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1
It really is an accident. Liam pokes at Zayn’s quiff one too many times and Zayn slapping his hand away segues into them smacking at each other like it’s a sissyfight, turning into roughhousing that has Zayn flushed and out of breath with Liam pinning his arm to his back, face pressed into the carpet. Somewhere in the fray their mouths touched, catching then pulling apart, both of them going still from the shock of the contact then going back to wrestling, rougher.
It’s not a big deal, it happens.
2
The second time is still pretty innocent.
Zayn and Niall try to slip out of their hotel unnoticed so Zayn can pick up a pack and Niall can grab a kebab. They make the mistake of not taking security and get ambushed around the corner. By the look on Niall’s face, like he’s having Vietnam flashbacks, he doesn’t find the story as funny as Zayn is making it out to be in the retelling, doing a dramatic re-enactment later that night for the rest of them.
“So then this one chick,” Zayn is laughing, sounding giddy while Niall shoves chips in his mouth unamused, “actually gets Niall by the collar of his shirt.” And he grabs at Liam, mimicking the words, putting on this high falsetto, “Please Niall, please please please, give me my first kiss!”
Zayn’s puckered up mouth is suddenly in Liam’s face, making exaggerated kissing noises and Liam knows he’s supposed to be playing Niall’s part, struggling to fend Zayn off, but Zayn yanks him closer with more force than Liam’s expecting. His arms buckle where he’s got the flat of his palms pressing against Zayn’s shoulders and suddenly Zayn’s mouth is connecting with his.
Harry wolf-whistles when Zayn doesn’t immediately pull back, sucking at Liam’s slack lips and Niall is laughing, “Yeah, except I strong armed that thirteen year old girl.”
3
He feels like champagne personified tonight, bright, bursting and effervescent. Like his skin can’t possibly contain everything bubbling inside and it’s all just roiling at the surface, making his limbs shake and heart stutter. Can’t stop his hand from finding the solid column of Zayn’s neck, holding on, anchoring. he’s not quite sure what he says when it’s his turn with the mic, probably uses the word massive an unnecessary amount, heaps on the ‘thank you’s. Whatever he says, he knows he says it to Zayn. The only clear memory he takes from that podium is Zayn’s palm on the small of his back and the light of Zayn’s eyes, the pink of his tongue.
Liam knows there’s champagne pumping through Zayn’s veins in more than the metaphorical sense though. They’re escorted to the press conference room in a line and made to wait behind a curtain. Liam grabs the knobs of Zayn’s shoulders and shakes him, jittery, can’t help the vibrations in his chest from spilling out. Zayn smacks him off and turns to him all sharp white teeth and grin, slicked up hair. Zayn’s still smiling, eyes unfocused on Liam’s face, when he takes him by the cheeks and kisses him, a dizzy crush of lips. Its substance is more a loud smacking noise than anything else, Zayn pushing Liam’s head back as fast as he reeled him in.
But then they’re just standing there grinning at each other dopily, oblivious to what the others are doing, Zayn’s fingertips curled behind Liam’s ears and Liam’s hand pressed under the lapel of Zayn’s double-breasted suit. Zayn pulls him in quick again, Liam’s expecting it from the dark eyes on his mouth, but it still makes him go breathless. They linger more this time, more than would be acceptable if there were eyes on them, enough for Liam to feel Zayn’s lips slot against his in a way that’s nothing like a comical puckering up, enough for him to close his eyes. It’s still over in a flash, Zayn pushing him away to arm’s distance, face pinked up in an unfamiliar way before they hear the roar of the press room as the curtain is pulled aside.
4
Liam feels the most like Daddy Direction on the nights they go out. Making sure Niall doesn’t get caught with a hand up a girl’s skirt, reminding Louis that Eleanor exists when he stares a little too intently at Harry chatting up an older woman over a shot, and just Zayn. Niall is the most clichéd rowdy beer drunk, loud belches and smashing bottles, but Zayn is the slow burn of vodka that creeps up, makes his eyes and hands go sleazy, plastering himself to the back of the nearest person on the dance floor. Usually it’s a girl that looks like she can’t believe her luck, twining her fingers with Zayn’s on her hips and Liam knows he’ll be spending the night in Niall’s room.
But sometimes it’s Liam. Zayn pressing up close behind him, trying to get Liam to sway with him while the humid breath on the back of Liam’s neck just makes him tense up. He’ll turn and look and there’s never any irony in Zayn’s face and that always sends this hot flare of anger through Liam. Wants to know what Zayn thinks he’s playing at.
Those nights end with Liam pouring Zayn into a cab in the early am, futilely trying to make sure Zayn stays on his side of the back seat. Acting like the scratch of Zayn’s stubble on his collar doesn’t make him shiver. It’s not so bad when they’re sharing a room because Liam can just dump Zayn on his bed and pretend he doesn’t feel bad for letting him sleep in his jeans. He’s never vindictive enough to leave his shoes on.
When either of them has the single though, there’ll be an odd pause after Zayn fumbles the keycard into the door and cracks it open but doesn’t go inside. He’ll just stand there propped up against the doorframe smiling like a drunk idiot back at Liam, like it’s that moment at the end of a date and he’s waiting for something, and Liam hates himself for using that analogy.
One night when Zayn’s more liquored up than Liam can remember in awhile he doesn’t pause. Just smoothly unlocks the door like his BAC isn’t in the low teens then turns, grabbing Liam’s shirt at his belly, and tugs Liam in to kiss him. Zayn’s mouth is slick and there’s no mistaking this for anything other than what it is. But it’s more innocent than Liam's expecting, aside from the tang of gin and tobacco, a hot press of lips then Zayn slipping into his room with a murmured, “G’nite, Li.”
5
It seems unfair that Zayn gets separated from them by tragedy for a second time. Liam’s not sure if it’s selfish to think of it in terms like that. He feels selfish. Seeing Zayn’s face drain after the phone call, withdrawing physically and emotionally while Liam just stands there being fucking useless. And he’s still worrying about how incompetent he is when it comes to comforting people when Zayn shrugs the rest of them off (and why does it feel like Liam should be different?), Goes to hole up their hotel room while management schedules him an emergency flight home.
The fact that it’s their hotel room means Liam can’t let Zayn be alone in there until the departure time even if he wanted. Zayn’s predictably huddled by the open window, ashtray at his elbow, three butts already screwed into the porcelain. Liam goes and sits on the edge of the bed closest to Zayn, can’t really remember who had claimed it the night before, it’s close enough he can smell the traces of the cigarettes Zayn’s already burned through lingering in the air.
Liam just picks at the threading of the comforter quietly, not really sure what Zayn needs right now but knowing, whatever it is, he wants to give it to him. wants to be that for him. Zayn takes a last drag, twisting the cigarette so he’s got it between his thumb and pointer, cherry eating paper down to the filter. He watches Liam while he’s got the smoke in his lungs, eyes hooded and sunken, before snuffing the nub out between the others, blows out a cloud, lips directing it towards the window even though his face is still in Liam’s direction.
Zayn comes over to sit next to Liam after that, socked feet muffled on the carpet, everything about the moment feels that way, muted and subdued, the mattress doesn’t even creak under Zayn’s weight. Liam isn’t really fishing for something to say, thinks it’s better that way, and Zayn plucks at Liam’s fingers on the bedding, picking them up and letting them fall back into place. Liam watches the play of their skin tones, liking the way Zayn’s blends against his. It’s not ‘til Liam glances up to check on Zayn’s expression that he realizes he’s crying, faint tracks running down his face from under his glasses, his throat working in an obvious effort to keep them down.
This time Liam doesn’t let himself worry if he’s being useless and does what he wanted to earlier when Zayn had to put his phone down because his hands were shaking. Pulls Zayn by the back of his neck so his face goes to the crook of Liam’s shoulder and Zayn’s hand is suddenly gripping tight at Liam’s knee, the other clenching in the fabric of Liam’s hoodie, opening and tensing into a fist. Liam settles his arm around Zayn’s shoulder, bows his head over Zayn’s and rocks them a bit, making hushed soothing noises, running on instinct. Zayn’s chest is wracking against Liam but he’s still barely making a sound, just these deep shuddering breaths than aren’t doing anything to steel his shaking.
It quietens after a few minutes, Liam’s hand smoothing up and down Zayn’s spine as he manages to take in air without choking on it. Liam presses his lips to the top of Zayn’s head then, just sort of rests his mouth there, breathing in the smell of his styling product and cologne, before doing it again. He keeps pressing kisses to Zayn’s hair as Zayn slowly lifts his head, stiff like he’s waking up, and Liam doesn’t know why he can’t seem to stop. Lays a kiss on Zayn’s hairline, his temple, bumps his nose against the frames of Zayn’s glasses, and kisses him on his damp cheek, skating down further.
If the dip of Zayn’s broken smile makes Liam’s lips fall on the corner of his mouth, the faintest pressure of Zayn’s pressing back, they don’t say anything about it afterwards.
+1
Liam still maintains that he didn’t cry when the boys passed him the phone nearing a week after Zayn had been home for his uncle's funeral. They’d texted, Liam fighting against sleep into the late hours of the night, phone screen hidden under the covers so Niall wouldn’t wake up, wanting that precious hour of communication before he passed out from exhaustion and Zayn had to start his day. But he hadn’t heard Zayn’s voice in a week and that had to be a record for almost two years or something. So maybe he choked up when he heard the quiet “Liam?” on the other side of the line, feeling like he could hear every mile of distance in the static.
It doesn’t seem to matter though, when Zayn’s waiting in Liam’s hotel room after rehearsal a couple days later. It’s not that much of a surprise, he knew Zayn was supposed to be back, he’d just thought he’d be in his own room getting his things sorted out. But Zayn’s bags are at his feet like he’d come right there and Liam’s not even sure how he got in.
He’s apparently not too preoccupied with it because without really knowing what he’s doing he’s striding to Zayn and Zayn’s coming towards him and he doesn’t want to think of it like some scene from a movie where they meet perfectly in the middle, except it kind of is. His arms circling Zayn’s neck, clamping around so he’s holding his own elbows and he feels Zayn’s knuckles digging in under his shoulder blades. He mutters “missed you” into Zayn's hair like it isn’t obvious by the way he’s clinging to him but Zayn just clutches him that much closer.
Liam pulls back to look down and Zayn looks up and then they’re kissing, Zayn’s hands splaying out against Liam’s back and Liam’s palms cradling the cut of Zayn’s jaw. Liam feels desperate, desperate for this to mean something, hopes the light coming through the curtains and the sober taste of Zayn’s lips, the quiet intensity thrumming against his ears means this is different. Zayn licks into his mouth on a quiet exhale, settling his hips against Liam’s but Liam threads his fingers through the back of Zayn’s hair, draws him away by it ‘til Zayn stops trying to chase Liam’s lips back into a kiss. Liam tightens his hand to make sure he's got his attention, Zayn’s gaze flicking nervously from Liam’s mouth to his eyes.
“We can talk about this, yeah?” Liam whispers, fingers loosening to scratch blunt nails against Zayn’s scalp.
Zayn nods slowly, hands falling to hook into Liam’s front pockets, “Yeah… yeah, w- we can.”
Liam feels his face split into a grin, knows his eyes are probably squinting up like a twit, breathes, “Good.” Then hauls Zayn back in by his shirtfront, “Later.”