Chapter Text
[Liam’s POV]
The cafeteria was already buzzing with the usual chaos of lunchtime—chatter, laughter, and the occasional shout from across the room. I was just trying to enjoy my sandwich in peace when he walked in.
Zayn Malik, my nightmare in the disguise of a sweet dream.
Even before I saw him, I knew it was him. The sudden shift in energy, the way people turned to look, their expressions a mix of admiration and amusement—it was like he carried his own spotlight. And of course, he had to make a beeline for my table.
“Stop staring, Curls. You’re gonna make me pop a hard-on with that wide open mouth of yours.” Zayn slid into the seat across from me with that irritating smirk plastered on his face.
I made a gag sound, Disgusting , before snapping, “I don’t have time to stare at an utterly disgusting being like you.”
“Sure you don’t,” he drawled, resting his chin on his hand like he had all the time in the world to make me miserable. “How is your Sunday without me? Quite certain you missed me a lot.”
I nearly choked on my water. “Missed you? In your dreams, Malik.”
“Every night, sweetheart,” he said, winking.
I turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “Why are you here, anyway? When you should be in the principal’s office instead?”
Zayn looked genuinely confused for a moment. “What do you mean?”
I glanced behind him. On the big screen across from me, a footage of someone with dark hair and a leather jacket painting the gym wall bright red was playing. The culprit turned to the camera for a split second, his face unmistakable.
I pointed at the screen, where his face was frozen mid-spray. “Is that you?”
Zayn turned around. “Damn,” he muttered, “they really got me this time.”
Before I could retort, the principal’s voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
“Zayn Javadd Malik, you have 5 minutes until I’ve got your parents involved.”
The cafeteria erupted into loud laughter, and Zayn groaned, running a hand through his hair.
“Twice,” I said, unable to hide the satisfaction in my voice. “Should I remind you about your little incident with Big Hal’s car last year?”
Zayn smirked at me, unbothered. “That doesn’t count. I did that on purpose.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping. “Seems like you’ve kept a close eye on me, though. Haven’t you, Curls?”
Before I could react, his hand darted out to mess up my curls. I swatted him away, grumbling. “Get lost.”
“Ten minutes,” he said with a wink, standing up. “Wait for me.”
I blinked at him, incredulous. “What do you mean, ‘Wait for me’? Like I care!” I muttered under my breath as he strolled out of the cafeteria, completely unbothered.
Zayn Malik: unshakable, ridiculous, and the bane of my existence.
He wasn’t just a thorn in my side; he was an entire rose bush, complete with sharp thorns and a maddening ability to draw attention wherever he went.
As the whispers and laughter around me grew louder, I stared down at my untouched lunch, letting my mind drift.
It hadn’t always been like this—me despising Zayn with every fiber of my being. No, it started in eighth grade. The year Zayn Malik decided to ruin my life.
Eighth grade was supposed to be my year. My time to shine. I’d spent the entire school term preparing for the final exams. It wasn’t just about getting a good score. No, it was about being the best— the smartest. My one claim to fame in this ridiculous school where athletic ability, artistic talent, and charm got you more attention than actual brains.
And then there was Zayn Malik. Back when he wasn’t this arrogant, wannabe-bad-boy nuisance. He was perfect. The golden boy of our school.
The guy had everything—looks, charm, talent. He dominated every sport, his artwork won competitions, and everyone adored him. But academics? That was my thing. The one area where I could excel without worrying about him stealing the spotlight.
So imagine my shock—and growing resentment—when Zayn started acing every test leading up to the finals. At first, I convinced myself it was a fluke, some strange stroke of luck. But it kept happening. He wasn’t just getting good grades; he was scoring the same as me. Every. Single. Time.
"Did you hear? Zayn Malik’s tied with Liam Payne in math again."
"He’s, like, perfect at everything."
Perfect. That word followed Zayn everywhere he went, and it felt like a personal insult every time I heard it.
When the results of the final exams were posted, I stood in front of the bulletin board, heart racing. My eyes scanned the list, searching for my name.
Liam Payne: 99
Right next to it: Zayn Malik: 99
My stomach dropped. Tied. Again. Of course. I clenched my fists, frustration bubbling up in my chest. I wasn’t even allowed to have this one thing, was I?
And then he showed up, casually strolling over with that effortless confidence that made everyone else look like they were trying too hard. He leaned over my shoulder, his cologne faint but distracting, and stared at the board.
“Well,” he said. His breath hit the behind of my ear annoyingly, “looks like we’re even.”
He flashed me a grin, wide and cheeky, like he’d just won some unspoken competition. That smile—it was so smug, so infuriating.
I glared at him, heat rising in my cheeks. “It’s not a competition,” I snapped, though even as I said it, I didn’t believe it.
“Right,” he replied, but his grin didn’t falter. If anything, it grew wider, more self-assured. “See you next term, Liam.”
And with that, he walked off, leaving me fuming in his wake.
From that moment on, I decided I hated Zayn Malik with a passion. Not because of his looks, his athletic prowess, or his artistic talent—but because he had the audacity to encroach on my territory. He didn’t need to be good at everything. He didn’t need to smile at me like that, like he knew how much it irritated me.
As far as I was concerned, Zayn Malik was my nemesis. And I was going to make sure he stayed out of my lane.
However, something shifted during grade 10.
I noticed it first in the way people talked about him. The whispers in the hallways were less about how he beat me in the school chemical debate. Instead, it was, “Did you hear about Zayn and the Beetlejuice fight?” or “Malik skipped three classes yesterday.”
And the root of it all? It might or might not have something to do with Cole Kelsey.
Cole Kelsey wasn’t just a bad boy. He was the bad boy. He smoked behind the school, rode a motorcycle to class, and broke hearts like it was a sport. Cole’s reputation as a player was so well-known it was practically a school legend. Even Louis—my best friend and king of holding grudges—hated him with a passion.
For good reason, though.
Cole had dated Louis’s younger sister, Lottie, the year before. It ended the way all Cole’s relationships did—with Lottie heartbroken and Louis seething. Louis swore revenge. And somehow, I got roped into it.
It started innocently enough. One afternoon, Louis plopped down beside me at lunch, his face flushed with excitement.
“I have a plan,” he said, his blue eyes gleaming with mischief.
“Should I be worried?” I asked, biting into my sandwich.
Louis ignored me. “It’s about Cole Kelsey.”
I groaned. “Louis, let it go. He’s not worth it.”
“Oh, he’s worth it,” Louis snapped, his expression darkening. “He broke Lottie’s heart, Liam. He deserves to pay.”
“And what, exactly, do you want to do about it?” I asked, already regretting the question.
Louis grinned, leaning in conspiratorially. “I need you to pretend to like him.”
I nearly choked on my drink. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me,” Louis said, his grin widening. “Get close to him, make him think you’re interested, then drop him flat. Humiliate him.”
“Louis, that’s insane,” I said, shaking my head. “He’s not even into guys.”
“Fuck guys.” Louis cursed and then raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen the way he looks at you? Hell, I don’t know if it makes him gay, or bi, or whatever the fuck they named it, he’s definitely gone for you, Liam. Trust me.”
The thought made my stomach churn. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of pretending to like someone, especially someone like Cole Kelsey. But Louis was persuasive, and, well… I owed him.
So, against my better judgment, I agreed.
***
The plan was simple: make Cole believe I was interested, let him fall for the act, and then cut him loose. What I didn’t expect was for Cole to actually be… kind of charming. It was easy to see why people fell for him, even when they knew better.
Somewhere along the way, things got complicated. Cole wasn’t just a player; he was a guy with layers I hadn’t expected. We’d hang out after school, talking about things that didn’t fit his bad-boy image—books he liked, places he wanted to visit.
Would I fall for him? That would be ridiculous.
Would we be good friends, though?
If it weren’t for the plan, for the way Louis’s voice echoed in the back of my head— he deserves this —I think we could’ve been good friends.
But we weren’t friends.
Not really.
And the reminder of that fact came crashing down on me the moment Cole smiled at me in a way that made me feel like I was the only person in the room, and said, “So, are we doing anything Friday?”
His voice was hopeful, and for a split second, I almost forgot my role.
“Not really,” I said carefully, before forcing a smile. “Why?”
His grin widened. “Good. Keep it free.”
I should’ve said something, to stop him from assuming, but I didn’t. Because this wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. And I couldn’t let myself get comfortable with the idea that it could’ve been.
Louis’s words echoed in my head again. Stick to the plan.
I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t hurting anyone, but deep down, I knew the truth.
This wasn’t going to end well. For either of us.
***
“Who’s ready to break hearts?” Louis teased one afternoon, sliding into the seat across from me at lunch. His grin was wide, mischievous, like this was all some big game.
I wasn’t thrilled by the suggestion.
“Louis,” I started, keeping my voice low. “I don’t know if this is a good idea anymore.”
His smile faltered for a split second before he scoffed. “What are you talking about? This is perfect. You’re perfect. Look, Cole’s practically putty in your hands.”
I glanced across the cafeteria, where Cole was laughing with his friends. His easy, carefree attitude was back, but I could tell he was stealing glances in my direction when he thought no one was looking.
It made my stomach twist.
“I just… I don’t think he deserves this,” I admitted. “I mean, yeah, he’s been a player, but he’s not all bad, Louis.”
Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you’re falling for him, Liam.”
“I’m not!” I snapped, louder than I intended. A couple of heads turned our way, but I ignored them. “It’s not like that. I just think… maybe he’s more complicated than we thought.”
Louis leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Complicated? He broke Lottie’s heart, Liam. He made her cry for weeks. You can’t let him off the hook just because he’s good at pretending he’s deep.”
“It’s not pretending,” I muttered, but Louis didn’t hear me.
Or maybe he chose not to.
“Look,” he said, leaning forward again. “We’re too far in now. You’ve got him right where we want him. Just stick to the plan, okay? Trust me, he deserves this.”
I nodded reluctantly, even though my chest felt tight.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “Okay.”
But as I watched Cole from across the room, his laughter fading into the background noise of the cafeteria, I couldn’t help but wonder if we were both about to get hurt.