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“We don't have to do this y'know?”
Zayn's voice is muffled, quiet in case of any prying ears. Liam would have expected his tone to be a little teasing, but he's not actually surprised when he looks up to see the serious expression on Zayn's face – or what he can see of it. The stream of light coming in from around the closet door is only helping to lighten up the small space minimally.
They're about as far away from each other as the closet allows, which isn't actually all that much. The room is mostly empty; there's a jacket hanging up that smells like it's been left forgotten for years, and a broom is digging into his back. (He's also pretty sure he caught a glimpse of a spider in the corner, but he's going to pretend he didn't.)
“Yeah?” Liam asks. He feels like such a loser in that moment. But this isn't him. He's not the kind of guy who goes to parties and drinks and drunkenly jumps into pools naked or plays seven minutes in heaven with four other dudes. He's not even the type of guy who would play seven minutes in heaven with four other girls. He's the kind of person who stays home on Friday and Saturday nights - studying or watching movies with his mum or reading comic books.
But they had been lounging around the pool all day - making fun of Harry for having no qualms about nudity and Zayn for not knowing how to swim (and then Liam for offering to teach him, but hey, Liam stands by his statement: everyone should know how to swim). When they got back inside the bungalow Louis made them all sit around in a circle, claiming it was time they really got to know each other. Liam had thought the worst it could be was a really weird Louis-version of truth or dare.
He should have known better. The boy has had a wicked glint in his eye since day one.
“Yeah,” Zayn repeats. Liam thinks he nods his head, maybe even smiles. He doesn't feel reassured, though, if that's what Zayn was going for.
Liam doesn't have a favorite in their little group, definitely not. He loves them all already though, even in the short amount of time he's known them. He loved them the second they formed a group.
He doesn't know if that's normal, but that's just Liam. He loves way too easily and gets attached way too quickly.
Liam likes how laid back and carefree Niall is, constantly, all the time, like he's already sure about all of them, like he already knows this is where he belongs and that they're going to go far. He likes how comfortable Harry is around them (even if it means having to deal with Harry's near-constant nakedness), how cheeky and charming he is one second, and sweet and cuddly the next. And, even though it took a little extra getting use to, he loves how handsy Louis is with all of them, as if touching is the answer to success, as if there is no such thing as personal bubbles in a band such as theirs.
And then there's Zayn.
Zayn is different than all of them. And yeah, Liam doesn't have a favorite, but . . . well, Zayn's special. He's the slight smell of nicotine and spearmint gum. He's all secret smiles and perfect cheekbones and brilliant eyes.
And that's dangerous in itself.
So when Louis winked at Harry, turned to Liam and said, 'You. Zayn. Closet. Seven minutes. Now get to it,' Niall had to all but shove Liam in the closet after Zayn.
“You realize they're going to know if we don't,” Liam points out.
Zayn chuckles a little. “Yeah, oh well. We'll deal with that in approximately five and a half minutes.”
“I want to,” he rushes out, not wanting Zayn to think he is opposed to kissing him. Because he's not. He's definitely not. But this is not how this was supposed to go down. It was supposed to be romantic, with fireworks or violins playing in the background. Maybe rain pouring from the sky, or while they're in a romantic country. Something that wouldn't actually happen in about a million years. “I just . . . don't want to.” He covers his face with his hand, aware that Zayn probably can't see the blush warming his cheeks anyways, but unable to help himself. “Sorry, that didn't really make sense even to me.” He drops his hand. “It's not that I don't want to kiss you, I do, believe me. I mean, it's no big deal, right? It's just . . . I know it's just a game and . . .”
And then Zayn's hand is on his shoulder, breaking him out of his ramble. “Liam, mate . . . I understand. I get it. It's okay”
“You do?”
“Probably better than you think.” And then Zayn says, almost too quietly and kind of breathlessly, "If I had my way, our first kiss wouldn't be in a closet. Or part of a dare."
It's silent for a moment, Liam trying to take in exactly what Zayn must mean.
“Five minutes.” Zayn's voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and Liam looks in the other boys general direction.
He's suddenly filled with a sense of confidence he didn't know he had in him. Zayn's confession, the idea that maybe Zayn wants fireworks and violins and sappy romance, too, sparking something inside him. “Well. Come on, then.”
And without waiting for a response, he pulls Zayn in by his shirt front and presses their lips together.
Zayn mumbles a little bit in surprise, and there's a long enough moment for Liam to think oh crap i miscalculated before Zayn's kissing him back.
The kiss is sweet and chaste at first, just a press of skin on skin, nothing major. Liam's done kissing before. He's never heard any complaints, but he's never thought of kissing as ever being something extraordinary. (Probably because he's never actually kissed a boy before. Who knew it would be so different.) So when Zayn pulls him in by his belt loops, bringing their bodies flush together, Liam moans a little, surprised by the rush of feeling the contact brings. Zayn takes advantage of the opportunity, sucking Liam's tongue into his mouth.
It goes like that for a little while: deep kisses, their tongues battling together, noises Liam didn't know he was capable of making escaping his slightly parted lips. When Liam unintentionally, or maybe subconsciously he's not sure, grinds his hips against Zayn's, Zayn pulls back. Liam feels a little embarrassed for a moment, like he crossed a line. Zayn surprises him though, by attacking his neck, peppering him with kisses, biting the flesh and then soothing it over with his tongue. Liam's sure he'll be covered in marks when he wakes up, but he can't find it in him to care.
“Didn't know you had it in ya, honestly.”
And there's something in Zayn's voice, maybe the want or the surprise, that has Liam pulling him back up to reconnect their lips.
Only time must have flown by because he's vaguely aware of the door opening and before he can detach himself from Zayn's lips, Harry and Niall are whistling and whooping.
When he does pull back, Zayn's grinning at him; though there's a faint blush to his cheeks, he doesn't seem to care about their audience.
“You're welcome.” Louis's grinning proudly from ear to ear as if he just did them the biggest favor.
Zayn punches him in the arm when he walks back to his seat. “Your turn.”
“Now you wanna make out with me? Make up your mind.”
Zayn rolls his eyes. “No, you and Harry. Seven minutes. Get to it,” he mocks.
“What?” Harry chokes out, his face going from grinning amusement to bright red embarrassment in a flat blink of an eye.
“You heard him, Hazza,” Louis straightens up, brushing invisible lint off his shirt. “Let's get our snog on.”