Work Text:
Sighing, Liam minimizes his (blank) Word document on ethics, reminding himself he can write—he can write, for God’s sake—but his words don’t usually come in the form of prose. Finding his songwriting app instead, he pulls up his song-in-progress, finicking with the lyrics on the page. Fiddling with his jumbled-up headphones when he can’t find the right word to fit right there, he jams the headphones into the jack. His mind’s still on his ethics paper, thoughts racing over whether lobsters feel pain. In an attempt to clear his mind—cause apparently he can’t even procrastinate well—he shakes his head a little, trying to loosen up his thoughts. He presses play, the rough edit of the song echoing around his skull as his fingers reach for what’s left of his blueberry scone.
Taking the last bite, he almost chokes as his Mac pulls up a message: Receiving 5234.doc. He hasn’t realized how intertwined into the lyrics and the music he’s become, his body leaning forward towards his laptop as if that’ll help him get the epiphany he needs. But when he sees the unexpected words, he leans his shoulders back, sitting up straight as his eyes widen. Dj MaLiK it says below it. What the fuck?
He squints at the screen, trying to find some sort of face behind the name, but there’s nothing. Liam’s eyebrows shoot up as the document opens up after it finishes downloading. You had me at cello is all it says in simple 12-point font, a picture of a dog wearing pink sunglasses below it. Liam can’t help himself: he laughs. A real laugh, a deep-belly, eye-crinkling laugh. He gets a few side glances, but he doesn’t care.
Even though Liam knows this mysterious Malik person is probably just messing with whoever’s nearby, he still looks around him, well aware that they must be able to at least see his open music app. He tries to be as inconspicuous as possible as he scans the small shop, but he doesn’t even see anyone with a laptop–except the old grandma in the corner. Shuddering, he hopes he isn’t resigning himself to an awkward date with a 90-year-old.
Still, he opens his own document, simply responding buy me a frappuccino, I’m yours. He hopes and prays that the added picture of the kitten wearing sunglasses in a hammock isn’t too much for this mysterious person. Letting out a little breath, he stares his Air Drop app down for a second before he finally presses send. He has no idea who this Dj MaLiK is, but he’s intrigued. (Plus, it’s something else to do to further distract him from his paper.)
He waits a moment, holding his breath. When nothing happens, he lets out a little chuckle. Of course he’d gotten his hopes up for nothing. He’s just starting to at last get back to his song when he hears a hint of something… off behind him. Was it… something about Batman? “Batman…. In bed?” The barista gulps out behind him, obviously ready to hide from the utter embarrassment of it all.
He shakes his head, giggling for a second before he realizes: oh shit. That’s the name on his Mac. He checks again, verifies that it’s for sure his Mac name. It is. His eyes dart to the old lady, who seems to have absolutely no reaction. It seems he’s probably safe. Thankfully.
The poor barista calls out the name one last time with a sigh. Liam stands up quickly, heart pounding as he jogs over to her to finally relieve her of her duties. “Thanks, love,” he mumbles, giving her a pitied smile, face hot as he grabs the drink from her fidgety hands.
“Flirting with the barista now, eh?” A low voice says behind him and he starts.
“Dj Malik,” Liam says with a grin as he spins on his heel to catch a glimpse of this mystery man. “Are you really a d—” His words catch in his throat as his eyes lock on the boy’s. Eyes so brown they almost seem to have flecks of gold in them, long eyelashes, quiff styled just right, and a chiseled jaw, beard bordering it just where it should. He gulps down the words as he takes in the man in front of him.
Zayn just smirks, watching Liam’s face contort as he pieces together all of the boy. “Nah,” he shrugs easily. “You really Batman in bed?” He gives him a serious, wide-eyed look, waiting a moment before cracking a smile.
“No, unfortunately. Not a cellist either, actually,” he teases, raising one eyebrow as he takes a sip of his frappuccino.
“Really? Cause it seems you got a lot of wood between those legs,” Zayn says smugly, his eyes bright.
Liam just about spits his drink halfway across the room, coughing and sputtering as he attempts to stop himself. He gives himself a moment to recover before he taunts, “Had a bit of time to work on that one, eh?” He gently elbows the boy lightly on the arm before finishing, “The name’s Liam, by the way.”
“Zayn,” the other boy says with a little nod of his head.
There’s a moment of silence before Zayn says thoughtfully, biting his lip, “So, if you’re not a cellist, what’re you working on?”
“Well, I’m working on this song right now actually…” He trails off, gulping. “It’s just a work in progress, you know…” He says quietly, avoiding eye contact with Zayn for a moment before finding his eyes again. “And I just can’t get the right word and it’s driving me fucking mad.”
“Show me,” Zayn says gently with a smile. And so Liam does, his smile blinding when the boy figures out the right word within seconds.
Gesturing to the chair across from him as he slides it out for Zayn, Liam smirks, “Well, I guess I can’t let you go now. You’re too valuable.”
Sitting down, Zayn gives Liam a grin as he shakes his cup of iced coffee. “Guess we’ll have to have a true, proper coffee date then.”