thought to give it back. And it’s. Liam can’t take it all in. Not Niall and Zayn posing as family and taking him home, not Niall’s cheer like nothing has happened, not Zayn and the way Liam had been so sure Zayn was avoiding him, or didn’t want him there, or was afraid of him, or all of the above — until he’d brought the hoodie in.

Now he doesn’t know. He just can’t make sense of anything. He still feels like he’s drowning most of the time. He gets up and paces the room and then sits down because he doesn’t want to damage anything, doesn’t want to touch anything. The room is beautiful. It's so much like the last time he was here and so different, all at once. He pulls things out of his duffel and counts all of his medication doses. He reads the letter over and over that says they’ll be delivering it to this address for him.

He wonders if Niall and Zayn are disappointed it’s him, and not one of the others.

He pulls the hoodie up and ties the strings tight, pulling his knees up to his chest. It doesn’t really help.

In the morning Niall knocks, still looking bright and happy.

“They said you don’t eat breakfast, is that right?” Niall asks, grinning.

“Or any other meal,” Liam confirms, nodding. Niall frowns, just for a second.

“Right, well, did you want to come down, anyway? I had food delivered from the grocery before I knew,” Niall says.

“Of course,” Liam says, jumping up. He’s about to offer to like, pretend to eat, when Niall’s eyes grow wide as they focus on the hoodie.

“Oh! That was a good idea!” he says, nodding. “I think there is more of your shit around too, actually? We can find it after breakfast?”

“Really?” Liam asks, following Niall out the door. Niall nods again.

“Yeah, I mean not much, we’ll ask Zayn, but there should be some things. Could help you feel more at home. Oh! And we bought you some stuff. So, breakfast presents,” Niall says. Liam swallows, feeling overwhelmed again, and allows himself to be led down the stairs.

There is a table set for three in the kitchen and little wrapped packages instead of food on a plate Liam assumes is his. Zayn’s already there, staring at his mostly-already-finished coffee like it’s fascinating.

“Morning,” Liam says. Zayn looks up and nods, but doesn’t say anything.

“Sit! Have presents! I wrapped them!” Niall says, grinning again. He puts a hand on Liam’s shoulder and guides him to the table. Liam smiles back, trying to feel steady.

“Um, why?” Liam asks, staring at the packages.

“Just open ‘em,” Niall says, sitting down. Zayn gulps his coffee and nods.

“Okay,” Liam says and reaches for the first one. He pulls the paper off and finds a cellphone — a model that hadn’t existed the last time he looked at phones.

“You have to have a phone again, you know,” Niall says, like an explanation.

“Thank you,” Liam says, he thinks he whispers it. This is. Just really overwhelming. He closes his eyes. His vision and his brain feel red, muddy, and blood-stained. He feels guilty. He feels terrible. He feels grateful. He opens his eyes to see them both staring at him. “Thank you,” he says again.

“It’s got numbers in it, all the ones from our phones we thought you might want to have? Zayn’s idea,” Niall says, nodding at Zayn.

“Oh,” Liam says, swallowing. The other box, when he opens it, turns out to be a laptop. “You didn’t have to do this. It’s too much.” Liam says.

“Not really. We’re all still stupidly rich, remember?” Niall says, putting a hand on Liam’s shoulder again.

“But,” Liam starts.

“No, he’s right. Before recently, all any of it had gone to was keeping the lights and internet and shit on here, and some out to our families,” Zayn says, pausing on families like it’s hard to say. Liam winces for him. “And you need things now that you’re — back. So,” Zayn finishes, making eye contact with Liam for the first time this morning.

“We combined it all, too. Accounts and shit, I mean, months ago, makes it easier. Seriously, dude, it’s so much money. Take the stuff,” Niall says.

“But,” Liam starts again. He’s not sure what he’s protesting exactly, because what they’re saying does make sense. He’d somehow, in being dead and all, forgotten about the whole more money than he’d ever dreamed of thing, but they’re not wrong. Still, something is bothering him.

(Deep down, past the screams he can never stop hearing, past the blanks in his memory, past the red tint of everything, there is something. There is something in the way, something that is — that happens every time they do the thing they keep doing, our house, and we, and combined our money — something that hits him in a way he can’t define.

Maybe it's guilt that he wasn’t here and that it had to just be them. Guilt that he couldn’t help and they had to do this on their own.

Maybe it's something else he has no right to feel at all.)

“And you need things to keep occupied,” Niall says, snapping Liam out of it a little.

“What?” Liam asks, running his fingers over the phone box again. Niall and Zayn exchange a look.

“The thing is,” Niall says, sighing. “The thing is, you really have to stay here. Like, in this house.”

“Or the yard. We put a wall up and it’s pretty hidden, so that should be okay, but, yeah,” Zayn adds, nodding.

“What?” Liam says again, staring at them both, trying to puzzle through that.

“It’s just probably not safe for you to leave? Not just because you’re — rehabilitated, but because you’re, well, you. All that attention is. It's not safe,” Niall says, frowning, and for the first time since Liam’s been reunited with them, looking actually worried and sort of sick.

“You never liked to sit still much,” Zayn says. Which. That’s sort of a gift, too, actually, like the hoodie had been, because Zayn gets this look on his face Liam has seen so many times. It's so familiar, achingly so. And he's making this comment along with it that's nothing, that's so small except that — Except that he's saying it because he knows Liam, because he gets him, and it’s —

It only lasts a second. Zayn’s face falls quickly, and he busies himself putting a forkful of food in his mouth — but it’s there. Even a second of it is so much more than Liam thinks he deserves.

“Right, okay,” Liam says. Right now, he can’t imagine leaving. Being in the kitchen is hard enough. But they’re right, Zayn’s right. He’ll get restless, he’ll want to go out, be out. He gets it though, he gets that he can’t.

“We just don’t want anything to happen to you,” Niall says, and then adds, almost to himself, “again.”

“No, of course,” Liam says instantly. He wants to apologize for dying. He wants to fix it. He wants to tell them he didn’t mean it, that he’d never leave either of them if it was his choice. He wants to say he’s afraid he might have killed people while he was a zombie and he’s sorry for that, too. He wants to say he’s sorry he lost Harry and Louis.

He’s so damn sorry at that moment, for everything. His face must show it, or at least some of it, because Niall says,

“No, fuck, Liam, m’sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Thanks, thanks again,” Liam says. He scoops up the gifts and stands up, running back to his room. He can’t stay. He wants to apologize for that, too. He’s sorry. He’s so sorry for everything. They let him go. He doesn’t know if that’s because they understand, or because they don’t want him around. He goes either way.

Later, Niall brings a collection of Liam’s things to the room (eleven comic books, seven t-shirts, one watch, two jumpers, eight pictures, four video games, and nine DVDs). They sit in silence sorting it out until Niall says,

“You alright, about before?”

“Yeah,” Liam says, staring at a picture of the five of them, running his fingers over Harry’s face and then Louis’ like he can summon them back.

“It’ll just take some getting used to, that’s all,” Niall says.

“I won’t go anywhere, really. And I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. I just got overwhelmed,” Liam says.

“Understood, weird shit, right?” Niall says. Liam looks up from Louis’ face, frozen, and smiles a little.

“So weird,” He agrees. Niall grins and then pulls him into a hug, tighter and fiercer than earlier ones.

“You’re never allowed to die again, you bastard,” Niall says in Liam’s ear, half joking and half so serious Liam could weep.

“I don’t plan to,” Liam says, solemnly.

“Missed the fuck out of you,” Niall says, still pulling Liam close. Liam closes his eyes, sees red, sees Harry, sees Louis, and feels like he’s drowning.

“I think I missed you too,” Liam says, trying to remember. He doesn’t, but he’s sure he must have. Niall smiles at that and pulls back, shoving at Liam’s shoulder a little.

“Of course you did,” Niall says. Then he stands up and nods, looking determined. “Let’s get this shit up and put around, make it like home.”

“Like home,” Liam echoes. He thinks Niall has no idea how close and how far from home Liam feels all at once. He thinks Niall understands perfectly.

June 2013

They’re buzzing on post-show adrenaline, the roar of the crowd ringing in Zayn’s ears as they bow out for the night. The screams can be heard in the dressing rooms, and he'll probably be hearing them back in the hotel room, too. It’s been a good night, and a good crowd. It's one of those nights Zayn feels so lucky and so proud of what they’ve done here.

He peels his performance clothes, sticky with sweat, off and steps to the cool air of the fire escape. It faces a blocked alley. He can’t see anyone, and they can’t see him, but he can hear them. It’s relaxing and quiet even with the echoing screams bouncing off the wall. The air is amazing too. He’s just in his boxers and the breeze feels amazing, soothing after the bright lights and body heat from so many people. He closes his eyes and breathes the night air.

It's a moment or two later when another warm body slides up next to him. Zayn doesn’t have to open his eyes to know who. There was a time they used to guess these things, back when they were trying to learn each other. (“It’s important as a band that we know absolutely everything about each other,” Louis had said, years ago.) It’s a certainty now, little sounds, the way footsteps and breathing sound, smells, and the feeling of one another. It’s not a guess. He knows.

“Hi Liam,” Zayn says, opening his eyes slowly.

“Hi,” Liam says back, grinning at him.

“Hot in there,” Zayn says, as an explanation for being outside and what he has on at all once. Not that Liam asked. Not that he would. Liam nods.

“I know,” Liam says. He looks, then — really studies Zayn, and Zayn feels himself flush under it. It's stupid. So stupid. It’s nothing. Liam is probably about to tell him he’ll catch cold standing out here like this or something. Changing temperatures too fast.

It doesn’t matter if he wasn’t. Because Zayn — Zayn doesn't. He doesn’t. Isn't thinking about. Right.

“Good show, though,” Zayn says, shaking his head, shaking out of the feeling of Liam’s stare.

“You okay?” Liam asks, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Yes?” Zayn says, raising an eyebrow. Liam steps closer to him, looking thoughtful.

“You just looked like something was bothering you, before,” Liam says, shrugging. Zayn frowns, trying to remember. Sometimes, in the rush of shows, or photo shoots or interviews, or whatever else — songwriting, song recording — in simply being busy, Zayn- not forgets, but Zayn is very good at pushing things out of his own mind. He's very good at compartmentalizing, and so for a minute, he wonders if Liam’s right. Maybe he had been upset earlier, and he’s just shoved it away. He can’t think of anything, though. He shakes his head.

“No, don’t think so,” Zayn says. Liam steps even closer.

“Okay, good then,” he says. Zayn feels very much like he’s missing something.

“Why’d you think I was?” Zayn asks. Liam frowns deeply, then shakes his head, then says,

“Thought — never mind,” Liam says.

“No, what?” Zayn asks, pressing just a little. Liam shakes his head again.

“It’s dumb, I’m dumb. Don’t worry about it,” Liam says, staring at his feet. Zayn grabs his hand without thinking about it, lacing their fingers. He hates when Liam does this. Not because he’s annoyed, but because he thinks Liam actually believes it.

“Don’t say shit like that,” Zayn says, frowning. “No, hey.”

“I,” Liam starts, and then he stops. He squeezes Zayn’s hand and shakes his head again like he’s making a decision. “No, never mind. Can we start again? Go back to when I came out here?”

“Sure,” Zayn says, after a beat. Part of him wants to push it. Part of him thinks he should. Part of him thinks that it’s Liam and that whatever it is, Liam will tell him eventually. He keeps their hands laced, and they turn out toward the alley, listening to the noise and just — being.

“You were amazing tonight. You’re always so amazing,” Liam says several minutes later, squeezing Zayn's hand again.

“Yeah, you too,” Zayn says, grinning and squeezing back, shifting so their shoulders are touching.

Eventually, Harry finds them and drags them back in and then the five of them get pretty spectacularly drunk, but for just under an hour, on a fire escape facing an empty alley, it’s just Liam and Zayn.

October 2014

They’re eating more, now that Liam’s there, and keeping a more regular schedule, too. In fact, in the nine days that Liam has been back, Zayn has gotten out of bed in the morning, showered, and eaten at least one meal on every single one of them. It’s a slow change, but it feels fast.

He’s sitting in his room, cross-legged on his bed, typing an email back home as the smell of whatever Niall is cooking is drifting up the stairs, tempting and pleasant. He sends it off the email and heads downstairs, hands in his pocket.

(The emails are always the same, still alive-and-well check-ins. Travel is still restricted — they’d been sent a special pass to go get Liam — and everyone is meant to stay within the zones that have been set up. For head counts and safety. Temporarily. Just for now, they always say. They have been saying.)

In the kitchen, Niall already has coffee poured for him, and he’s humming something to himself.

“Hey,” Zayn says, sitting down. Before Liam came back, they never sat at the kitchen table. Now that’s been every day, too.

“Morning,” Niall says, smiling. It looks like he’s been baking — like the warm sugary sort of smell is coming from the oven.

“Should I start getting used to breakfast every morning?” Zayn asks as Niall slides down in a chair next to his.

“Probably not,” Niall says, shaking his head. Zayn sips his coffee and breathes, the heat from the mug spreading to his hands, warming up all of him.

“Liam been down yet?” Zayn asks.

“Not yet,” Niall says. “He seems okay, though, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Zayn agrees. He does, mostly. He seems. He seems like Liam. Sometimes he looks smaller than himself, sometimes he looks like he’s not really there, like his brain is somewhere else, but mostly he looks like Liam.

“How about you?” Niall asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Me?” Zayn repeats.

“Okay?” Niall asks, kicking his foot against Zayn’s.

“M’working on it,” Zayn says truthfully. He’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to honestly say he’s okay ever again, really. But he is trying, he is. “You?”

“Same,” Niall says, nodding.

“Thanks, you know,” Zayn says after a minute, putting his coffee down, thoughtful. All week, since Liam came back, he’s been thinking too that — for a while there it was a given, like a survival thing, Niall was here because they were surviving this together, and for months it hadn’t felt like there was any other choice in the world. But now it feels like there was and always has been, but Niall is here. And Zayn is just. So incredibly grateful.

“For breakfast?” Niall asks, raising an eyebrow again.

“For, you know, surviving a zombie outbreak with me and still being here?” Zayn says. He thinks there was a time he’d have tried to sell that as sort of wry, but it comes out earnest now. Too much has happened for it not to. Niall shakes his head, sets down his coffee too, and leans over to hug Zayn tight.

“Obviously,” Niall says, and that, too, would have been joking at some point years ago. It's not anymore. Zayn hugs back, hand on the back of Niall’s neck, needing the closeness for a moment this morning.

“Good morning,” Liam’s voice says, and they both glance up to find him looking at them from over by the sink, the expression on his face like he used to get like he’s feeling out of place. Zayn doesn’t know when he came, doesn’t know how he didn’t hear him. Maybe he can walk really quietly now that he’s —

“Morning!” Niall says, bright and loud, kicking out a chair for Liam. “Come sit!”

“Um, actually, I was, I wanted. Can I do those?” Liam asks, pointing to the sink, where several bowls from whatever Niall mixed for his baking are sitting, as well as some dishes from the day before.

“No,” Niall says instantly, shaking his head. “How is that fair? You don’t eat.”

“Right, but, I wanted to do something,” Liam says, frowning. “Do something useful.”

“You don’t,” Niall starts, but Zayn shakes his head and holds his hand up to stop him. He agrees, actually. Liam, of course, doesn’t have to do anything at all, and he shouldn’t feel he does. He’s just getting used to being alive again, and really, that seems like more than enough for anyone to deal with. But Zayn also knows that staying in one place is probably already making Liam restless and that Liam likely needs to feel like he’s helping — like he’s being productive.

“Go for it,” Zayn says. Liam beams back at him and rushes over to the sink like he’s really excited to wash bowls. He probably is.

“From now on, I think I’d like to be in charge of that,” Liam says from the sink as if it’s very serious. Like it’s really important to him. Niall looks at Liam’s back and the way he’s already busy and then back at Zayn, who nods. Niall shrugs.

“Sure, mate,” Niall says. Liam rocks a little on his feet at the sink, clearly pleased. Zayn picks up his coffee and takes another sip, a smile he can’t fully swallow down on his lips.

Later, he finds Liam in his room, taking big bold print signs that look like they were ripped out of his educational materials from the facility and putting them up on the walls. He’s taping Don’t ever miss a dose! next to his dresser, spreading his fingers over the tape and then tracing the words, when Zayn walks in.

“Hi,” Zayn says, watching Liam's hands on the sign. Liam turns around slowly, almost like he’s been caught.

“Hey,” he says. “It’s — is it okay? Me putting these on the wall like this? I can take them down, if?” Liam says. Zayn shakes his head, and for a second — half a second — he almost considers saying no sarcastically. Teasingly. He almost makes a joke.

“Course,” he says instead. Liam smiles softly, looking relieved.

“Don’t wanna ruin the walls,” Liam says, bringing his eyes up to Zayn’s.

“Don’t worry about it,” Zayn says, and then he looks away, eyes darting away from Liam’s and around the room. By his mirror, Liam has hung signs that read, Don’t forget your contacts, and Look alive! Wear your coverup makeup! Zayn frowns, and looks back at Liam. Then he looks back over to the bed, perfectly made, of course, where the pillowcase looks a little stained with coverup, as if Liam has been sleeping in it.

“Okay,” Liam says, eyes still on Zayn, searching, like he’s studying him. Zayn looks back at him. There are no smudges in the coverup today. Zayn shakes his head.

“You know you don’t need to do anything to make us comfortable, right?” Zayn says. He doesn’t want any reminders Liam was dead. He doesn’t love the idea of seeing signs of it, but he also doesn’t want to Liam to feel like there are rules or stipulations on being here. Liam frowns now, deeply, and follows Zayn’s gaze to the mirror signs.

“I do, though,” Liam says, shrugging. “And like, it’s for me too. It makes me more comfortable.”

“Just — whatever is okay,” Zayn says. He means so much more that he still doesn’t know how to say, but Liam nods like he gets it. Liam takes a step then, closer to Zayn, with eyes locked on him again. This time, Zayn looks right back.

“Zayn?” Liam asks, stepping in close, so close — too close. Zayn thinks about running, but he doesn’t back up. He doesn’t have to, he never gets the chance to, and Liam never does either, because that’s when the phone rings. The house phone. The one that —

Downstairs, Niall shouts for them and they both take off in a run. Liam hasn’t really been told, but he seems to get what’s happening here. Niall’s already picked up by the time they make it down. They all sit on the bottom few stairs, legs brushing together. Zayn is on too high alert to think to move away from the way he and Liam are pressed close.

Harry’s coming home.

October 2014

It’s late, close to eleven at night, and Niall has gone off to get Harry. There had been a conversation right after the phone call, hushed, between Niall and Zayn that Liam hadn’t even attempted to be part of. He didn’t ask after, either, and now, four days later, he’s sitting on the couch in the semi-dark, flipping channels while Niall.

Liam assumes they’d decided it wasn't safe for him to be left all alone for hours. He wonders if Zayn had lost that conversation, somehow, since he’s stuck here now. Not that Liam has seen much of Zayn since Niall left. He’d been reading, and now he’s in the shower. So Liam’s just — sitting. He flips the channels aimlessly — until he freezes completely and drops the remote on the floor with a clatter.

”These monsters are just being let out on our streets, and it isn’t right!” a man on the screen is saying, looking furious. It looks like a debate, and a man on the other side of the split screen is shaking his head and wearing a lab coat with a familiar seal on it. The first man presses on. ”We fought long and hard to protect people, and now they’re just set loose, called cured. There was a death toll in the thousands, last count, more still happening out there, and we’re just supposed to let them back in? Families are just supposed to open their doors and let demons inside? Have we all gone mad? They need to be put down. Every last one of them. And I tell you, if I see anyone who I know is supposed to be dead, I’ll do it myself, law be damned, medications and contacts and makeup and lies be damned!” he finishes. The TV clicks off before the lab coat man can start speaking.

“No,” Zayn says. Remote in his hand, shaking his head, looking furious. His hair is wet, and he’s shaved. His face looks smooth and sharp. Liam aches to touch him. He knows he’s not allowed.

“Sorry?” he says. He can’t work out whether Zayn is mad at him or not. He used to be so much better at that. Or maybe he just used to not always assume that was the most likely scenario.

“Don’t watch shit like that,” Zayn says. He shakes his head again. Then he sits down on the couch next to Liam and looks at him, straight on.

“Right, sorry,” Liam says again, staring back. He feels. He wants — he wants to ask Zayn to please never stop looking at him, to please always be this close to him. He wants to tell himthat it’s the only thing that’s really made him feel like himself again, that has really made him feel alive, that it’s this and these moments when Zayn is like Zayn again, when Zayn is like his Zayn again, and when they’re like them again, that Liam feels like he’s not drowning — feels like he’s breathing. He doesn’t, though. He just looks back, taking the moment while he can, and feeling greedy for even wanting this one.

“That’s crap, you know that, right?” Zayn says.

“I guess,” Liam says. He drums his fingers on the couch between them. His head is a back and forth between deathtoll in the thousands, and how much he wants Zayn to stay.

“No, it is. You didn’t ask for any of it — no one who was part of it did. It was fucked up, and it’s not anyone’s fault. Finding a cure is a good thing. The only thing that makes any of it any better, really. So. Don’t watch things like that, okay?” Zayn says. He’s still looking at Liam very seriously, and Liam nods.

“Okay,” Liam says. He thinks, but what if — in a deathtoll of thousands — what if I added to that? Isn’t he right then? How do I deserve this if I did? but doesn’t say that. Zayn frowns at him anyway.

“No,” Zayn says again. “Whatever you’re thinking, no.”

“I wasn’t,” Liam tries.

“You were,” Zayn says, nodding. For a second it’s so familiar, so much like a hundred other moments that it cuts through everything else and all he can think is a quietly delighted chorus of Zayn knows me until his brain cuts and adds, but does he know what you must've done? Liam shakes his head.

“It’s just all. It's a lot,” Liam says. Zayn nods and then scoots back a little, putting distance between them. His face goes a little distant too, and Liam tries not to be hurt.

“I get that,” Zayn says, running his hands over his own thighs and looking thoughtful. Distant and thoughtful. Liam nods too, and tries to work up the courage to say something important or brave, when the back door opens and Harry’s voice echoes through the house, somehow brightening it instantly. Liam and Zayn both jump up, Zayn running a hand through his hair as he does.

Niall pulls them all into an instant hug before anyone can say much of anything. It’s good, really. They all hug and whisper hellos back and forth and Harry is with them. Harry is here, and Liam feels like a piece of himself has slid back into place, right here in this hug.

“Wow,” Harry says, stepping back and looking around, looking at all three of them. He looks a little like there would be tears in his eyes if they could still do that (things rehabilitated zombies don’t do #5).

“Welcome home,” Niall says. gesturing.

“Thanks,” Harry says. “I couldn’t believe it when Niall said — ”

He’s cut off by the front doorbell ringing.

“Were you followed?” Zayn says, looking at Niall, who shakes his head but looks worried.

“Don’t think so,” Niall says. The thing is, no one comes to the front door. Everything they get delivered comes to the back, and Liam has heard both Zayn and Niall on the phone giving very specific instructions that things are just to be left in the back with no doorbell ringing or interaction of any kind.

The doorbell rings again.

“Fuck,” Niall says, then he turns to Harry and Liam. “Um,lads, I’m really sorry but you’re going to haveta— ”

“Hide,” Zayn finishes, looking apologetic. They’re led down the hall and off into a small closet, neither of them saying anything. “Sorry,” Zayn says, closing the door behind them while Niall answers the front door.

“Hi Liam,” Harry whispers in the dark. Outside, it sounds like the visitor is a reporter. Which is better than angry people with pitchforks, obviously, but still not good.

“Hi,” Liam whispers back.

“What’s it like?” Harry asks.

“What’s what like?” Liam asks, even though he thinks he knows what Harry means. Large parts of him are still — he can’t quite believe this is a real thing that’s happening. That he’s talking to Harry. That Harry is actually here.

“Being alive again?” Harry offers, then in the dark, he reaches out and grabs for Liam’s hand. “That okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Liam says, squeezing back, grateful for the contact.

“Don’t much like being shut in the dark like this,” Harry says, running a thumb over Liam’s knuckles.

“If it helps, this is the first time anything like this has happened,” Liam says.

“I think there’s a joke in here somewhere. Something about closets,” Harry says. Liam feels himself grin in spite of everything. He’s missed Harry, he’s really, really fucking missed Harry.

“Possibly,” Liam agrees. Harry grins back at him. Liam can mostly see him now, eyes adjusted to the dark. He wonders if he looks as much like himself as Harry does like himself. He can never tell in the mirror. He always thinks he doesn’t.

“But what’s it like?” Harry says again. Liam frowns and thinks. He wonders if it’s the same for Harry as it is for him. He realizes he can ask him.

“Do you ever feel like you’re drowning — like you’ve been drowning?” Liam asks.

“And the water is red?” Harry says back, nodding quickly, still running his fingers over Liam’s knuckles.

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly. So, it’s like, most of the time I still feel like that, heavy with water, but the more I’m here, the more it’s like swimming instead, and it's like I can get air,” Liam says.

“Good,” Harry says. He looks relieved.

“Do you remember things from — then?” Liam asks, squeezing Harry’s hand tighter. Harry nods again.

“Bits and pieces, little flashes,” Harry says.

“Oh,” Liam says. He swallows hard. “Was I there, in any of them? I don’t really remember at all, or I don’t know what I remember and what's a nightmare? Was one?”

“Yes,” Harry says. He reaches his other hand out, locking both their hands together.

“Oh,” Liam says again. He steps closer to Harry and bends his elbows a little. Harry follows suit until their hands are laced and their foreheads are pressed together; it’s the most anyone, even Niall, has touched Liam since he’s been — back. He didn’t know how much he needed it.

“I don’t remember a lot, but I know for a fact you were there. We were there,” Harry says. Liam is grateful he doesn’t actually say it, doesn’t spell out the we. He thinks it would be too much right now.

“Do you remember — did we?” Liam asks. He wish he hadn’t. He wishes Niall or Zayn would come get them. He wishes he could hide here with Harry forever.

“I don’t know,” Harry says, frowning deeper than before.

“Okay,” Liam says. Every place they’re touching helps more than he would have thought. Makes him feel like he’s swimming.

“If you remember, promise you’ll tell me?” Harry asks. Liam nods instantly. He was going to ask Harry the same thing.

“Yeah, you too?” Liam says back.

“Promise,” Harry says. He squeezes Liam’s hands again, tighter still, like sealing the promise. Liam squeezes back.

They’re still that way, fingers intertwined, forehead together, whispering about ways not to drown, when Niall comes to get them and tell them the coast is clear.

January 2013

“We should make a video diary, for old times' sake!” Louis is saying. They’re in a hotel room, several drinks and a passed-around joint into a stir-crazy evening. They’ve been told not to leave the hotel for security reasons. They’ve also been told they’re not allowed to do anything hotel security has to intervene in.

“Now?” Liam asks. He’s laying flat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Zayn’s beside him and Niall’s sitting right by his head. Harry and Louis are sharing an overstuffed armchair in the corner.

“Why not?” Louis says. “Or we would play a game!”

“I think I’m already spinning,” Harry says.

“Not that kind of game!” Louis says, sitting up a little. “A real one, just us.”

“Thought you wanted to make a video,” Zayn says. Liam turns his head and grins at him. His vision is sort of spinning. He knows what Harry means. He throws a leg up and over so that it’s overlapped with one of Zayn's. He thinks maybe he’ll never be over that — that he can do that, that he’s allowed to do that, to just touch him, any of them, when he wants to.

“Changed my mind,” Louis says, waving a dismissive hand.

“What kind of game?” Niall asks, suspicious but smiling.

“Everyone who contradicts me has to take a shot and remove an article of clothing,” Louis says. “Which would be all of you because we started five minutes ago.”

“That’s not a game,” Liam says. He’s maybe never over that either, that he is allowed to say things back to Louis like that, that Louis always grins at him when he does, like Liam’s done something right. This time is no different. Louis smirks at him,pleased, and says,

“That’s two for you, then,” and laughs.

“I don’t think I contradicted you,” Harry says.

“Yeah, me either,” Niall says.

“Two for each of you then, too!” Louis says, clapping his hands. He reaches beside him then and hands a vodka bottle to Harry. “Two! Go.”

“Can’t believe none of you saw that coming,” Zayn says, laughing. He sits up and smoothly removes the shirt he has on and chugs from the bottle at his side, saluting Louis as he does.

“That doesn’t count?” Harry asks, but he’s giggling as he does, already swallowing one of two shots.

“I’ll allow it,” Louis says, grinning. Harry laughs again and takes another shot. He’s got two shirts on, which Louis tries to declare cheating, of course. Liam turns away from their back and forth for a second and just looks at Zayn. He looks so relaxed tonight, so happy. He looks amazing, and Liam wants —

Liam just wants. He doesn’t know what, and he can’t put his finger on how. But it's in the expanse of skin, the way he can see Zayn’s chest move as he breathes, in the way he’s seen Zayn wearing less than this a million times, and yet, every time it burns in his eyes, and feels like something he should remember.

“I’m cold now,” Harry says, pouting when Liam turns back. He’s just in his boxers now, of course. Liam laughs and takes his own shot, pulling off his hoodie and undershirt.

“I make the best games,” Louis declares as Niall finishes the last of a bottle of whiskey and tosses his shirts towards Louis’ head.

“Why do I always end up the most naked?” Harry asks.

“Because you like being naked,” Liam says, eyes back on Zayn as he does. Louis lets out a delighted laugh and Liam floats a little at the sound of it.

“Exactly right,” Louis agrees.

Sometime later, Liam rolls over and curls into Zayn, who shivers a little.

“Alright?” Zayn whispers. Louis and Niall are asleep on the floor, with Louis spread out over Niall and Harry. Harry has his phone in hand and keeps switching between looking at Louis fondly and texting.

“Yeah, you?” Liam says back, snuggling in closer.

“Yeah, bit cold,” Zayn says. Liam grins and reaches until he finds the hoodie he had on and passes it to Zayn.

“Here,” he says, feeling proud of himself. Zayn studies it for a minute, then grins and squirms into it.

“I was going to say we should get under the covers, but thanks,” Zayn says, smiling. Liam feels himself flush a little.

“Oh! We could do that too if you wanted,” Liam says. Zayn grins again, shaking his head but then they do. They curl up and Liam allows a hand to slip around Zayn and under the hoodie, to where his skin feels burning hot.

For warmth and comfort. Because he’s drunk. Because they are. Because he can. Zayn snuggles back into him.

They wake up in the same position.

November 2014

The news, the news he’d told Liam not to watch, seems to think nothing is over or is wrapping up at all. There are constant rumors of so much shit — underground cults that worship zombies, people still hunting daily, rehabilitated zombies turning their backs on it all, rehabilitated zombies who are starting to bleed, death counts still rising, travel restrictions never being lifted again, and of things being changed forever. Zayn watches it in his room with headphones in so Liam and Harry don’t hear. He wonders how long they can stay okay hidden in the house.

They’d managed to convince the reporter there was no story. She’d almost looked like she recognized them — Zayn had picked the wrong day to go clean-shaven, clearly, but hadn’t pushed that angle. She didn’t seem to think that was a story. She’d been more concerned about the car coming and going late at night, and they’d lied and told her it had been medical. They'd said that Niall was sick. She seemed to sort of believe them. Maybe. Zayn’s worried she’ll be back. He’s worried she won’t be the last.

He doesn’t know what to do about any of it though, doesn’t know how to fix it, doesn’t know how to do anything but keep going, and keep doing what they’re doing.

(He has a nightmare that goes like this:

He’s gone off somewhere, just for a walk, just for an hour to clear his head, but when he gets back the whole property is filled with cars. There is a mob of people with guns trained on Liam and Harry and Niall too, and their families are there — Zayn’s too, and Louis and a dozen other people who are missing parts of their faces. They all turn when Zayn gets there and tell him in unison that it’s his fault. And then the guns go off. And everyone but Zayn falls, and everything turns red —

And Zayn wakes up. He has it at least once a week.)

He head to the kitchen to find Liam doing dishes. Harry and Niall are out back. Harry had wanted to be outside, to be in nature. He’d actually wanted to plant things, so he and Niall had researched things you can plant in fall so they grow in spring. Harry had said he needed to make things live. Zayn hopes they’re not too late.

“Hey,” he says, watching Liam dry a plate incredibly carefully.

“Hi,” Liam says, smiling a little. He’s looking out the window too, watching Harry and Niall.

“How long have they been out there?” Zayn asks. Liam smiles a bit wider.

“About two hours? I think it’s going well,” Liam says. He takes the dish in his hand and moves to open a cupboard and put it away, but the plates are stacked high and Liam frowns. Then moves to the next one over. Zayn remembers a second too late he should stop him.

Liam puts the plate up and pulls back with a gun in his hand (weapons hiding place #4).

“Liam,” Zayn starts. Liam puts it down on the counter quickly, eyes terrified.

“Oh, oh, oh, sorry,” he says, backing up so fast he runs into the counter. “Ow.”

“It’s not — are you okay?” Zayn says. He means about the way Liam is rubbing his back. He means about everything.

“Yes, yes,” Liam says, then shakes his head. “No.”

“It’s not,” Zayn says again because he doesn’t. He doesn’t want Liam to think that —

“Right. No,” Liam says. “I have to go. I need to go upstairs.”

“Li,” Zayn says as Liam goes, and it startles them both, Zayn is sure. Liam freezes for a second, and Zayn wonders how to — if he should, somehow, pull the nickname back. It’s been. It's been so long. But Liam stiffens again and heads off, almost running up the stairs.

“Fuck,” Zayn breathes. He thinks he should let it go. He thinks a month ago he would have. He doesn’t. He puts the gun in a drawer. (He’ll have to talk to Niall about that later.) And then he heads up after Liam. He finds Liam in his room, staring at himself in the mirror, frowning.

“We never had to — we never had to use one. We never, you know,” Zayn says.

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” Liam says. He looks frantic. He’s digging into his palms again.

“I just wanted you to know. It was just in case. For protection,” Zayn says.

“Right,” Liam says again, nodding.

“We never,” Zayn says again. Liam looks so troubled, so worried, so afraid.

“Please don’t,” he says. Zayn shakes his head and steps in. Liam retreats.

It’s a first.

“I just don’t want you to think that I’d. I mean,” Zayn says.

“But I did!” Liam says — explodes, honestly. Zayn steps back himself and winces.

“What?” Zayn asks, even though he gets what Liam is saying. And he knows that. Zayn knows that. He does know that there is no way around it, and there must have been — he knows the thought of it must be torturing Liam. He knows it wasn’t Liam’s fault if he did.

“I’m glad that you two were safe enough that you never had to use that, that you never killed anyone, but mostly because I don’t want you to have been in danger. I — it’s great you didn’t, I guess, but I did. I don't remember, but I know I must have. I was a fucking zombie, and all I remember is blood and screaming, okay? It’s great you didn’t kill anyone, Zayn, but I did. So, I don't know, maybe you should have. Maybe you should have that around for protection from me. Maybe you shouldn’t even let me be here. I — ” Liam stops and collapses on his bed, like the weight of everything he’s just said is crushing him.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Zayn says, but it comes harsher than it should. He snaps it. He should say it comforting, and he should go over and sit. They should talk about this, but everything just — it hurts. Everything Liam had said fucking hurts, and he can’t. Zayn still can’t.

“Why am I here? Why are we here? You survived a zombie uprising and now there are zombies in your house!” Liam says. His eyes are sort of wild. He looks stirred up, like he’s saying everything he’s been afraid to. Zayn closes his eyes.

“Do you have any idea, any idea, how hard it’s been?” Zayn says, and he shouldn’t keep going, but he does. “You were dead, Liam. You were dead and I — fuck, and now you’re here, you’re back, and I’m so selfishly, horribly glad. I can’t stop being glad you were a damn zombie. You did probably kill people, but hey, I get to see you again, so what the hell do I care, right? I feel like shit about it all the time, okay? I don't need you to — you’re here because I want you here. We want you here. You and Harry.” Zayn stops. He’s said far too much, way too much. Liam stills, he quiets and seems to shrink.

“I didn’t want that for you,” Liam says. Zayn wants to tell him he didn’t mean it. Wants to say that it's all true, but he didn’t mean it to come out like that. He never meant to say it like it’s all Liam’s fault.

“Yeah, I know,” is what he says instead, shrugging. He’s hurt, and he can’t help it. Not even because of what Liam had said- Liam is allowed to talk about what happened to him, Zayn doesn’t want to deny him that. But he’d been trying, he’d stepped up, and he wanted to comfort Liam. He'd wanted to be able to do it this time, and it’s ended this way and it’s hit him low and painful. He turns his back to go.

(He’s said way too much.)

“I can just go if you want,” Liam says, sounding small.

“Don't be stupid, Liam,” Zayn says as he walks out. It’s an awful thing to say in response, and he knows it. He says it anyway and then he goes to his room and shuts himself in for the rest of the day.

November 2014

Liam hasn’t talked to Zayn in two days. They haven't spoken, and it’s making Liam just — miserable. He’s cleaned the entire house from top to bottom and done all the washing. He and Harry have been going through self-help sections from the educational books together, as a mini group, trying to get memories back. He’s sat outside with Harry and Niall, breathing and being and trying not drown. He’s beat Niall at quick two-player games of football outside. He’s played video games with to Harry until his fingers hurt.

He misses Zayn with a tight ache below his ribs that keeps him pacing and nervous.

He’s just — the gun thing — he’d seen so many things run through his mind at once, and he’d panicked, just completely panicked. He’d said things he wants to take back. He wants to save them for a time when he can talk about them better, so he can say them without attacking Zayn. He hurts. All of him.

He lays in bed and stares at a picture he has of all of them and he runs his hand over Louis’ image. It's a thing he’s taken to when he’s nervous — when he’s fucking terrified. He tries to hear advice in his head, tries to pull up what Louis would say, what slightly mocking, but ultimately loving, advice he’d give. It comes up blank in his head like radio static, and it scares Liam so much he shakes and swallows against a rising lump in his throat. He thinks he’d give anything for Louis to be here right now. He thinks if they were all together, it would be better. He thinks maybe Louis could talk to Zayn and could fix this all.

He falls asleep with the picture clutched to his chest.

(He has a nightmare that goes like this:

There is a vial of his cure that he takes, that he injects slowly into his skin, and after, he notices it’s expired. That the date on it is before this whole thing even began. In his dream, he tells himself it’s a misprint, that it’s okay. He goes downstairs and everyone is there, smiling at him brightly. His vision goes red, their faces look melting, and he lunges at them, tearing at them, attacking, eating.

Red and screams. Blood and drowning.)

He wakes up screaming.

He tries to calm himself down, to come back, to swim.

And then the door flies open and Zayn is there, alive and not red. Not under muddy water. Just Zayn. Worried, beautiful Zayn.

“Liam?” Zayn says, cautiously.

“Nightmare,” Liam says, shaking. Zayn nods, then stares at the floor. Liam watches him, watches Zayn’s hands shake, watches Zayn look at his foot and the floor, watches the familiar way he looks like he’s picking what to say from a list of options in his mind.

“You okay?” Zayn asks, it’s a little weak. His throat sounds scratchy. Liam wonders if he’s okay. He wonders why Zayn’s here — he’d thought Zayn was irreparably mad at him.

“No,” Liam says, because it’s late, because in his mind everything is still red, because Zayn is here, and because he’s missed Zayn so much.

“No?” Zayn repeats, looking up. Worried.

“Could you — can you come in? For a minute?” Liam asks. He thinks the worst Zayn can say is no. He thinks it wouldn’t hurt anymore than everything that’s already happened. He thinks he’s already said so much he shouldn’t have. Zayn nods instead.

“Yeah, okay,” he says. He comes in and sits on the desk chair, facing Liam. Not too close, but closer than he has been in days.

“Thanks,” Liam says. Zayn nods and then looks at Liam again. Liam can feel his eyes. Maybe on the hoodie. Liam always sleeps in it, every night. It helps, usually.

“M’sorry,” Zayn says after a moment. Liam shakes his head quickly.

“No, I am,” Liam says. He wants to reach out, so badly, and grab Zayn’s hand. Before, he would have. He doesn’t know the rules anymore.

“No, you were freaked out, and I — attacked you and I didn’t mean — shit, I didn’t. I’m sorry,” Zayn says. He’s frowning so much. He looks so mad at himself, and Liam can’t help it. It happens faster than asking Zayn to stay had. He reaches out and grabs for one of Zayn’s hands. Zayn freezes for a second, long enough for Liam to panic, but then he seems to breathe. He moves their hands so their fingers are laced, nodding his head.

“It’s me, though,” Liam says, allowing himself to squeeze Zayn’s hand.

“No,” Zayn says, shaking his head.

“It is. I just hate to think of it, you know, all that time, and how it must have been — I don’t know how you and Niall did it. You have weapons hidden around for protection, And it was just the two of you. And I hate, I hate so much that I wasn’t here. Helping,” Liam says.

“You didn’t have much say in it,” Zayn says, smiling softly.

“I still hate it,” Liam says, and then he takes a deep breath. “Like, I didn’t mean it when I said about leaving. If you wanted me to, or it wasn’t safe or — but I would never want to. If I did have a say, if it was my choice, I would never,” Liam says. Zayn nods and closes his eyes.

“I’d never want you to,” Zayn says, softly.

“Okay,” Liam says, and then, feeling bold and brave, he pulls on Zayn a little. The wheels of the chair he’s on roll forward toward the bed and Liam. Zayn lets them.

“And I didn’t mean — I didn’t want to say anything that way,” Zayn says.

“I know,” Liam says. And he does. He gets it, they had both been on edge, and Liam had pushed Zayn too much, too hard, too far.. He knows that. He’s just glad Zayn’s here now. He had a nightmare, he screamed and Zayn came. He thinks that’s all he needs. That's all that matters.

“No,” Zayn says. “I want you to know for real. I — have I told you how fucking much I missed you?” Zayn finishes. It's soft and sincere and Liam could melt to it, could live on it forever, on the way Zayn says it, and the way his eyes look. It’s. Liam breathes.

“You didn’t, as such, but you don’t have to,” Liam says. Zayn rolls himself closer. He looks tired, like Liam’s scream had woken him up. He looks open and small and like a hundred mornings that feel so very long ago. Liam thinks he’s maybe dreaming again now.

“I do, though,” Zayn says. He’s so close, god. Liam squeezes his hand.

“I don’t remember being that way. Me and Harry are working on it, but I’m so sure I missed you. You and Niall, but,” Liam pauses because he needs Zayn to know. Something. “But you, Zayn. I saw you, at the center, and I thought I was imagining it. I thought that my mind was playing tricks, that you were a, what’s the word — ”

“Mirage?” Zayn suggests, smiling at him (times Zayn has honestly and for real smiled at Liam since he’s been alive again #7).

“Right,” Liam says, squeezing Zayn’s hand. Zayn runs his free hand through his own hair.

“What I meant, and what I should have said was: I missed you so much, dude, I missed you so much I couldn’t breathe sometimes with it, and you’re back and it feels like a good thing, like a gift, right? And you were a zombie in between. You’re back because of the most fucked up miracle ever, basically, but I can’t not be happy about it. I’ve tried, but I can’t.” Zayn says. No, Liam really thinks maybe he’s dreaming,, now. Because the way Zayn is looking at him is filling him with happiness he has no right to feel.

Then again, his dreams are never this kind to him.

“Oh,” Liam says. “I’m happy that you’re happy about it.”

“Good,” Zayn says, smiling again.

“I’m sorry, again,” Liam says. “I was out of line.”

“I was,” Zayn says, shaking his head. Liam bites his lip.

“You came now, though, thanks for that,” Liam says. He pulls Zayn even closer, and Zayn lets him. Liam is certain he doesn’t deserve this. Zayn had said he was selfish, but Liam thinks it’s him, that he’s selfish. He’s asking so much from Zayn with every touch and every conversation.

He doesn’t want to stop.

“Nightmare, huh?” Zayn says, looking at him again.

“My medicine was wrong in it, and I attacked you and the others,” Liam says. Part of him hopes Zayn will wince at that, will ask him if that’s possible, will run away. He thinks does deserve that.

He just wants Zayn to stay.

Zayn does.

“Yeah. I dream zombie hunters have come for you, and Harry, and I can’t stop ‘em,” Zayn says, like they were swapping. Liam smiles, even though it’s nothing to smile about at all. Zayn smiles back. He scoots himself even closer and squeezes Liam’s hand. It makes Liam bold.

“You could,” Liam starts, then he stops and reminds himself again that even at worst — if Zayn runs, he’s already been there. He could handle it again. “Will you stay? Can you stay with me?”

“Stay?” Zayn repeats. He doesn’t drop Liam’s hand though, or run. Liam nods. He doesn’t add that Harry stays sometimes, that they’ve spent nights curled up together, and he doesn’t say he knows Zayn and Niall share a bed a lot. He decides none of that matters.

“Under the covers with me?” Liam says, he pouts, and, oh, how long has it been since he’s pouted, since he’s made the face he’s making now at Zayn?

“Um,” Zayn says, but he’s smiling softly, looking at Liam’s hoodie again, and not running.

“It’s been so long, Zayn,” Liam finds the courage to let slip out. Zayn nods and smiles, still soft.

“Too long,” he says. He gets up and gets into the bed with Liam, sitting next to him and then rejoining their hands. Liam has no right, no right at all to ever ask for anything else in his life again. He thinks if Zayn is gone in the morning, if they never do this or talk about it again, it will be enough.

“Yeah,” he says, and then he tugs Zayn down with him and pulls the covers around them, dropping their hands.

“Hi,” Zayn says, so close, just inches from Liam’s face.

“Hi,’ Liam says back. “Can I? Could we? Snuggle, like?”

“Yeah, okay,” Zayn says. He rolls over, like he’s getting comfortable. Liam pulls him in, and allows himself to touch, to run his hand over the soft warm t-shirt Zayn is wearing, to feel down his ribs before settling his arm around, smelling him, breathing him. Zayn lets him.

It’s so much. Zayn is so close. And it’s enough. For now. Maybe forever. It’s enough.

“Thanks for staying,” Liam whispers into Zayn’s hair. Zayn nods. Liam wants to keep this forever. He wants.

Zayn snuggles back close and yawns, so Liam pulls him in tighter. They don’t say anything else for a while, for so long Liam thinks Zayn has fallen asleep. He’s mostly asleep himself.

“Goodnight,” he whispers. He’s not expecting a response.

He gets two. So muttered, so slurred with sleep he barely understands them. So clearly from the edge of sleep he doesn’t press them, even though both of them keep him up, breathing in Zayn for another hour or so.

One is a muttered, “Did you know you’ve got a bruise? It wasn’t there before. Didn’t know you could do that.” That rattles him because he can’t (things rehabilitated zombies can’t do #17). That rattles him because when he reaches down to the spot where he’d walked into the counter the other day, it’s sore and tender.

A bruise.

The other — hardly heard, whispered, barely there at all, is, “love you” and it hits Liam in every one of his cells. It makes him feel like he’s not drowning at all. He closes his eyes and repeats the memory over and over, trying to keep it forever.

“Love you too,” he says back after a while when he’s sure Zayn’s asleep. He’s certain this is it, a one-night deal. He doesn’t care. He has a bruise, it hurts, and he’s cuddled in with Zayn.

It’s enough.

December 2014

The first week in December they replace the weapons in every hiding spot with tranquilizer darts and guns.

"You ever think all the delivery people must think we're a couple of eccentric rich fucks, all this shit they bring?" Niall asks as he and Zayn shove their dart gun delivery box, now filled with different weapons, into a shelving unit in the very back corner of the garage.

"We are," Zayn says, shrugging.

"'Cept there's four of us," Niall points out, kicking the box the rest of the way in and shutting the door.

"Except that," Zayn agrees, nodding.

Inside, Niall and Liam set about taking the boards off most of the windows. Not all of them, because of Harry and Liam. But most. Harry's sitting on the sofa, eyes on his laptop, and Zayn sits down next to him, smiling softly.

"Looks better already, yeah?" Harry says, smiling over at Zayn.

"It's definitely homier," Zayn says. Harry nods.

"Niall and I were talking about that, about decorating and such too, now that. Well," Harry says. Zayn wonders if that should bother him — them talking about it without running it by him first. It is his house. It doesn't. Not really. The place stopped feeling like just his so long ago..

"Might be nice," Zayn says agreeably. He's decorated before, of course, but he'd been sort of in the middle of it when everything had happened, so it's all unfinished. That, and for over a year, it all just sat and wilted a little. Now, even after Liam's thorough cleaning, it doesn't really look right anymore.

"Yeah," Harry says, nodding, motion slightly over-exaggerated.

"Reading anything interesting?" Zayn asks, gesturing to Harry's laptop. He's always sort of nervous about either Harry or Liam spending too much time online, about the things they might see.

"Very!" Harry says. He turns his laptop around and shows Zayn the screen. Growing a Garden to Eat and Heal From: A Beginners’ Guide to Growing Nutrition glows across the screen.

"You don't eat," Zayn says, arching an eyebrow.

"We also don't bruise, so you never know," Harry says, with a ridiculous sort of wink. (House mystery #3 How did Liam get a bruise if they can't do that?) They've spent hours and hours of internet research trying to find an answer — a reason Liam could've bruised. So far? Nothing.)

"I doubt that's the same," Zayn says. Harry smiles wistfully.

"I know. But you and Niall eat, so I can do it for you," Harry says.

"I guess so," Zayn says. Harry's garden thing is getting more intense as the weeks pass.

"It'll be great, a proper garden in the spring. I'll do all the work," Harry says, very seriously.

"Okay," Zayn says, nodding again. There is a logic to the garden and all, Zayn sees it. He does get it, on some level. He wants Harry to have it. Harry smiles again and shifts closer to Zayn on the couch, stretching out.

"Fuck!" Niall's voice says from the back hallway. It’s clearly an, I've hurt myself working, sort, not a we're under attack sort, but both Harry and Zayn stiffen anyway, on alert until Liam's voice says,

"Hold still, I'll get it," and Niall gives a little yelp that sounds like they're both laughing.

"That's why they're in charge of heavy lifting," Harry says. Next to him, his phone buzzes, startling Zayn for a bit. Harry shakes his head at the question Zayn doesn't ask and shows him the screen, a reminder alert that reads: one hour until your next dose! complete with every possible medical-related emoji.

"Liam set them for us both," Harry says, shrugging one shoulder.

"Ah," Zayn says. He thinks about four different questions, but doesn’t ask them. Harry shakes his head again and answers, anyway.

“Nothing else coming through on my phone, really,” Harry says, it in his pocket.

“I didn’t ask,” Zayn says.

“Me and Liam, we made a pact — we’re going to do it before the end of year, together. Easier that way,” Harry says.

(Complete list of things all always avoid talking about: Harry and Liam telling anyone else they’re alive again, anyone’s family, Louis.)

Zayn nods. He knows — maybe he should know more — that they both have a lot of reservations about that. He thinks he shouldn’t ask. He thinks he should. He thinks maybe they — he thinks Liam wants him to.

“I’m injured!” Niall announces, dramatically throwing himself on Harry’s other side on the sofa, Liam behind him.

“A splinter, he had a splinter,” Liam says, rolling his eyes and sitting half on the arm of the sofa, close but not too close to Zayn.

“How’s it coming?” Harry asks, shutting his laptop and putting it on the table.

“Done for the day, I think,” Liam says, looking at Niall, who nods and yawns for emphasis.

“Gonna make food now. All that hard work makes a man hungry,” Niall says, mostly to Zayn, obviously.

“Can I help?” Harry asks, bouncing a little. Niall shrugs, and Harry is already off, running to kitchen. Niall follows him, looking amused. Zayn shifts and looks at Liam.

“Good day?” he asks. Liam nods before sliding down off the arm of sofa and toward Zayn.

“Yeah, I like when I get to be busy,” Liam says.

“I know,” Zayn says, smiling at how much that makes Liam smile. There has not been, since that night — the night of Liam’s nightmare and their apologies — a drastic change or anything. They haven’t shared a bed again since, and sometimes an entire day goes by when they don’t talk very much at all, and sometimes they pull away fast when they brush up against each other. But it’s all been a little less sharp, it’s felt a little more manageable.

(In the morning, Zayn hadn’t run, snuck away, or tried to pull back everything he’d said. He’d opened his eyes to find Liam sitting on the desk chair at the mirror, applying generous amounts of makeup to the places it had rubbed off in the night. Zayn'd simply watched and tries to figure out what he dreamt and what really happened.)

“Did you want to, like, I ordered some movies that I missed, you know? And I think you probably did too?” Liam says, pulling on the edges of his shirt sleeve. He's got a point. Zayn doesn’t remember the last time he watched a movie.

“Sounds good,” he says. Liam jumps up and returns a minute later with his computer. He sits closer to Zayn when he slides back down on the couch. They pick a comedy, something with no dying in whatsoever, and settle in. Zayn pulls a blanket up too — drafts — and their legs bump together under it.

Zayn doesn’t really watch the movie. He watches Liam’s face out of the corner of his eye, and he listens to the sounds of Harry and Niall’s happy-sounding chatter from the kitchen, the movie’s laugh track blending with theirs. Liam’s hands keep fidgeting under the covers, and Zayn wants to grab them, every time.

Eventually he does, and Liam beams at him, so bright that Zayn flushes under it.

When Harry and Niall come back, and after Zayn and Niall eat, they all move to sit on the floor and Niall grabs his guitar for the first time since he’s been here — for the first time Zayn can remember since before — everything.

He strums out random chords and Harry pulls a wide-brimmed hat he’d found somewhere over his eyes and hums along, looking happy. They’re all sitting close enough together to be over-lapping each other a little, and it's warm and lazy. Zayn stays under the blanket with Liam, even on the floor. Liam grabs for his hand again and Zayn reaches back, squeezing tight. He presses close to Liam. listens to Niall play, and tries not to think about anything other than this December evening.

It's almost overwhelming, how normal it feels.

They're all drowsy and mostly asleep, Zayn's head on Liam's shoulder —

When the house phone rings.

April 2013

It is possibly the coolest thing Zayn has ever seen. He's been all around the world; he's seen some unbelievably cool shit, but this? This is beyond all of it. Maybe because it's his. Theirs. His and Louis'. He runs his hand along the edges, grinning.

"How fucking sick is this?" Louis says, taking photos from every angle with his phone.

"I know," Zayn says, almost reverently. He feels like he should be reverent.

"It's a Mystery Machine, and it belongs to us," Louis says. Zayn nods. He thinks, not for the first time, how great it is that he's become absurdly rich with people who think something like this is a good use of money. Who also understands how beyond cool this is.

"It's better than I thought," Zayn says. It is. Every detail is perfect, right in place, and his.

"You ready to hop in?" Louis asks, beaming. Zayn beans back and they do, climbing in the front and touching every control and seatbelt before making their way to the back and sprawling on the floor.

"Better," Zayn says again.

"Yeah," Louis says. "How great is this? I can’t decide if we should decorate back here or leave it as is, authentic, like."

"Leave it," Zayn says instantly.

"I knew you'd say that," Louis says, stretching out and kicking Zayn's foot with his own.

"Well, s'a bit like, taking things out of their packages, not as valuable then," Zayn says, shrugging. Louis rolls his eyes, but he's smiling.

"You're a hopeless geek, Zayn Malik, and I don't know why I'm your friend," he says.

"Says the owner of half a Mystery Machine replica," Zayn says back. Louis swats a lazy arm at him, not bothering to move his hand after, simply leaving it rested on Zayn's arm.

"Is it Mystery Machine christening time?" Louis asks.

"I'd say so, yeah," Zayn says. He digs in his pockets; he came prepared.

"See that? I love that you knew what I meant," Louis says, smile getting bigger. "We didn't even talk about this before."

"You do ships with champagne, so it only makes sense," Zayn says. Secretly, he's pleased too. He likes that — the agreement they make without making it.

"Huge fucking geek," Louis says again, fondly, grabbing the joint out of Zayn's hand.

Really, how else do you break in a Mystery Machine?

Later, everything is lazy and so warm, with the last of a joint idling between them. They're incredibly stoned, and they've got limbs all over each other, not really moving. The air is sticky in a way that should be unpleasant but isn't.

"You think," Louis starts, "we're fiction when we're in here, not real."

"We made a fictional thing be real," Zayn says.

"Yeah, but, in here, we don't have to be us, right? We could go to places that don't exist, be totally different people, hunt monsters!" Louis says.

"The monsters are always people, inside, like," Zayn says, tangling his fingers with Louis'. He does feel a bit like maybe he was drawn at this moment — his edges made of pencil lines.

"That's deep," Louis says, words slow and drawn out.

"That's the show," Zayn returns. Louis rolls closer.

"No, but if you were imaginary, where would you go?"

"Here, probably," Zayn says. He can't really think of much more fantastical at the moment.

"Was that sentimental or boring?" Louis asks. Zayn shrugs.

"Where would you go?" he asks. Louis blinks like he wasn't expecting to Zayn to ask, and doesn't answer, just moves in to kiss Zayn's forehead and then pulls back, grinning.

"We need to make rules," Louis says, gesturing with his free hand.

"Rules," Zayn repeats.

"Yes. No getting high without each other, no showing anyone else without asking the other first, no sex," Louis says.

"Without each other?" Zayn questions. It's funnier in his head than out loud. Louis pauses for a second. The sticky air gets heavy. They're so close together, and for a flash of a second — and not for the first time — Zayn thinks about it. He squirms and Louis swallows — and then the moment breaks, and Louis drops Zayn's hands and scoots back.

"I just don't want to see Liam walk-of-shaming his way out of our Mystery Machine," Louis says. And Zayn thinks that was probably funnier in Louis's head than it was out loud.

"Not a possibility," Zayn says, sharper than he intended. Surprisingly sharp for as stoned as he is.

"Was joking," Louis says, frowning.

"Yeah, me too," Zayn says. He doesn't clarify about what, but Louis grabs his hand again, anyway.

They're quiet for a minute, and then Louis squeezes Zayn's hand and says,

"I'd be here too, I think."

December 2014

There is a lot of discussion about what to do about Louis’ welcome presents. Because Harry had gotten the same ones as Liam, of course. They’re needed things, and giving them is Niall and Zayn’s thing, now, in a way.

But the thing is, it’s so very close to Louis’ birthday. They weren’t going to do holidays anyway, and they’ve missed, ignored, other birthdays, all of them.

But.

“I was thinking of mentioning anyway that we could do something for his birthday. I wanted to. I didn’t know how to bring it up, and at the time I thought it would be, I guess, a memorial. But I was going to say, anyway,” Harry says to the other three, who are sitting around him on Harry's bed.

“I thought about it a little too,” Liam admits, nodding. He had. He'd almost brought it up to Zayn two nights ago, actually, just before the call came.

“Yeah,” Niall agrees.

“Right, but he’ll be here now,” Zayn says, nodding, frowning a little.

“All the more reason,” Harry says.

“We could have a celebration, not right away, we could just do regular presents then, and then plan a — ” Niall starts, stopping and shrugging.

“A birthday reunion? A reunion birthday!” Harry says, grinning at Niall.

“He will probably want a party,” Liam points out, mostly because no one else has yet. It’s such a strange conversation, but Liam thinks Louis would be pleased they’re having it.

“We could do a bonfire, if it’s not too cold,” Harry says, biting his lip thoughtfully.

“I like it, and we have the space for it,” Niall says, putting a quick hand on Harry's shoulder.

“We need to make a bonfire to have one,” Zayn says, but he’s smiling, now, and looking less worried than just a few seconds ago. Liam stares at him. He’s stopped trying not to, lately.

After being able to hold Zayn’s hand, being able to hold him, after the whispered words Liam knows he heard, well — it still feels like more than he deserves, and so it's enough. So it's more than enough. But.

But it’s almost impossible to stop. It's impossible to look away.

And Liam wants.

“We’ve got Liam, don’t we?” Niall says, nudging Liam.

“I could do it, probably,” Liam says. Everyone grins back at him.

“So we’ve decided? Regular presents, but then also a party thing?” Zayn asks.

“Birthday reunion,” Harry says, as if the distinction is important.

“Birthday reunion,” Zayn amends, nodding.

“We can make food! So much food,” Harry enthuses.

“You don’t eat,” Niall and Zayn say in unison. Liam laughs into his hands and catches Zayn’s eye.

“Maybe I will, special occasion!” Harry says, pouting. The room feels so loose, everything feels so very close to normal, to how it was that Liam can almost pretend. He can pretend they’re planning a surprise for Louis, like they’re on tour and like maybe having a secret hotel room meeting. Harry’s laughter is easy and floating, Niall’s smile is bright and near constant. Liam is happy and sure he belongs, sure of his place in the world, sure this will last forever. Zayn is kind, wise, wonderful, and he understands Liam, and Liam loves him. And Liam loves them all. And he’s alive, and he’s here and —

Liam closes his eyes, and he’s drowning. Red and screaming. Blood on his hands that feels like a memory. Liam coughs so much he feels like he’s choking and opens his eyes to three sets of worried eyes.

And just like that, he can’t pretend anymore. Just like that, the crack the runs under and everything feels wide and daunting again. Aching.

He excuses himself and doesn’t let any of them follow.

Three days later, he’s pacing the living room with Harry and Zayn because Niall is to be back with Louis any minute, and they’re all a bit of mess about it.

Liam feels like a mess in general, and everyone is still shooting him worried looks. They’ve all asked, Zayn and Harry have pressed, but Liam just isn’t ready to share the image with anyone yet. Even Harry, who he had promised he would. This isn’t a proper memory, but to Liam, it feels like confirmation of sorts, and he’s sick about it. The harder he tries not see it, the more it burns into his eyes.

When the back door opens, they all jump together, holding hands, with Liam in the middle. He laces his fingers with both Zayn and Harry without really thinking, and they all just stare and wait and —

Louis.

He walks in, looks at all of them, and everyone breathes, and then — Liam doesn’t know who of the five of them moves in for a hug first, but they’re all together, tangled up, about a second later, close and tight.

Familiar.

“Boys,” Louis says simply, grandly, the biggest word anyone has ever said in, perhaps, all of time.

“Hi,” Liam says back, suddenly not as concerned with the blood on his hands as with the person in front of him, of them. Louis smiles at him, soft, like he used to when he was tired, on tour buses in pajamas. A smile like a secret, Liam had always thought.

“Liam,” Louis says, eyes directly on Liam. It’s quiet for a second, a pause that's like a collective breath, and then everyone is sort of talking at once. There are so many versions of I missed you in the air that Liam loses track.

Liam had, god. He’d thought he’d missed Louis. He’d stared at pictures, and he’d wished Louis were here so many times. But right now? Right now he thinks he hadn't actually let himself miss Louis, not fully, not properly. The full force of it hits him now, and he thinks he might have to sit down. He wraps himself tighter in their circle instead, where they've all started just sort of repeating each other's names over and over, now.

A hand reaches out to the center. Niall’s. Four others pile on top at once.

“Didn’t think we’d ever get to do that again,” Niall says, glancing at the rest of them. Liam feels his chest tug. He looks around their circle, from Niall’s grin, to Louis’ racing eyes, to Harry’s tears, to Zayn’s —

Harry’s tears. Because Harry is crying. Even though they don’t do that. They can't do that.

“Um, Harry?” Liam says, biting his lip.

“I know,” Harry says, shrugging a little, smiling a little sheepishly. “I noticed.”

“We don’t cry,” Louis says, sort of wonderingly, moving his hand in their pile like he’s reaching for Harry’s.

“Liam got a bruise not long ago,” Niall offers. His eyes look suspiciously watery now, too. Louis’ eyes turn on Liam, bright. (Briefly, Liam thinks they can’t possibly make contacts that bright, that there is no way. He doesn’t know how Louis is actually managing that. The contacts can add color, get rid of that whole dead look thing, but Louis’ eyes are sharp and shining. Liam’s not sure how that’s possible.)

“Yeah?” Louis asks. Liam nods.

“Told you,” Harry says, looking at Zayn, who widens his eyes at him, looking confused.

“Told me what?” Zayn asks.

“That you never knew! With doing things we’re not meant to be able to,” Harry says, still teary-eyed.

“Ah, right,” Zayn says, nodding. He looks tired — good tired, but so very tired. Liam wants to hold him.

“Harry is convinced we’ll all be eating again soon,” Liam says. Harry sticks his tongue out at him, and Louis laughs. Liam is pretty sure it makes the whole room brighter.

“Of course he is,” Louis says, grinning quickly. Then he leans in and kisses each one of them on cheek and says, “now, I heard something about presents?”

December 2014

Liam’s acting strange. He has been since right before Louis came, and Zayn can’t figure out why. He's asked a few times, but he hasn't pushed it. He knows that Liam will tell him, eventually. He hopes, anyway. Still, he worries, because he knows Liam. He can tell whatever it is, it's really bothering him.

Zayn also knows he’s the last person with any room to talk about needing some space, or about not being able to have conversations about a lot of stuff. He still feels that way nearly all the time. So he's not pushing.

But he is worried.

Although, it's good, probably, because Louis isn't so letting any of them have a lot in the way of space right now. He’s around all the time, and he fills rooms he’s not in somehow, too, like he’s more alive than all four of them put together had been. They’ve all been clamoring around him and it's like back when they all just met; in those early days, when his attention felt like everything in the world.

(Okay. That’s a lie.

There was no time when it didn't feel, at least a little, still exactly like that. Zayn's sure that're true for all of them.

But they all got older, more used to it, and a bit better at hiding it over the years.)

Louis is delighted, of course, that they’re throwing him a party. He insists on helping with both decorations and food he can’t eat. Louis has also cast Zayn a few long, hard-to-puzzle looks, but Zayn figures it's probably — this has all gotta be so weird and new for Louis. So he doesn't think much of it.

Until walks into his room and finds Louis sitting on his bed. At one in the morning.

Zayn had been up, pacing a little, considering knocking on Liam’s door, but then reading in the kitchen. His eyes are sort of swimming when he walks in to see Louis sitting there.

“Hey?” Zayn says, shutting the door behind him. Louis jumps up and then sits right back down.

“Wanted to talk to you,” Louis says. Zayn raises an eyebrow but nods.

“Okay,” he says. "Sure."

“See, I’ve made this list of things I need to do, now that I’m living again, right? And I’m on this one,” Louis says. He pulls an actual list out of his pocket and points to the number six where, apologize to Zayn is written in red sharpie.

“For what?” Zayn asks, frowning. Louis shoves the list back in his pocket and runs a hand through his hair.

“For the things I’m sorry for,” Louis says, making a face like he knows it's a shit answer.

“Lou,” Zayn says, shaking his head. Louis crosses his legs in front of him.

“This would be so much easier if you’d just say you knew what I was talking about,” Louis says.

“This is a crap apology,” Zayn says, even as he tries to run through possibilities in his mind.

“For,” Louis stops and sighs and then looks back at Zayn, eyes huge and a little scared. “For dying after the last thing I said to you was that I was mad at you.”

“Fuck,” Zayn says, sitting down on the bed next to Louis. It feels a little like he’s collapsing. He can’t believe Louis wants to talk about this. Of course Louis wants to talk about this. “That’s not even.”

“It is,” Louis says, looking way too serious about it.

“You can’t apologize for dying,” Zayn says, shaking his head.

“Maybe not, but I can apologize for the last thing I said to you,” Louis counters. He looks determined, now, as if he’s not going to leave until Zayn yells at him.

“No. Because you were kidding and I knew it," Zayn says, holding Louis' gaze. "We were laughing about it. So no. You can’t.”

“What about the other thing, then? Can I apologize for that?” Louis asks, a smile coming and leaving his face in less than a second. He moves his hand like he wants to reach out for Zayn, but then doesn’t.

“What other thing?” Zayn asks. Louis’ makeup is smudged. He looks a little gray in places. It doesn’t scare Zayn like it would have before. Truthfully, he hardly notices.

“Liam,” Louis says, well, declares, really.

“What about Liam?” Zayn asks, looking down at his knees for a second.

“You know,” Louis says, raising an eyebrow .

“I really don’t,” Zayn says. And, okay. That's — he maybe does know what Louis is getting at. A little. A lot. Whatever. Louis leans back, and looks exasperated all of a sudden, the contrite erased from his familiar features.

“For fuck’s sake, Zayn, the man died. Are you still pretending you don’t love him?” Louis says. Zayn winces.

“You know I love all of you,” Zayn says. Louis full on glares at him.

“That’s not what I meant,” Louis says, slowly, as if Zayn is being an idiot. Zayn sighs. He’s — that is true. He does love all of them. But. He also knows what Louis means.

(He does remember, being curled in Liam’s bed under Liam’s arm, whispering that he loved him, hearing it back. He knows he'd meant it. He knows how he’d meant it. He does — it’s.)

“I don’t want to talk about what you meant,” Zayn says, shaking his head. Louis levels him another glare; one of those ones of his that look like he could almost see through a person.

“Whatever. I was just saying, I didn’t mean to, you know, actually take him from you,” Louis says.

“I know that,” Zayn says. He wants to tell Louis that it’s not like that, because it hasn’t just been Liam. Because if it had been him and Liam left alone with Niall and Harry and Louis in that other van — that would have still been awful and as fucked and damaging and painful. Whatever it is that he feels about Liam (he knows, he knows, he’s always known) isn’t the point. It isn't the point at all. He doesn’t, though. He doesn't say that. Maybe another time, another conversation.

“So you should let me apologize for it. So I can cross it off my list,” Louis says. Zayn shakes his head.

“Fine. Apology accepted,” Zayn says. Louis smiles, then settles down in Zayn’s blankets.

“Can I stay?” Louis asks.

“Sure,” Zayn says, snuggling in beside him.

“Don’t suppose it would be good news if I asked about our beloved Mystery Machine?” Louis asks, under the covers.

“I wish I knew,” Zayn says. He honestly has no idea. Last he heard, it was safe in a garage somewhere, but then. Zombie outbreak and all.

“Promise me we’ll go find it one day? An adventure?” Louis asks, whispering now.

“Sure,” Zayn says again. It’s probably not a promise he’ll be able to keep, but it’s late, and it’s Louis, so right this second, he means it.

“Promise me you’ll talk to Liam?” Louis asks.

“I talk to Liam all the time,” Zayn says, stiffening a little. Louis sighs this time.

“You’re insufferable, and I missed you so much I didn’t know what to do,” Louis says, pulling covers around himself.

“Same,” Zayn says. “You’re also insufferable, and I missed you.”

“How fucked up is it we weren’t like on the same side of it?" Louis says. "Zombie outbreak, and I was a zombie without my partner in crime. You and Niall played defender of the fortress without me. Fucked up,” says.

“You’re here now,” Zayn says, even though he knows what Louis means.

“I am. And you’re much too pretty to be a zombie,” Louis says, smiling.

“Insufferable,” Zayn says.

“Missed you,” Louis says.

“Yeah. Missed you,” Zayn says. They snuggle in close after that, warm and tired under the blankets. t’s only when Zayn is falling asleep that he realizes something, that his brain catches a bit of what Louis said — that the way he’d talked about being a zombie — well, it makes Zayn wonder if he remembers more than Liam or Harry.

December 2014

Louis starts official twice-daily Former Zombie Check-Ins. They're sort of nice, even if Liam had, of course, already talked to Harry more than twice a day before Louis came back. Louis says it's better if it's set and standard, though, so they meet twice a day in Louis's room.

(At one point, Liam knows, there had been things in Zayn's house like an art studio, an office, and a library. Along the line, it had all been switched out to make bedrooms for five.)

This afternoon, Liam had decided, he's going to tell them — about the blood on his hands. The thing he keeps seeing. It's time.

Harry starts talking first.

"You have to watch this," Harry says, pulling up a video in his laptop and setting it in front of them. On screen, a middle-aged, healthy-looking man starts to speak and explain he was once a zombie. He claims he's cured and his body has healed itself. He claims that he can cry and bleed. He claims that he's not wearing makeup and his hair grows. He claims he's properly alive.

"Bull," Louis says when the video ends. "No way."

"How do you know?" Harry asks, crossing his arms.

"Because it's not possible," Louis says.

"Rising from the dead, becoming a zombie, and then getting cured from it also wasn't possible, but here we are," Harry says. Louis scowls a little at that, but Liam thinks it's actually a very fair point.

"That man is clearly lying," Louis says, shaking his head.

"But what if he's not?" Harry asks.

"But what would that mean?" Liam asks, biting his lip. They both look at him.

"What would being totally back to being alive mean?" Harry asks.

"Well like — we were zombies though," Liam says, anxious now. More than before.

(He dreamt the ocean was red and muddy and filled with bones and screams. He dreamt he was drowning in it. He woke up in a cold sweat.

Zombies don't sweat.

Things rehabilitated zombies don't do #9)

"Yes," Louis says. "Obviously."

"But that's why we're here. Otherwise, we'd just be dead. So if we're totally cured — what if we die again?" Liam asks. It makes sense to him, in a horrible way. What if all of this has been for him to slowly come back to life, only to die again?

"Well, that's just depressing," Louis says.

"Sorry," Liam says, wincing.

"Irrelevant, though, because that man is a liar," Louis says.

"No," Harry says, shaking his head. "No, it's not magic, it's an illness. The medications rebuild connections in the brain, and so, maybe, if enough of them are rebuilt, we're just, you know, normal."

"But the medicine cures the zombie part," Liam points out. "Not the dead part."

"I think the zombie part already cured the dead part," Louis says. "Technically speaking."

"Right, and like I said, it's not a cursed-magic-demons thing. It's a medical thing, and like, that means science could fix it, right? That there is a way," Harry says.

"I still think it's bull," Louis says, then to Harry's scowl, adds, "not your theory, I guess, but that video."

"I just thought, if it can happen, if it's happening right now, then — then no one would have to worry, and it'd be easier to," Harry stops. Liam gets it with alarming clarity. Harry wants this to be real, and he wants it to be soon. He wants it to happen before he sees anyone who exists in the world they've built outside this house.

"Easier to call home, see people," Liam says. Harry nods quickly. Then he looks at Louis.

"We were going to do it before the year was out — me and Liam — tell our families and people we were, you know, alive," Harry says. Louis looks a little sick.

"Oh," he says, Liam reaches for his hand, and Louis squeezes back. It's a terrifying thought, for a million reasons.

"Yeah, I was hoping," Harry says, letting the sentence trail.

"I'm not ready for that," Louis says. Liam doesn't think he is either.

"We could wait, do it all three of us?" Liam suggests. Harry lights up, Louis scowls.

"Don't wait on my account," Louis says.

“Together is always better, though,” Harry says. Liam nods.

“Always,” he echoes. He’s so glad he’s not alone, that at the end of the day he can tell himself there is also Harry, also Louis. It helps so much.

He doesn’t tell them about the blood. Next time, maybe.

(In the memory he’s staring at the blood, and there is a shadow below him and — )

And later, he’s pacing in his room, small circles between his desk chair and his bed, when Zayn finds him. Zayn doesn’t say anything, not at first, and Liam looks up to find Zayn leaning on his door frame, looking concerned.

“Oh, um, hi,” Liam says, looking right back.

“Okay?” Zayn asks, stepping in. Liam considers lying, considers telling the truth, considers so many things. He ends up at,

“It’s your house,” which is a thing that isn’t really something he was worried about, or that's wrong, at all.

“And?” Zayn asks.

“You let us all live here, in your house, and it’s yours,” Liam says because he might as well go with it now that he's said it. Zayn shakes his head and steps in even closer.

“That is not what’s bothering you,” Zayn says, seeing right through him. Liam shakes his head, frowns, and then sits on his bed and puts his head in his hands, shaking.

“No,” he whispers. Zayn sits down beside him, not touching him, but so close.

“Liam?” Zayn asks, gentle and calming, like Zayn has always been. No matter what, Zayn has always been the calm in the storm.

(Liam's always thought that it's sort of like —

Louis is a storm chaser, after excitement. Harry is the one explaining how storms work and benefit the world. Niall is shelter from the winds and rain. And Zayn is calm, an actual pause, always.)

“I’m just. Scared,” Liam says, into his hands. He can feel Zayn nod without seeing it.

“Of what?” Zayn asks, but like he knows there is everything in the world to be scared of. Like he’s scared too, and like he’ll listen.

“I remembered,” Liam says, his face still in his hands and his eyes shut tight. “Not a lot, but I can see — there’s all this blood, and me, and someone else, and my hands, and — "

“Hey,” Zayn says, and he pulls one of Liam’s hands off of his face and puts it in his own, holding it tight.

“I keep seeing it,” Liam says miserably.

“Okay,” Zayn says, squeezing Liam’s hand.

“It’s not okay,” Liam says, swallowing. “I’m not okay.”

“Of course you’re not,” Zayn says, and then — and he reaches his free hand up and runs a thumb down Liam’s cheek.

“What?” Liam says. He means the touching as much as he means what Zayn just said.

“Well, like, of course, you’re not okay. Who the fuck would be okay going through what you did? But it’s — it’s alright not to be okay. I’m not okay myself, really. You might not be okay, but you’re alright, you’re safe, and you’re Liam,” Zayn says. Liam is almost certain he’s sweating again. He leans close, folding into the still-stroking lines of Zayn’s thumb.

“I’m scared about everything,” Liam says, sucking in a long breath.

“Everything is scary,” Zayn says. His hand stills. Then he cups Liam’s face instead, and he holds Liam's eyes.

“Terrifying,” Liam agrees.

“Petrifying,” Zayn says.

“Horrifying,” Liam says, leaning in so close to Zayn.

“Liam,” Zayn says, like it’s new, like a discovery.

“I”m so scared, Zayn,” Liam says again, leaning so close, feeling Zayn’s breath, thinking help me, and stay with me, and kiss me, and god, I love you so fucking much.

“I’m,” Zayn says, and he leans too. He's right there, and all Liam would have to do is move his head. All he’d have to do, is tilt down just a little. He pauses instead. Zayn pulls back.

Zayn pulls back and Liam’s heart drops a bit. He's mostly furious at himself for not leaning in, but also furious that he’d thought about leaning at all, but also that he’d wanted so much.

It’s alright not to be okay, Zayn had said. Liam holds onto that, and the memory of how Zayn had looked — so close, not even inches away. He tries to keep it, and he tries to let it override the blood and the drowning.

December 2014

The night before Louis’ birthday and their reunion bonfire party, Zayn comes into the living room late, headed to the kitchen. He finds Louis and Harry in sleeping bags on the living room floor, snuggled together with their hands clasped. He stops long enough to grin at them. It’s a comforting and warm familiarity and he’s missed it — missed them. Harry opens an eye and smiles at him.

“‘Lo, Zayn,” Harry says.

“Hi,” Zayn says, trying to whisper. Louis opens his eyes anyway.

“Come cuddle?” Harry ask, making a motioning gesture with his arm.

“Yes,” Louis says. “This cuddle needs three hundred percent more Zayn in it.”

“Sure,” Zayn says. They do look sort of cozy, and he could use a distraction from his own racing thoughts. He cuddles in on Louis’ side, and Harry grabs for his hand. Louis pulls a blanket around them.

“Good,” Harry says. "Nicer."

“Tomorrow we’re all sleeping together, all five of us,” Louis declares, yawning.

“On the floor?” Zayn asks.

“Fitting, isn’t it?” Harry says.

“Everything's still safer together," Louis says. Zayn snuggles in closer to him, yawning himself.

“Makes sense for a birthday reunion, too,” Harry says. Louis smiles at him.

“It does,” he says. They’re quiet for a minute, all sleepy and wrapped in each other. Zayn’s eyes are heavy when Harry says,

“What are you waiting for, Zayn?”

“What?” Zayn asks, shifting to look at Harry over Louis’ frame.

“Liam,” Harry says. Louis makes a noise of agreement, and Zayn tries not to groan.

“That’s not,” Zayn says. Harry looks so earnest. It seems impossible that someone so wide-eyed and innocent looking had been a zombie.

“But you got another chance,.We all did," Harry says. "We got this unbelievable second chance. We should use it. You should."

“We should,” Louis says to Harry, “We should use it, and not just hide pretending we’re not alive.”

“We’ll pick a date, the three of us,” Harry says. Zayn doesn’t have to be filled in on the details to know exactly what they’re talking about.

“Good,” Louis says, yawning again. “And really, Zayn, talk to Liam.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoes, also looking ready to sleep. They all fall silent again, and after several more minutes, he thinks Harry and Louis really are asleep.

For a while, Zayn just listens and thinks. They toss and turn in their sleep a lot, whisper and mutter things that are, well, horrifying, honestly. Zayn shudders and thinks about what they'd said.

He doesn’t know what he’s waiting on. Maybe he shouldn’t anymore.

In the morning, Liam comes down the stairs, Niall on his heels, and they wake Zayn and Harry up first so they can all rouse Louis by singing happy birthday over and over, with Niall on guitar.

Zayn feels Liam’s eyes on him all morning, and then all afternoon.

And he thinks — maybe.

He tries to think of things that could go wrong. He tries to tell himself it's still a bad idea.

He tries to remember a single one of the reasons he always used to be so sure it was — that it would be.

He can’t. Maybe he shouldn’t.

He pulls Niall aside for another opinion.

“Can I ask you something?” Zayn asks, voice low.

“Course,” Niall says easily.

“Do you think I’m in love with Liam?” Zayn asks. Niall raises an eyebrow.

“Do you think you’re not?” Niall asks, like it's a reasonable response. Zayn's not sure it is.

“No. Yes,” Zayn stops and frowns. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“Well, right, because I’m not you,” Niall says. Zayn sighs, frustrated.

“I just wanted your opinion,” Zayn says. He’s aware, he knows, that it’s a ridiculous thing to ask. So, yeah, he gets why Niall is looking at him the way he is. He does. He'd still rather Niall wasn't.

Niall rolls his eyes a little and says,

“I’ve always been team Liam and Zayn ride off into the sunset," Niall says with a shrug. "So if you’re looking to get talked out of it, dude, I’m not the man for the job."

“I’m not looking to get talked out of anything,” Zayn says. He's not. He doesn't think.

“So you’re talking to the wrong person then, yeah?” Niall says. Zayn blows out a breath.

“Maybe?” he says. Niall shakes his head and then pulls Zayn into a hug.

“Couldn’t do it without you,” Zayn says.

“I know,” Niall says. Zayn gives himself a good forty-five seconds in the hug. Then he heads off to find Liam, following voices to the kitchen.

In the kitchen, Harry, Liam, and Louis are talking, and the bits Zayn overhears sound serious. It sounds, to Zayn, like they might be talking about memories of — of then — like Louis is filling in the blanks in Liam’s memory.

It makes Zayn pause, second-guess, and almost decides that maybe he shouldn’t say anything, not today, that maybe it’s too much — but then Liam turns around and smiles at him. His makeup is smudged and he looks so damn much like himself.

Louis stares at between them for a minute, eyes darting from Liam to Zayn, before he proclaims that he absolutely needs Harry and Niall to help him set up outside, and that they’ll call for Liam when it’s bonfire-making time.

And then they’re alone. And Zayn breathes, and then Liam says,

“Hi,” and smiles again, and Zayn steps in close, so close. He tries to find words, but misses them completely.

He kisses Liam instead.

May 2013

Liam asks Zayn to join him on a run. He's asked before, he's asked dozens of times. Zayn always says no. This morning, he says yes.

He's not sure why, although the way Liam's face lights up instantly makes him feel like he's made the right choice. He thinks it's that, it's mostly that, this morning, his desire to spend time with Liam had defeated his desire to not go running. It's that he feels like he's hardly seen Liam lately, and it's been making him feel off-kilter.

So he says yes. To running.

(He sees Liam every day. But it's different when they're busy, when they don't have a chance to really spend time together.)

He throws on clothes of Liam's clothes, and they head off early, just the two of them. Liam talks while he runs, a steady stream of thoughts, about the album, about the movie he saw last week, and about the thing Louis did two days ago. Zayn can't quite catch his breath enough to talk back, but he likes listening to Liam talk, anyway. It's comforting.

"Am I talking too much? Going too fast? We can slow down," Liam says after a bit. Zayn shakes his head.

"Good," he manages. Liam slows anyway.

"Good?" he repeats, questioning.

"Don't want to slow you down," Zayn says, offering a smile. It is nicer going a little slower. But still. He knows Liam runs to de-stress. He knows it helps him, and he doesn't want to take that away.

"Don't want you to faint," Liam counters, looking at him seriously.

"I'm fine," Zayn says. He knows he sounds a little breathless, but really. He's fine.

"I could teach you," Liam says, slowing down even more, so they're mostly jogging — fast walking even.

"Teach me?" Zayn echoes, arching an eyebrow.

"To run," Liam says. Zayn rolls his eyes, but he's not actually annoyed. He would be, if anyone but Liam had said that. But it was Liam, so he doesn't so much mind .

"I know how to run," he says, shaking his head. Liam grins.

"No, you don't," he says.

"What was I just doing, then?” Zayn asks.

"You don't know how to run properly," Liam says, and he's very serious now.

"Properly?" Zayn repeats. This is ridiculous. This is — more endearing than it should be. So much more.

"Like, you have to learn how to build endurance. So, you do little bits, mostly walking with running in the middle, little sets, and then you keeping going." Liam says. "You do it every day until you're able to run half the time, and then all of the time."

"Right," Zayn says. For a second, he actually considers it, and then he shakes his head and says, "no offense, Li, but that sounds horrible."

"It's not!" Liam says, but he laughs a little. He stops then, slows down and tugs Zayn's hand so that he can pull him under some shade. "Let's rest a bit."

"I didn't want to make you cut it short," Zayn says. Liam grins again.

"We still have to get all the way back," Liam says. Oh. Right.

"Oh," Zayn says. Liam's sweating, little beads of it rolling down his face. Zayn stares for a beat longer than he should.

"We can go slow," Liam says. He hasn't let go of Zayn's hand yet.

"I'll be okay," Zayn says. Liam shakes his head. He smiles, and his eyes crinkle. Zayn keeps looking. Liam is looking too — looking right back.

"I run all the time. I'd rather just, like, be with you," Liam says. His smile is close, so close.

"You're with me all the time too," Zayn says. Even though he knows what Liam means, even though that's why he's here, too. Liam bites his lip.

His mouth is so close.

"You know, um, that's what it always is," Liam says. Zayn blinks, lost.

"What?" Zayn asks. Liam's eyelashes feel very close.

"When I — the teaching you things," Liam says, and his breath is warm. Zayn runs that through his brain, process it and arriving at what he's sure Liam meant: I offer to teach you things to spend time with you, and Zayn thinks about dance lessons, those swimming lessons he's never had.

(And about, not connected, except, maybe so connected, that time he'd kissed Liam.

Accidentally and joking. Mostly.

Like the accidental brushes of skin when dancing.

Like the way they're joking when they snuggle close or —)

"S'why I accept," Zayn says, feels like he should whisper it because Liam is still so close.

It hangs there, all of it, running and dancing and kissing and then they step back, both of them at once — and it's gone.

December 2014

Liam freezes for a second. Zayn is kissing him, Zayn’s lips are on his and literally three minutes ago Liam had been talking about blood and death and the contrast of it all makes him dizzy. Zayn pulls back.

“Liam?” Zayn asks. Liam hears a hundred questions in the way Zayn says his name.

“I — really?” Liam asks, hoping Zayn hears the hundred questions he's asking right back. He reaches for Zayn’s hand as he does. Ht thinks, he hopes, it will help. Zayn sighs, but it's not a tired or angry sort of sigh.

“Yeah,” he says, simply. “Yes.”

Liam decides that, for the moment anyway, it’s enough.

It's enough.

He leans into kiss Zayn again, properly this time. He puts a hand around the back of Zayn's neck and they take their time. They kiss until they’re leaned against the counter and out of breath. They kiss until Louis calls Liam out to start the fire.

(He needs the break when it comes, not from Zayn — never from Zayn — but from feeling so much.

From the way he's still reeling from the weight of Louis’ words, the stories told, the memories filled in that Liam will have deal with and live with now, to the spinning finality of the way they’ve picked February 1st as a date to make phone calls, and to the way Zayn’s skin had felt under his hands. It’s just so much. Liam's more than a little overwhelmed.)

It’s a good night, with a fire and the smell of food, Niall’s guitar, Louis’ laughter, Harry talking about his garden, and how he’s been reading up on plants that cure everything. Niall and Harry are leaned on either side of Louis with their faces lit by the fire and their limbs tangled. Liam smiles at them all until his face hurts.

And later, Zayn finds him again. Taking a moment when Liam's already a little tucked a way and in a space that's just a little bit private.

“Hey,” Zayn says, coming up beside him and sitting down, looking a flushed.

“Um, hey,” Liam says. He's — he's not sure if he should be nervous or not.

“So, we should — talk,” Zayn says. He grabs for Liam’s hand again, and Liam reaches back instantly.

“I love you,” Liam says. He’s not sure he has anything to say but that, honestly. He thinks that's all he's got. That's his whole argument. That's the whole chorus of his personal song. “I’m in love with you, have been.”

“Right,” Zayn says, and he takes a second, a long and terrible one where Liam thinks he shouldn’t have said anything, before he says, “I love you, too. Always did.”

“Yeah?” Liam asks, beaming a little. Maybe more than a little. Zayn grins, slow but gorgeous as it spreads across his face, one of those real smiles Liam loves so much.

“Since forever, just didn’t know what it meant, I guess,” Zayn says.

“Same,” Liam says. He leans in to kiss Zayn again. He needs to.

“I should’ve known. Since we kissed that time years ago,” Zayn says, shaking his head, “or those dance lessons, maybe, or I should have figured it out.”

“You are meant to be the clever one,” Liam says. He’s smiling so big his face hurts. He can’t help it.

“Think you might be better about this sort of thing,” Zayn says, then leans in to kiss Liam again. And it’s— god, for a minute, it's so easy, so simple. It feels so much like a thing that always was that Liam gets lost in it.

Until a thought occurs to him and pulls back, already silently cursing himself for the minutes of believing he deserved Zayn.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Zayn asks. Liam shakes his head.

“No,” Liam says, frowning. He fights the urger to wrap his arms around himself.

“No — what?” Zayn asks, looking alarmed.

“I can’t,” Liam says. Because. The thing is — he can’t. He just — he’s had a thought. There's a thing he never thought to think all that much about. There's a thing he nerve thought would matter because he never thought Zayn — or anyone else — but mostly Zayn — would ever —

“Can’t what?” Zayn asks, looking close to hurt, and starting to pull his hand back. Liam should let him. He doesn’t. He grips Zayn's hand tighter.

When it comes to Zayn, he always wants.

“I don’t want to, I mean, you’re not going to want me, like," Liam tries, wincing. "Because I — with this." Which, he knows, is not a good explanation at all.

“Try that one more time,” Zayn says, but his tone has gone soft and affectionate.

“It's just. I can’t — you know,” Liam stops and stares very much at his shoes, “I don’t have blood flow, like. So I can’t. I mean, I don’t, anymore — blood flow.” Liam says, gesturing at his lap and wincing again.

(Things rehabilitated zombies don’t do #21 get erections.)

Zayn doesn’t respond for a second, and Liam can’t bring himself to look at his face. He thinks maybe he’s said the wrong thing. He worries that maybe he’s overstepped and assumed too much. He thinks maybe he's gotten ahead of himself, and Zayn wasn’t even thinking about sex or about Liam sexually. Although, that probably doesn't make sense, if, but maybe —

“Liam,” Zayn says, all fond exasperation, and Liam looks up to see him smiling, rolling his eyes, and looking like he’s somehow found Liam’s rambling and very bad explanation terribly endearing. It’s a look Liam hasn’t seen in a very long time. It's one he’d thought was maybe lost these days. He’s missed it, missed the way it makes him feel.

“I can’t,” Liam repeats, and Zayn grins again.

“I think we can work around that,” Zayn says, that expression still on his face.

“But,” Liam says. He still thinks it’s a valid point, even if the way Zayn is looking at him makes all his worries all feel sort of far away. Zayn smirks and puts a hand on Liam’s upper thigh.

“Do you feel that?” Zayn asks.

“Yes, but it's not — ” Liam starts. Zayn shakes his head.

“Right, I know, but you feel it, yeah?” Zayn asks. And yeah, Liam feels it in all of him. He feels the warmth of Zayn’s hand spreading throughout all of him. He could swear his toes and fingers are hot from the radiation of the touch.

“Yes,” Liam says, swallowing.

“So we’ll work around it,” Zayn says, shaking his head and smiling. Liam bites his lip.

“We don’t have to. I mean, if you don’t want to. I didn’t mean to presume anything,” Liam starts. He hardly knows why. Last remaining nerves, maybe. Zayn stops him with a kiss, longer this time, firm and insistent.

“Want, love, missed so fucking much,” Zayn murmurs against Liam’s mouth, before moving down and pressing kisses down his neck. Liam feels those, too.

“Love,” Liam repeats. “Love.”

“Want,” Zayn says again, like he’s proving a point as he licks a line on Liam’s collarbone. Liam shivers and pulls Zayn’s face up to kiss him again, needing to. Zayn so fucking beautiful in the firelight. He's beautiful and kissing Liam and saying he loves him and — and maybe, they can work around anything. Maybe Liam can have this. Maybe he is healing from the inside, like Harry says.

Maybe.

(He wants that.

Liam wants it so much.)

“It is my birthday!” Louis calls after a while. “If you’re going to make out and ignore the rest of us, you could at least do it in good light so I can watch and gloat about how right I was!”

They break apart, laughing a little, Zayn licking at Liam’s lips before they pull back all the way. Then they scoot back over to the rest of the circle. Everything is still warm and glowing, soft cords of Niall’s guitar playing.

Liam thinks he’s made it to dry land.

April 2015

Plants are starting to sprout up in Harry's garden, the beginning of vegetables and herbs and flowers, spread out over the huge section of the backyard that's become dedicated to Harry and his plants. He's sitting in it, in the middle of a row of something, making little labels with a serious expression on his face and sticking them into the dirt. He's also got dirt all over his face, which takes away from the seriousness a bit.

His hair is getting longer all the time. Growing along with the garden, it seems. Louis' snapping pictures on his phone, of Harry and the plants. He's sending them to his mum. He's got dirt on his face too.

(Four days ago when Louis cut his hand, it had bled. Nineteen days ago, Harry ate a muffin, and swears he kept it down and it was delicious, thank you.

Things rehabilitated zombies don't do #??)

They should really wash up, go inside, and get ready. Zayn considers telling them as much. But he's feeling entirely too lazy and content himself. He's reading, spread on a blanket, tucked under Liam's arm while Liam and Niall work on writing a song. It's just little sections, bars and chords repeat over and over from Niall's guitar. It's warm in the sun, and he's warm under Liam this way. He never wants to move. Liam occasionally shifts and runs a hand over Zayn or walks his fingers up his arm to touch his neck, like he just wants to remind Zayn he's there. It's kind of perfect.

They've got all these plans now. In three weeks, they're arranging to have all their families come here to see them. It's a massive undertaking — travel is still restricted, and things still aren't back to normal, but they're doing it. The amount of food Niall and Harry are planning to make is overwhelming. Louis' redone the sleeping and table arrangements four times already. It's something that would have felt so impossible in the fall, but that now feels right. That now feels like something they can do.

Zayn's looking forward to it, actually.

And yet, no one ever talks about leaving. Not one of them, Not once. They all — they live here now, in a house that once belonged to Zayn only. It's home.

Above Zayn, Liam stretches, and his phone chimes, followed by Niall's, right at the same time.

"Alarms," Niall says to Zayn's eyebrow raise. "Liam set 'em."

"So we'd have enough time to get ready," Liam says. Niall stands and yells to Louis and Harry, who have more dirt on them now than the last time Zayn had looked. He shakes his head and then slowly pulls himself away from Liam.

"Come on," Liam says, standing and pulling Zayn to his feet, with just a little bit too much force on purpose. It's a thing he does a lot actually because Zayn always sort of falls into Liam's chest when Liam does it. Zayn can't say he minds.

"Ready for this?" Zayn asks, putting his forehead against Liam's and keeping their hands laced.

"Not at all," Liam says, leaning into kiss him softly.

(In the mysteries that have come up in everything that's happened, sometimes Zayn likes to tell himself the biggest of all might be how the fuck he went so long without kissing Liam.

Then he winces at himself for thinking something so sappy.

Then he repeats it to Liam anyway, late at night, whispered between kisses, and Liam glows and has never looked more warm and alive.)

"Me either," Zayn says, pulling back.

"We only have an hour, lads!" Niall calls. Liam shakes his head and takes a deep breath.

(Thirty-four days ago he blushed, full-on flushed across his cheeks.

He does it all the time now.)

"We're sure about this, yeah?" Zayn says, when everyone's in earshot. Four sets of eyes look at him.

"Absolutely," Liam says.

"Completely," Harry says, nodding and stepping closer. Niall follows his lead, and then Louis, and then they're a circle in the backyard, arms all around each other, Harry's hat brim bumping Liam's forehead.

"Second thoughts?" Louis asks, looking at Zayn.

"No," Zayn says, shaking his head. It's true. He's not having second thoughts. This is actually, the sort of idea that makes him sort of swell with pride that these are the people in his life, that these are the people he loves.

"It's gonna be epic," Niall says, nodding.

"We need to do this — well three of us anyway, and we can't do it without everyone," Louis says, very seriously. Zayn breathes.

"Okay," he says. He sticks his hand out into the center, and the other four pile on top, together. They stay for just a moment, just standing, just breathing, so much like old times and so familiar.

They break, off to shower and get changed and prepare. There's a reporter coming for an exclusive — their announcement of the One Direction Reunion Concert fundraiser — all proceeds to the families of victims of the zombie outbreak.

They don't know what they're going to do after that. They haven't talked beyond it, if it's a one-shot or what, but it's the start of something. The start of living again.

The start of starting.

And it's enough.